2 comments/ 34139 views/ 2 favorites Mid-Air Collusion Ch. 01 By: charmingMan As I stepped off the escalator, depositing me at the departure lounge at Schiphol International airport, I was still heatedly composing the letter of complaint in my head. "Dear British Airways, upon arriving at Heathrow airport this evening for my scheduled flight to JFK, imagine my anger when I discovered that it had been delayed and diverted via Amsterdam, resulting in the fact that I would not arrive in New York until the early hours of the following morning." I sighed as I made my way to a row of three vacant seats and sat down on the middle of the three, briefcase by my side. I'd be over half way there by now if things had gone to plan. I opened my case, took out a newspaper and began flicking through the pages, pondering how best I could pass the 40-minute wait. The newspaper offered little comfort, as I'd already read it on the way over from London. I stood up and strolled over to a waste bin and tossed in the dog-eared journal. I paused for an instant, stifled a yawn and stretched my arms, more out of boredom than any desire to flex my muscles. Turning to walk back, I became aware of a young woman who had decided to occupy the seat next to my briefcase. I sighed again. This was just not my day, I thought. I should call the whole thing off here and now and head back home. As I approached the invader of my space, I realised just how pretty she was. She was slim, with tanned skin and wonderfully dark curly hair. She seemed entranced in the book she was reading and at first was oblivious to me standing over her. As I picked up my case, she looked up momentarily, smiled at me and returned to her book. In that one instant I was both incensed by her apparent disconcern that she had stolen my seat, as well as totally enchanted by her smile. On the one hand I wanted to let her know how ignorant I considered her; on the other I wanted to take her hand and tell her how beautiful I thought she was. I wanted to get as far away from her as possible out of anger. Yet at the same time I desired to sit down next to her. Resolving my dilemma, I compromised and slung my briefcase down onto a seat more or less opposite her and sat down next to it. With no newspaper to occupy myself, I was thankful for the overhead screen directly above her. Leaning back in my seat, I began to study the departure information with apparent interest. Every so often I found my eyes lowering towards her, stealing a glance. I watched her eager eyes move as she scoured the pages of her book. She looked relaxed and at one with herself. Back up to the departure screen, flight to JFK – wait in lounge. Back down again, a pretty cotton skirt and a loose fitting blouse, bare legs and slip on shoes. Up again, flight to Cairo – delayed until 23:30. Back down again, she turned a page, looking about her as she did so. Up again, flight to Madrid – go to Gate 17. Down, she flicked the hair from out of her eyes. Up, flight to Bonn – boarding. And then down again. She was staring back at me. I didn't realise at first, such was the rhythm of my glances. I must have looked a little shocked when I did become aware, for she began to laugh, but concealed it well by smiling instead. I smiled back and she quickly returned to her book. I too quickly looked up again to hide my embarrassment. Flight to JFK – go to Gate 25, followed almost immediately by an announcement stating the same. I stood up, picked up my briefcase and paused for a moment as I searched for a sign to Gate 25. "Gate 25 is this way," a pleasant voice said in a rich European accent. I turned and there she was by my side, a large leather handbag slung over her shoulder, her book in her hand. She caught me by surprise and before I could thank her she was off, walking away from me. I looked on for a moment as she headed towards Gate 25. As if in a trance I began to follow her, almost not caring where she was off to. If she was boarding my flight to New York, then so be it. If she wasn't, I wasn't sure I wanted to go there anymore! But as she joined the ever-growing queue at Gate 25, a rush of sheer panic and excitement came over me and I suddenly felt 16 again. It seemed to take me an eternity to board the plane after I had watched her disappear through the departure gate from my position in the queue. I felt sure she was by now deep in conversation with some other hopeful. As I made my way through the first class cabin I feared I would see her there, already sipping a cocktail. To my relief she was not, neither did I spy her in club class. As I entered the economy section of the plane the reality of the situation struck me for the first time. There was very little chance I would actually see her again, let alone talk to her. As if resigning myself to defeat I glanced at my boarding card and set my sights on the aisle seat of row 35. Judging from the queue of passengers waiting to board the plane, I was under the impression that the flight was full. Yet as I made my way towards the rear of the aircraft I was aware of many empty seats, providing passengers with a little extra welcome space around them. It was when I reached row 30 that I saw her, sitting alone by the window in row 34, once more engrossed in her book. My pulse raced as I considered my next move. Should I even be considering a move? Sitting so close to her, I'd be crazy not to, I thought. She'd surely expect me to. Wouldn't she? Or was I reading too much into that look she had given me earlier. 