Night Flight to Europe

Night flight to Europe. Night flight from Asia. Recapturing a day as you outrace the spinning globe, lights flashing high up above the dark vastness of the Indian Ocean. Night flight to Europe, from the sun-heated furnace of Jakarta to the soft, grey chill of Frankfurt.

Night flight with a lawyer, a lover. I'd admired her, yet again, at the hotel pool that day. The heat and humidity had seemed to affect others, it had even shocked the dense vegetation half screening the expensive, tightly-stacked and minimalist towers rising beyond. She, however, looked almost sprightly in a striped bikini, the navy and white pattern vivid against the creamy paleness of her skin. Shoulder-length blonde hair (several tendrils gathered together over a high cheekbone and chiselled nose) framed a classic Nordic composition of high cheekbones and jade green eyes that sparkled vividly.

The string bikini would have challenged many a 25 year old: a top of fabric triangles that demanded high and firm breasts , and bottoms that required a tautness of belly. She carried both off superbly; fit and with an athletic economy of motion, her body belied her age. Her c-cups strained against the fabric firmly, leaving it stretched and hinting at perfectly defined nipples. So brief were the bottoms that it took little imagination to see that, below a firm and athletic belly, she was fully waxed. Her body was as toned and fit as it had been 15 years earlier when she swam and ski'd to a very high standard. She was tall enough that in heels she almost looked him in the eye. She gave an overall impression of occupying precisely that point at the intersection of lean and feminine.

Later, as they walked through the enormity of the modern airport, she drew eyes in a Prada wrap dress and beige Ferragamo suede flats.

The upstairs cabin of the cavernous Airbus 380 aircraft is split. The section forward between the first galley was only four rows, divided into little islands of sleepers by the seating pods. In the dark, curtained off and half empty, it felt still, almost abandoned.

The upstairs business class washrooms on the A380 are an adventurer's delight. Curtained off from the cabin, the two washrooms flanked a broad stair down to the lower level. A broad vestibule - enough for several people to comfortably mill around in - was set between them and the wall and curtains delineating the cabin.

At roughly two meters in length, it was easily three times the length of a normal airplane washroom, and much wider. A broad sink was set below an expanse of mirror; the far end of the port side washroom was occupied by a padded bench.

I whispered as much to her.

Dinner had been served and cleared away. The scattered passengers had drifted into sleep, some fitful, some deep. Two screens still glowed with the varied flashes of a movie, though the watchers were quite buried in the gloom of their pods and were likely in the land of nod.

I'd woken and had gone to brush my teeth, the airline amenity bag tucked under my arm. I returned to my seat to find a note on it. "Meet me forward" it said, simply. I crumpled the note and stuffed it in my pocket.

I walked softly forward through the sleeping cabin and parted the thick curtain to the washroom vestibule. A mix of white and blue lights gave it slightly unearthly feel. Centered between the washrooms was a rounded arch and a broad stairwell leading down to the vestibule separating the First Class cabin on the lower level from the cockpit. All was still and quiet save for the continuous rumble of the jet engine and the insistent hiss of the ventilation.

I knocked softly on the door of the port washroom: the one I'd not been in. There was a pause and the pale grey door with a subtle patterning opened a crack. Set against the greys of the walls and the dark floor a line of creamy flesh and blond hair was visible. She peered out and then a lean and elegant arm - the odd lighting revealing the subtlest trace of blonde hair - reached out through the crack in the door, turned and an index finger curled to invite me in.

"Open the door. Let me see." My whisper sounded loud amidst the emptiness of the vestibule. "I want to photograph you."

The door opened two feet and then, slowly, temptingly it swung wider.

She was holding the door ajar with her right arm; her left was cocked, arm resting on her hip. She'd removed her dress: it hung from a hook visible to the side and just behind her. Her thong and the light bra she'd be wearing were draped over the dress. The angle of her arm meant that she was fully, frontally exposed. The round underswell of her breasts was now surmounted by two pink nipples that had stiffened in the mild cold. She'd crossed her ankles one over the other, pushing thighs together providing a modicum of coverage for the waxed, tightly defined perfection of her slit. She'd loosened her ponytail and the hairband, the same dark blue as the belt of her wrap dress, adorned her wrist above her ladies' Omega.

She grinned. I fished an iphone from my pocket, raised it and snapped a head-to-toe.

"Step out". Her eyes widened. "Step out" I repeated, more slowly. The door closed somewhat and her head peeked out to gaze left and the around and down the stairs.

