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Message-ID: <30307asstr$990108603@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "alancmcd" <alancmcd@lineone.net>
Subject: {ASSM} Cabin Fever (1/1) mf/rom (*)
Date: Thu, 17 May 2001 10:10:03 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Hello again.

   Away three years and now you can't get rid of me.

   Another relatively gentle story, NOT FOR KIDS.  Hope you like it.  If
you do, I'm at alancmcd@lineone.net.  If you don't, I'm not.  Well,
alright, I can take it.

   There should be an asterisk after Favour Day as well, which is a
different kind of tale to this.

   "Let me see what life is like on Jupiter and Mars."

   FRANK SINATRA - Fly Me To The Moon



   CABIN FEVER



   The air hostess was kneeling beside Jack, talking quietly to him, but
the words didn't register.  All he knew was that the aeroplane was shaking.
Yes, of course it was nothing but minor turbulence.  He wasn't stupid.  He
understood that.  The problem lay in the fact that all of his understanding
was irrelevant.  Illogically but inescapably, he was scared to death.

   It was the first time that he had flown in twelve years.  The last time
had been a long trip back from Lagos, Nigeria.  Over the Sahara the
aeroplane had hit bad weather, which had continued all the way home.  Then,
because of some perceived problem which must in the end have turned out to
be nothing, there had been a period of over twenty minutes when cabin crew
had been asked to take their seats and he had registered anxiety in their
faces.  Fear had overwhelmed him then, just as it did now.  When he had set
his feet on the ground again, he had promised himself that they would never
leave it again.  And so true had he stayed to that promise, he had even
changed his job when it had looked like overseas travel would again become
a necessity.  But finally, there had come a time when he'd had no choice.

   It was all his girlfriend Sally's fault.  She was an air hostess by
profession, who got a thrill out of flying.  They'd been together nine
months, and she understood him well enough not to try to talk him into
overcoming the paranoia, but last week she'd had to ask that he board a
jumbo whether he could handle it or not.

   Her sister, Monica, was to marry in Rhodes.  There would be a huge
ceremony.  All of Sally's family would attend.  After that, she would take
a week's holiday.  And she did not wish to do so alone.  So Campbell,
browbeaten into being ashamed of his weakness, had agreed.  He would fly
from Manchester, while Sally would make her way from her last job, the
London to Istanbul flight.  They would meet at the airport.  It would be
wonderful.  Sally was certain of it.

   She'd arranged everything for him, including (and this perhaps with
other passengers in mind) the isolation of his fevered pessimism.  The
scheduled jumbo had a small first class compartment of which he was the
only occupant (it was midweek as well as being February and way outside the
holiday season).  Since takeoff, his only company had been the young lady
who was now talking to him so urgently.  She had plied him with drink, but
had otherwise kept herself to herself.

   Until the vibration started, he'd thought it possible that he might get
through the flight without irreparable trauma.  And occasional furtive
glances at the girl (Holly, according to her lapel badge) had helped.  She
was a compact brunette with long legs, a wide sensual pink mouth and
breasts big enough to seem out of proportion with the rest of her body. 
Herded beneath her company issue white blouse, these had attracted his
specific admiration on three or four occasions.

   He'd reflected upon how much he loved the uniforms which air hostesses
wore.  It was a relatively new obsession, birthed by seeing Sally for the
first time in hers and stoked by the parties she had taken him to, where
her friends paraded in their colour co-ordinated outfits like peas taking a
night out of the pod.  He loved the tight skirts which cut off just below
the knee, adored the dark stockings with their visible seam, found himself
captivated by exposed, creamy skin which knew the value of cosmetics so
well, riveted by the bobbed, tidy hairstyles and pert little caps.

   Now, though, the furtive glances and the reflections had ceased.  Now,
he'd lost his grip, and even the close attentions of the lovely Holly were
not helping him.  Fear had him by the throat.

   Whatever she was saying, he didn't care.  He interrupted it.  "How
long?" he gasped.  "How long now?"

