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“Ladies and gentlemen, the captain wanted me to inform you that our air conditioning will not be functioning for the remainder of our 16 hour adults-only (21+) flight to Singapore. On behalf of the Delta Sky Partners family of brands, we do apologize for the inconvenience and will endeavor to make you as comfortable as possible given the circumstances.”

Emily [34F] unbuttoned her shirt, low enough to see black lace. Her hair stuck to the back of her neck, curling at the ends. She rubbed her knees together, which made a scratching sound as her hosiery tugged against her herringbone skirt, barely covering her vagina. She needed to pee badly but I could tell she was dreading it, tucking her thighs closer together in an attempt to hold it in. She wouldn’t look at me, attempting to miss my gaze as her eyes scanned first class, darting from person to person. I [34M] liked seeing her nervous again.

DING

The seatbelt warning light ticked off. “Don’t you need to go somewhere?” I asked Emily. Now she looked at me, her face flush. Emily’s long dark hair was naturally wavy, but the heat in the in the cabin made it unruly, curly and wild. It stuck to the back of her neck and the sides of her head.

I rang for the attendant [29F] and ordered two gin and tonics, offering one to Emily. “You’ll need it.” I played it cool but was vibrating with anticipation. My slacks stiffened as I got harder, reading Emily’s inner turmoil written all over face.

I didn’t get up, making her shove past me, rumpled blouse and lace bra stuffed into my face. It was hot on the plane but I could tell her nerves made it worse – she stank, and when she turned to walk towards the bathroom I could see sweat stains on her armpits and the small of her back, where the vinyl upholstery had pinned cotton to skin for the rocky ascent to cruising altitude. She tried to collect herself as she walked away, pressing her skirt down. This only had the effect of jiggling her butt cheeks as she walked forward and the skirt rose again, revealing the gap between her hosiery and upper thigh. The top of her garter squeezed her thighs tight, pressing down a ring of flesh, like a lime stuffed into a soda bottle. Sweat pooled above the garter, causing her thighs to glisten.

I waited until the light turned green – a small mercy in our game – before following her to the bathroom. The door slid open and without looking she ran into me. Emily was tall for a woman but still only came up to my collarbone. I pressed forward, forcing her back inside.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” she breathed. Her voice shook.

“Rules are rules.”

She turned around and stuck a finger between her thigh and the hem of her skirt, playfully inching it upwards. I forced her face into the mirror and she gasped, drawing breath sharply before moaning a little. Her lips trailed red lipstick down the mirror as I forced her head down to the sink, bent over at 90 degrees. She wrenched her neck around to look at me – I could see only one wild eye and a smear of red lipstick across her cheek. This is where the game really started.

I slid a pair of handcuffs out of my blazer’s right breast pocket and slapped them on Emily’s right hand, cramming the lock down and chaining her to the safety handle near the door. I kneeled, sliding my face along her skirt and barely kissed her exposed inner thigh. I moved my face all the way to her ankles, breathing on her legs which were now soaked with sweat – the bathroom was intolerably hot. I produced an immobilizer from my left pocked and used it to wrench her feet and thighs aside.

I rose to my feet and pressed the left side of her face into the sink basin, so that she was looking up at me with one eye. I caught her glance again – her breathing was coming faster, and her expression alternated wildly between panic and thrill. She teetered on stilettos, wobbling and scuffing the floor as she fought to keep her balance in the turbulence. Her free hand cast around for something to hold onto, so I helped by shoving it into the trash compartment, trapping her in place. I reached over her shoulder and walked my fingers down her chest, groping her before finding a shirt pocket that contained her complimentary sleeping mask with the Delta Comfort+ logo on it. I put it on for her. The game was almost set up. The last piece was a gag.

“Emily.” I stuck my hand under her skirt, palm facing up.

“You’ll need to get it out yourself.”

“Don’t make me.”

She smiled and laughed once, breathy, big and open mouthed with her bottom lip covering her teeth – her eyelids moved beneath her mask, searching for the right spot. She shifted her thighs and a ball gag fell from her skirt, into my waiting hand. I stuffed it into her mouth.

