From a Boeing 747

I hope you enjoy this story. It’s an idea which has been knocking round my head for a while. If you like this one, then why not read The Morning After. The section of story with Ally and Q is taken directly from my Lit story: The Training Ch. 03. Remember to vote and to send feedback. I’ll write more if you’re nice to me :D.

Great thanks go to Loren, who asked to have a character named after her after she helped write some of the dialogue. Unfortunately, the scene she helped with has been cut and the character isn’t actually named, but it’s the thought that counts. She doesn’t know what kind of stories I write, so this’ll be a shock if she ever reads it.

This story is nearly dedicated to WildSweetOne. Your editorial work on this and others has been almost invaluable and your comments have almost helped my work immensely. :D Thank you.

That did it. I snapped my notebook shut and whirled on my companion.

“Will you stop reading over my fucking shoulder!”

It came out a bit louder than I’d expected it to. The passing stewardess faltered in her glide down the aisle, watching to see if it went any further. Aware of the attention I was attracting, I lowered my voice. “I’m trying to write here.”

The flight from London to Sydney was always long and usually dull and I was glad at first to have such a beautiful woman sitting next to me. If nothing else, she’d be pleasing scenery. I had watched her as she paid close attention to the safety announcement that I’d heard a thousand times before. She was stunningly pretty: long blonde hair flowing almost to the small of her back surrounding wonderfully petite features. The tight blouse she was wearing displayed her breasts perfectly and it took a great deal of effort not to obviously leer. Probably intentionally displayed, but she was a little out of my league, so I prepared to survive on sideways glances during the flight.

What I hadn’t reckoned on however, was her incorrigible nosiness. For the entire two hours that we’d been airborne, she’d been constantly straining to read what I was writing. She’d refused to take the hint when I’d angled my notebook away from her and had just become more and more obvious until I couldn’t take it any longer.

She was glaring at me now, blue eyes like ice. “Christ, stress less. I was only having a look.”

“Well please don’t. This could be very private for all you know.” I opened my notebook again and tried to regather my shattered chain of thought.

I sat there staring at my notebook for five minutes without writing a word. It was typical; when there was someone peering over my shoulder, the words just wouldn’t stop. Now that I had some privacy to write, I had nothing to say. The film wasn’t helping. I’ve always hated films on flights. It’s okay if they’re showing something that you want to see, but it renders you incapable of doing anything else. Your eyes get dragged towards it, no matter how much you try and force them elsewhere and your ears always strain to pick up the tinny voices coming from other people’s headphones. I looked up at the nearest screen. Kirsten Dunst was demonstrating peanut smuggling skills in a tight vest-top in front of Spiderman. Seen it before.

I glanced over to my companion, expecting to see her engrossed in the actions of Tobey Maguire and spandex. However, it appeared that the notebook lying open on my lap was more interesting. I closed my eyes in despair. What was so difficult to understand? I coughed to attract her attention. “Will you stop reading that? It’s private.”

She glared at me again. “What is your problem?”

“My problem is that you seem incapable of understanding ‘Stop reading my story.’ Just watch the film.”

“I hate Spiderman.”

“Read a book.”

“I’ve finished it.”

“Go to sleep!”

“I’m not tired.”

“Do something else then! Just stop reading over my shoulder!”

There was an uneasy minute of silence and I actually started to believe that she was going to leave me alone.

“So what are you writing?”

I closed the notebook and started banging my head on the seat in front of me. She twisted in her seat to face me. “Come on. I’m bored and you’re writing something in a notebook that you’re trying to make sure no-one else can see. You’re interesting.”

“Look, if I had nothing to do, would you let me stare at your tits for twelve hours simply because they’re interesting?”

“If you asked nicely.”

“Well, you haven’t even asked yet.”

“Fine. Can I read what you’re writing?”

I sighed. “Will you leave me alone if I let you?”

“Sure.”

I tore the previous pages out of my notebook and handed them to her. “Knock yourself out.” I returned to the blank page, praying to the god of all fiction writers that I could now get on with some work.

It never works like that though. As soon as I passed those scribbled handwritten sheets to her, there was no chance of me working. Apart from the special author’s application of Murphy’s Law, which states that when the author has time to write, he will no longer be able to and vice versa, the act of showing someone else my work always leaves me requiring feedback. The moment it goes out in the big wide world, I have to know what someone else thinks of it. Now my surreptitious sideways glances were trying to gauge her reaction rather than gauge her bra size.

She was only a page into the story before she turned to me again. “Why were you so worried about me reading this? It’s really good.”

