The Mile High Club (6 page)

Her short pubic hair tickled my nose and I nudged her harder, suckling until I thought I might suffocate. Her fingers found my nipples and she pinched me. I bit her clit gently and she let out a high cry that made me think of her movies.

I worked my fingers inside of her and stroked her swollen G-spot. She was so ready, my fingertips went right to it and I teased it with my fingertips. Another tilt and we slid to the right. “You have to hurry, Jannie,” I said. “He’s coming. I’m sure of it.”

I clamped my lips back over her hot little clit and sucked. I finger-fucked her furiously as she pulled my hair in short yanks. I felt her cunt seize up around my fingers and I laughed for just a moment. “Oh, god…god, god!” Jannie yelled. But true to movie form, she kept gathering steam as she came, letting loose with a high earsplitting shriek as the orgasm ripped through her.

Sharp knuckles rapped the door and a muffled voice yelled, “Is everything okay in there? Do you need help?”

It was my redheaded friend. “No,” I called, stifling a laugh, “Just scared by the turbulence. It’s fine!” Then I stood unsteadily and kissed Jannie’s full lips. “Lady, you really are the Scream Queen.”

“Sweetie, you ain’t heard nothing yet,” she said and kissed the tip of my nose.

I couldn’t help looking over her shoulder. She was sitting right next to me, after all, and I’ve never been one not to notice a woman, even if she is fifteen years my junior. But even if I weren’t the type to try to see what my seatmate was reading or check her out, the furious way this girl was scribbling in her notebook, a loud, angry kind of scrawl, was the equivalent of pounding a piano keyboard, hard, and it was difficult to ignore.

Her entire aura was angry, and she was dressed in typical
post-teen fashion—black tank top over jeans, with a black hoodie, plenty of black eyeliner, an eyebrow ring, and a scowl. Oh, and dark green Converse sneakers. As I took in her words, I knew immediately that she was all but a virgin. She was too fired up, too cocky to have ever fully surrendered to a boy—or a girl. She had all the charm of a young woman whose sensuality is hidden not so deeply beneath the surface, but who just hasn’t figured it out yet.

She made me want to smack some sense into her, or fuck her. I could’ve told her to grow up, but what would be the point? So she could become jaded, I mean, “mature,” like me? No, I figured I could have some fun with her, though, and maybe let Miss Attitude know that there’s more than one way to get screwed on an airplane.

Her eyes, once you got past the shaggy bangs and overdone makeup, were almost sexy. And yes, I was now officially a dirty old man, likely twice her age or damn close, for even considering what she had going on under that hoodie. But she started it, and I felt like it was in both our best interests to pursue it.

“You’re wrong, you know,” I said in as snotty a voice as I could muster. Like meets like and all that. “It’s not just about yuppies sneaking off for a quickie and calling it the best sex of the year. There are all kinds of ways to fuck on a plane. You’re just too young to know about them.”

She glared up at me, and let me tell you, it was the sexiest glare I’d ever seen, the kind of sneer that says “Leave me alone” and “I want to suck your cock” at the very same time, the kind of stare that made my dick even harder. “Like you’d know,” she muttered, then cut me with her eyes before turning to face the window, deliberately closing her journal and curling up into a ball as best she could within the confines of the seat. Normally, I don’t care what my neighbors are reading or eating or doing
on a plane; I’m intent on getting where I’m going as quickly as possible. I’ve had my share of fun on planes, but for the most part I think they’re utilitarian vehicles, the fastest way to get from point
A
to point
B,
nothing to get too excited about.

But I was excited about this girl, because she was definitely a girl, not a woman—not even close. I’d been spending my time with women who’d been around the block, who knew exactly how to give a blow job designed to make me melt, who approached sex like a sport they’d already won several medals in. Maybe that’s not totally fair, but I was bored. I was on the plane because I wanted to shake things up, not necessarily with a wild fling, but with something different. I’d been certain a quick trip to Miami would snap me out of my rut. I’d fantasized about somewhere more exotic, but time was even tighter than money and I just wanted to be in the sun, soak up a few rays, ogle some chicks in bikinis and flirt and drink and not think about my latest breakup or my job performance. Things were salvageable at work, but I wasn’t exactly going to be made employee of the year. I’d been drinking too much and had taken some of my frustration out on Heather, who’d finally had enough. But looking at this girl full of smoldering sex appeal buried beneath layers of goth indifference, I wondered if maybe I didn’t even need to get to the land of beaches, sunshine, and Cuban flair for that to happen. This wild child seemed tailor-made for that, and looked like she could use someone to talk some sense into her before she became jaded like all the others.

