tagErotic CouplingsHome for the Holidays

Home for the Holidays


The airport passenger lounge was beautifully decked out for the season. Garland glittered where it was tacked to the pony walls, Christmas trees stood regally in the corners, and Bing Crosby crooned out 'White Christmas' over the speakers. Outside, snowflakes the size of quarters gently fell in a steady drift, giving the view through the huge picture windows a postcard appearance.

Its intended effect, however, was lost on Sherrie. Christmas was not something she was looking forward to, in fact, she was dreading it. Sitting as far away as she could from the rest of the waiting passengers, Sherrie's thoughts kept going back to the painful events of late.


Why did he do this to me? What the hell did I ever do wrong? Last Thursday, she'd come home early from work, to surprise Jim. Sherrie was the one surprised though, when she walked in and found him in a compromising position on the couch with her best friend, Anna. They hadn't heard her come in, and she had stood there for a while in disbelief, watching and listening. Sherrie had watched while her friend writhed and squealed, her big tits bouncing merrily, as Jim fucked her hard, ramming his swollen dick into her. She'd listened to her husband tell Anna she was the best fuck he'd ever had, bar none. Just as he was about to cum, Jim had looked up and seen her standing there. Sherrie had almost laughed at the way he'd jumped up in shock, his stiff cock deflating and shrinking as though in retreat.

"Well, Merry Fucking Christmas to you too!" Sherrie spat at them. "How could you? My husband, my best friend? I can't believe this!" Jim and Anna scrambled to get their clothes back on, red with embarrassment, unable to offer any kind of suitable explanation. "How long has this been going on? How long have you two been fucking each other behind my back?" Neither one said a word. "Well, now you fucking scumbags can have each other all the time. Jim, you'll be hearing from my lawyer!" And with that, Sherrie spun around on her heels and left. There was no way she was going to give them the satisfaction of seeing her cry, of bearing witness to just how devastated she was.


That had only been a week ago, and now, here she sat in this goddamned airport, waiting for her flight. As much as Sherrie wanted to leave town for a few days, she wasn't looking forward to telling her family what had happened. Her parents never had warmed up to Jim; they'd always thought he was a loser. She'd have to endure countless I-told-you-so's, hours of well meant but unwelcome advice from the family. Still though, Sherrie couldn't stand the thought of Christmas alone, she needed to be with someone.

Sherrie glanced up at the clock. Fuck! Another half hour before boarding, she thought, as she idly picked a few ding balls from her sweater. Sherrie had to smile a little at what she was wearing. Even though 'finding another man' was the last thing on her mind, her sub conscience had taken over while she was getting dressed this morning. She looked like someone who was trolling for a dick, and maybe in a way, she was. Her self-esteem was so low it had to look up to see bottom, a good fuck might cure that.


Greg sat in the corner, juggling his laptop and cell phone, making last minute arrangements for his business meeting. One more trip to Toronto, and he'd be done till after the holidays. He looked up to take a mental break from his keyboard, and found his eyes locked onto the young woman sitting across from him. She seemed wounded, withdrawn, yet he couldn't help but stare at her. His eyes roved over her, starting with her black leather knee high boots, moving up to her short leather skirt, and stopping at her neckline. Her red cashmere sweater plunged dangerously low, giving Greg a delicious view of her cleavage, framed by tendrils of her long blonde hair. He sat there, fixated on her breasts, fantasizing about touching them, running his fingers over them. Greg was grateful for the computer on his lap. His growing discomfort was becoming painfully obvious. The woman shifted in her seat, and Greg quickly looked back at his monitor to avoid being detected.

"This is a boarding announcement for Flight 147," a syrupy voice said over the loud speakers.

Gathering up their bags, both Greg and the young woman made their way to the boarding gate. Greg watched as she strolled just ahead of him, using the opportunity to check out her ass and further feed his fantasy. God, what he would give to hold those leather-clad cheeks in his hands, to reach up under that skirt and

"Can I have your boarding pass Sir?" The perky little attendant at the wicket broke Greg's thoughts.