"Is there anyone?" she said in a low murmur.

I turned and parted the curtain. The cabin was sleeping, there was no sign of the cabin crew, and there were no noises in the galley beyond the dimly lit pods of blankets and indistinct shapes of passengers sleeping on the lie-flat beds.

I released the curtain, let it fall closed and shook my head. The door opened again and she stepped partly out.

I retreated to capture a better shot of her, and then advanced to trace a hand down her arm and flank, lingering on the softness of her hip. Advancing I moved to kiss her. Her lips trembled somewhat. My hand traced up and cupped a breast, then traced down to outline the crease delineating her pubic area from her thigh. A nail caressed the fleshy, soft, hairless left lip of her pudenda.

I retreated further. She glanced down the stairs, eyebrows raised.

The stairwell was composed of low steps under a curved roof edged by a rounded archway. Framed in the arch, her curves and those of the descending passage blended symmetrically.

She pirouetted for me, for my camera. Then she turned a tight, feminine bum set below a lean and elegant back, and slowly began to descend the stairs. She was perhaps three steps down when there was a rustling of curtain below and a man, dark shirt, dark trouser, tousled hair, appeared in the vestibule on the lower deck below. His back was to us, and he was entirely oblivious that a stark naked blonde was frozen in surprised immobility on the stairs above and behind him. Were he to turn her pussy would be framed for him.

The man was focused entirely on reaching the washroom below. The lighting was reasonably bright in the centre of the vestibule below, but the door fittings were in gloom, and he rattled them to find how to open it.

She still stood frozen, evidently fearful a movement would attract his attention. Finally the darkly attired man unlatched the door and stepped in. The moment the door closed, she turned and walked up the stairs. At the top she turned and bent at the waist, as if to tempt the man in the washroom at the bottom of the stairwell with a ravishing and wanton view.

After a pause he opened the unlatched of their washroom. She walked by me, brushing sensually against him and stepped in, grabbing me by the hand as she did.

I locked the door behind me and embraced her. I twined my right hand in her hair and kissed her as my left softly tricked down her taut belly to trace between her pussy lips. She was wet, practically sopping. As we kissed I began to finger her, slicking her slit with moisture. As we kissed I began to caress her clitoris.

I backed her towards the far corner and used my left hand to raise her left leg and place her foot on the padded bench that ran a metre across the back of the small room. Her pussy was now open to me and, licking my right index, I began to penetrate her slicked pussy. I used the thumb of my other hand to lightly trace over her clit in a side-to-side movement.

As we kissed more I speeded up both actions. She began to make a sound somewhere between a low purr and a moan.

Her leg shifted and suddenly she was perched on the edge of the bench, her legs spread wide to accommodate me standing between them.

She unbuttoned the Cucinelli gilet and then reached to undo my belt. As she unbuttoned the cotton jeans with her left hand, popping the buttons one by one, her right hand reached between her legs and she began to finger her clit, hand moving vigorously side to side.

"I want a photo of that". She smiled, parted her legs wider and began to toy with herself for the lens.

I walked forward again. She tugged my jeans down and I assisted her to slide the tight cotton boxers down. Both puddled around my ankles. My cock was largely erect, swinging stiffly between my legs. She raised it and traced the left side of it with her tongue. Shifting the did the same on the other side of my cock, and then flattened the top of it against my belly, the saliva trickling warm onto my belly. Turning and dropping her head, she began to flick at my balls. Little tongue laps against the ball sack cause it to tighten, and made the lapping noises more pronounced. It was a highly erotic matching of wide and sound. She inhaled the front half of one testicle and slurped a tongue over it before doing the same to the other side. Her hand holding my cock against my stomach began to stroke it, but was then retracted. My stiff cock, the glans partially protruding from the sheath, fell against her cheek. Her now free hand lifted my balls up and she began to lap against the underside of my balls and the perineum. I'd shaved both, and the sensation of tongue against the smooth skin was marvellous. The sight of my cock bobbing against her cheek was doubly arousing.

Her hand was still stimulating her clit. She pulled back to sit more straightly, and parted the pink, elegant lips around her mouth to reveal white teeth in an expectant look. My cock jutted straight ahead now. Her tongue jutted out, and the tip of it made contact with the underside of my cockhead. Her mouth widened further and shed began to inhale my shaft, inch by inch. Soon the head was fully in her mouth, and she swirled her tongue around the cockhead and back again. Another inch in. She reached behind to pull me forward by my ass, her hand tracing my ass crack. A third inch in and then slowly, languorously, she pulled back and looked up. I moaned softly. She descended down the length again, deeper. Three inches, four inches, five inches. She was only two inches from my trimmed pubic hair and then she pulled back, slicking my cock with a sheen of saliva. Her free hand traced my tight ballsack. She then took my engorged rod back in her mouth, inch by inch, until half a foot of penis was being caressed and thrummed by her. Her free hand held the last inch, wrapping my full length in this highly sexual embrace.