   "Half an hour, Jack", she told him calmly.  "That's all.  Just half an
hour".

   "I can't survive it".  He was adamant.  "And it sounds like the plane
can't survive it.  We have to land.  Tell the pilot.".  Then he registered
her words and was confused.  "How do you know my name?" he challenged, this
new uncertainty adding to rather than diverting his disquiet.

   "I'm a friend of Sally's", the girl replied.  "A good friend.  And I
know all about you.  She asked me to look after you".

   "It's her fault I'm here," he confided pointlessly, missing the fact
that she obviously already knew this.  "She knew I couldn't deal with this.
And she didn't care".

   Holly moved a little, so that she was in front of him, so that he had to
look up at her.  He caught a line of her perfume, a heady line, and noted
even in his misery that she was wearing his favourite fragrance.  Vanilla
Fields.  Momentarily, the realisation and the scent made his head spin.

   "She cared enough that she begged me on this trip", Holly said, the
words slow and deliberate, as though she were talking to a man who needed
to lipread.  "I wouldn't be here if not for you.  This is supposed to be a
day off for me".

   He was startled, so much so that he diverted resources in order to
respond.  "You mean you're here just for me?  Just me?  You're not down to
work this flight?"

   Holly shook her head.  Vanilla floated again.  He surprised himself with
a concentrated flare of lust, a visceral thing.  She was so bloody
attractive, it almost hurt to study her too closely.  "Why do you think
I've spent all my time in this section of the plane?" she asked.  "There
are about fifty passengers back there.  If I was working normally, don't
you think I'd be helping the other girls out?" She touched his knee gently,
and it was a shock in more ways than one, because where the fingers rested,
his skin tingled.  "Look, Jack", she went on, "Sally tried to change her
arrangements so that she could be here.  You know that.  She tried for
weeks.  But it wasn't possible.  So here I am.  The next best thing".

   The aeroplane shuddered again.  His heart heaved, and he dug his
fingernails into the palms of his hands.

   At the same time, Holly's fingers tightened on his knee.  "It's okay",
she promised.  "Really.  This happens all the time".

   He managed a weak smile.  Inside, his stomach was churning.

   "Look, I'm grateful", he told her.  "To you.  And to Sally. 
Particularly to you.  But this stuff is ingrained in me.  There's nothing
you can do.  Nothing.  Just let me shake here in the corner, and pour me
into a bucket when we land.  Go back and help your friends, if you want".

   Again, Holly shook her head.  "No can do.  Sorry.  I'm going to get you
through this.  And the first item in my guide for nervous passengers is
advice.  Look out of the window, Jack.  It really helps.  You can see how
evenly we're flying.  How safe and predictable it all is.  You could even
look out of the front window if you want to.  I can get you into the
cockpit if you'd like.  I know, normally that's just for little boys, but
I'll tell Frank you're a big little boy.  Frank owes me.  He won't mind. 
Look.  We'll start with the window next to you".

   The first class area was only four seats wide, rather than seven as in
the rest of the aeroplane.  A wide aisle separated these seats into pairs,
and Jack had situated himself on the left hand side, in the front window
seat, where he had more legroom.  He had not, however, taken advantage of
the window.  Instead, he had pulled down the blind.

   Now, when Holly reached to raise it, he grasped her wrist.  Perhaps, he
realised too late, a little firmly.  The hostess cringed.

   Her wrist was so slim that he could entirely enclose it with thumb and
forefinger.  He felt her pulse beneath the pad of his middle finger.  That
was pleasant, but the ssensation of her wounded eyes upon him was not.  He
looked directly into them.  They were soft and brown, flecked attractively
with grey.

   "I'm sorry", he said.  "Really sorry.  I shouldn't have grabbed you like
that".  But he only eased the grip.  He didn't entirely let go.  And she
didn't break contact either, her other hand remaining incongruously on his
knee.  Glancing down at that, he was suddenly aware now of a different,
rather more pleasant sort of tension than he had suffered for the last
three or four minutes.

