“No, as a matter of fact. After my shower I was just
planning to go home and collapse,” I said, laughing.

She laughed too. “Well, if you could put off
collapsing for a little bit, I was going to suggest a cup of
coffee at Perkins ™.”

“Do you have coffee with all of your overweight and out
of shape students?”

“No, not usually, but something tells me I should have
a cup with you.”

I nearly said no. Since I am telling this story, I can
stop right here and explain that. For those waiting for the
juicy sex scene, wait a little while and I will try to make it
worth it for you to keep reading.

I could tell that the instructor was watching me,
waiting for me to collapse — or perhaps trying to figure out
what I was doing in her class. It wasn’t an advanced aerobics
class, but it was more than what a beginner like me should have
been in. I signed up knowing only that I needed some structured
exercise — no one told me what I was getting into, or, more
probably, I wasn’t paying attention. Now, I was too proud to
admit that I was in a little over my head. Yes, the instructor,
a rather nicely put together brunette who appeared to be about 19
or 20, was definitely looking at me.

This is my first posting … I have more to share in the
future if you like this, but must post anonymously, since I am
a senior manager at a Fortune 100 company and knowledge about
my extra-curricular activities would cause the end of my
career.
It was hot and steamy as we arrived at the airport in
Brisbane for the long journey home to Boston. This was the end
of a month-long campervan vacation in Australia, and I, for
one, was overjoyed to be heading back to some normalcy. For an
entire month my wife Anne (I call her “the queen”) had avoided
sex in the campervan, or anywhere else for that matter, since
“the children are nearby.” – The irony of her way of thinking
will be evident shortly.
Actually, she is not very interested in sex anytime, since
she was taught by her mother that sex was “dirty.” The only
time she ever saw her parents making love, they were fully
clothed (hike up the skirt, dear – I’ll just quickly unzip.)
Sometimes I wonder how we ever ended up with three children;
one is grown and on her own, the two boys (Ralph, 17 and
Trevor, 14) were with us on holiday. Because I travel
regularly, I have opportunity for other sexual outlets during
the year, but four plus weeks within close quarters with a
demanding uptight woman does not give you much opportunity to
develop alternatives.
I had some first class upgrade coupons, but at check-in
time was told there was only one seat available. Anne
immediately volunteered because of her “potential for a bad
back,” and was seated in 3A. The boys and I were given 21K/L
and 22L. This was aisle and window seating in the 2-5-2
configuration, and the last two rows in the second section. I
took the single seat, and let Ralph and Trevor sit together for
the first ten-hour segment of the flight.
An attractive woman dressed in a loose sweater and very
tight blue jeans took the seat next to me. I could see that
Ralph was uncomfortable and maybe even a little jealous, since
he kept turning around to talk to me, but she was too old (29)
to be interested in him. She introduced herself as Christine,
“You can call me Chrissy.” She was about five foot eight,
light brown (almost blond) long hair, a nice ass – firm and
high, breasts with an impact even through her shapeless
sweater, and obviously in good physical condition.
Chrissy was headed for Miami to pick up her belongings from
a recent divorce; she and her husband had been working together
on private yachts for eight years, and he had developed a
cocaine habit. When he would not seek help to end his drug
addiction, and more immediately after a close call with customs
in Australia last year, she decided then and there to split
from him, filed for divorce, stayed in Brisbane, and had just
been notified the divorce was final. In the meantime, she had
met another guy she wanted to stay with, and was going to Miami
to settle up the property and return to her new lover. This I
discovered during dinner conversation and over a few shared
glasses of wine. Looking into my eyes, she confided she was
“now free and ready for some excitement.”
The movie started, the flight attendants went around the
cabin to lower all the shades, and Chrissy said, “I’d rather
talk, if it’s OK with you; this movie is terrible.” I had also
seen the movie and agreed. We spent the next two hours getting
to know each other better. Chrissy at one point said, “You
