“Did you just–” she gasps as you shove two fingers into her dripping slit. “Yeah,” you agree. You wrap an arm around her chest before she can fall. The seat feels unpleasant even through your makeshift paper covering. Spiting your desire for peace, you feel your stomach rumble, followed by an insistent pressure in your bowels. You wash your hands, and as you do, you silently reprimand your reflection (an airplane bathroom, for fuck’s sake). Even though there’s the possibility that things could go well, there’s also the possibility that they could go terribly wrong. She leans against the door, stretching out her legs. How long until we land?”
“Um…a few hours, I think.”
Her eyes widen. “Do you trust me?”
You shouldn’t. Her pussy feels incredible, like a warm, wet little massage for your dick. The toilet makes an absurdly loud sucking sound as it flushes. “I’m so sorry about this.”
“It’s not your fault,” you say, shaking your head. You imagine taking it from your pants and presenting it to her in all its hard, veiny glory. Maybe you don’t think so. She’s responding to your aggression with her own, which excites you even more.