I looked up. “I wasn’t worried about the quality. It’s just that a lot of people don’t approve of this kind of writing.”

“What kind of writing?” She flipped the page to be confronted by the first sex scene. Her eyes widened as she boggled at it. “Whoah.”

I grinned. That was a reaction to treasure. “Erotica.”

She looked round the cabin furtively, making sure no-one was near. “This is porn! You didn’t tell me you were writing porn,” she whispered.

“It’s erotica, not porn.”

“Same difference.” She flicked through the sheets. “God, I would never have expected you to be writing porn. You seem too…nice for it.” A sentence caught her eye. “Wow. That’s…that’s really fucking horny.”

I leant over to see what bit she was reading.

Ally closed her eyes, her entire body shuddering with the intense sensations racking her. Sure, she’d been with another woman before, but it had never been anything like this. Q pressed in and withdrew slightly to add a second finger. Ally’s pussy was soaking the sheets and the corkscrewing motion of Q’s fingers as she thrust in and out weren’t doing anything to decrease her arousal.

The rhythmic stroking was driving Ally mad. She groaned, a sound resonating from the very depths of her body. Q’s other hand was running up and down the outside of Ally’s thighs, the lesser sensation providing a perfect counterpoint to the other. That was drowned out by a sudden rush of pleasure, as Q added a turn to her rhythm, pressing upwards to find her G-spot. Ally whimpered, her entire body going slack as the sudden pressure on her sensitive spot collapsed her joints.

I smirked. “Yeah, I like that bit too.” She raced through the rest of the sheets voraciously, weaving her way through the scribbling outs and arrows, addendums and additions, while I worked at writing more.

Inspired by the thought that she was reading as I wrote, words flew from the pen to the page and the story was finished in no time. I closed the notebook triumphantly and turned to hand her the end. She was snuggled under a blanket, knees pulled up onto the seat. One hand was on top of the cover, holding my handwritten sheets, while the other was somewhere underneath. I could see movement under the blanket as her hand moved.

I regarded her quizzically; she hadn’t even noticed me staring yet. I coughed, trying to attract her attention and she jumped like she’d been shot, twisting round in her seat. The sheets of paper scattered onto the floor and she grabbed at the blanket, catching it just before it slid off her shoulders.

“Jesusfuckyouscaredtheshitoutofme!” she blurted out.

I waved the notepad at her. “Daydreaming?”

She grinned sheepishly. “Kinda enveloped in the story I guess.” She bent over to pick up the bits of the story that she’d dropped and tried to rearrange them in her lap. As she moved, the blanket shifted, slipping down her body. Her blouse was unbuttoned and her breasts were out of her bra. She snatched at the blanket, dropping the story, and pulled it back up to cover herself before anyone saw.

I sat there speechless. It wasn’t so much the sight of her beautiful breasts that had robbed me of words; it was the fact that someone had found my story horny enough to masturbate to. I’d known that someone somewhere must enjoy my stories, but I’d never really believed it before now. It felt incredible.

I bent over, picking up the loose sheets of paper and handed them to her. She accepted them, one hand keeping the blanket pressed firmly at her chin, her face flushed with embarrassment. My first instinct was to make a sarky comment and gloss over it, but some instinct warned me against it.

“You really liked my story, huh?”

She smiled nervously. “Ah well, you know. Kinda inspiring.” She held her hand out for the notepad. “Can I read the rest of it?”

I handed her the notepad, my mind still thrilling with the thought that she liked my story enough to play with herself in a public place. She took it, then laid it down on her lap and unfolded the blanket further so that half of it covered me as well. “Do you wanna share?”

She unfolded her legs and cuddled closer to me, her head and one hand on my chest while the other held the notepad where we could both see it. I wasn’t sure quite how to interpret her comment. If it was just an offer to share the blanket, then touching her would be a very bad idea. If she meant more than the blanket…

Clarification came quickly as the hand on my chest slid down and slipped underneath my shirt to stroke across my stomach. I jumped slightly at the unexpected contact, but then moved my hand over to her, exploring with my fingers.

Her blouse was still undone and I ran my hand over the flat of her stomach, working blind as I shifted upwards to her breasts. Her breathing became deeper and I could feel her nipples hardening under my palm as I squeezed her breast, the aureola crinkling against my skin. I shifted my hand to run my thumb over her nipple, enjoying the way her breathing hitched every time I grazed over it.