have terrific eyes, I get really turned on by eyes.” We talked
about the kids, and when she asked if I was married and learned
about Anne in the front cabin, she thought it displayed selfish
behavior and then never mentioned my marital status again.
By now, the boys had fallen asleep, and just before the end
of the movie, Chrissy excused herself for a few minutes,
reached into the overhead bin for her carry-on (stretched long
enough to get my mind focused on her hips and legs in those
wonderful tight jeans,) and headed to the lavatory in the
back. When she returned, she was wearing loose-fitting
sweatpants, and when she asked if I minded if she lifted the
arm dividing the seats, I replied “Of course not!” By now I
had an idea of what she had in mind, because she had confided
during the movie that one of her greatest turn-ons was the risk
of discovery while having sex. “My husband was not a great
lover, but in the close confines of the boat it was always
exciting to fuck without anyone nearby knowing about it; I had
more orgasms from fucking near other people than from the sex
act itself.” As she shared this with me, she was already
visibly breathing more quickly.
Chrissy and I arranged the blankets over both of us, now no
longer separated, and curled up like spoons in the otherwise
crowded seats. I started to give her a back rub, slowly
working over her muscles by now cramped from the first five
hours of the flight. She purred quietly, and after a while
squirmed her shapely ass on the seat, pushing it back into my
growing erection. With both hands I reached around under her
loose sweater, and fondled her globes, her nipples growing
firmer under my gentle stroking.
Chrissy reached back and with one hand released my belt,
then unbuckled and unbuttoned my pants. I whispered in her
ear, “How do you do that? I can’t even do that with one hand,
and they’re my pants.” She laughed, and said, “Years of
practice; don’t worry, it gets better.” My hard-on sprang out
of my tight bikini briefs as she pulled the waistband forward,
and she whispered, “I’m glad you’re not wearing boxer shorts, I
can’t stand them.”
Chrissy began to stroke my cock, now slightly oozing with
its own lubrication. She used the pre-come to help rotate her
fingers gently around the head, stroking it with ever firmer
pressure. I withdrew my hands from under her sweater to push
my pants down further, allowing me to slip the briefs down
below my swollen balls, which she now explored with her
questing hand. Lubricating her fingers even more with her
saliva, she alternately rubbed my balls and massaged the head
of my dick.
My hands were now free, and I hungrily reached forward for
her erect nipples, shortly afterward sliding my right hand down
her belly and slipping it under the waistband of her
sweatpants. She was wearing no panties underneath, and the
inside of the cotton sweats was already wet with her juices.
As I stroked her mound, her lubrication welcomed my fingers
into her warm wet cunt. Rubbing the juices on my fingers, I
began to circle her clitoris and then used my fingers to stroke
in and out of her pussy while my thumb pushed against her
swollen clit. She was breathing harder now, and could not stop
moving her ass around on the seat, first bucking her soaking
cunt against my right hand, then pushing her ass back against
my cock through the sweatpants.
Just then, the stewardess came down the aisle, paused
noticeably as she came up to our row, glared at me (me? why me?
there are two of us here, you know!), almost said something,
then apparently decided that since we were bothering nobody
else, she would keep moving. Thank God! While we were both
close to fully clothed at that time, there was little chance
she could do anything legally disastrous, but who needs the
embarrassment, or the hassle from the kids for that matter.
As the stewardess left, Chrissy whispered. “She knows
exactly what we are doing, and she’s jealous! Now I want to
have your prick inside me. I’ll keep quiet, but I need you to
fuck me now.” With this, she lifted her ass off the seat and
slid her sweats down below her knees, then separated her legs
slightly and moved back so I could slide into her dripping
pussy from behind. I moved slowly in and out as she purred and
pushed back onto my cock quietly so we would not wake our
neighbors.
At the same time, I reached back around to stroke her
clitoris easily but steadily. The appearance of the stewardess
had startled me, and most of the urgency for release that had
built up from her stroking my hard-on had subsided, so it was a