'Gate 25 is this way,' she had said in an accent I couldn't quite place. She certainly wasn't Dutch, I knew that much. I was too curious to let it go. Reaching row 34 I leaned forward and politely asked, "Is this seat taken, Miss?" pointing to the aisle seat. She turned slowly towards me, pausing for a moment before raising her head to look at me. Her eyes moved slowly up my body as if mentally undressing me. When at last our eyes met, she appeared to be concealing yet another smile. It was then that I was finally convinced that I was not imagining the situation. "Yes, as far as I know, it is," she replied, lowering her eyes back down me before returning to her book. Was this a cold shoulder, or was she encouraging me to sit down? Or was this simply part of the game we were now playing? I had to act quickly, not wishing to look stupid. I heaved my briefcase up into the overhead locker and sat down in the aisle seat, leaving the vacant seat between us as a symbolic barrier; a no-man's land for one of us to consider breaching at some point during the flight. I figured that should someone turn up, claiming I was in his or her place, I would be able to rescue the situation without too much embarrassment. As it turned out I was not in anyone else's seat and within minutes the captain was welcoming us aboard the aircraft and we began taxiing towards the runway. As we bumped along the uneven tarmac, the cabin crew performed their ritual safety procedure. I made the point of paying attention on this occasion, out of sympathy for the crew who showed little enthusiasm for the task. As soon as they were done, the captain was ordering them to their seats for an immediate take-off. Throughout these proceedings, I continued to monitor my mystery girl from the corner of my eye. It was only as the plane began its thrust towards the sky that she looked up from her book, stole me a sideways look and then turned to look out of her window at the night sky. I turned and looked too, half curious as I always am during a take-off, but more so on this occasion as it gave me the perfect opportunity to get a longer look at her. Her profile filled the round window to the outside world and a tingle raced through my body as I studied her soft cheeks, beautifully formed nose and the fullness of her lips, deliciously coated in a cherry coloured lipstick. For a moment I seemed mesmerised by the vision before me. My stomach sank suddenly as the aircraft left the ground and clawed its way upward, catching me a little by surprise. She turned and smiled yet again as if she'd realised how potent a weapon it was against me. "I love the take-off," she said. "For me, it marks the start of another great adventure." "Really," I mused. "For me it's the landing. It means I've got where I'm going in one piece!" She laughed, genuinely I thought and not just out of politeness. "Do you have business in New York?" I told her about my software company and the deal that we were about to sign with an American corporation. The deal was 99% done, this meeting was just to put the finishing touches in place. "And you?" I asked. She relayed to me how she was a Croat living in Amsterdam, working for the Croatian Tourist Board. She was attending a conference in NY, promoting her homeland to American tourists. She spoke with such passion about her country. I found her so easy to listen to, I was fascinated by what she had to say. The manner and tone of her voice captivated me, so much so that I was totally unaware of a stewardess by my side offering complimentary drinks until she tapped me on the shoulder and brought me to my senses. We each ordered dark rum and coke, which we set up on the table of the seat between us. As I stirred in the contents of the mini can of cola, I raised my glass to her and ventured, "Here's to us both having successfully meetings in the Big Apple." "And here's to us both having a pleasurable time in the meantime," she replied, raising her glass back at me with yet another wicked smile on her face. As we sipped our drinks, our eyes made contact once more and remained locked for a fraction of a second longer than they should have done for two strangers who had just met. The way she had said 'pleasurable' was quite deliberate, I was sure. My heart raced as my mind pondered all manner of pleasurable thoughts. Was this to be the most memorable flight of my life, I wondered? Only the next eight or so hours would tell. Mid-Air Collusion Ch. 02 An hour or so into the flight and things