   "If you don't want to see outside", she told him gently, "then you don't
have to.  It was only a suggestion.

   "It would just make me feel worse, I'm sure of it", he told her.  "And I
don't want to meet the pilot either.  Like I told you.  It's better if you
let me get through this alone".

   She studied him for a moment or two.  He looked away, a little
embarrassed at so exposing his vulnerability.  Still she didn't leave him.

   Eventually, she broke the short silence.  "Sally does care about you,
you know" she mentioned.  "I'd say that's pretty apparent."

   The change of subject disorientated him.

   "Oh, sure", he replied desultorily.  "That's why I'm here against my
will.  She's just overflowing with concern about me.  I'm so bloody lucky".

   Holly chuckled, hiding the smile.  The gesture warmed him, enlivened
him. Then she said a very strange thing.

   "It's Plan B, then", she supposed.  There was a touch of resignation in
her voice, but no disappointment, which was odd, because the two normally
shared a common tone when expressed.

   "I don't like plans", he warned.  "Particularly when their subject is
me".  But even as he said the words, he wasn't entirely sure that in this
instance discouragement was the right way to go.

   "You'll like this one", Holly assured him.  "It's an "if all else fails"
plan, and Holly's already agreed to it on your behalf.  In fact, she
proposed it on your behalf.  I was the one who had to agree.  And I said
that I'd considered the circumstances at the time.  Which I've done.  And
the circumstances are fine.  So.  I agree to it.  You're irrelevant.  Sally
makes your decisions for you.  So you can just shut up."

   "It's a parachute, isn't it?" Jack suggested, only half in jest.  "Sure.
I'll go along with it.  Strap it on, Holly.  Load me up and I'm ready to
go".

   "It's not exactly a parachute", she replied.  "It's something a little
safer than that".

   She watched him for a moment.  And he watched her.  Convinced that he
couldn't be right.  That her eyes were not delivering that message.  Not
that message.  After all, he hardly knew her.

   Then she knelt before him, in that great area of legroom he had claimed,
and, cool as crystal, she unhooked his pants, pulled down his zip, and
gently took out his cock.

   By the time he realised what was happening, she was gently loosening his
foreskin, moving it up and down, exposing the hidden plum more with each
pass.  All the while her eyes held his.  And there was a real excitement in
her, an immediate deepening of her breathing, a tautness in her shoulders
and neck.  She was honouring a promise, true, but there was no discernible
lack of willingness.

   She smiled at him, and gripped him a little tighter.  "Nobody will come
up here", she said, as though he'd sought the reassurance.  "The kitchens
are at the rear of the plane.  And the girls will have to strap themselves
in soon".

   "Sally", he managed, the word strangled.

   "Plan B", Holly reminded him.  "Sally's Plan B".

   Despite his confusion and a few misgivings, he hardened a little.  Her
hand was cool and firm, and he was grateful for its friendliness, its
comfort.  But he didn't believe that she could arouse him to full erection.
Not here, and not now.  On any other occasion, naturally, it would have
been a cinch, but fear was still stronger in him than lust.  The lust was
new and sudden, whilst the fear was entrenched.  He took a deep breath,
wondering how to tell her without hurting her feelings and making her
sacrifice seem valueless that although he was grateful for her efforts,
that although he respected what she was doing both for him and for her
friend, she wasn't helping.  Nothing, even such generosity, could divert
him from his monstrous dread of flying.  He found some words, opened his
mouth to use them.  At exactly the same moment, Holly found an entirely
different kind of use for her mouth.

   He watched her lean forward.  He watched her broad, shiny pink lips part
slightly.  He watched as her lush pink tongue flattened to trace a gentle
wet path from his balls to his glans.

