It was a quick, forty-minute commuter flight I had taken dozens of times. Nothing out of the ordinary had ever happened on it. This particular day, I was late choosing my seat and ended up in seat 32F—the very last row of the plane, in the window seat.
I boarded early, stowed my bag in the overhead compartment, and settled in for the short flight. I thought I had lucked out - nobody claimed the two seats beside me (the flight was far from full). The plane was almost ready to leave when a couple of passengers boarded and made their way to the empty seats in my row.
They were a couple in their mid-fifties, obviously travelling together, but their relationship wasn’t immediately apparent. It soon would be. The gentleman took the seat beside me in the center, and the lady claimed the aisle seat. I nodded and smiled in acknowledgement and turned my attention back to my phone.
As soon as they were seated, the door closed and we pushed back from the gate, taxiing down the runway. We were off.
That was the last thing that was normal about this flight. As the airplane engines roared to full power, pressing us back into our seats with the sheer power of takeoff, her hand grabbed his thigh. I thought it was to soothe her nerves as we took off - I was wrong.
Her hand quickly began rubbing circles over his thigh, as my neighbour shifted uncomfortably in his seat. She gradually moved her hand higher, rubbing over the growing bulge in the front of his grey wool pants. I focused my attention on the landscape as it flew by the window, and then we achieved liftoff.
So did he. By now his cock was jutting straight out, making the fabric strain, a telltale dark stain appearing on the front of his pants. It was hard not to look as I started to shift awkwardly in my seat. Focus, I told myself.
But it was like watching a train wreck - impossible not to look. Believe me, I tried.
By the time we reached cruising altitude and the Captain switched off the seatbelt sign, she dropped his tray table in an effort to hide the actions of her hungry hands on his lap.
Almost immediately after the table was down, there was the unmistakable sound of a zipper being pulled down, followed by his moan as her perfectly manicured hand reached inside his pants and took his cock out.
I started feeling my jacket pocket, searching for my AirPods - I needed to drown out the sounds that were coming from my seatmates. No such luck. They must have been left in my bag, which was safely stowed overhead. There was no way I was going to interrupt them to get them. It seemed I was trapped with no escape.
Looking straight ahead at my phone was my best recourse. I tried focusing on a mindless game while she pleasured him. I couldn’t help but chuckle as the tip of his cock would occasionally pop out from under the table, like some obscene game of whack-a-mole.
Relief flooded over me as the flight attendants started their beverage services. Surely all the activity behind us as they prepared in their workstation would grant me a little reprieve from the action. I was wrong. Her hand may have slowed, and the activity was contained under the table now, but his moans were unmistakable.
Being at the back of the plane meant we were the last to get served. I was grateful to order a Pepsi to go with the bag of pretzels that were offered. My mouth was dry and my palms were clammy, with a detectable shake in my hand as I gratefully took my snacks and set them on my tray table.
He also ordered a Pepsi to go with his pretzels, which he placed on his tray with a calmness that left me in awe, considering his current state. The flight attendant seemed oblivious to what was happening.
She politely refused any snacks or drinks - she literally had her hands full.
And then the flight attendants were gone, and the activity ramped up again. I leaned forward to look across the aisle, trying to scope out if anyone over there was watching the show. There was a single passenger in the window seat, who had her eyes closed and appeared to be napping. It appeared I was the only one privy to what was happening.
Her slim, delicate arm began pumping more furiously, making him shift more in his seat, trying not to spill his drink, while she tried to get him to spill his seed. His breathing quickened and became more urgent. I closed my eyes, wishing for this to be over.
Once again, there was a bustle of activity in the workstation behind us as the flight attendants prepared to gather the garbage in preparation for landing. They walked past us, starting at the front of the plane.
Her arm had been still for a minute, so I dared to open my eyes, just in time to see her running her fingers around his head, circling around and around. His tip was shiny with precum, which she wiped with her fingers and brought to her mouth. I heard a soft moan, but it wasn’t from him this time - it was from me.
I leaned back in my seat, closed my eyes, and tried to keep from looking as my body betrayed me by tingling with excitement. But my eyes didn’t stay closed. I opened them enough to see what was happening beside me. Through veiled eyes, I watched as her hand began stroking him harder and harder. I watched his tip swell and turn a dark colour of red.
And then it happened.
A white, creamy ribbon of cum came spurting out of his swollen head, landing partially on her hand, and partially on his tray table. One big spurt, and then another and another. His groan was somewhere between a gasp, a sigh, and a growl - low and guttural.
When the spurting subsided, she grabbed a couple of napkins and quickly cleaned up the milky pools he had left on the table. She then tucked his spent cock back into his pants. Just in the nick of time too. The flight attendants arrived at our seats to collect our garbage and instruct him to return his table to the upright position.
He obliged them, with a smile. Little did they know what had just happened here.
We landed safely, her hand back on his thigh until we arrived at the gate, and then just like that, they disappeared into the sea of people in the terminal, almost as if they were never really here to begin with.