nice, long, easy fuck, punctuated by her spasming in orgasm
three times before my cock pressure built up to the point of no
return. I came with the most excruciating pleasure I had felt
in my life (actually for the last month, but you know how easy
it is to lose perspective at the moment.) I felt like I
unleashed at least a pint of come into her already dripping
cunt. I sighed, and whispered’ “Chrissy, it must have been
heaven that sent you to this seat. You don’t know how much I
needed that.”
She then turned around in the seat to sit normally, and
kissed me for the first time. “I needed it just as much as you
did; you’re a terrific fuck, but on top of that it’s the danger
that makes me come so much. Thanks for being here, I dreamed
that I’d be fucked silly on this trip. As we kissed, I told
her about my favorite turn-on. “What I like best is eating
pussy, but there is no room here for that. Would you like to
go to the back of the plane with me?”
“What do you mean? In the lavatory?” she asked.
“Yes. If we are reasonably cautious we can get in there
without causing an uproar,” I replied.
“I’ve never done that before,” Chrissy explained.
“There’s a first time for everything,” I said, and moved to
pull up my pants and buckle my belt. She thought about it for
a minute, and then said, “why not, let’s try it!” She drew up
the sweatpants and tied the drawstring (I hadn’t noticed there
was one before – must not have been tied.) Then she got up and
headed for the back of the plane, with me following directly
behind.
She entered the first lavatory, which was vacant (good
thing the flight was long, and everybody was still asleep.) I
slipped right in behind her before the flight attendants
noticed we were even there. As I closed the door, she turned
and we started to kiss passionately. She broke for a quick
query, “how do you do anything in this little space?” As I
untied the drawstring on her sweatpants, I said, “Just lift up
and sit on the sink, and let me taste your cunt.”
Chrissy lifted, spread her legs, and I could see her cunt
lips were still swollen from her last orgasm. I gently tongued
her outer lips, occasionally swiveling my head to nip the
insides of her thighs, but always returning to circle her clit,
and as it swelled up, suck on it gently. There was no end to
the wetness; her own lubrication, supplemented by the enormous
load of come I had left in her pussy, dripped down both sides
of my chin onto the stainless steel sink surface and trailed
down her thighs.
After tonguing her into a few more orgasms, I realized how
hard I was getting again, and finally stood up, sliding her ass
slightly off the surface, and drove my cock into her again
while we exchanged extremely wet but tasty kisses, flavored by
both of our juices. Such a short time after the last fuck, and
she was sooo wet; this time it lasted at least twenty minutes,
both of us sighing and savoring the overwhelming sensations
coursing through our bodies. Finally, after a slow buildup
that I never wanted to end, I came again, not as much this
time, but she sensed it and started bucking hard just at the
same moment. The pleasure was so intense it was almost
painful.
The light came on to return to the cabin, and after a few
minutes we were able to adjust ourselves to some degree of
presentability to return to our seats. Just as we opened the
door, the same stewardess was looking right into my eyes. She
said angrily, “Please return to your seats and stay there. We
have some turbulence and the captain has turned on the seat
belt sign.” I couldn’t help but think that maybe we were the
cause of the turbulence, but then that’s just my imagination
running away with me again.
As we settled in to the seats, Chrissy pushed the seat
divider down, saying, “I think everyone is waking up, let’s not
embarrass your boys.” The breakfast service was beginning, the
cabin lights were turned on, and we were again two strangers
who happened to be sitting next to each other on the plane.
The secret of our mile-high lovemaking was secure.
We exchanged addresses, but with her in Brisbane and me in
Boston it’s not likely we’ll ever meet again. Both of us
promised to use caution in contacting each other should the
opportunity arise, so our current SO would not be disturbed,
but also promised to get together if possible again.
I said goodbye to Chrissy at the seat, and went forward
with the unsuspecting boys to deplane.
As we got to the end of the ramp in the terminal, I asked
Anne, “How was your flight?”
“Great,” she replied, “one of the most relaxing ever.”
“Me too!”