   His body jerked in shocked response, having failed to expect the moist
touch, having failed to respond in time to the message from his eyes.  He
felt as though every nerve end from his shoulders downward had been
activated simultaneously.  His buttocks lifted from the seat slightly,
would have lifted further had he not been restrained by his seat belt.  He
felt his cock, part of him and yet no longer part of him, gain real
substance, and he moaned, hugely, unavoidably.

   Holly giggled.  "Thought you were too far gone, eh?" she taunted.  And
then she licked him again.

   This time, he was able to concentrate on the pleasure rather than the
surprise.  He relaxed back, thoughts of danger momentarily gone.  Just for
now, he wanted nothing more than for Holly to continue doing what she was
doing.  He wanted to squirt across her tongue, into her mouth, into her
throat.  Just for now, a plunge from 30,000 feet seemed less likely, and
even less important, as long as he could finish in time.  He reached for
her hair, buried his hands in it, and as he did so, she took him fully into
her mouth, started to suck.

   Her tongue was lush and generous, and it flicked languorously across the
underside of his organ.  His glans bulged against the soft flesh at the
back of her throat.  She started to move up and down, stretching her lips
to accommodate him.  The warmth and wetness and motion and her heady
fragrance combined to make him dizzy.  Almost immediately he was on the
verge of coming.

   She seemed to sense this and rocked back on her heels.  She stood up.

   "Ready for something else?" she teased huskily.

   He nodded dumbly, and she raised the hem of her skirt, exhibiting a
gorgeous pair of black frilly panties.  Reaching between her legs, she used
the crook of her little finger to pull the crotch to one side.  He caught a
tantalising glimpse of curling black hair, of glistening pink pussy.  Then
she climbed across him in the chair (which was more than wide enough to
accommodate the posture), legs open across his hips, and took his cock in
her fist to direct it.

   She lowered herself onto him, and her luscious cunt was slick, readier
than he had expected.  It pleased him that she was on heat, and he lifted
to help her.  He felt her flesh slither over his hardness and her pulse
pound through the moisture.

   At first she fucked him slowly, shoulders back, eyes closed, fingers
caressing his hips.  She was tight, and each descent took some effort from
both of them.  He loved the sensation of entrapment, and as a result was
stiffer than he could ever remember.  The potency was also helped by his
helplessness, which he was surprised to enjoy.

   The sex was slow at first, a luxurious pampering.  Holly's private
muscles twitched as she took him, and her eyes drifted closed.  But then,
as the whine of the engines increased, she started to drive down with more
determination, intent on maintaining the distraction.  Her cunt gurgled as
she impaled herself rhythmically upon him, and suddenly the scent of her
musk, alive and tart, was as strong as her perfume.  His cock reacted to
it, twitching inside of its slobbering prison, throbbing as it prepared to
erupt.

   Soon now.  His hands massaged her firm, round buttocks through the crisp
material of her uniform.  He could feel the outline of her panties both
beneath the pads of his fingers and against the base of his cock, where the
hem abraded him from time to time.  Her movements were strong and
predictable now, and he suspected that she was going to come.

   The aircraft shook, and there was a grinding sound beneath his feet. 
The landing wheels, he guessed, were lowering.  For an instant, he
panicked, but then Holly nibbled at his left ear, and at the same time her
sloppy vagina twitched around the butt of his shaft, causing him to cry out
in surprise.

   Although the shaking increased, and although the tone of the engines
changed, rising in volume, it was all background again.  He was conscious
of it, and he remained a little nervous, but there were stronger nervous
reactions at work within him, and they claimed precedence, even when the
engines started to scream, even when his ears filled up with pressure.

   A different pressure, a swollen delight, knifed into his spine and
buttocks and brain.  Holly recognised his closeness to climax and rode him
with increased vigour, drove him towards the edge.  Her knees on the seat
beside him urged her hips forward and back, forward and back, the slap and
slop of rhythmic contact audible even above the din.