were going well in row 34. We continued to make pleasant conversation during lunch, idle chat about work and life in general in our respective parts of the world. We drank red wine with our meal and rounded off the event with coffee and cognac. No doubt the alcohol played a significant part in making us both feel relaxed and at ease with each other's company. Once the stewardesses had completed their clean-up act down the aisles, the atmosphere in the aircraft became calm once more as the cabin lights were dimmed and our fellow passengers settled down to the in-flight entertainment, read their books or fell asleep. There had been a pause in our chatting for around five minutes and the drone of the plane's engines sounded prominently in my head. She was busy staring out of the window, seemingly deep in thought. "What can you see," I asked, trying to ignite the conversation once again. "Bright lights of what looks like a large ship in the sea," she replied. "It even looks quite large from up here". From my aisle seat I strained to look across and out of the window. "I need the toilet," she continued. "Take my seat while I'm gone and you'll be able to see it." I unbuckled my seat belt and moved out into the aisle to let her pass. As she exited our row, she whispered softly, "Be sure to keep it warm for me while I'm gone." My face broke into a bright smile as I watched her head off towards the rear of the aircraft. As I moved back into row 34 and took up her seat by the window, a strange tingling sensation came over me. Upon sitting down I was immediately conscious of how warm the seat felt. And it was her warmth. Was this natural to feel so aroused by a stranger like this, I wondered? I noticed the book she had been reading tucked into the back of the seat in front of me. I took it out. John Grisham's latest novel. Again my heart raced as I held the book in my hands, flicking through the pages as if it were strictly taboo. I held it to my face, attempting to smell her presence within it. The book, however, was evidently very new and to my dismay it smelled of nothing other than a fresh, crisp paperback. I stifled a laugh as I realised just how silly I was being. She returned at this point and as I motioned to my feet she shook her head. "It's OK," she said. "You stay there." And to my surprise she sat down in the seat next to me and made herself comfortable. "Did you see the boat?" she asked. "Uh, yes I did. Very big, wasn't it?" I replied, lying through my teeth. She then noticed the book in my hand. "Do you like John Grisham?" "Yes I do," I replied quite genuinely, "Though I've seen more of the films made from his books than actually read his work." "Me too," she said. "I love films. I saw a great film last night, an oldie from the 80s. It was called Sex, Lies and Videotape..." "Oh I love that film," I interrupted. "With James Spader." "And Andie MacDowell. That's right," she exclaimed. "It was so good." I laughed. "You know, when I first saw that film, my girlfriend at the time thought it was really perverted for a guy to get off videoing women talking about sex. The film made her angry." She laughed. "Really? Was she a prude?" "A little," I mused, trying to sound a little sympathetic towards the foibles of an old flame. "I remember arguing with her. Surely he AND the women were all getting something out of it?" "I totally agree", she said boldly. We turned and faced each other as we did so we both simultaneously burst into laughter. "Truly I do, " she continued. "And the more so because these women were strangers to him. And he a stranger to them. That's what made the whole thing so erotic." Her words rang loud in my head as I recalled the sensation I felt sitting in her seat only moments earlier. The tingling, aching sensation I experienced caressing her book. My head was heavy with alcohol as my mind began to wander. Suddenly I was aware that she was talking once more. "Have you ever shared an intimate story of a sexual nature with a total stranger?" she was asking me. She was now leaning into her seat, her head sideways facing me, smiling teasingly. I hesitated for a while, as if considering the question seriously. "Actually, I don't believe I have." "I'll trade you then," she taunted. "An exchange of a deeply personal experience... From one stranger to another." Our eyes met once again. Her pretty face glowed before me. For all my expectations, I could not believe this was happening. Clearly the alcohol was having the same effect on her. "Are you serious," I asked, stalling for time. "Why not?" she replied. "It'll be fun. It can be about anything we like. Maybe something we'd not even consider sharing with our best friends." "I see," I teased, digesting her words. "Something as intimate as that?" "Yes," she purred. "But it has to be a true story. No making it up or wishful thinking!" I laughed. "I wouldn't dream of it," I said mockingly. "Good," she beamed. "Then you go first. I dare you!" I shot her a quick look in the eyes and took a