Erotic Stories by Alicia Night Orchid

Red Eye

by

Alicia Night Orchid

Copyright Alicia Night Orchid 2005 and 2008 All Rights Reserved

Every week, it’s the red-eye from Los Angeles to New York. It’s been this way for a year. Out on Monday, back to New York on Thursday. It can take a lot out of a girl. The litigation itself is a bitch. We represent a venture capital firm that lost money on a dot com, and I’m doing my damnedest to get some of it back. Then there’s the travel itself. Let’s just say it puts a strain on a girl’s personal life. In the last year my only sustained relationship has been with a plastic instrument that runs on AA batteries.

Jennifer is typically the regular stewardess. Tall and thin with blonde hair, blue eyes, and flawless skin, she’s every man’s dream. She’ll bring a few women to their knees, too. I mean, I love a sweaty, hard man. But, I’d trade a partnership with the firm for an overnight with Jennifer. I don’t know if that makes me bi or not, but I know what rings my bell.

One of the perks of this work is that I fly first class and Jennifer keeps those little bottles of vodka coming my way. A couple of times, she sat across from me and we chatted. You know, girl talk. Jennifer’s greatest fear is that people will think she’s nothing more than a dumb blonde. My greatest fear is that people will think I’m nothing more than a smart little bitch.

She told me my glasses gave me gravitas. Well, a lawyer needs that, but it won’t get you laid. I told her that “smart” is not all it’s cracked up to be and that she was lucky to have such flawless skin. I’m not sure if she took it as a compliment or not. What I really wanted to say was that I love her lips and the sound her nylons make when she crosses her legs. But I held back. Sometimes it’s better to not risk losing the fantasy for an outside chance at the real thing.

This is another quiet night. There’s only Jennifer, this good-looking guy, and me in first class. He’s tall and dark, with curly brown hair. I don’t usually get guys like this. I get geeky guys, sensitive guys, guys that need to spend a little more time in the gym. I don’t mind. They’re polite, clean, and good lovers with a little direction and encouragement. But they won’t push your skirt up over your ass and fuck you like crazy in the elevator. And I’ve never had one go down on me in the law library.

I made eye contact with him in the waiting area before we boarded, even managed to coax a smile out of him. He probably likes girls with laptops. Yeah right. I figure him for a musician or an aspiring actor. He’s got a swagger, good shoulders, and a great butt. That Celtic cross earring is kind of cool too.

He and Jennifer exchange glances the minute he enters the cabin They’re a classic match of darkness and light. The cool blonde and the hot-blooded brown-haired man. The real flirting begins when he orders a glass of wine before take off, spills half of it the first bump we hit, and Jennifer has to clean it off his lap with a napkin. He says something I can’t hear and they both laugh.

When she delivers my first gin and tonic I can’t resist. “He’s cute,” my mouth forms the words.

“His name is Orlando. No ring,” she winks. As if that would matter. I mean, who’s looking for commitment. It’s just the red-eye.

After the second drink, I’ve got a nice buzz. Outside my window, I make out the lights of some larger city. Salt Lake, maybe. Up ahead, Jennifer and Orlando talk in a low murmur. She stands in the aisle, leaning on his seat, tossing her blonde hair. I bet he can see those luscious breasts, smell that Charlie. Can she make out the outline of a fat cock in his jeans? I should take a nap.

Except every time I try to sleep, all I see are flashes of thigh, ripped abdominals, and taut nipples. All I can think about is how wonderful it would be to suckle Jennifer’s tits until she screams or lick Orlando’s balls until he begs for mercy. Inadvertently, I clinch my thighs. When I open my eyes, she’s dropped into the seat next to him.

I pretend to doze and imagine the three of us at my place. We’re sampling some new wines from Napa. Jennifer and Orlando snuggle on the sofa, while I curl up in the armchair opposite them. Flames crackle in the fireplace. It begins as we share a laugh, then Jennifer reclines into Orlando’s arms, her head resting on his chest. She looks up, he lowers his head, and they kiss, tentatively at first, then more passionately. I sip my red Zin, mesmerized. The heat from the fire scorches the left side of my face.

Jennifer snuggles closer and one hand drops to Orlando’s thigh. Their tongues duel. Orlando’s hand cups a breast through Jennifer’s silk blouse. She pulls away and casts a glance at me. “Oh my. Getting a little carried away.”

“Don’t stop on my account,” I tell her.

Orlando smiles, takes Jennifer’s hand and guides it to the hard-on visible through his jeans. “I don’t think we should stop,” he says.

Jennifer bites her lip, gives that cock a squeeze. She looks at me apprehensively, then unbuttons Orlando’s shirt. Her lips float over his broad, hairless chest, her fingertips graze his stomach. He leans across her body and rubs her buttocks through her skirt. She fumbles with his belt buckle and zipper.

I fidget in my seat. Underneath the standard airline blanket, I have a hand between my legs. I’m so wet I can feel pussy juice seeping through my satin panties and wool blend slacks. Jennifer and Orlando have left their seats and the Occupied sign for the bathroom is on. Damn! I bet they’re fucking just a few feet away from me.

