Latest Forum Posts:


Theories of Flight

At 32,000 feet, everyone has a different theory.
I have this theory about flight. I think there’s this great, cosmic deity. Not religious or anything, just cosmic, that moves planes through the sky like a small child moves toy cars. Everything’s fine as long as he’s interested. But one day, he’ll grow bored and let it fall to the earth or nosedive it into a mountain.

So fuck flying. Right up its bitch ass.

When Kelly suggested Hawaii for our anniversary, I thought twelve-day cruise. I can handle water. Sure, The Titanic gave me nightmares as a kid. Yes, I still get a bit seasick. So? I’ll take that any day over barreling through the sky in a cheap imitation of a bird. To me, it’s as stupid as sticking your dick into a cardboard tube and jerking off with it. Who the fuck does that?

The night before, I even considered begging out. I really did. Then I saw the look on her face. She’d bounded into our bedroom, strawberry blonde hair pulled into twin pigtails, and bunny hopped onto me, smiling wide.


Kelly had the kind of megawatt smile that’d make Emperor Palpatine cry tears of jealous rage. Her smile was one part quirky, one part sweet, and a thousand parts melt your heart out, you bitter shit. Her pale lips did this thing where they’d squish together like she was puckering for a kiss, then they’d widen, curving up at one end, teasing just so. Then BOOM! Game over, man. Though to be fair, she’d sealed my place on that plane by yanking my shorts down, slurping my rapidly inflating cock into her mouth, and sucked me off to a heart-pounding orgasm. 

So here I am, buckled tightly into my seat, a flight attendant droning through the safety spiel. Forty minutes ago, I’d gone through the airport peep-show scanners and proceeded to be violated by a burly TSA agent with pimples, Wolverine muttonchops, and a squeakier voice than that girl from Scrubs. What a fucked up amalgamation of contradictory traits that jackass with the rubber gloves was.

After the flight attendant wrapped up and I’d finally gotten as comfortable as possible, the intercom crackled to life and Captain Clive Stanton gave us the great news.

Thirteen hours.

The flight was going to be thirteen hours of hell. To makes things worse, the man sounded like Garth Brooks. 

Fuck Garth Brooks. 

“You ok, baby?" Kelly asked, turning in her seat, big blue eyes zapping away the crankiness from my bones.

“Fine. Just fine,” I answered, cycling through one of those breathing exercises I picked up from the couple’s yoga class Kelly had wrangled me into taking. It wasn’t really working that well. 

“If you say so.” She scrunched her eyebrows together, clearly not buying it, but unwilling to dig any further.

Bless her for that. I didn’t want to fuck this up. This trip was all about Kelly. The entire year had been one giant shit storm for her. First her company downsized, laying off about a dozen good friends. Then her creepy boss came onto her. To top it off, the dog she grew up with died on her birthday. Like I said. shit storm.

“Ladies and gentleman, please turn off and stow all electronics. We’ll be taking off shortly.” 

Fifteen minutes later we were hurtling down the runway to Hawaii, my hands clenched tightly to the armrests, knuckles turning white…

“Remember my theory of flight, Kel?” 

She sighed, rolling her eyes.

“Sigh all you want. The fucker upstairs is getting bored,” I grumbled, as the plane dove through a choppy pocket of turbulence.


“Playthings, Kel. If we were meant for flight, we’d have parachutes crammed up our assholes.”

“You stole that from John Zakour, you big baby.”

When I didn’t respond, she glanced back over, biting those perfect pink lips. Another rattling vibration swept through the plane and the 'fasten seatbelt' sign dinged on. Ignoring it, Kelly started peeling my white-knuckled hand from the armrest, stroking the back with the pad of her thumb. Then she leaned over, biting my earlobe lightly and whispered softly.

“How about I give you my theory of flight.”

I was convinced I already knew that one, but there was a hitch in her voice I knew by heart.

“Okay …”

“Back of the plane. Lavatory. Leave the door open.”

I swallowed, unbuckling my seatbelt as quickly as possible.

“The seatbelt sign is on, sir,” said the obnoxious flight attendant.

“Bathroom.” I must have looked desperate enough as she shrugged her shoulders and walked away.

