Flying High (7 page)

She looked at me again, her mouth open, fishlike. “Don't say anything. It's better that way. Just take deep breaths and focus on the sensation. And get used to it because I'm about to add another one,” I told her. Her face could not have looked more shocked. Having ice melting against your nipples is one of those things you can't really prepare for. Even if you think you know what you're getting into, the reality is more painful, chilling, and exciting than you could have expected.

“Yes, there's going to be another one…unless you can tell me you hate it. Can't stand it. Wish I hadn't done it.” The more I talked, the faster the words bubbled out, the stiffer my cock got. I'd wanted to try to play it cool, but I was just as aroused as she was. Initiation should be its own fetish, its own niche in the world of sex. Watching a woman go from barely knowing where her clit was to realizing that her nipples were way more sensitive than she'd thought, and could take all sorts of torment, was as beautiful as watching the glorious sunset going on outside our window.

“No. I mean, I can't say that. I don't know…I wouldn't say I like it, but I'd be disappointed if you didn't do it again.”

“How disappointed?” I asked, stroking her cheek with one rough thumb.

“Well…I'd think you were a big, mean bully,” she said. Now she was just toying with me.

“But would that really be such a bad thing?” I asked her before reaching down to pinch her icy nipple. She let out a sigh, then a hiss, as I manipulated the ice through the fabric of her T-shirt and hoodie so it was more directly in contact with her nipple.

“Oh, Donna, this is only the beginning. Because in a little while, I'm going to hand you three pieces of ice and tell you to go to the bathroom and insert them inside your pussy. And yes, you're going to do it, then walk back here, sit down, and make a big puddle in your seat. It's going to look like you've peed your pants. You're going to almost wish you
had
peed your pants, that it had all been an accident, because even though the ice is cold, your pussy's going to be on fire.” I let my words sink into her stubborn little brain.

“But what about you?” she asked, clearly stalling for time.

“What about me?” I asked back, even though one look down at my crotch revealed just how hard this discussion was making me.

“I mean, why do I have to be the one to suffer? Don't you get to be iced up too?”

“Oh, little girl…” I said, then reached between her legs so she could feel my heat and I could feel hers. “There's so much you still have to learn. That is, if I'm not boring you by being a, what was it…?” I paused and shifted my fingers. “Oh yeah, a ‘dumb conformist,'” I said as I pressed my palm flush with her pussy.

“No, you're not. You're not, I promise. I didn't know,” she said, then clutched my arm tightly.

“What didn't you know, Donna?” I asked calmly as I plucked another piece of ice out of the rapidly melting pile and put it in my mouth. I held it between my teeth and smiled at her, waiting for her answer.

“I didn't know it would feel this good, or that I'd get so
turned on. I've only been with one guy, Rich, my ex-boyfriend. He was always all about the in-and-out—he said anything fancier was dreamed up by people with nothing better to do, who were never going to change the world.”

“Ah, my dear, that's where you're wrong. If anything's going to change the world, it's going to be sex.” I pried her fingers off my arm. “I think you need some more ice cubes,” I told her.

She didn't object, didn't shrink away or glare. She watched, her eyes glued to my hand, as I took another cube and quickly slipped my hand down her shirt and into her bra, dropping my little gift, then extricating myself. My wet fingers dripped onto her neck as I massaged it.

“Now you,” I said. “Rub it directly against your nipple. Think about what I could do if I had you alone, your breasts hanging out of your bra, your nipples straining in the air.” Silently, she held one hand over her breast, using her hoodie to massage it into her. “After that melts, it'll be time for you to go to the bathroom,” I whispered. She didn't say a word, but her shudder said it all. If you're tuned in to body language, a careful movie-watcher, a reader of the book of humanity, you can tell a shudder of horror from one of pleasure. They are oceans apart, gestures similar only in name. This shudder said, “I never thought it could feel this good. I don't care that we're on a plane, who knows how many feet in the air, in public, strangers. I just want more.” Watching Donna was a pleasure all its own, a visual feast as my words and fingers coordinated to untangle her, unwrap her, unleash her. I, too, was changing, from dirty old man to enraptured seducer, her pleasure humming through my body as if we were attached by a wire.