   Suddenly, as he'd expected and hoped, she came.  Her body moulded into
him, hip to hip, her fingers wrapped into his hair, her lips and teeth
ground to his and her cunt was a grinding, slobbering, trembling vice.  He
felt her juices coating his balls and thighs as she became trapped in the
desperate, taut, circular motion.  His cock felt vulnerable as her groin
hugged and crushed, hugged and crushed.  He broke out of the kiss to watch
her and she rocked back a little.  Now she was panting through parted lips.
Her eyes were wild and her hands went to her head, sending her cap
tumbling, disordering her hair.  The effect of her disarray was
devastating, softening her but taking nothing from her beauty.  So
devastating that he was finding it increasingly difficult to hold back.

   The wheels of the aircraft found runway, usually the most difficult time
for him, but not on this occasion.  On this occasion he only recognised the
change because the bump slid him momentarily deeper within the shuddering
body of this wonderful woman, a woman who was dissolving his fear by
providing the most powerful of all possible diversions.

   And at this new depth, a depth which the awkwardness of the chair had
previously prevented him from achieving, he finally came, and came so
powerfully and hugely that he cried out.  Clawing her hips, he emptied
himself in three huge expulsions at the very centre of her, just as she
started to descend from her own peak.  His cock seemed to dissolve, seemed
to become one with her body.

   The aircraft brakes came on, but she didn't move, and he didn't suggest
that she should.  Instead, they took a moment, holding one another as the
aftershocks faded, as he fed her the little that remained of his passion.

   Now the plane was taxiing, and there was movement in tourist class as
those people in a hurry went for the overhead lockers, ignoring the warning
to wait until clearance was given.  Holly, he accepted, no longer had a
choice.

   She slid clear of him, which she needed to do because he was still fully
erect.  The gurgling sound of separation made him smile, but the fact of it
instantly saddened him, because of its finality.  He watched her as she
smoothed down her skirt, noting that the creases remained.  Depressed now,
he hoped that they would be for her a reminder of him tomorrow, and the day
after tomorrow.  Until she took an iron to them.  Then he noticed that she
was regarding him some sadness also, and he wondered if it was possible
that she might be experiencing a similar sense of loss.  Instantly, his
unhappiness turned to guilt.

   He squeezed his bloated member back into his pants, and reached to get
his bag.  When he'd extracted it, she was moving away down the aisle.

   "I could call you", he shouted after her, not really knowing quite what
he was proposing.  Sally was waiting for him after all.  She would no doubt
be at the gate.

   Holly turned, took a step back towards him.  She raised a slim, shapely
eyebrow.  "You don't even know my last name", she reminded him.  "Or my
telephone number.  How would you call me?"

   "You can give me those now", he said.  "And when you do, I could call
you.  Later."

   She smiled, half humouring him, half uncertain.  "I know someone who
wouldn't be a fan of that", she mentioned.

   An odd thought struck him, and before he decided not to and later wish
he had, his usual way with such things, he expressed it.  "If Sally cared
as much as she claims to about me and, well.  if you really were a good
friend, then what just happened wouldn't have happened.  She wanted us both
to dance to her tune.  Well, we did.  And maybe now it's our tune".

   Holly nodded.  "Maybe it is", she allowed.

   "So?" he pressed.

   She smiled again.  "So why don't you call me?" she suggested, as though
it had been her idea all along.  "We can talk about music".

   He nodded.  "That's my thought too", he said.  "But just for now, would
you be interested in helping me to get off this death-trap?"

   Holly held out a hand.  He took it.

   "Flying is easy", he told her.  "If you get the best of the in flight
entertainment".

   Holly scowled playfully before leading him towards the door.  Once
there, she handed him a card.

   He put it carefully away before starting up towards the entry gate.  He
had something to tell Sally, and there was no value in delay.

   Tomorrow, he realised, or certainly within a day or two, he would be
flying back to England.  But he wasn't going to worry about that flight
until the time came.  And perhaps, he thought, he wouldn't worry about it
at all.  Perhaps, the fear would no longer govern him.

   Sally was indeed at the gate.  She waved.

   He didn't wave back.

   

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