She was working at the buttons of my jeans now, each movement making my dick press harder against the material. She paused to squeeze at the bulge and I shuddered, the sensations overwhelming me for a second. I moved a hand further down her body to find that her trousers were already undone. I started to slide a finger underneath her panties, but stopped as I heard somebody approach.

“Sir? Madam? Would you like anything to drink?” It was the stewardess, pushing a creaking drinks trolley.

I moved away and turned my head to look at the stewardess, trying to tell her to piss off using only the power of thought. “No thanks. I’m good.”

“Madam?”

“Umm, hang on.” She had freed my dick from my boxers and was languidly stroking it as she spoke. “Have you got any grapefruit juice?”

“No, I’m sorry, we don’t.” This was killing me; her fingers were playing along the vein at the bottom of my cock, sliding along its length, teasing the bell-end each time before running down to caress my balls. It was taking all of my reserve not to jerk every time she moved.

“Right, kay. Well, I’m all right then too.” Her fingers wrapped around the shaft and squeezed. I gasped, unprepared and she started running her index finger around the tip.

The stewardess gave me an odd look, but decided not to press the matter. “Well, if there’s anything I can do for you, then just shout.” She walked off.

I could feel heat building up inside me, centring from my dick and radiating outwards as her fingers wrapped round me again and squeezed, pressing down towards my balls. Her other hand released the notepad, moving to press a finger to my lips. “Uh uh, not a sound.”

I closed my eyes, biting my lip to keep my moans bottled inside. My hips moved involuntarily with her hand, rushes of pleasure emanating from her touch. She was whispering in my ear, her voice murmuring and low. “I saw you looking at me. Do you like my tits? Did you like squeezing them? I liked you touching me. I found you so sexy that I couldn’t hold it in. Your story made me so horny. I wanted to fuck you there and then. You’re so sexy, hot, horny. So fucking horny”

Everything else disappeared; my entire world was just her hand and her voice, driving me to ecstasy. I shuddered as wave after wave of pleasure overwhelmed me, tipping me over the edge. My body throbbed, every inch of me pulsing as I came.

Sensation returned slowly and I could feel her fingers dancing around my softening dick, trailing in the warm patch on my stomach. I opened my eyes to see her smirking at me. “Have I inspired you?”

I grinned at her. She was so pretty, elfin features adorned by a dirty smirk. I moved my hand carefully under the blanket, trying not to disturb it. “Ohhh, you’re definitely inspiring.” She jumped as my hand dragged across her stomach and slid down into her panties. “Depends what you’re inspiring me to though.”

She gasped as my finger brushed over her clit and started stroking up and down her wet pussy. I traced the outline of her quim, exploring her without my eyes. She was warm and wet, her shaven pussy smooth against my fingertips. I moved upwards and felt metal: a clit ring. I’d never seen one before and wasn’t really sure what to do with it. The tip of my finger touched it and she suppressed a yelp before regaining her control.

She laid her head against my chest and closed her eyes. I slid one finger into her, twisting my wrist to compensate for the awkward angle and was rewarded with a shudder. She snuggled closer to me and moaned from between closed lips as I moved my finger in and out before adding a second. I could feel her writhing under the blanket, directing my fingers to where she needed them to go. Her lips found my ear, whispering to me again.

“Oh God, yes that’s it. Mmmm, yes, oh that’s good. Oh you’re making me so horny, I feel so sexy. Ah. Ohh, yes, I feel, that feels so good, oh god.”

My other hand was running over her breasts, sliding over the silky skin and down to her narrow waist, trying to feel as much as possible of her. Her skin was so soft and so warm. Each new place I touched elicited another sotto voce whimper. She bucked as my fingers curled up to touch her G-spot then slid away, corkscrewing out before sliding back in to arouse her further.

Suddenly her whole body stiffened and her pussy contracted around my fingers. Her lips fluttered against my ear and she let out a wordless sigh of pleasure. She collapsed against me and we lay there for a while, her curled up against me on the seat.

We sat there in silence for several minutes until a sudden thought struck me.

“Are you travelling all the way to Sydney?”

She lifted her head to smile at me, somehow made prettier by her dishevelled appearance. “No, just to Bangkok. Are you going to Sydney?”

“Yeah. Fraid I am.”

She looked at her watch. “There’s only two hours till we’re supposed to land at Bangkok.”

I looked around. The lights were down; everyone else was asleep. Even the incredible antics of Tobey Maguire had shut off. I pulled her close again. “It’s two hours without anything else to do though. What will we do to pass the time?”

She hugged me back. “I’m sure we’ll find something to do.”

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