Don't look

He hated flying. It bored him to death. He never knew how to entertain himself during a flight, so he always loaded his laptop with a pile of interesting movies and games. Whenever he bought a ticket, he chose the middle seat. That way, he could see what his neighbors were doing. But this time, the universe had decided to have a little fun at his expense.

Boarding was almost over, with only a few late passengers hurrying down the aisle to find their seats. The seats beside him were only partly occupied. Some old man was already snoring peacefully by the window, while the seat to his left remained empty. Three hours on this plane. God, I’m going to die of boredom, he thought.

Then he saw her.

A stunning woman was carefully squeezing her way down the aisle with a small laptop tucked under one arm. Her expression was serious and... incredibly seductive. Nervous, she lightly bit her full lips as she searched for her seat—until she stopped beside the empty one next to him.

She set the laptop on the seat and reached up to shove her backpack into the overhead compartment. Her T-shirt slipped free from her pants, revealing a gorgeous strip of stomach. Mesmerized, he kept watching. When she finished with the bag, she tucked her shirt back into her pants and sat down.

A soft floral scent drifted toward him. Gentle, subtle. Her hair, he thought.

He wanted to turn to her and start talking immediately. Her face, her body, the scent of her hair—far too many pleasant distractions at once. But he decided to wait. Maybe they would get a chance to talk during the flight. And who knew where that might lead?

They had been in the air for a while when he began watching her from the corner of his eye. She was typing something. He had no interest whatsoever—until she enlarged the font.

Suddenly, he could read a sentence on the screen.

“Her hand slowly slipped into his pants, the tip of her fingernail teasing his flesh.”

To his surprise, such a relatively innocent sentence sent an immediate rush of heat straight to his groin. And then, with horror, he remembered what he was wearing.

His pants.

Perfectly fitted, tailored trousers. He loved them because they made his legs and ass look fantastic.

A deeply unpleasant realization crept over him: getting hard was not an option.

His eyes slid back to her screen and caught the next line.

“The tip of her finger slowly but insistently circled the head of his cock, driving him insane.”

Don’t look. Just don’t look. How hard could that possibly be?

He had plenty of interesting movies that would have absolutely no effect on the “mood” of his dick. And yet his eyes kept betraying him, drifting back toward the tempting words on her screen.

“Her wet tongue replaced her luscious lips.”

He closed his eyes as his cock began to swell. His brain instantly betrayed him too, casting the woman beside him in the role of the woman in the story. A brutally explicit fantasy sank its claws into his mind and refused to let go.

What the hell was she writing? Who was she? Maybe she was only transcribing something she was hearing through her headphones? But judging by the way she was typing, that didn’t seem likely.

He shut his eyes and tried to calm down.

But his mind went straight back to the text.

What came after the lips? Had she started sucking him?

Clenching one hand into a fist, he turned his head and read:

“His cock moved inside the woman’s mouth, giving him incomparable pleasure.”

Fuck. Who the hell was she writing about?

Maybe it was her own story. Maybe she was describing something that had actually happened to her.

His eyes darted back to the screen.

“The softness and wetness of her mouth...”

He couldn’t finish the sentence.

Another rush of blood flooded his rock-hard cock. He was so turned on that a couple of strokes would probably finish him.

All he needed was a tissue and a blanket.

Where was the damn blanket?

Idiot. It was a two-and-a-half-hour flight. What blanket?

His brain kept serving up increasingly filthy images. How badly he wanted to impale the woman beside him on his cock, all the way down. Just to hear her moan. To feel her nails dig into his shoulders while she came and milked every drop out of him.

Fuck, what are you doing? Stop. Breathe slowly. Calm down.

The throbbing in his cock was making his life miserable. He had to consciously control where he looked because his eyes kept returning to the text.

“His rock-hard cock drove deep inside her. The woman almost screamed his name and began to tremble.”

Jesus Christ.

He could almost imagine how wet she would be. How tightly, yet softly, her pussy would wrap around his erect cock as she slowly sank down onto him.

Masochist. He was a fucking masochist.

Maybe he could wrap himself in a blanket and slip into the bathroom? The idea was so tempting that he almost sighed with relief—until he remembered again.

No blanket.

The flight attendant. Where the hell was that woman? She could bring him a blanket, and then he could wrap it around himself and make his escape to the bathroom.

He jabbed the call button frantically, already imagining himself safely behind the bathroom door.

“Sir, can I help you?”

The flight attendant stood in the aisle, smiling pleasantly.

Yeah. Get on your knees and suck me off right here, right now.

What he actually said was:

“I was just wondering if blankets are available on this flight?”

“Unfortunately, we had a problem before departure and weren’t able to get clean blankets on board. I’m very sorry, sir.”

He forced a smile.

This was hell.

His cock was hard as a steel post, and there was no way he could simply stand up and walk to the bathroom like this.

His gaze landed on a magazine.

Maybe I should take something to read in the bathroom?

He smiled at his own joke. But the longer he stared at the glossy magazine, the better the idea seemed.

His eyes flicked back to the laptop screen, and the words assembled themselves into another sentence:

“The woman covered her mouth with one hand, smothering her moans while the man pounded into her dripping pussy.”

He couldn’t remember ever being this close to orgasm without even touching himself.

Grabbing the magazine, he caught the attention of the “culprit” beside him and gave her a polite smile.

“Excuse me. I need to use the bathroom.”

“Of course.”

She closed her laptop and let him into the aisle.

He practically flew into the bathroom and blissfully wrapped his hand around his cock. His mind was still playing with everything he had read, producing the most delicious possibilities.

He imagined how roughly he would fuck the woman sitting beside him. Pin her against the wall, then slowly push inside her and feel her tight, wet walls close around his rock-hard cock.

A devastating wave of orgasm hit him halfway through the fantasy. He clenched his teeth and moaned into his sleeve. His hand refused to stop, and a second orgasm caught him almost by surprise.

With his legs trembling, he sank onto the closed toilet lid.

Porn was nothing compared with how intensely those few stolen sentences had turned him on. He had never experienced anything like it before.

And he liked it.

After cleaning himself up, he made a firm decision: he was going to find out who that woman was.

He opened the bathroom door—and stared in disbelief.

Half the plane had already emptied.

They had landed.