Emily had left a pencil case of effects on the sink. I dumped it out, finding a lipstick and using it to write the rules on mirror. They read:

FREE USE
IF YOU COME IN BACK DOOR, DO NOT LEAVE THROUGH THE FRONT
DON’T LET ME CUM

“Have a pleasant flight.”

* * *

Back in my seat, I rang for the attendant to refresh my drink. We were just leaving New York behind – warm, gold light spread out across the horizon before receding into an infinite, black ocean. Our journey would take us across out into the Atlantic for a time, then over Canada, Greenland, and eventually the Arctic before descending to Singapore – the longest operating commercial flight.

The first customer was a lanky businessman [22M], probably just a few years out of school. He was joined in the middle row by two other colleagues, perhaps consultants on a company trip. A serious looking woman his age [25F] tittered away, entranced by spreadsheets and plush noise-cancelling headphones. A barrel-chested associate [22M] sat next to her, leering down her silk shirt and sometimes brushing his shoulder against her fraying, damaged hair.

When the lanky consultant found Emily in the bathroom, he looked around before ducking in and swiftly shutting the door. But he left the bathroom just as quickly. He returned to his row and whispered something to his other male colleague.

The consultants were apparently too shy to double-team her. Instead, the young men worked in shifts – their suits increasingly sweat-stained and disheveled with each attempt to satisfy my captive Emily. This went on for an hour. I could tell they were over-eager and boring her, as her gargled encouragements were a bit over-produced, at all times ending in a muted sing-song “nks mmkay hngy, oo ang gry mng.”

Emily put on a good show for the two students, moaning theatrically. When she’s enjoying sex, she moans like she’s forgotten how to breathe – absent-minded, searching, focused somewhat south of her mouth and throat. I decided to shake things up. I walked up to use the bathroom. The consultants told me the bathroom was out of service and that I should sit down.

“I’ll get a flight attendant, I’m sure she can help,” and gestured to the nearest crew member.

The consultant stared at me blankly. “She’s right there,” I offered helpfully.

The consultant stammered for a moment before shuffling back to his seat. I smiled wanly as he walked away, looking over his shoulder to see if I would discover him out. I walked back into first class – the flight attendant was just finishing off a drink order for a pathetic looking NYU grad student [26F] (judging by her oversized sweater). Her knuckles were white from clinging to the seat rests. She removed a blonde ponytail from her mouth just temporarily to accept a red wine, but a patch of rough air jolted both of them and it spilled over her sweater.

“I’m sorry sweetie, do you want another one?” the flight attendant asked. The girl was now frozen in fear, drawing short breaths. “We can go clean up in the bathroom, would that help?”

I cut in. “Miss? Do you drink gin?” The student took a slow, shaky breath, and looked at me. She couldn’t speak for fear and only nodded. I handed her my drink and turned to the flight attendant. Another hard bounce caused us to lose our balance – I grabbed onto the seat. The attendant collapsed into me. I tried to ease her back up, but she turned her face into my shirt, then looked up at me from underneath the brim of her uniform cap.

“I’m glad I bumped into you,” I smiled. “Someone let me know the rest room is out of order.”
She lingered for another second before slipping past me. Her eyes widened when she opened the bathroom door, but just for a second. She turned her head to look at me, hesitating on the threshold. Her nose flared and her brow narrowed in disgust, but quickly softened to mischief. I could tell she was trying not to smile as she stepped into the bathroom and delicately locked the door behind her.

After a minute I heard stifled, persistent moaning from the bathroom – not Emily’s voice. How the attendant had wedged herself between Emily’s mouth and the mirror, I’m not sure. She was enjoying herself in any event. When the attendant stepped out of the bathroom, she flattened the pleat of her skirt, looked around furtively, then raced back to the jump seats to whisper with the rest of the crew.