——————————-

Just as an aside from your humble editor, if you manage to join
the Mile High Club, you can get a little Mile High Club pin from
“Sporty’s Pilot Shop.” Call 1-800-LIFTOFF.

[Fade in.]

[Curtains open on Gregory, sitting on his trademark stool, on an

otherwise blank stage.]

Yes, it’s me again… gosh, it’s been… well, too damn long since

I’ve been out here… but there’s a reason for that. I just found out

that my funding from the NEA is being cut… apparently, someone from

the Jessie Helms camp snuck in here for the performance of Dragonlove

that I did some months ago, and I’m just finding out about it now. So

I’ve been out pounding the pavement, looking for a way to beat the

system… and yes, I have already thought of using a flogger, thank

you very much. [Gregory smiles]

Anyhow, I’ve also been keeping busy working on some more of my

writing… whereas Dragonlove was pretty much entirely fantasy (I

based it on a headspace that I put someone in once…), this story is

only half-fantasy… ok, well, the story as such is not real, but it

*can* be…

So, without much further ado… enjoy!

[Gregory rises, and walks off stage right.]

[Curtains close]

[Fade to story]

The party crowd is getting a little stifling, so I step out onto the

patio for a breath of fresh air. I look at my pocket watch, musing for

a moment how much it reminds me of the one that Jack the Ripper

carried in that movie… and I note that it is getting close to the

time we had arranged.

I slip back inside, and weave my way through the crowd into the

playroom, where I find an open stretch of wall. I lean up against it,

setting my toybag down beside me. I open it, and remove one of my

lighter floggers. I close my eyes, examining the handle of the cat by

touch only, while the pair in the scenespace close their scene with

what sounds like a two-by-four. *THUD* *THUD* *THUD*, and the bottom

grunting, then yelling, then screaming an almost unintelliglble

safeword. I open my eyes to see the bottom taken down from the frame

and wrapped in blankets, then moved to a space on a couch.

Somewhere in the house, a grandfather clock strikes the hour. The time

has come.

You enter the room, nodding a silent greeting to a small group of

acquaintences by the doorway, then approach me. You stand before me

for a moment, then kneel, resting your head on my thigh. I use the

handle of my flogger to lift your chin, raising your eyes to meet

mine.

A raised eyebrow. A nod.

A smile. A shiver.

You take my offered hand, and I help you stand. Hand in hand, we

approach the frame, and I lean you forward to rest your body against

it. I raise your hands, and slip them into the cuffs that were left

attached to the frame. I run my fingers down your arm, then across the

bodice of your dress, feeling you tremble as you wait for something…

anything… more visceral to occur.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see me reach into my pocket and

pull out a flash of silver. As you close your eyes, you feel a sharp

point pressing into the side of your leg… then the sound of material

tearing. You look down to see the side seam of your skirt split about

six inches up from the hem… and me holding a seam ripper. You watch

over your shoulder as I tear out the seams holding the back panel of

the dress, and toss the material aside, leaving your ass and thighs

nicely framed by the remaining material.

I step back to admire the tableau, then I remember the flogger that I

was carrying. You watch as I pick it up, giving the air around you a

few strokes to warm up, then I step behind you, out of your line of

sight. Then silence…

And more silence… one minute… two… five…

*SMACK* You feel my hand across your ass, and you jump in surprise.

*SMACK* again, and this time a quiet squeal escapes your lips.

*SMACK* a third time my hand falls, and this time you tense your ass

muscles in anticipation, before my hand lands.

*swishCRACK* Half a dozen lines of fire slash their way across your

ass, *swishCRACK* across your thighs, *swishCRACK* and criss-crossing

your ass again. The third stroke managed to elicit the scream I was

looking for, so I stop there, and tuck my “emergency” whip into my

back pocket again.

“That was for anticipating too much. Next time it will be 10.”

You shudder, then look over your shoulder to meet my eyes with yours.

I flash a Roger Moore smile at you, then just as quickly, I drop my

smile, and my gaze hardens. I take out the seam ripper again, and

start removing the panel covering your back. This time, I am a bit

less concerned with being careful, and several times, you feel the

point of the ripper scratching angry red lines along your sides and

shoulders.

Eventually, your back is bared along with your ass. I am inwardly

pleased to note that you took my advice, and decided against wearing a

bra. I run my fingers across your shoulderblades, enjoying the feel of

you twitching like my hands were charged with electricity.