While he fumbled for his ticket, Greg lost track of his visual prey. Shit, the flight was going to be boring now. Any semblance of mental stimulation had just disappeared.


Greg found his seat, and stowing his laptop and carry-on bag into the overhead compartment, sat down next to the window. Looking out, he realized he was right over the wing. The night was just getting better by the minute, he thought sarcastically. First, he'd lost sight of the girl, and now, nothing to see out the window. Greg settled back, and closed his eyes. Might as well catch up on some sleep, damn little else to do.

A stray elbow bumped him as another passenger sat next to him. Greg whipped around, all set to give this clutz shit for being so clumsy, but stopped before he had a chance to open his mouth. There, right beside him, was the woman from the lounge, the one he'd been admiring. He couldn't believe his luck nor, at this moment, could he remember how to speak.

"Sorry, didn't mean to bump you. I was sitting further down, but there's a woman with a baby there, and I'm not in the mood. Hope you don't mind," she explained.

"Umm, no, it's okay," said Greg, as he regained his ability to talk. "My name's Greg, and yours?"

"Sherrie, nice to meet you," she answered, smiling as she noticed that he'd actually introduced himself to her tits, never having taken his eyes off them the entire time. Oh well, that was the idea behind the sweater. Couldn't exactly blame a guy for having a normal reaction. She casually checked him out while they exchanged small talk. Greg looked to be in his late twenties, with a well-kept medium build. He was a pleasant enough looking man, but his eyes were what caught her attention. Large, dark, like melted chocolate, they seemed to search right through to her core. They were riveting, drawing her in, and Sherrie found herself more than just a little interested in him.

Soon enough, the flight attendants went into their safety drill routine, as the plane lumbered down the runway. It picked up speed, and launched into the air, bucking and kicking as it hit a patch of turbulence. Sherrie shut her eyes tight, as she held the armrests with a death grip. She knew nothing would happen, but still, it made her nervous. A large hand slipped over hers, and she looked up to see Greg gazing at her concernedly.

"A little scared?" he asked.

Sherrie could only nod in reply, and closed her eyes again. She wasn't sure why she trusted this man who so obviously had ulterior motives for being nice to her, but right now, she'd take whatever comfort she could get.

"You'll be fine, it'll smooth out soon," he said, and sure enough, he was right. As the plane gained altitude, it stopped shuddering and leveled out.

Greg didn't waste the chance to check out Sherrie again while her eyes were closed. With his hand over hers on the armrest, her thigh was tantalizingly close. Her skirt had hiked up a bit, and he imagined how it would feel to slip his fingers between her legs, and probe what he was certain would be a succulent wet pussy. He looked out the window before she had a chance to see him staring, hoping she wouldn't notice the growing bulge in his pants.

Sherrie finally opened her eyes, and saw that the overhead lights had been turned off. She tried to get another look at Greg while he stared out the window, but it was too dark for her to see him clearly. He seemed a little fidgety though, and she wondered who or what he was thinking about.

SLAM! The plane bounced about 10 feet as it ran into another black cloud. The jarring made Greg's hand jump and land on Sherrie's thigh. He sat there, not moving, barely breathing, afraid of her reaction, but not wanting to remove his hand from her silky leg.

Sherrie felt his hand on her leg, and for a split second, thought about saying something. Truth was though, it felt good to be touched, even if it was an accident. She decided not to say anything, and see just where this was going to go, if anywhere.

"Excuse me? Can I get you something to drink?" asked the flight attendant standing in the aisle beside their row.

Greg looked over, "Sure, I'll have a rye and coke."

As he reached past Sherrie to get his drink, she moved a bit, just enough that his arm would brush against her. Greg noticed, or at least, hoped he was right, and as he brought his drink back, allowed his bottom two fingers to slide off the glass and trail over her chest. He felt a slight shiver go through her as he touched her, and smiled wickedly to himself. Maybe, just maybe, he had a chance.

