The plane was tiny. The flight attendant was large. Six-four maybe, she had guessed as she watched him in the waiting room. In the confines of the plane he seemed even taller. Tall, dark, buff, handsome, a little older, greying a little around the edges, and looking both very willing and very able.

She had stumbled slightly getting on the plane. She was sure it was an accident, but it may have been caused by looking at him instead of the gap between the ramp and the plane.

She hadn't fallen far, but he had caught her, caught her just as she had imagined. Had she imagined? She didn't remember. Held for that brief second in his arms the line between past and present, reality and fantasy, was suddenly very blurry. She blurted out a thank you, and something about wishing she'd fallen harder. Even for her it was more forward than usual, especially returning from a sexually satiating trip, with absolutely no thought in her mind of further adventures or entanglements.

Strapped into the first seat she watched him move around the cabin, fixing up the other passengers, making sure everything was in order. There were only a few passengers and really not much for him to do, but he still exuded a commanding presence, and she couldn't take her eyes off him.

Within minutes they were ready for takeoff. He was seated across from her, watching the cabin, calm, alert, still in control. She watched his face as they sped down the runway. There was a brief grimace, an eye closing (a silent prayer?) as they lifted off. She wondered if he made similar expressions when he came.

It was a short flight, maybe half an hour tops, and he had obviously made it way too many times for the flight itself to be interesting. He looked like a caged lion, especially strapped in. The simple act of unbuckling his seatbelt might not have meant much to him, but the symbolic uncaging was almost too much for her to take. She closed her eyes, biting the tip of her finger, and opened them again to find him staring back at her.

He stood, and did a visual once-over of the almost empty cabin, his hips too close to her face for her own good. She sat transfixed, wanting to reach out, to touch him, to lean forward, to bite him through his pants.

What seemed like minutes passed before she realized he was looking down at her, that he'd asked her a question, and then asked her again, that he wanted to sit down next to her. Eagerly, wordlessly, she complied, patting the seat next to her.

He didn't talk much after that, just leaned back and looked out the window, turning occasionally to smile at her. Torn between desire and sanity she didn't push the conversation either, but adjusted herself in the seat to be as close to him as possible.

As he alternated between watching her and the clouds, her and the clouds, he did little hand exercises, flexing his fingers against each other. All she could think of was what his hands would feel like against her naked skin.

She tried to distract herself, not be too obvious, picking up a book and starting to read, but her eyes kept wandering over the top of the page, watching him. She couldn't help smiling to herself, or licking her lips.

He picked up a newspaper and flipped through it, not seeming to find anything interesting, then rolled it up and idlely hit it against his thigh as he stared out the window. All she could think of was being spanked with it, admiring the power he wielded so casually, imagining the sting of it on her ass each time it struck him.

He turned to watch her watching. "What are you thinking about?" he finally asked.

"Why?" she smiled, almost laughing "Can't you tell?"

"I'm not clairvoyant" he shot back.

"That's too bad" she teased.

He made a little noise then, a little rumbling warning growl. She shivered, shifting her arm on the arm rest, just enough, barely touching him. He did not pull away. Eyes locked, their hands touched, and held. But it was a small plane. There was no place to go, nothing to do, without arousing suspicion. So there they sat, not acting on their urges, until the captain announced the descent.

The attendant rose, and stepped through the cabin one last time, returned to his own seat facing her and the rest of the cabin, looked at her meaningfully and strapped himself back in.

He was secure now. She was safe. Slowly, staring at him, watching him stare back, watching lust, awe, and frustration flit across his face in rapid succession, she unfastened the top button of her blouse as the plane began to dip. Then the second. And the third. Her right hand entered the blouse, tweaked her hard bare long erect nipple. Involuntarily her head snapped back, her eyes closed, her mouth opened, her left hand stole up under her skirt, her finger touched her moist clit, ran in circles, rose again to her mouth, where she sucked it, sucked it like she wanted to suck his cock.

The plane was almost down. One last tweak of the nipple, one last lick of her finger, before slowly buttoning up again. She was almost back together when the wheels touched, as back together as she could be by the time they taxied to a stop, given how bad she needed to come.

People were standing up, filing off, there were hardly enough people to warrant a line. She took her time, stood, waving the others past. Within seconds it was only her and him and he was stepping back into the cabin, between the seats and the dividing wall, grabbing her again, hands on her back, under her blouse, on her ass, her breasts crushed against his massive chest, her lips crushed under his lips, her tongue fighting his tongue, her hands on his cock, through his pants, squeezing hard despite herself, giving in and pushing back at the same time, finally coming up for air.

"My husband" she managed to gasp, "is out there waiting."

He stepped back, dazed, confused, panting. "Why?" he wheezed, "Why are all the best ones married?"

"Good question," she answered, smiling, picking up her bag handle, wheeling it past him, slipping a business card into his shirt pocket and patting him on the chest, "let's talk about it over coffee."