I drift into another fantasy. This time we’re all in that tiny bathroom. Naked. I’m perched on the cabinet, knees drawn to my chin. Orlando sits on the toilet while Jennifer squats on the floor between his legs. Her breasts hang free. Surprisingly large and reddish-brown aureoles launch inch long nipples. The curve of her spine is as lovely as a half moon over the East River.

I watch intently, cupping my own breast, dipping a finger into my seeping slit. Jennifer takes his cock in her hand, circles the head with her tongue, envelopes its length in her mouth. When that succulent prick emerges, slick and shiny, a string of pre-cum stretches from its tip to her chin.

I slide off the cabinet and hunker behind her. I kiss her, tasting her, tasting him. I lean over her shoulder and together we share in the feast of Orlando, our tongues dancing around the glans and on that sensitive spot on the underside of his shaft. “Suck it. Fuck, yeah.” We’ve got him going now.

I run a hand under Jennifer, palming her shaved vulva. I slide a finger inside and nibble her ear lobes. She stops sucking dick long enough to emit a long, low moan. She’s slippery with pussy nectar from pubic bone to tailbone. My fingers search every fold and furrow, holding off on touching her clit until I know she’s dying for it. When I finally roll a finger over that little nubbin, she squeals and I know I’ve got her. I begin to rub, slowly at first, then build in pressure and speed. When I bury my lips in the nape of her neck, she’s there, crying out spasm after spasm as she pumps Orlando’s cock along the side of her face. Suddenly, he’s there too, squirting creamy, white streams onto her cheek, chin, and down her breasts. I lap every drop off Jennifer, while she whimpers out the last of her orgasm. Together, our cum-covered lips clean up Orlando, before meeting in a sloppy, nasty kiss.

Under my blanket in Seat 3D, I’ve unbuttoned my slacks and worked a hand inside my panties. Two fingers are deep in my cunt while the heel of my hand presses against my clit. The scent of my sex rising from under the blanket is like that of a strange, exotic jungle.

Now, the Occupied sign is off. Orlando and Jennifer must have found somewhere more spacious, more comfortable, to play out their little sex scene. Maybe the kitchenette. Surely, no one would think to look in there.

I I imagine myself with them, there on the floor. I recline on my back while Jennifer and Orlando kiss and lick every inch on my body. My legs are pulled back and Jennifer’s mouth is busy on my pussy while Orlando’s sharp teeth nip at my breasts. Jennifer’s tongue traces my cunt from top to bottom. She pulls each labia into her mouth, sucking gently. I reach down to open myself for her, allowing my clit to shine forth. She uses the flat of her tongue first, then the tip, stabbing, flicking. Oh, fuck yes.

Orlando is hard again and he strokes his member in front of my face, slaps at my nipples with it. He’s showing off for me, masturbating for me, sweet man. He feeds it to me and says, “I want to fuck you, baby.” How I love hearing the words.

He lies down and I roll on top, rub his cock around my opening, use him like a dildo. Slowly at first, then faster, I ride him, tits bouncing, hair flying. Jennifer feather kisses my buttocks, plies the crack of my ass. As Orlando pumps beneath me, her finger pushes up my asshole and I give in, give into that fuck feeling. Let go, let go, let go.

I climax in a sobbing, twisting thrash. When I come out of it, my face presses against the window. I’m half-turned in my seat, my thighs squeezing my hand between them. Thankfully, Jennifer and Orlando are nowhere in sight. I begin to put myself back together. I’m lightheaded and caught between euphoria and embarrassment. What the fuck? It’s the red-eye.

When I look up, Jennifer and Orlando emerge from the cockpit. They’re laughing and one of the pilots slaps Orlando on the shoulder. He returns to his seat and Jennifer pushes past my row. “He’s a co-pilot,” she whispers. “Deadheading it to New York. He knows one of the pilots on this flight.”

“Cool,” I say. Well, that explains a lot. I guess the bathroom and kitchenette wouldn’t have been all that comfortable anyway.

“Can I get you anything?” She wants to know.

“Nah. I’m going to try to doze.”

She smiles, begins to move on, then turns. “I probably shouldn’t say anything.”

“What?”

“Orlando asked me if I could get together with him over the weekend. It might be fun, if you’d join us.”

She’s so lovely there in the dim light with the shadow of fatigue creeping into her eyes. “Are you sure? Sometimes three can be a crowd.”

She bites her lower lip and unexpectedly strokes my face. The back of her hand is smooth and cool as polished steel—a sharp contrast to the warm glow on her cheeks. “Sometimes three is company. It’s just a thought.”

For a long moment we search each other’s eyes for confirmation of what we may both have hoped for, but feared to expect. I take the gamble and clasp her hand in mine. “I’d like that very much. We could meet at my place for a glass of wine. See where it goes from there.”

“I like the way you think.” She withdraws her hand. “Just give me your number and address before you go.”

Then, she’s gone and I’m left staring into the night, hurtling through inner space at 30,000 feet. Chicago, Cleveland, Pittsburgh. Fantasy or reality? A sure bet or a long shot?

It just goes to show. You never know on the red-eye.

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