It’s hard to laugh with a mouth full of cock, but I couldn’t help it when hearing the announcement, “Ladies and gentlemen, we are starting our descent...” just as my lips started their descent onto Adam’s dick.

The rest of the announcement was irrelevant. I couldn’t remember if I’d left my seat vertical when I followed him to the rear toilet — my only backward glance a guilty one up the aisle for the return of my travelling companion — and the only belts in here were unfastened and dropped to their owners’ ankles. No way was I going to return to my assigned seat to follow those instructions now, not after eleven hours of fantasising about this moment. Since the senior flight attendant was the one with his hand on the back of my head, pushing me onto his cock, I had no fear of this severe violation of aviation regulations being rudely interrupted.

He pressed me into the stubble above his shaft, the scent of his sweet sweat filling my nose and the taste of his precum filling my mouth, his bulbous tip already poking the entrance to my throat. Blood pumped into the veins resting on my tongue, which I wiggled against the warm skin. Drool pooled beneath it from the invasion until it ran out down my chin. He kept me there, sucking and spluttering but unable to swallow however I moved my head, only pulling me off him when he was fully hard.

Gasping, I grabbed his slick shaft, desperate not to lose contact even for a second. I looked up over his uniform, immaculate despite the force of the kiss that had greeted me when he pulled me through the door barely a minute earlier, to his brown eyes, staring intently at me.

“I’ve wanted this since you started the safety demonstration,” I told him, pumping his length. He laughed and shoved me down again, thrusting his hips.

“In-flight safety demonstrations? That’s a weird fetish you’ve got there!”

“Mmmff mmff mm mff-mfff,” was all that came out, but I was trying to say, “It’s not my fetish.”

Usually, I zoned out within five seconds of the take-off routine, but not today. I had been mesmerised by the movement of his manicured but masculine fingers holding the seatbelt in the air and his strong hands tugging the lifejacket tag to demonstrate inflation, imagining how they would feel around my wrists. Then he turned to point out the exits, giving me a view of his firm glutes in tight, fitted trousers. I had shifted in my seat, trying to discreetly shift my growing erection with my forearm when he turned back, hands sweeping to indicate the lights in the floor that would guide us in the event of an emergency. My eyes had devoured him from shining black shoes to stylishly spiked black hair, wondering if the tan was real and hoping the shape I saw at his crotch was not just my imagination.

That hope had been realised, the head currently forcing its way into my throat until I gagged and spluttered, tears streaming down my cheeks. Desperately, I freed my cock and stroked it fast with the dangling spit as lube while gagging on his.

“Fuck!” I gasped when he released me again.

“Would you like something else before we land, sir?” he asked, the “sir” contemptuous as his inner dom came out. Even before he’d pushed me to my knees on the hard floor, it had been a ridiculous title — he had to be early thirties at least, so probably five years older than me or more.

For an instant, I was too stunned by the speed of events to get what he was hinting at, then remembered the condom he had slipped to me with his invitation. I pulled out the packet and ripped it open. While I pinched the tip, my slippery fingers struggled briefly to unroll it over his curved, rock-hard shaft, then, before I could stand, he grabbed my head with both hands and roughly face-fucked me again, coating the latex with throat slime. It popped out of my mouth when he dragged me up by my hair and squashed my tear- and spit-streaked cheek to the mirror, the shiny new ring on my finger — forgotten in my cocklust — clacking against the glass as I braced myself.

“How?” he asked and spat a large wad of saliva onto his thick cock, already rubbing it over my puckered entrance. “Hard or gentle, sir?”

“Hard.” I blew spit bubbles onto the glass, trembling with anticipation.

“Louder, sir.”

“Fuck me fucking hard!” By then, I didn’t care if the whole plane heard. He laughed. In a single thrust, he was in, and I cried out in shock. My jeans were still around my ankles, preventing any attempt to open up wider for him, but, after the initial sudden, unprepared stretch of my fuckpucker, came the intense rush of endorphins. He paused, I thought to allow me to get accommodated to him, but really to adjust his stance with one foot on the toilet seat, then he gripped my waist and my hair.

“There may be some turbulence,” he murmured in my ear.

I started to laugh, but it turned into a cry as he rammed back inside my mancunt. The combination of the length of his dick and the cramped angle forced on us by the cubicle meant he was reaching the perfect spot on my prostate with each of his frantic thrusts, counteracting the pain from my thighs being smashed into the sink each time. I did what I could to push back at him and clench around him even harder.