She began to bob up and down. I tucked her hair behind her ears, the better to see. I was utterly rigid and I began to feel the gentle pulsing and tightening of a orgasm. A gentle pressure on her shoulder and I pulled out.

"Stand, turn and bend."

A gentle push from her edged me back as she took the room she needed to rise and turn. Parting her legs, she bent at the waist and propped herself onto an elbow. He other hand reached between her legs to masturbate herself. She gazed at me over her shoulder, her face half hidden by golden tendrils of hair. Her eyes blazed.

Her back and tummy were lean, athletic, sexy. Her parted legs offered me a view of the inner pinkness of her pussy. Her rounded, creamy asscheeks were also parted, to reveal the pink bud that was a delicious (if perhaps too rare) destination for his cock.

He advanced and placed the tip of his penis at her canal and began to slide into the warm wetness of her vaginal canal. He placed one hand on her hip, the pressure parting her asscheeks farther, exposing her more wantonly. He ass bud opened very slightly as he slid deeper into her.

He felt the rhythm of her hand between her legs and paced his thrusts to be a half beat on with her. He pulsed his cock , rippling against the softness of her inner pussy. His balls and his groin began to make small, slapping sounds as he slid into her. One hand caressed her back and the other kneaded her asscheek.

He leaned forward to kiss her back, cupping a breast with his free hand as he did. Softly he traced over her stiff nipple.

He could feel her beginning to orgasm. He was stiffening too, the radiations of pre-orgasm building. He held off but slowing his pace for a moment and trying to deaden the feeling. She was tightening around him now, the waves of her orgasm building around his cock as it fucked her.

She tightened further and emitted a deeper moan, she laced a forearm in her mouth to stifle it. He knew she liked it if he kept moving, and he stood taller again, sliding the full length of his shaft in and out of her. He had both hands on her ass now, parting her cheeks to admire one hole as he shafted the other to his full length.

After about half a minute her legs, which had gone rigid as she came, softened and her breathing became deeper. He pulled out so he could come, but she placed a hand behind her to pause him. She turned and sat again, eyes inviting his cock to her mouth. She rarely licked herself off his shaft; indeed she was surprisingly open and experimental about a great many things in sex, but this and coming in her mouth were rarer events.

But now he slid into her mouth. She was swirling and licking, opening wide, inviting him to fuck her mouth. She extracted his cock and pumped it in her hand as she lapped noisily at his balls. That sound caused him to engorge even father, and she placed the cockhead at her mouth and took half of him in. He began to pulse come into the back of her mouth, the sensation of swallowing intensifying his orgasm.

He spurted four times, but she kept sucking until he began to soften a little. She popped his penis out of her mouth and smiled up at him.

"What now?" she said, smiling.

He felt entirely mischievous. Was the cabin still asleep?

Smoothly and swiftly he gathered up dress, bra and knickers and unlatched the door. He felt her tug at him but he evaded that and was out in the vestibule before she could react further. He stepped to the curtain and passed through, her neatly folded frock in his hand.

They occupied the second row of seats, the walls of the two pods offering a measure of privacy once there, but there was still three metres of ground to cover. The cabin light was dim. The other passengers were sleeping.

He neatly placed her dress on her bedding - no need to wrinkle it unnecessarily - and then returned through the curtain to the vestibule. She was peering through the door.

He smiled and held empty hands up, following that with a gesture towards the curtain.

He smiled at her, turned and walked through the fabric barrier to reclaim his aisle seat, camera readied.

It took an expectant minute, and then her head appeared through the curtain. She swiftly moved back to her seat and snatched up the dress, her eyes blazing at him (though with as much excitement as anything else).

"Where is my underwear?" she mouthed.

He shook his head.

She turned sideways as she placed her arms in her dress. She paused to let him snap a shot, and then shrugged it up to the point where she could tie it closed. He saw her look back. He turned too. 53C was sitting up, rubbing his eyes. She swiftly belted her dress and lay down on the white linen bedcover and pulled the blanket up over herself.

"Don't' worry" he said. "He'll think you're a dream... because you are one."