Mr. X,

I hate traveling and I hate flying the most. Actually I should probably say that I LOVE traveling but I hate the trip. Nothing excites me more than discovering new places (I’m sure your dirty little mind will make that sexual, and that’s probably true too). But this trip was to visit family, which tends to kill my libido and tends to destroy my hubby’s completely (his family). Combine that state of mind with a crowded airplane, and I knew that on this trip I probably wouldn’t get fingered in the back of any taxicabs. Until I got your ridiculous, impossible dare, and then I started plotting, as much as it scared me, because you know I don’t like to disappoint my X.

After being herded onto the airplane like cattle, I felt just like a cow, and I don’t have to tell you that a woman just doesn’t feel sexy if she’s been herded and made to feel like mooing. We tend to arrive at airports at the very last minute, and so we’re always seated near the back – this time in two seats by the window a few rows up from the back toilet. So I was well situated and that much had gone right, at least.

I was wearing what I always wear on planes – a thick sweater for warmth over stretchy black pants for comfort. Not particularly easy access for a bathroom adventure, but this was a long flight and more than anything I wanted to be comfortable.

It turned out to be a REALLY long flight. There were some technical problem and we sat on the runway for FOUR hours. Do I need to mention that my libido was not exactly inflamed? You start to hate people when you’re locked up for a few hours with them. Of course this gave me plenty of time to pick out two men as candidates for the fantasy portion of your dare, but after a couple of hours I really couldn’t even look at them anymore. Mooo! One was a couple of rows up, in the middle section. He was with a girlfriend or wife and was tall and handsome, or at least confident looking, which is sometimes the same thing to me. Also he was dressed well in dark slacks and a tweed blazer, and he looked clean, and I wouldn’t have minded kissing him.

Man Two was on the same row as us, but all the way over on the other side. I’d seen him while boarding, but now I had to lean forward to catch a glimpse of him. He wasn’t dressed badly either, or at least better than most, in black jeans and a black collared shirt. He had a cheap, boxy briefcase on his lap and looked like a bit of a brute, which I like. He had huge muscles, a huge neck, and though I’m not so hot on musclemen, his face looked tough and scarred (his head was shaved), and that went nicely with the muscles. So there we were, hubby, me and my two fantasy objects, locked in prison together. Sexy, no?

Oh X, don’t panic, you poor starved thing. I’ll bring the sexy now. And you want to know the one advantage of being shut up in a plane for FOUR hours before you even take off? By the time you do get moving, everybody’s completely exhausted. By the time we took off and they served lunch, it was more like dinnertime, and then the lights went out and the movie started, and most people went immediately to sleep. I wanted to sleep too, but first I had to fulfill my highly classified mission. Although I didn’t feel sexy at all, knowing I had a mission for Mr. X made me feel slightly sexy anyway, and when I stood up I glanced over at the intriguing brute (who still had his hands on the briefcase in his lap and was staring straight ahead), the knowledge that he was my erotic selection made me feel even slightly sexier. Slightly.

Have I mentioned that this dare was stupid and scary? You try it, Mr. X. Yes, you’ve had me get naughty on buses, but there’s no escaping a plane (and then there’s the fact that buses are actually sort of sexy if you ask me). Anyway. So I waited until it was quiet and everyone had finished using the restroom after dinner. Both toilets at the back were now free. The flight attendants were beyond another little curtain. I paused in the aisle to glance over at the man again, and maybe he noticed me this time. His head seemed to turn just a bit. Or maybe I was already fantasizing.

Okay, Mister: I did not lock the door. I didn’t really have to pee, either, but I quickly scrunched those pants (and my underwear) down to my knees. So there I was, sitting on the edge of the seat top, which I’d kept down, still not feeling too sexy. Yes, there was a bit of a kick thinking someone might barge in, but it all just felt too medical somehow, like I was about to be examined by some antiseptic doctor. I needed a little additional kick to make this work, I decided, and so I stood up so I could watch myself in the mirror. I stood close to the door so it would hit me if it opened, and I put a hand to my pussy, watching myself in the mirror.

That’s when I started to get excited – with my own body and with the risk I was taking. I started rubbing the knuckle of my middle finger over my clitoris, again and again. I knew what I was doing, I’d planned it all along, but now that I was actually doing it, I was shocked by myself, and that shock turned me on.

I was wet. I could see that even in the mirror. I slipped a finger inside of me and stared at my own face, my swollen lips, my flushed cheeks. I had two fingers inside now and was stroking hard. It was difficult to focus on anything but the situation itself, but I forced myself to think of the brute with the briefcase, and because I was so turned on now, the thought of him turned me on in the extreme.

In my mind the two of us were in a sort of interrogation room with just a table, two chairs, and a bright light overhead. His briefcase was on the table, still closed, and he was angrily questioning me about something. I was running my hands up the insides of my thighs and touching myself to defy him. This made him furious, and he pulled a knife from his back pocket, flipped it open, and slowly walked around the table with it held out in front of him. I was dripping. With the knife gripped lightly in his fingers, he stood so that his bulging crotch was right in front of my face. I wanted to bite him, I wanted to taste him. I moaned loudly and moved my mouth towards his tightening jeans, but he thrust me violently back into the chair and put the knife to my chest. Then, carefully, or almost gently, he cut the sweater down the front and snatched it aside, then snipped my bra away too with a quick flick of the knife. In the bathroom one hand was still working my sopping pussy while the other hand had slipped up under the sweater to a breast.

This all probably took just seconds, but in my mind it was a long seduction that had me nearly bursting. He nicked the top of my stretchy pants and ripped them down to my calves. His massive hand was at my crotch then, bunching my panties into a fist, and then he ripped those away too without even needing the knife. I wanted to cry out, but I knew I couldn’t cry out, and just this little realization brought me mostly back to my senses. I was in an unlocked bathroom on an airplane. I was nuts. Jesus, I was nuts! Suddenly I was convinced that someone was going to burst in the very next second. I snatched my underwear and pants back up over my hips and washed my face with ice cold water, fixed my hair. Then with a deep breath I pulled the door open, out from the interrogation room and into that awful airplane. Everything was quiet. There was nobody waiting. Though it had felt like hours, it had probably been no more than a few minutes, but back up at the seats my husband was already half-asleep.

I didn’t dare look over at the brute, but I was still throbbing and snuggled up into my husband. He didn’t respond to this, really, so I pulled the blanket over both our laps and dragged his hand over until it was between my legs. Then he got the message and gently stroked me for a while.

So I earn my stripes, X! Not exactly the mile-high club, but not too shabby either, if I do say so myself.

Me

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