The flight attendant returned with another flight attendant [41M] – a man. The captain of the plane [37M] also made his way to the forward lavatory – first poking his head out from behind the secured cockpit door. He seemed resistant to the idea at first, but the attendants beckoned and mouthed encouragements. All three entered. After this I can only report the sound of two men grunting and moaning at the same time, followed by muted apology.

With the captain and male flight attendant relieved, the other flight attendant came out shortly after, wiping something from her mouth as she drew the door shut. She then proceeded to the jump seats to make an announcement:

“Ladies and gentlemen – we wanted to notify you of a very special arrangement currently available in the forward first class lavatory. If you are interested, please speak with me and form a single file line in the port side aisle. We will be accommodating Delta Star Alliance Preferred Members and Gold Star Members First, followed by our Comfort Plus passengers.”

A few dozen curious passengers [21+] formed a line – the stir in the cabin caused a middle-aged woman [44F] to complain to the flight attendant, who merely offered some bland assurances before returning to the bathroom.

* * *

When I returned to the bathroom several hours later, I found Emily in a disgraceful state. Her garter had ripped away from her panty hose, so that they sagged and stretched down to her knees. Her legs were shaking with exhaustion. A few times she fell to her knees, struggling with her core to right herself before her stilettos slipped again. Someone had cum in both her shoes and made her squeeze back in – cum oozed out between her toes and around the edge of the shoe. There was, of course, cum smeared on the back of her thighs, butt, the small of her back where her shirt came untucked, and cum stains on her shirt and skirt. Cum leaked out of her pussy and butthole. She had been trapped so long that the first waves of semen had crusted up, only to be covered with more glistening, viscous layers that now dripped down her inner thigh and pooled inside her stockings. There was cum in her hair, rubbed in like shampoo. The sink was filled with cum – Emily’s face was sticking to a quarter-inch thick layer of semen.

I pressed into her ass, red and raw from the first 8 hours of fucking and spanking. Her skirt had been hiked up to her tummy. I pulled her out of the sink by her hair. She stuck a little bit as I pulled, the film of cum stretching into tendrils. Her gag was covered in drool which dripped down her lower lip and chin before blending into the smear of lipstick and semen. I took her mask off so she could look at herself in the mirror.

“Disgusting,” I said.

I held her hair in clumps which oozed cum as I squeezed. She laughed in her stomach and chest as I pulled her neck to a sharper angle. The cum matted strands of her to the side of her face, framing her self-satisfied, smug expression in slick, glistening stray locks of hair. As I pulled her head back I saw red marks on her neck – the imprint of her choker where someone had been pulling it hard enough to snap it off.

“You’ve been a bad girl.” I knew she had broken the 2nd rule. Her eyelids were heavy with sleep. Her expression was only a bit playful and too content. From her screams she had cum at least three dozen times. By the end her muscles had tensed up so much she merely made a sort of sad gagging sound like she was trying to wretch up food but her body had nothing to give.

“Mmmng hmnsh mng.” She tried to speak.

I cupped her face in my right hand, pressing hard on her cheeks to release the gag. “I didn’t catch that.”

She choked on her first breath and spit. “Are you going to punish me?”

I wondered about testing her to be sure. Her pussy grips me when she hasn’t come yet, so tight it scratches and hurts without lube or spit. I like to force my way in, pushing her aside until I hit all the way in the back. She arches her back and grips hard, but after an orgasm she lies blissful and limp.

I pulled my pants down. My penis sprung up, bouncing as it cleared my waistband. I was pretty big but she doubtless had bigger today. She had a smug sneer on her face. I pushed in slowly, layers of cum on her butt cheeks now sticking to my groin. In one stroke I pulled out. My dick was covered in other men’s cum, still connected to her vagina by a gooey string that didn’t break even as I pulled away and turned around. It was only then that she noticed we were not alone.

Emily gasped and her pupils dilated. The nervous flyer [26F] had slipped in behind me. “No, that’s not in the rulgggrgh,” Emily struggled to protest as I slipped the gag back on.