“I bet you're very wet right now. I bet you're not thinking about how fast this plane is flying so it can get you to Miami and away from me.”

“No…I'm not.” There was a pause, while I breathed against her neck, out, then in, inhaling her scent, musky and flowery at once. “I like this,” she said quietly. It was a simple statement, and from someone else might've been a small admission. But from her, it was everything. I had her. I cupped her pussy once more through her jeans, grinding my palm against it. She sunk lower in her seat, pressing back against me.

I leaned over and pressed my forehead lightly against hers, kissed her cheek softly. Kissing on planes is highly underrated. My lips met the soft skin of her cheek and I was reminded of just how young she was, her skin perfectly smooth, so tender I could practically sink right inside it, full of promise. I was too old for her in real life, whatever that was, but here, on this plane, I didn't mind making her feel hot and cold and aroused and wanted for a little while. She turned toward me and our lips met tenderly, like two teenagers making out in a movie theater, even as the ice wet her shirt and her pussy begged for more.

Her tongue insisted on entering my mouth, though her movements were small and tentative at first. I let her explore me before grabbing her hair and shoving my tongue into her mouth, as quietly as I could, the invasion swift, decisive. I knew our fellow passengers had to notice something amiss. It's hard to ignore two people in the throes of passion; even if you think you're not listening or observing, those telltale shifts, those familiar sounds rise up into your consciousness. I reminded myself that for all these people knew, she was my wife—my very young trophy wife, with me cast as the dirty old perv.

I didn't mind though, and when we broke apart, panting, I held my hand to her lips. She kissed each finger in turn, then unbuckled her seat belt and slithered over me, making sure to pause when her legs were straddling mine, a look on her face that, for a moment, made me question whether she was, indeed,
as innocent as I'd painted her in my mind. She reached into the cup of ice and grabbed a handful, then winced as the shock of its cold sting greeted her. Then, still poised above me, Donna took a piece of ice and traced it over my lips, making them tremble, then part. She pressed it against my tongue and it felt heavy, solid.

She didn't want to be in charge, I could tell, but she wanted to at least let me know she could be. Then she turned and walked toward the back of the plane.

I swallowed hard. When she'd been right in front of me, I could easily let myself forget our surroundings. With her gone, I tried my best to stare straight at my hand, examining imaginary hangnails, my cuticles, my skin, memorizing the hairs on my knuckles. I was embarrassed, a new emotion for me. I didn't ask myself whether it was wrong to corrupt her, whether I should have waited for some other clueless kid her age who'd maybe banged one chick to show her what she was missing.

I was too horny for that. Her virginal yet knowing body was already haunting me. It had been, what, five years—or maybe more—since I'd been with a girl who was truly innocent, almost ignorant, about sex. Showing her not only how to please me but especially, how to please herself, the uses for her cunt and her clit and her nipples and her mouth, even the simple act of stroking the back of her neck: that's what I wanted to do for Donna.

All of a sudden, I knew she was on her way back. I turned around and saw her practically limping. She had done it; she'd really done it. Until that moment, I hadn't been totally sure, hadn't trusted that she was a) curious enough to continue and b) able to get those cubes into her pussy. Cunts don't exactly welcome freezing cold objects, but hers had. She walked around me and sat down, a look of heaven and torture across her face.

“You're an asshole, you know,” she said.

“Am I? Really?”

“I bet you're single. I bet all your girlfriends break up with you.”