His saliva-coated cock squelching in and out of my arse and his thighs slapping against my buttocks filled the tiny room while he filled my ears with a stream of obscenities that I could never have imagined coming out of his mouth five minutes earlier. My own dick bounced ludicrously above the basin until Adam gripped it, his hands wonderfully soft for someone as masculine-presenting as him. He squeezed the tip, his thumb rubbing the flat top of the head his only movement there — infuriating when I wanted him to just pump me hard.

“You want to cum, sir?” he breathed, licking my ear.

“Yes,” I moaned over the whir of the engine, the hours of frustration multiplied a thousand times by being held so close to the climax but still denied.

“I can’t hear you, sir.”

“Yes, fucking let me cum, you bastard,” I yelled over the PA telling the cabin crew to prepare for landing.

His grip on my cock tightened as he suddenly increased the pace of his thrusts, taking me over the edge at the exact moment the plane jerked from the wheels hitting the tarmac. An incoherent explosion of pleasure sucked all the strength from my legs, so his continuing thrusts were all that prevented me from slumping to the floor. I moaned and shook, my face pressed against the drool-smeared mirror. Cum sprayed out over the sink and his fingers as he fucked me through my orgasm, then, with a growl, he slammed in deep and stayed there, filling the condom. Our eyes met in the mirror and I smiled.

“Kneel,” he ordered as he slowly withdrew from my aching arse.

I could barely stand, so I obeyed, still coming down from the high he had given me. He first offered me his left hand, dripping with my cooling cum, and I licked it clean, slurping at each finger until they were slimed only with my saliva. Wordlessly, he pulled the rubber off his semi-hard cock, leaving streaks of jizz hanging from the tip. Unable to resist, I extended my tongue, gathered it up and then sucked him in, licking him clean.

Just as the plane’s taxiing slowed, lukewarm goo splattered down over my nose and top lip, oozing down onto his shaft. I looked up in surprise as the last drip of spunk fell from the condom he had just upended over me, and my eyes fell on the black oblong of a phone that he had produced from somewhere and pointed at my filthy face.

“You don’t mind if I take a souvenir to remember this flight, do you?” he asked, and the artificial shutter sound came as the colour of embarrassment flushed my cheeks, but before I could take his dick from between my lips to answer. In truth, I loved it, and completed my task thoroughly before saying a word.

“Can you send me the photo later?” I asked, still scraping gelatinous, latex-tainted spunk into my mouth. “It will be my membership card of the Mile High Club.”

“Sure. Pass me your phone. Although technically, since neither of us actually came until we landed, it doesn’t count.”

“Really? Damn! I hope you’re on my flight home, then.”

As I fumbled in my pocket, another announcement began. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Bangkok.” As I’d discovered earlier, it’s hard to laugh with a mouth full of cock, but laughing with a mouth full of cum is downright dangerous. I was still recovering from snorting it through my nostrils when I handed over my unlocked phone.

“You’d better get dressed,” Adam said, taking it, “and start thinking of how you’re going to explain your absence from your seat to your wife.”

Fuck! I scrambled to my feet and hastily grabbed some paper towels to wipe the basin and my face, took my phone back and then stumbled out the door. Still trying to do up my fly, I hurried down the aisle to the ding of the seatbelt sign turning off, signalling all passengers to get up and start searching for their displaced luggage.

“Sorry, babe,” I said as I reached my seat and gave a rather flustered Claire a quick peck on the lips, oblivious to the wet patches on my t-shirt and praying that the stench of semen was purely psychological. “I had an urgent call of nature, and when I came out, the flight attendant told me to just take a seat where I was.”

I wasn’t sure she believed that lie, but there was no time for an argument as the exit queue was already moving. My stomach did a somersault on seeing Adam, clothes all straightened, lined up with his colleagues to farewell his clients. Spotting the two of us approach, the tall blonde attendant next to him — “Fiona” according to her name badge — whispered in his ear, and they both grinned.

“Happy honeymoon!” they chorused as we passed. Neither of us seemed particularly convincing in our thanks.

After a silent walk, we finally entered the terminal and switched on our phones. They pinged simultaneously with new messages, and as one, we turned away to check them in private. Mine was a picture, and I opened it, expecting it to be the portrait of me as a wanton manwhore.

It wasn’t.

Claire stared lustfully at the camera with flushed face and smudged makeup from between feminine thighs, her nose buried in the neat landing strip of blonde pubic hair that peaked out from a skirt in the same navy blue as Adam’s pants.

Turning to each other in disbelief, we simultaneously exclaimed, “Did you fuck the flight attendant?”