deep breath. "OK," I said calmly. "Let me think." She held her mouth open slightly in anticipation, as I appeared to be thinking long and hard, already certain in my mind as to which story I wanted to tell her. Lowering my voice to that of a whisper I began. "This is the true story of the pleasure I get when taking a shower." She shuddered at my words and huddled closer to me so she could hear. "Oh wow," she said. "Go on." Before commencing my story, I leaned forward in my seat and took a look around us. We were well into our journey now and there was relative calm in our immediate cabin area. Sensing my concern, she seized the opportunity to lift the armrest between us so that when I sat back in my seat she was able to snuggle up to me. "Is that better?" she asked. Considering our relationship was less than a couple of hours old, the physical closeness between us seemed very natural indeed. "Perfect," I whispered. When I turned to face her at last our faces were less than 6 inches apart. I felt the eager warmth from her breath as I began my story. Six months ago I moved apartment. It was a new building with all mod cons. The kitchen and bathroom were particularly well fitted out. The bathroom had a separate bath and shower, and the shower itself had the most amazing shower head. For the first month or so I took my daily shower without paying much attention to the shower head. After all, why should I? A shower was a shower, right? Then one evening, after returning home from a gruelling game of squash with a friend, I jumped in the shower in need of a real good soak. As usual, I spent a minute or two standing motionless under the gushing flow of water, invigorating me from head to my toe. I then lathered myself all over, conscious of eradicating the sweat from my body. As soon as I was done, I proceeded to rinse the soap off, and on this particular occasion I chose to take the shower head down from its mounting on the wall to speed up the operation. By doing so, I became aware for the first time of a number of dial settings on the shower head. By turning the dial I realised that the head was capable of delivering a wide range of power sprays. During installation, the head was set on a mid setting, which had served me well since moving in. Turning the dial in one direction made the spray more concentrated and powerful; turning it the other way made it more gentle and sensitive. Ignoring my soapy body for a moment, I selected the most powerful setting, replaced the head in its wall mounting and moaned in agonising pleasure as the pulsating jet of water beat down against my back, effectively massaging my aching muscles. After five minutes or so I decided I could stand no more. Taking down the shower head once again, I selected the most gentle setting and began to wash down what remained of the soap from my body. In contrast to the power setting, the fine spray of water now soothed me as I waved it about my body. I recall in all honesty that at this point it never crossed my mind at all where this might lead. As the soapy water rolled down my body I began to direct the shower head down towards my legs. Now I should point out that I have always considered myself a sensitive guy, particularly sensitive to touch. However, up until now I have never ever found myself aroused when taking a shower! But as the fine jets of spray found their way between my legs, the tingling sensation was immediate. As the water beat down on my inner thighs and balls I felt them tighten rapidly. Parting my legs, I directed the jet of water directly on myself to amazing effect. My penis grew instantly and began stiffening with each passing second. Bending my legs slightly I was able to angle the head beneath me and the fine spray now teased my buttocks and anus as well as my balls and the base of my penis. The sensation became so overwhelming, I felt sure I would soon explode with pleasure. The idea of this fascinated me; to self inflict an orgasm with no direct contact with my penis seemed impossible, yet I was sure it would happen if I continued to torture myself in this way. As the steam continued to rise, I was able to make myself comfortable squatting over the head as it lay on the floor of the shower. Supporting myself with my back against one of the tiled walls, my legs trembled with tension as the fine jets of water pounded endlessly all over my balls, anus and penis. I pulled back my foreskin and observed as my throbbing head pulsated in the deluge of water. As I looked on, water soaked my face as the fountain surged upward between my legs. Closer and closer, I knew it was going to happen. Closer. Closer. Closer. And suddenly there was no stopping me. Before my eyes my penis made one last defiant gesture, stiffening harder than ever as my head swelled to the point of destruction. As if in rhythm to my beating heart, I began pumping my thick creamy juice high into the misty air. As the water rushed about me, creamy streaks splattered the shower screen in what I still