I pick up the flogger I was playing with originally, and slide the

tails up over your ass cheeks, then up your spine. I receive a shiver

and a moan in response, so naturally, I assume that I have chosen the

proper instrument to use…

I start lazily swinging the tails at your ass, pretty much letting

gravity do most of the work for now… after a dozen or so swings, I

quickly snap the tails at your ass like a beach towel, hearing the

CRACK of the leather on your skin, then your squeal as the sting

travels from your ass to your brain to your mouth.

I switch to a slightly heaver whip… one with more thud to it. Then I

unleash it on your naked back. The first few blows don’t elicit much

of a response, then I aim a strong stroke downward along your spine…

before it lands, my consciousness begins walking the line between

lifespace and headspace…

[The stroke seems to fall in slow motion as my arm sweeps downward,

the tails flying comet-like off the end of the flogger's handle. As

leather makes contact with flesh, I can hear each tail land, then

watch the skin tinge with red, one millimeter at a time, until a

seven-inch strip of warm, pink skin forms...]

I’m yanked back into real-time by your rather loud confirmation that I

indeed hit you with the flogger: an interesting combination of grunt

and yell. I like it so much that I strike you again in the same

fashion, but to one side of the first blow. Then the other. Then up

higher on your shoulder. Then across your ass. Then down the sides of

your thighs. Then under your armpits. Then down your spine again to

complete the circle… each blow giving me a satisfying grunt/yell,

and some squirming, which makes it easier to hit a larger number of

targets.

I take a moment to approach you, and run my fingers across your pink

zebra flesh. I half-jokingly ask you if you’re ready to begin now, and

somewhere, outside the sphere, I hear someone laugh. You don’t answer

me, so I grab a handful of your hair and turn your head to make sure

that you are still in *some* plane of being, if not mine… your eyes

are closed, but as I tighten my grip on your hair, they open. Again, I

ask you, in a whisper, if you are ready to begin. You mouth a “yes”,

then close your eyes again…

I release you, then search in my toybag for the one impliment that

you’ve not met yet… in fact, you will be the first to feel it. I

shake the tails out, and drape them over your shoulder. You turn your

head to feel the leather caressing your cheek, and I chuckle inwardly

when you jerk your head away from what you find sliding over your

skin: leather and knotted cords combined. I pull the flogger away, and

swing it hard through the air, listening to the tails whistling.

You start squealing… “Please pleasepleaseplease *stop*!”

I am a little surprised to hear this, especially since I had not yet

landed a blow with the flogger… still, you must have a reason for

being so vocal all of a sudden.

“Yes? What is the problem?”

“I… I can’t do it. I’m not ready yet… please don’t… please, it’s

going to hurt… I’ll do anything, just don’t…”

“But you said that this is what you wanted. You told me that you

wanted me to hurt you… that you *needed* for me to hurt you.

Catharsis and all that… remember that conversation?” I crack the

whip against my leg for emphasis.

wallop...>

“Yes. I remember it and I still want it and I want you to hurt me but

I’m scared I’m scared I’m scared…” Your voice keeps ramping up in

pitch, and I’m afraid that soon it will be out of my range of hearing,

so I cover your mouth with my hand to stop you.

“You don’t have anything to be afraid of. If you safeword, I’ll stop.

If you pass out, I’ll stop.”

You shake your head, so I assume you want to speak, and pull my hand

away. “I’m not safewording… I’m just telling you…”

“You’re not safewording? So, this is until you pass out… hmmmmm…

maybe I should call someone over to let me know when that happens…”

You shake your head violently, then close your eyes and try to calm

yourself down. “I didn’t mean that. I’m not safewording *now*… not

yet…”

“Ahh… my mistake then. I apologize.”

You remain quiet for a minute, then open your eyes again and look into

mine. “Ok… I’m ready now, I think… but…”

“Yes… but?”

“Um… kiss me? Please? Before you start again?” I could swear I see a

tear in your eye…

Softly, I stroke the side of your face with the back of my hand,

smiling. “Of course I will, my dear…”

You shiver at my touch, but manage a smile. “Thank you.”