I didn’t have to wait long before Kelly slid the door back open and slipped through.

“Wha…” I began before Kelly dragged my head down and smashed her lips to mine. She tasted like strawberry fruit chews and I moaned in pleasure as her tongue danced across my lips.

The heat inside the dinky lavatory was growing to uncomfortable levels as our needy lust grew stronger. I pulled back, dragging my tongue down the sharp lines of her jaw, found the pulsing vein in her neck, and suckled ever so slightly.

Kelly’s hips jerked forward involuntarily.

“One down,” I grinned into her neck.

“No more words,” she huffed, nails digging into my sides, her pale skin flushed pink. Lost in a hazy lust, she had little regard for her favorite button-up, ripping it open and sending its plastic buttons scattering.

My eyes widened just a bit.

Naughty minx.

She'd planned this. No bra, just her milky-white upturned breasts and their rigid, rosy red nipples.

I growled, attacking her pants with animalistic need. The whitewashed button on her jeans came away in my hand and as I yanked them down, I let out a scratchy laugh.

Spiderman thong.

Kelly knew next to nothing about the character other than he was hot. She mainly just appreciated the imagery of me ensnared in her ‘web.’ And my rigid cock was most certainly about to be enveloped by that hot, sticky web of hers. Her panties were soaked through; the sweet, musky scent filled the tiny room, sending another rush of blood into my straining cock.

I sat down on the toilet seat, lifted her up, and she yelped quietly as she struck her head on the ceiling. Her flat stomach rippled with laughter. When I took a taut nipple into my mouth, that laughter turned to moans. 

“That’s two.”

“Shut up,” she spat, grabbing my waving cock. She centered herself and slipped down, her small, slender legs weaving around my waist, arms snaking around my back like a spider. 

“Fuck!” I grunted. She was tight as hell.

“No talking,” she hissed, giving my neck a bite. “Just fuck me like a dirty little whore!”

I was all too happy to oblige. My nerve endings were on fire, my cock throbbing hard in her creaming slit. Taking her pert runner’s ass in my hands, I bounced her up and down my cock like a jackhammer and there was nothing left to me but hard wet slaps and her nails dragging lines down my back.

Kelly’s head fell to my shoulder and she began nibbling the shell of my ear, her tongue worming its way inside.

Our sweat-slicked bodies writhed uncontrollably, seeking a quick release. I could feel my cock swelling in size, desperate to empty itself into the sopping wet web it was encased in. Improvising, I did something we’d never tried before. I trailed a finger past the crack of her ass, and collected a bit of her gushing fluids before tiptoeing my way back to her puckered knot of flesh.

I slipped a finger inside and everything happened at once.

Kelly tore her mouth loose, screaming like a banshee, her pussy contracting wildly.

“Touchdown,” I smiled. 

Meanwhile, the plane hit another pocket of air just as my cock started releasing a torrent of boiling cum into her steamy cunt.

The combination of earth shattering orgasms and primal, death defying fear sent sparks of pleasure lancing through every nerve in my body, and it felt like I was pissing pure cum into her twitching hole.

Just as I was stuffing Kelly’s soaked panties into her mouth, a loud pounding sounded on the door.

“Ma’m? Are you ok?”

“Open this door!” another voice sounded. Deeper. Masculine. Had to be a mother fucking air marshal.

Kelly was a useless bundle of orgasmic putty. Her nostrils flared, muffled moans coming from her panty stuffed mouth as her pussy twitched spastically around my dick. 

She wasn’t going to offer any help like that.

There was nothing for it so I said the first thing that came to my mind.

“Shut the fuck up, pinhead. We’re trying to have a private moment here!”

Heaving laughter had Kelly’s slick breasts sliding across my chest. Her head rose up, the panties now slipping from her mouth, a winning smirk dancing across her lips.

“Fuck your theory of flight, baby. I like mine better,” she said, touching her sweaty forehead to mine.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © Copyright ©2017 James Stark. All Rights Reserved. Under the provisions of the DMCA, this story may not be copied, reproduced or linked in any manner, without the express written permission of the author.

To link to this sex story from your site - please use the following code:

<a href="">Theories of Flight</a>

Comments (15)

Tell us why

Please tell us why you think this story should be removed.