Between the Seats
By Robokun
They should have considered themselves lucky; really, this was not an easy flight to book on such short notice. But staring at the seats they would be occupying for the next eight hours, luck didn't pass through their thoughts at all. Something close to luck, however;
'Fuck'
He hissed as quietly as he could. ”We're sitting separately!?” Her disappointed glance answered back, they would indeed have to spend the first leg of their romantic getaway apart. She quickly took her seat, sandwiched between two older men. The both of them Mister Rogers clones, down to the cardigans and 50's style hair cuts; a dying breed.
He sat down in the row behind her, also surrounded by what appeared to be a group of geriatrics traveling together. How much more boring this flight could get, he could not imagine.
Thank god they expected to sleep through most of it. And after the plane took off, sleep took them quickly.
Hours slipped by as they all slept.
His eyes lazily parted, savoring the delirious blur the dark cabin presented him. He didn't bother to focus. Not yet. He enjoyed the delicious sensation of half-consciousness, the confidence that a simple closing of his eyes would send him back to his dreams. If only all mornings were this obligation free. He listened to the white noise airplane droning, the stillness of sleeping passengers, and felt at peace. He always slept well on airplanes, but his wife was not so lucky. It was a shame, really, that she could not feel the way he did now, in a warm bath. She couldn't sleep upright. He hoped she at least managed some rest. He allowed his eyes to drink in more, his vision remarkably keen considering the only light source was the floor running lights.
He peeked between the seats ahead of him to see his wife flat on her side and out like a light.
He grinned. The poor sucker to the left of her was recruited as a pillow. He imagined the embarrassed older gentleman staring down blankly at the girl cuddled up in his lap. It's probably been a while for him, he should count himself lucky. But his head was back deep in the pillow, his eyes shut, and his sinus's gently whistling. Everyone seemed to have found sleep.
He peeked through the other gap in the seats to see that she managed not to have spilled out onto her other row mate. Her knees where tightly curled up to her chest. He shot a mischievous glance at the daring skirt she was presently stretching out of shape. At this angle he couldn't get a peek at anything scandalous, but was reasonably sure the gentlemen to the right of her could get quite the show. He giggled a little thinking back on how he had talked her into not wearing panties, and how grateful he was now that she had chickened out at the last minute.
Remembering earlier.
“What if I get pulled aside in customs??” She spoke, honestly nervous.
“Well, then.... they're gonna strip search you anyways!” He grinned playfully, finding himself a little excited by the idea that conjured. Common sense brought him down, he was sure the reality was not as sexy as what he was imagining. She seemed to concur with the glare she answered back. So the white cotton panties went on, and the promise of intercontinental horseplay faded.
The first disappointment.
He wished he could see those panties now, but he had the whole holiday to enjoy her intimately. He smiled at the thoughts tumbling through his head and let the bliss carry him back to sleep.
Hours later he woke to the same scene; dim, silent cabin, the gentle snoring of sleeping passengers; his wife sound asleep, lounging across her two unfortunate aisle mates. As his eyes became more accustomed to the light, something seemed different; a shock of white.
Her skirt had ridden up during the night. He could see her panties unevenly pulled across her exposed bottom, and if he could see, so could the man to the right of her. Blood emptied out of his brain and warmed in his lap. This was pretty sexy....
...Someone else thought so too.
An old hand reached out gingerly to the hem of her skirt and gently pulled at it. He could not believe what he was seeing; the old man beside his wife was trying to look up her skirt! As half awake as he was, he couldn't get his head around it. He watched, paralyzed. Should he cough, make a noise, interrupt this little intrusion? He pretended to sleep, letting his eyelids narrow. His wife stirred gently and the hand retreated. Good..... Maybe that was as bold as he would get.
His eyes stayed fixed on his wife’s exposed bottom, almost breathless. Minutes drifted by. He would love to tell her what had happened once they landed, he could see the look on her face now. She was so cute when she blushed.
The hand returned. A single index finger reached out whisper-gentle … …. and traced a slow line across where her sex hid beneath her white panties.
'What the Fuck' he thought, a territorial violence surged red through the front of his face. But the heat in his lap returned. His hips tensed. He continued to watch.
The old man’s finger continued to gently caress his wife’s pussy through the cloth of her underwear. Very slowly, being careful not to wake her, his finger tip grazed across the cloth. The youthful roundness of her labia unmistakable as the white cotton shifted. Every time she shuddered, or made the gentle adjustments people do as they sleep, the hand flinched back. He could imagine the older man’s eyes jamming shut in pretend sleep. This carried on for at least ten minutes.
Gentle breaths could be heard from his wife’s mouth. On some level, she was responding to his touches.
The cotton darkened under his finger as her pussy began to moisten, even through the cloth he could see it spasm like an open mouth.