I mouth a “you’re welcome”, then lean forward to kiss your forehead,

then your lips. You make no effort to either increase or decrease the

intensity of the kiss, so I simply let you feel my lips on yours for a

moment. Then I kiss your earlobe, and whisper into your ear… “I love

you. Remember that…”

You shiver again, and nod a little, before turning your head away.

Obviously, the discussion is over. I step back to my position behind

you, and raise the flogger over my head…

“It is done.”

My arm arcs downward, and the leather and cord brand new trails of

fire across your back, turning the already-pink skin a little closer

to purple. I am almost too busy admiring the color changes to realize

that you screamed… I quickly replay the sound in my mind, but

safeword wasn’t anywhere in it… so I continue.

I aim the next shot at your ass, whipping the tails over my head

before striking at you. You squeal before the blow lands, and I watch

you tense your ass cheeks up again before they are marked by the

lashes. The side of your right buttock starts to show the first signs

of a lovely bruise, but instead of continuing to use this new toy, I

remind myself of my earlier warning to you.

I switch the flogger to my other hand, and take the small whip out of

my pocket again. “You were anticipating again. What did I tell you

about that?”

You mumble something that I can’t quite hear, so I lash your ass with

the small whip. “What did you say?”

“Um… 10 with the small whip?”

“Correct. Don’t bother counting them, it will only take longer…”

I administer the strokes, each one causing you to squirm a bit more,

and whimper a little louder… until the last: I swing the cat upward

between your legs, catching the tails on the lips of your sex. As you

shriek and rise up on your tiptoes, I drop the small whip, and use the

leather and cord monster to give you a strong two-handed strike down

your back, then across your ass again, before you can catch your

breath.

I wait a moment, until you manage to gasp a breath, then the tails

lash out again, catching you across your thighs. Again you scream, and

again it is not safeword, so I start criss-crossing your upper back.

Each stroke causes you to press against the frame, trying to pass

through the frame to get it between yourself and my toy. I pause, then

start whipping up the backs of your thighs and the bottom curve of

your ass. Again you rise on your toes, not screaming now… just

sobbing and whimpering.

I alternately stop and start this whipping, letting you relax a moment

before I drive you up on your toes again. Occasionally, I let the

tails fall on your back, causing even more purple-and-red speckling to

counterpoint the mottling on your ass.

Somewhere in the house, a grandfather clock strikes the hour. The time

has passed.

I pause a moment, letting my arm recover for the final stroke. You are

slumped on the frame now, panting, mewling, shaking. I shake my

muscles out, and give a couple lazy wind-up strokes that just brush

the insides of your thighs, before I snap the flogger up, sending the

tails between your legs to assault your pubes. As you gasp and prepare

to scream, I finish the stroke by yanking backwards on the handle,

pulling the leather and knotted cords across your cuntlips…

Somewhere, in the back of my head, I am reminded of a line from Steve

Martin’s short story, “Cruel Shoes”…

The screams were incredible.

As were the sobs, and the whimpers, and the shaking, and the gasping,

and the panting, and everything else that you do as you come back down

from that last stroke. Finally, you manage between shivering attacks

to say “Mercy.”

The flogger drops from my hand, and I come up behind you. I unhook the

cuffs, and let you slump against me a moment, before I sweep your legs

up and cradle your still-shaking body in my arms. I carry you to the

couch, and gently lay you down on it, before kneeling by your side.

Someone… one of the hosts, I think… hands me two glasses of ice

water. I down one in one swallow, then fish an ice cube out to let

melt against your lips. You suck on the cube, then motion dazedly for

a drink from the other glass, which I give you.

Once you finish drinking your fill, you close your eyes and take my

hand, pulling it to your mouth to kiss my palm. I mimic your action,

then hold your hand tightly in mine. I close my eyes, rest my head on

your shoulder, and let the rest of the world fade away…

=====

“One little piece of my soul

One little piece of my whole life

I give to you

Take it now…”

–