claim to be the most powerful orgasm of my life. My legs gave way beneath me and I collapsed on the floor of the shower in sheer exhaustion. My cum seemed all around me as it mixed with the water and began circling my toes making its way down the plug hole... I stopped talking and the two of us remained silent for some moments. As I became aware of the droning engines of the aircraft once more, I realised that I had just relived the moment as if I had been there. Throughout my story I had continued to look at her, yet I was totally unaware of her or her response. When I came to, I suddenly saw a look of complete bewilderment on her face. Her mouth was wide open and her lips appeared dry. And her eyes were agog with apparent disbelief. At first I thought she was dead. "Are you ok?" I asked nervously. She threw her head back against her seat and seemed to squirm uncomfortably, adjusting her skirt in the process. "Oh my," she said at last. "So much detail." "Was it too much," I questioned, concerned that I may have gone over the top. "No, no, no... Not at all... I just never imagined... It was so... so erotic." I beamed at her compliment. "Thank you." "And this really happened?" she asked quizzically. "Are you sure this is a true story?" I assured her that every word of my story was true, as we had agreed at the outset of our little game. "And how often do you torture yourself in this way now that you have discovered this form of pleasure?" I laughed at this obvious question and then confessed that I now routinely played with myself in this way at least once a week. "I dread my water bill," I quipped. Turning sideways and moving closer towards me once again, she suddenly drew her hand to her mouth as if stifling a smile. "What is it?" I asked in horror. "Oh nothing," she started, motioning down between my legs. "I see you are just as turned on as I am by telling me your story!" I followed her gaze and looked in horror at the bulging erection from within my trousers. So engrossed in the telling of my story, so concentrated was I of delivering such a fine performance, I appeared to have overlooked how aroused it had made me. Now aware, I began to ache with delirious frustration as my penis throbbed away uncomfortably. "So my story turned you on as well?" I teased. She laughed. "Oh for sure it has", she replied calmly. "More than you can possibly imagine, I bet." "You really think so?" I taunted. "I do have a pretty vivid imagination you know." She leaned towards me and lowered her voice even more. "True, you do. Indeed you do. But I doubt you could possibly imagine just how wet I am right now." My penis stiffened noticeably in front of us both as she spoke. "That must be so uncomfortable," she teased. Before I could answer she added, "Stroke yourself for me. I want to see the shape of you. I want to see just how big you are down there." Her request was so demanding, I almost found myself obeying without question. I turned sideways to face her and she, in turn, moved closer to me in anticipation. Our foreheads met at the edge of the sides of our seats. "No way!" I whispered, with barely an inch separating our lips. "If you're that curious, feel free to see for yourself!" She sighed nervously and the warmth of her breath once more overwhelmed me. Her eyes widened devilishly. She leaned forward and took a quick look around the cabin. Returning to my side once more, she raised her face upwards slightly and gave me a small kiss on the nose, which sent a torturous shiver down my spine. Resting the side of her face against mine, she uttered, "If you insist." As I felt the full warmth of her skin against mine, her arm began to move down my side. Suddenly I felt a hand on my thigh, sliding its way towards me like a slithering snake. Relentlessly she made her way down between my legs, eager to reach me. My penis continued to pound inside my trousers in agonising anticipation. And when she reached me she covered me with her outstretched palm. Impossibly, I felt myself grow bigger from within her grasp. Smoothing the contours of my trousers, she was able to ease me down my right leg. Taking a firm hold of me once again, my penis throbbed between her palm and my thigh. "Is that more comfortable?" she whispered. "Much better," I moaned. To my amazement, she then began to caress me up and down, slowly but purposefully. Her hand worked well on me, given the restriction of my clothing and I was sure that if she continued in this manner I would surely cream myself quite quickly. It took all my strength and determination to pull her hand away. "As much as I love what you're doing," I said frustratingly, looking deep into her eyes, "I'm not sure it would look good for me to turn up at JFK airport soaking wet." She smiled back at me and sighed. "Well I have to," she replied. I smiled in turn, "But at least it's not so obvious for you!" "True," she retaliated, "But it's just as uncomfortable, maybe more so." I sat frozen for an instant as I tried to imagine just how wet