‘High’ Jacking 4.6/5 (28)

It’s been more than three years and to this day I’ll never know what came over me on that red-eye flight back to Baltimore. I’ve never done anything like it before or since. I’m not that kind of woman (or at least I didn’t think I was). Sometimes it seems like I just dreamed it.

But I can’t forget the exhilarating, sweeping sense of power and erotic ecstasy it gave me handling that handsome stranger’s huge cock — and the dirty fun of sharing him with the flight attendant. My God! I’m cringing and blushing just writing this. It’s both the most shameful and most thrilling experience I ever had.

What made me do it? Who knows? Maybe it was the fact that my husband Bill and I had been bickering during that whole week-long vacation to Seattle. It was supposed to be a romantic getaway. I had looked forward to lots of long nights of hot sex.

But instead, we fought the whole time. By the time we were ready to board the midnight flight I was feeling two very dangerous emotions: extreme sexual frustration and the angry urge to get back at Bill somehow.

We were both sulking by the time the flight was called, standing away from each other. I was about seven people behind him in the very short boarding line. I could see it was going to be a pretty empty flight. There were only about 20 of us on a plane that held more than 100 people.

I’m not sure what made me drop my purse. I guess part of it was simple sleep-deprived clumsiness. I was not only angry and frustrated that night, I was also tired. The past few nights had been spent in those bitter, exhausting arguments that go nowhere.

So I was in a bit of a fog as I watched my husband board ahead of me. I reached in my purse to get my boarding pass and it slid off my shoulder and fell to the floor, some of its contents spilling out. I started to bend down to pick it up. But before I got the chance, I felt a reassuring hand on my shoulder gently compelling me to remain upright.

Out of nowhere, a powerfully built man in a sleeveless T shirt and ragged gray sweat pants had stepped up from behind me in line and was kneeling before me, picking up my lipstick, my compact, my keys and my wallet; placing them back in my purse.

I hadn’t noticed him before and still couldn’t see his face. But it was pretty clear he worked out regularly. Under his backpack, his back and shoulders were broad, and his arms were well toned. Not an ounce of fat on him. His body was firm and fit without that gym-rat, overkill, body-builder muscularity. I remember thinking, albeit subconsciously, “Hmm, where was this guy when I was single?” It was just innocent musing; a vague fantasy — I thought.

But when he’d refilled my purse and rose to hand it to me, I felt something overwhelming happen. It was something I hadn’t felt in years — with Bill or anyone else: Instant, full-out arousal. He had an incredibly gentle, yet masculine face; clear blue eyes, bright teeth. But it was more than just good looks. It was his smile that got me. He was flashing me a broad grin brimming with overconfident sexual innuendo.

No. More than “innuendo,” more than “overconfident.” That smile can only be described as arrogant. I think that’s what lit me up: The disarming boldness of it. He was standing less than two feet away, smiling at me as though . . . (How can I put this?) . . . as though he owned me, as though he were claiming me with his eyes.

He looked deep into me and held the look for a length of time that should have felt rude. But instead of feeling violated and angry, I was suddenly on fire. I could actually feel my face flush, my pussy dampen and my nipples harden. And just as I became aware of the last-named sensation, I saw him drop his eyes to my tits and nod approvingly, his smile becoming even broader.

“Uh…Th — thank you,” I said, taking the purse from him. My hands were actually trembling. I found it hard to catch my breath. Jesus, I thought, what the fuck is this?

After what seemed like an eternity, he “released” me. (Yes that’s what it felt like, as if he were releasing me from his spell.) He shifted his backpack and moved farther back in the line where he’d presumably come from.

I recovered somewhat, presented my boarding pass and started moving down the gangway. By the time I reached the entrance to the plane, I had almost put it behind me. My mind returned to my anger at my husband. Our boarding passes said Row 17 B and C.

And as I moved in, I noticed Bill was sitting in his assigned seat (the middle one). But I decided to be spiteful and moved all the way back to Row 22 — the last row. I took the window seat, sat back and closed my eyes a moment feeling that “guess-I-showed-you” sense of victory. I was almost asleep when I heard a woman’s voice asking, “Can I get you a pillow and blanket?”

I opened my eyes to see a lovely playful-looking blond flight attendant smiling at me. “Yes,” I said. “That would be nice.”

“All by yourself?” she asked.

For some baffling reason, I answered truthfully. “I’m flying with my husband,” I said, “but we’re having some marital problems. I’d rather sit by myself if it’s okay. He’s up there in Row 17. If this seat is assigned, I’ll move somewhere else. Is that cool?”

The attendant, whose name tag identified her as “Leah,” gave me a conspiratorial smile and said, “Sure, no problem.” Then she handed me the blanket and pillow and added. “I’ve been there, done that. Sometimes we have to teach our guys how we need to be treated.

You give him this nice long six-hour flight to wonder and long for you and he’ll be eating out of your hand by the time you get to Baltimore.” She turned her eyes toward the front of the plane and her smile broadened, “Wow, looks like you may have some nice diverting company tonight.”

I looked where she was looking and felt my heart start pounding. There was the sexy stranger who had picked up my purse and set me momentarily on fire, making his way toward the back of the plane.

“Mmm,” Leah said. “What a hunk! Now that’s a ‘man vacation’ I wouldn’t mind taking.”

“A what?” I asked.

“Oh it’s just an expression, something that has helped me stay married for six years. Every now and then I have to take a little break from the every-day and enjoy some… well let’s call it ‘new scenery’. I love my husband, but a gal has to ‘get away’ now and then to keep her sanity. Don’t you think?”

I’m not sure what I would have said, but before I could answer, Leah had stepped back, ceding room to the man who had stopped at the aisle seat in my row.

And as he hoisted his backpack up to the luggage compartment, I noticed something stunning, something that took my breath away and gave me an even stronger wave of gooseflesh than I’d felt back in the line: As he stretched his arms up and stood on his toes to tuck the backpack into the overhead, the front of his sweatpants tightened against him.

And there, pushing against that stretchy gray wool was a bulge so big as to seem not even real. That couldn’t be all him, I thought. Not only was it huge, it was rock hard and pressing relentlessly against the crotch of those sweatpants. My heavens, I thought, I could hang my entire wardrobe on that thing if I could find big enough hanger handles.

It was so fascinating I couldn’t stop looking and to my utter mortification, he caught me staring! Again he smiled at me as though he owned me. I turned my red face to the window, trying not to hyperventilate and he sat down right beside me — not in the aisle seat, but in the middle seat.

He didn’t actually touch me but I could feel his nearness on the nerves of my skin. My flesh felt hot, and again I could sense a hardness in my nipples and dampness in my pussy.

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