“Eye for an eye.” Now I was smug. The lights flickered and the whole plane dropped like a rollercoaster. “Mng mng mng!” Emily howled. She watched wide eyed as the girl leaned forward on the toilet, putting her mouth around my dick. The string of cum caught on the corner of her cheek, eventually falling like a rope on her sweater. She licked the cum off and sucked it down hard. The fear of the flight was weighing on her – every rumble and dip caused her heart to race, and she broke her focus, freezing up. Emily’s heart was racing for a different reason – she wasn’t afraid of flying but she wasn’t ready for what was about to happen.

I sat on the toilet and took the girl’s hand, guiding her to my lap. She was small. Her full weight was less than my luggage. I reached under her NYU sweatshirt and snapped her bra, which fell behind her into the soaking puddles of cum on the floor.

Emily’s chest was pert, elegant. Her breast sagged just a little, joyously plump on the bottom but curvillinear, concave from the nipple up like a ski jumping ramp. The student’s breasts by contrast dropped like rocks when I loosed her bra, big and sagging nearly down to her belly button.

She pulled her panties down and tried to ride me. She was willing to begin but too tense – she tried forcing herself over my penis a few times, hurting me a little as her labia dragged and stretched the tip of my penis but wouldn’t open for it. I put my hands on her neck and could feel how stressed she was. I told her to close her eyes and we kissed, my lips gripping her bottom lip dryly. She pulled away and then lazily nestled her nose next to mine, her lips dragging aimlessly around my face. I eased her back down and threw her legs up against the door so she was riding side-saddle. Again I could feel the tension and stress in her ass cheeks. The turbulence threw us around, but I held her in place, encouraging her to just focus on me. She kept her eyes closed and nodded, kissing more open mouthed and breathing harder.

Emily had wrenched her arm out of the trash bin – ripping her shirt in the process – and was now watching intently in the mirror. Her face was red with shame and jealousy, wanting to be held and cared for in this storm. But the sight of the student’s breasts rolling up and down were too much for Emily to ignore. With her arm freed, she fingered herself and moaned.

The student’s legs were sweating, sticking to me and the plastic. Her thighs crushed around mine; her hands pressed hard on my shoulders. I could even feel her vagina tense up and flex when we hit turbulence.

She pushed hard with each thrust, growling with effort to grind her clitoris into my stomach. She gasped as she came and opened her eyes. The tension left her shoulders. Now instead of grasping onto me she leaned gently, draping around me. “Will you come in me, daddy?” she whispered. Emily had broken the rules, yes, but she owned my cum – coming on 30 strange dicks didn’t change that.

Now the student’s movements were fluid and easy. The plane dropped again like a rollercoaster and she rode the momentum up and down, crashing onto my dick and coming again. She came quietly, the impact of being thrown around knocking the wind out of us. She tousled my hair and smelled it a little, eventually burying her face on my shoulder and passing out. Satisfied that I had delivered my punishment, I threw the sleeping girl over my shoulder and left Emily to masturbate in the dark.

* * *

Emily’s hair was so matted from the cum shampoo that the flight attendant had to cut it short and braid it in two pigtails to keep it getting in the way. The attendant was gentle, which I allowed despite the rules. After 8 straight hours of abuse, Emily had not broken. Indeed she was defiant, enjoying her transformation into a cocksleeve for the entire Comfort+ section of this trans-Arctic flight. Now two members of the crew were doting on her – two women, one of the pilots [49F] and the flight attendant who had come on Emily’s face a few hours ago and started the stampede to fuck her.

They didn’t have the key to the cuffs, so all they could do was swing her around so that her back was propped up against the sink – her arm still hanging from the safety bar. They undressed her, sponged her down, fixed her makeup, made her drinks (just bottom shelf screwdrivers, but still), caressed her hair and face. The pilot needed to get back to the cockpit, but the attendant stayed here for 30 minutes, cracking the door just slightly so they could kiss in the dark.