she was. I studied her elegant legs as they rose from her feet, past her knees, up to her thighs, disappearing under the hem of her skirt. Concealed under that hem, I imagined a delicate pair of panties, by all accounts home to a gorgeously wet pussy. I tried to imagine her in detail. I wondered how well trimmed she kept herself. Her aching clitoris, sitting erect between her juicy lips, oozing endlessly into her panties. This vision became too much for me as my whole body tingled next to her. I leaned closer to her once more and my mouth made delicate contact with her ear. "I think it only fair that I should investigate just how wet you are," I said suggestively. "After all, we are playing by the same rules, aren't we?" Again she sighed heavily at my words. "Sure we are," she replied. "And believe me, I really want you to investigate." But as I shifted my position in an attempt to seek a convenient way in which to disguise some form of assault on her without being seen by anyone, she placed a hand on my arm and settled me back in my seat. Tilting her head, our lips met and we kissed, albeit briefly, in a truly electrifying moment. The warmth of her mouth, the heat of the breath from her nose down onto my face, her words of desperation for me to investigate the contents of her knickers and the vision in my head of what I believed I would find, sent a coarse shudder through my body. Pre-cum began flowing freely from the tip of my penis into my boxers. "All in good time," she murmured, seemingly in as much discomfort as myself. "But first..." she paused, teasingly. I waited anxiously for her to finish the sentence. "Yes?" I asked. She smiled, ever conscious of the pain she was inflicting on the both of us. "But first I have to tell you my story." Mid-Air Collusion Ch. 03 I sat back in my seat and made myself comfortable. She once more leaned sideways against me and composed herself before beginning. In the passing seconds my mind raced as I considered the possible story she might divulge to me. Little did I know she was about to exceed all my expectations. She started by explaining how dull her days could be sometimes when at her office. She seldom saw anyone of interest as part of her job, and when she did it was usually a brief meeting with little time to make anything other than polite conversation. On one or two occasions she had had meetings with new guys who worked out of the London office; there had been sufficient eye contact and positive body language during the encounters, but not once did any flirting on her part result in a date of any kind. It was most definitely on days like these that she would begin to feel horny and extremely frustrated. So much so that by the time she left the office for home she was almost on fire. What started out as a bit of a laugh the first time it happened had now become a well defined and extremely satisfying game for her. Upon reaching her third floor apartment in the centre of Amsterdam, she would draw her bedroom curtains, undress and take a cool relaxing shower. Towelling herself down, she would then dress herself in her favourite lingerie; a black satin silk bra with matching camisole, thigh length stockings and suspenders. She would dress in one particular corner of her bedroom as if it were her changing room; in her mind it was a private place secluded from the rest of the bedroom, which was her stage. In the far corner of her bedroom stood a tall dressing mirror and when she was ready, she would stroll casually over to the mirror and stand motionless for a few seconds, admiring herself in her underwear. The sight before her would always please her and turn her on beyond belief. Slowly her hands would begin to caress herself, rising from around her waist and up onto her heaving breasts. Her nipples would stiffen visibly through her bra as her hips would begin to gyrate to the rhythm of her excitement. Throughout she would be watching her every move, pleased with the way she looked and at the way she was performing. Winking at herself, she would finally acknowledge the audience on the other side of the mirror, whom she knew had paid a lot of money to see her perform. And in no way was she about to let them down. Pausing for a moment to gain her composure in front of the mirror, she would feel a warm glow pulse through her body, an electrifying tingle across her skin, which would send a tremor deep between her legs. She would continue to gyrate her hips as her hands caressed her face and neck, before her fingers then began mingling through her hair. Down again, once more cupping her breasts, she would take her nipples between her fingers and thumbs through her bra and gently tease them for her audience. Down further, she would part her legs elegantly as her hands set about massaging each of them in turn, down the left and back up the right, on each occasion allowing her fingers to glance tantalisingly close to her pussy, which ached away in her underwear. Treating her own frustration as that of her