She was taunting me, teasing me, and despite knowing better, it worked. I reached between her legs, feeling the cubes threatening to pop out. She continued to try to badmouth me, but I knew she was just putting up a front. I knew from the way her hips lifted against my hand, the cold wetness alive against my fingers. I didn't even feel that sorry that I couldn't slide my way inside her just then. I could have, but I liked the tension between us, liked seeing her react, almost despite herself.

“I think it's time for a nap,” I said, smiling at her wickedly as I took my wet fingers and brushed them against her cheek. My index finger roamed over her lips. She let me inside, only to bite me, and I gritted my teeth. There's nothing I love more than being bitten by a woman in the throes of ecstasy, when she hardly knows her own strength, and wouldn't care if she did. I could tell Donna was a biter. And a screamer. And a gusher. Don't ask me how; I just knew.

“Take it back,” I said. “What you wrote before. Take it back and maybe I'll make you come.” I could see
I don't need you to make me come,
flash across her mind, but she didn't say it.

“I guess you were right,” she managed.

“You guess?” I asked, letting my hand rest against her neck, lightly, but with the promise of more.

“You were right, I see that now. This is exciting, it's not what I'd thought it would be.”

“Neither are you, Donna,” I said, and leaned down, pressing my lips against her forehead. Her skin was warm there, and I rested like that for a moment before telling her to reach down and fish out the cubes.

“What?”

“You heard me. I want them. I'm gonna eat them.”

That seemed to be the most shocking thing I could've told her. I wanted to eat the melted ice cubes that were in her pussy. I would be tasting her by proxy, but she would have to touch herself to make it happen. “I'll guard you,” I said, and shifted in such a way that she'd be hidden from full view. She didn't protest anymore, just reached down and shifted enough so that she could retrieve the cubes, which were about half the size they'd been earlier. Water streamed down her hand and onto both of us. “Put them in my mouth,” I instructed her.

She did as commanded, our eyes meeting as her hand and the cubes entered my mouth. The truth was, I wanted to devour her: lick her all over, keep her naked in my apartment overnight, or, hell, for a week. But I let her fingers slip out, before taking them in my own and this time, settling a magazine across her lap and a blanket across mine, before delving into her panties with both our hands, mine atop hers. I steered her and guided her, letting her fingers show us both what felt good.

“I've never…”

“I know,” I assured her. This was a hell of a place to start, and as fluffy white clouds raced by our window, I taught my own sexy wild child how to masturbate: how to make herself come, how to touch her pussy in a way that could transcend any number of bouts of bad sex or heartache. I stayed with her as she trembled, turning her face into my shoulder and leaning toward me.

She asked for my number, but I didn't give it to her. I didn't want to totally tame her wildness, and I figured this was like that “if you give a man a fish…” saying. I had taught her what her body was good for; now it was up to her to go out and use it. That's not to say it was easy to step off that plane and feel the culture shock of heading back to my real life, where wildness
was certainly in abundance, but never paired with such innocence. I let her use my sweater to wrap around her waist, where a big puddle sill remained.

I hope Donna learned a good lesson that will make her a better lover, to herself and others, someday. I learned that you're never too old to learn new sex tricks, and that sometimes it's the least likely strangers, on a plane even, who can show you a new side of yourself.

 

 

 

 

 

Justin arrived at the hangar first. No surprise, really. He was always the eager one. Before he had uttered so much as “good morning,” he had his hands on my hips and had backed me up step by step until I was against the wall. As he held me there against the warm corrugated metal, kissing my neck, he asked if I wanted to go to our usual place.

He was a good student, the best. This was a boy who learned fast. He had grasped all the usual flight school lessons in the absolute minimum amount of time.

He was dressed in jeans today and a university T-shirt, good college sophomore that he was. He was a full head taller than I was. His hair was light brown, tinged with flecks of blond from the sun. I could see the smooth muscles of his tanned upper arms under his short sleeves. He held me firmly, looking down at my face.

“Not today. There's no time,” I replied. “My other student will be here any minute.” He was grinding against me lightly
through his jeans. I could already feel myself getting wet.