Greg held his drink for a while, letting his fingers absorb the chill. Setting his glass down on the tray, he leaned over and very slowly slipped his icy hand over Sherrie's cleavage. Her quick gasp told him everything he needed to know. Greg slid his fingers under her bra, cupping her breast in his hand, feeling her hard nipple against his palm.

Sherrie's breathing quickened as Greg put the armrest back and moved a little closer to her. Taking her by the wrist with his other hand, he used her to rub his aching crotch. Even through his jeans, Sherrie could feel how wonderfully hard he was, how desperately he needed relief. The slickness building up between her thighs told her she could use a bit of relief herself. Maneuvering as best she could in the cramped space, she undid his pants, releasing his swollen cock from its confines.

Sherrie ran her fingers over the length of his shaft, exploring, teasing, feeling him pulse in response to her touch. She couldn't believe she was actually doing this. Only a short time ago, she'd been sitting in that lounge, feeling sorry for herself, and now, here she was, toying with a man she barely knew. She didn't care though, she needed to be desired, her psyche cried out for it, if only for a brief interlude.

Greg reached under Sherrie's sweater and pushed her bra up off her breasts. Carefully, he lifted one side of her top and searched out her nipple with his mouth. His tongue meandered over the swells until he felt a hard nub under it, and he suckled at it greedily. Sherrie strained not to make any noise as she felt the heat of Greg's tongue on her. She had to stifle her moans and whimpers so they wouldn't attract any unnecessary attention.

The hand on her thigh moved a bit, and was soon joined by another as Greg slid them both over her legs, forcing them apart just a bit. Sherrie wished right now that she hadn't elected to wear pantyhose, but that didn't seem to be much of a deterrent. Using his fingernails, Greg managed to start a small hole towards the top of her hose, and gradually worked his fingers into it, spreading it until he could get his hand underneath. His index finger probed her, feeling Sherrie's soaked thong wedged tight against her, swollen lips protruding on either side of it.

Sherrie stiffened at the sensation, biting her lip to stop from gasping out loud. Greg suddenly pulled his hand away, and Sherrie almost let out a squeal of frustration. His fingers wound tightly through her hair, and pulling her close, whispered, "I think you know what you need to do if you want me to continue."

No more prompting was needed, Sherrie was desperate to feel his fingers on her again. Bending over, she guided his stiff cock to her mouth, sliding her lips over him, bathing him with her tongue. Greg let out a quiet satisfied sigh, and reaching over, continued his exploration of her under her skirt.

Finding the hole in her pantyhose again, Greg returned his hand to the inviting warmth between Sherrie's thighs. Deftly, his fingers hooked over her thong and pulled it away, holding it to one side with his thumb. He stroked over the length of her dripping slit, and slowly worked a finger into her, exploring and invading her.

Little warning spasms shot through Sherrie's body, as she sucked and licked Greg with a renewed fervor. His throbbing quickened as he rapidly approached climax. She could already taste him on her tongue, as a few impatient drops escaped him. Sherrie could barely keep him in the sanctuary of her mouth as Greg continued to swell. All the while, he kept playing with her under her skirt, rubbing her swollen wet pussy, taking her to the edge of ecstasy.

Greg froze as his orgasm rushed over him; his hot seed gushing down the back of Sherrie's throat. His fingers penetrated her, finger-fucking her while he pumped everything he had into her mouth. The warning spasms she'd had turned into an all out eruption, as Sherrie began to shake violently with her own climax, slipping a bit in the juices that had accumulated under her.

Greg and Sherrie quickly sat up, straightening themselves out just in time. The lights overhead flickered and then assaulted their eyes with a harsh radiance.

"Welcome to Toronto. Thank you for traveling with us, and we hope your flight was a pleasant one," the pilot said over the speakers.

Sherrie and Greg looked at each other, grinning. Yeah, it had been a pleasant one, and now, Christmas holidays as a single woman weren't looking quite so bad.

(c) Arlie MacGregor, 2003

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