This had the effect of creating a long line for the “special” bathroom. The line was at least 25 deep, probably longer because it stretched out of first class where I was seated and into the main cabin where I lost count. The passengers – now a healthy mix of all genders [21+] after the older, pushier men had tired themselves out and fallen asleep – were getting restless, pushing forward, fanning themselves, even beginning to touch and hold each other. Strangers and couples alike pushed the limits of PDA, though none were comfortable enough to simply begin fucking in the cabin. Something about the privacy of the bathroom and the loose organization of a queue made it ok to fuck a woman chained to a toilet – her gasping, gagging moans audible back to the emergency exit row; but not ok to fuck on the other side of the threshold.

The woman who complained earlier [44F] had been craning her neck to follow events. She pressed the service call repeatedly. Ignored, she pulled down her headphones and crammed herself into the window in a huff. Still not satisfied she got up a minute later, lead a man [58M] out of the line by his wrist and into the unoccupied toilet on the other side of the divider. Sucking and gagging filled the cabin again until the man moaned and shot a jet of cum into the back of her throat, leading to yet more gagging and coughing. After an hour of warming up the woman started taking dick as well – but judging from the downcast expressions of the men [21+] leaving (not to mention the recriminations and yelling after each came in her prematurely) she was still unsatisfied with the service.

The line was moving on both toilets now. Emily’s new friend was apparently helping her move things along – she would eat asshole while Emily ate dick and pussy. Women [21+] who dared enter the prudish toilet got an earful of yelling and recrimination, driving them either back to their seat in shame or into the wet and warm mouths of Emily and the attendant.

With help the line cleared fast. Crossing the aisle I walked in to discover this other woman, legs and arms crossed with a cream sport tank, her shoulder bag still on (with the strap still lifting and separating her breasts, pulling the nylon tight over her nipples), and her panties around her ankles as she cleaned cum out of her vagina. When I walked through the door, she cradled her chin in her hands. She was in her 40s with subtle crows feet and tan, weathered skin. She had drawn her hair up in a long ponytail that mussed and frayed at the ends. Sweat made it stick to her neck. She looked up at me with derision.

She undid my pants which released the rotten-fresh smell of cum into her face. I heard a plop as the last man’s cum smacked into the plastic toilet, the water level too low to catch it. She seemed a bit apprehensive, suckling on the tip of my penis gently and avoiding my gaze.

“Look at me.” She looked up. I slid my hand up her neck but didn’t push – I worked my fingers into her curls, scratching gently. Something caught in her and she forced her mouth further onto my penis, deeper to the point where it made her gag. She was not experienced despite her years – her teeth dragged gently along my dick, and as she pulled away to breathe she cradled her jaw, apparently sore from just a minute of sucking dick.

“I didn’t say stop.” With my fingers laced into her hair, I shoved her back onto me. The expression of irritation and derision was gone – now she seemed apologetic and ashamed. She closed her eyes and ate as much dick as she could fit, clenching my belt hold herself in place.

“Good girl. You can let go now.” It took a second to slide her mouth off – she did it haltingly, in stages so as not to bite too much. When she finally got to the end she jerked back, mouth wide, and my dick slid out with a wet pop, waggling in the air. She gasped and sucked up her drool, looking at the small pool of spit forming between her spread knees.

Never giving up my hold on her scalp, I pulled firmly on her hair, guiding her head back. Her mouth opened instinctively, causing her to wince and moan a little. I bent forward and got close to her face. I told her to get up, and she did. Disoriented, she backed away from me and banged into the door, her naked dump truck ass squeezing against the cool plastic. I leaned over her – noticing for the first time the wedding rings on her left hand as she reached up to touch my face. Willing to train a new cocksleeve – not for myself of course but the enjoyment of the passengers – I caught her wrist and forced it into the door.

I wanted to fuck her like Emily, using the cum as lube. But I could tell she needed more attention. So I kneeled down, licking her pussy through wiry, sweaty hair. She was turned on from our interaction so far – blood rushed to her vagina making her clitoris easy to discover. I didn’t make her wait, pushing the entire surface of my tongue across her and licking deliberately and persistently. She came quickly, pulling my head away from her vagina as soon as she did. “Okay” she gasped. When I tried to go back for more, she tugged on my hair hard. “Stop, stop. Too much.”