Just then the stewardess came by and asked about drinks. My companion surprised me by ordering a club soda. I opted for water—with extra ice, and a whiskey. I smiled politely even as my mind formed deviant plans. My seatmate continued to pretend to ignore me, but I sensed her eyes peering at me over her shoulder. I pulled out a book, some thick thriller on the
bestseller list I’d grabbed off the shelves. I used to have a stack of books just waiting to be read, and would sometimes rush home to them like they were old friends, but lately all I’d been reading were labels on jars and captions on my TV screen.

I tried to act like I was immersed in the book, playing hard to get, if you will, but when the stewardess returned with my requested cup of ice, I was grateful for the chance to pull out my tray, and grinned up at her. I think she thought I was flirting with her, from the way she leaned down, thrusting her tits in my face. That brief nearness made my seatmate a little jealous, apparently, because she scowled at the woman and demanded both a Coke and a tomato juice. “You better not spill on me,” I said to her like she was eight.

“Why don’t you just mind your own business?” she snapped back.

“Are you sure that’s really what you want…Donna?” I asked, having copped a glance at the copy of
Bust
with its address label still attached she’d been rifling through.

“You’re damn nosy, you know that?”

“You were the one writing about something that I happen to have a vested interest in.”

“I was writing in my
journal,
you idiot.”

“Fine. Stay young and uninformed, I don’t care,” I said, sipping the whisky I’d so wisely had the busty stewardess bring me. I reached for my book again and tried to imagine I was in first class. But my cock was insistent that I not let this one get away.

I ignored her for as long as I could stand it before turning toward her. She now had her headphones on full blast, her hoodie hiked up around her ears, and her body turned all the way away from me, her petite build allowing her to sit with her legs tucked against her as she faced the window, staring into the darkening sky.

“The ice is melting. Such a shame,” I said quietly.

“Why?” She wasn’t exactly gracious, but I was pretty sure I had piqued her interest.

“I don’t know. Some people, you know, those stuffy, uptight dickwads you think so highly of, might be interested in playing with ice, like a sex toy. I’m sure that would be way beneath you, so there’s no point in even going on about it.”

There was silence for a few minutes as I sipped my drink and actually let myself get sucked into the mystery novel, the first clues making my brain spin with possibilities. Just when I thought I had a lead on who the killer might be, she spoke again. “Not that I actually care or anything, but what exactly would you do with the ice? And how do you do it without getting caught?”

I turned to look at her and her eyes seemed wider, the makeup seeming to fade as she stared up at me. “Well, the only real way to tell you is to show you. Otherwise it’ll just sound boring. Do you think you’re up for it? I’m not so sure a delicate flower like you could stand it. It’s really more for the…masochistic sort of girl.” Of course I already knew that she was as submissive as they come. It’s the bratty ones who always need a good spanking, and the sniveling, simpering ones who are actually the biggest bitches once you scratch that outer layer. Time and time again, my theory has been proven right, as ballsy babes who’ve busted my nuts at work or among friends have begged to have their hair pulled, to choke on my cock, to be degraded in ways even I hadn’t thought of.

Donna looked up at me and nodded. “I can take it.” She said it like I was about to take her before a firing squad, rather than make her more aware of her nipples than she’d ever been.

“Try not to sound too enthusiastic,” I said right into her ear. She shivered, and I made my lips brush against her lobe.

“Cold?”

“No, I’m fine,” she said.

“Good, because you’re about to get a lot colder.” And with a practiced move, I took one of the pieces of ice in my hand, put my arm around her, and quickly worked it below her T-shirt and into her bra. I made sure it was secure there, as I felt it start to melt just a little. I allowed my fingers only a brief meeting with her already-hardening flesh before removing my hand and patting her on the shoulder.

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.