I stood up and leaned forward. She looked up at me with narrowed, smoky eyes.

“Excuse me,” I said. I wanted to stay but we would be starting our descent soon. I needed to get back to Emily. She turned around, pressing her chest to the door and sticking out her butt, spreading her legs a little. She turned her head to the side to look back at me. I pressed into her, running my fingers through her hair and pushing her face and body harder into the door. She leaned her head back so that my face was buried in her sweaty hair. Without her noticing, I reached around to unlock the door. As I exited, two more passengers, apparently a couple, took their turn with her.

* * *

A general arousal had overcome the forward sections. Couples old and very, extremely new formed all over, hidden by largely notional in-flight blankets and sweaters draped over crotches. The consultant clacking away on spreadsheets had finally taken notice of what was happening and, similarly overcome, tugged at her colleagues cuffs to guide his hand into her suit pants. Before long the lines died down, the lights dimmed, and passengers began to fall asleep.

Seeing no other takers, I went to relieve Emily. I found her head cradled in the naked chest of the flight attendant, gently stroking each others hair. They moved to kiss when I arrived – a shallow, wet kiss that clicked at the end. The attendant had unscrewed the lightbulb so that when I closed the door, it was completely dark. Both of them crawled forward and pressed their faces into my legs and crotch, sliding their bodies upward and pressing against me. The flight attendant slid behind me and I heard a click – she bound my hands using the unruly passenger restraint kit, something like a heavy-duty lapbelt with a plastic locking mechanism.

“Please ensure your seatbelt is securely fastened for arrival,” the attendant whispered as she pulled the strap tight.

Before I could even process my detention, Emily slapped me hard across the face. I winced and groaned in pain – she cackled and moaned with deranged excitement. She slapped me again, harder.

The flight attendant grabbed my shirt collar and yanked my face up for another slap, but it didn’t come. Emily wound up but then touched my face softly, pulling me in for a kiss. When she pulled away, she looked curious or almost perplexed. “We’re just going to have a little fun, first.”

That’s when the captain came in. Emily turned to face the mirror, showing the back of her ragged pixie cut. She rolled her skirt playfully, showing me her pussy – now sponged clean and glistening with sweat. The attendant pulled my pants down and pushed me into Emily. My penis was smeared with precum after 12 hours of waiting. While I started to pump Emily, the captain unzipped his pants and pulled his own penis through the zipper hole.

The flight attendant sat on the toilet and fingered herself. I saw the captain come from behind in the mirror. I felt his cock poking at my asshole, stretching it aside. It would have hurt but for how sweaty we both were from the heat. I tried to relax, letting him in as I continued to pump Emily. I moaned once he got all the way in, almost cumming immediately. With a big cock in me my own cock flexed harder, exciting Emily – she threw her head back, smiled, and giggled. She loves to feel the head of my penis flare and pulse as I get close.

I felt a jet hot fluid hit my guts as the pilot came. The wondered of getting filled up myself made me lose control – I tried slowing down and stifling my orgasm, but it was no use. I sped up and shot into Emily, ejaculating in three big waves with a few small aftershocks – each one prompting me to moan and shudder. She laughed with mocking delight. I knew the rules. Since I came first, it was my job to clean up.

I kneeled in front of the captain and forced my head down on his cock, sucking it clean. Then I turned to Emily and positioned my face under her pussy. She giggled and squirmed, causing a shot glass worth of cum to fall out of her. It landed above my mouth, so I needed to lick it off my face to swallow it.

* * *

I lean against the edge of the infinity pool on the roof of the Marina Bay Sands, looking out over Singapore at dusk as the skyline gradually twinkles to life. Turning my back to the city, I watch as Emily slinks across the deck. Her swimsuit straps criss-cross her tummy; a high-rise bikini thong hangs off her hips, exposing asscheeks that jiggle when she walks. She smiles at the bartender [21+] and pushes a windblown lock of hair back into place.

NSFW: yes

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