voyeurs, she would sense their eagerness to see more of her and responding accordingly she would then take a step closer to the mirror and turn down her bra, causing her breasts to burst free for all to see. This very simple act would more often than not send the first rush of juice surging past the lips of her pussy, creaming the delicate camisole she was wearing in the process. From now on her pussy would flow with each erotic movement and she knew there was no going back. Slowly, she would sit down on the floor in front of the mirror and gracefully lie down. With one foot, she would reach out to the bottom of the mirror and tilt it backwards, allowing her to look up at herself. While in this position for the first time she would always sense the calm before the storm as her eyes took in the sight before her. Her slender legs in their sexy stockings and suspenders, her exposed stomach just above her silky camisole, her bra, still clasped from behind and sitting just under her breasts, and her firm breasts themselves with their dark erect nipples. She would feel the eyes upon her, all wishing they could have her. Cupping her hands around her breasts once more, her legs would begin to writhe involuntarily as she began massaging them, her proud nipples pointing skyward through her fingers. Sliding one hand down onto her stomach she would then gently caress herself lower, teasing herself and her audience by edging closer and closer to her shimmering camisole. As her fingers danced around her naval and inner thighs, her buttocks would instinctively rise from the floor to greet them, such was her body's desire to end the torturous waiting game. With each mounting caress, her legs would open wider, allowing her fingers to explore further, and the view of herself in the mirror as she became more and more exposed to the eyes upon her only served to send her into a wild frenzy. Placing a firm palm over her underwear, she would cup her now soaking wet pussy and marvel at the heat she felt within. Her buttocks raised, she would begin thrusting against her hand, legs slightly bent at the knees and now fully apart. She would sense her audience now screaming with rapture and in response she would slide her hand inside her camisole and in one swift move raise her legs high into the air and rip the garment off in a flash. Lowering her legs either side of the mirror she rested her hands on each of her thighs for just a second or two as she digested the sight in front of her. She would imagine the gasps of delight as each member of this private viewing saw for the first time her gleaming wet and totally clean-shaven pussy. Always when she saw herself like this for the first time would she imagine just how many of the watchful eyes were now unzipping their trousers and starting to play with themselves. The power she felt was overwhelming. She was extremely proud of the way she looked and because she found the sight of her own pussy such a turn on, she often wondered what a real audience would make of her. Such was her obsession and curiosity with herself, that she would sit up at this point in her show, her legs still either side of the mirror some 30 centimetres in front of her. She would reach out and reposition the mirror's angle so that her inner thighs and pussy now filled her field of vision. The close up view of her pulsating clit, growing before her eyes, would fascinate her. Never had she seen herself so intimately before she started playing this game. Her pussy lips would be fractionally open, visibly coated with her own freshly made juice, giving off her distinctively sexy, yet very feminine odour. She loved the way she smelled when she was aroused. And it saddened her that she was unable to convey her dirty scent to her audience. It was her smell that made her crave to be able to eat herself and she was sure that the eyes upon her would equally long to feast on her if they were able to inhale the beauty of the sight before them. As if in a gesture to demonstrate this, she would take the trouble at this point to cup one hand over her pussy and gently nestle one or two fingers between her lips. As the seal between her lips was broken, a steady flow of her creamy juice would ooze from within her, covering her fingers and filling the palm of her hand. When she had collected enough for the effect, she would hold her hand outstretched before the mirror and smear it down the glass, imagining the clamour of the many mouths behind the screen, licking and nibbling at her sticky fingertips, hungry to be fed. While she did this, she would coat the fingers of her other hand in the same manner and then feed herself. She loved the way she tasted and with her eyes closed she was able to imagine the sensation of the biting and sucking hordes about her fingers. Now completely frenzied and eager to satisfy herself, she would begin wildly massaging herself with both hands, eyes transfixed on herself in the mirror. Her fingers would probe deep inside her lips from both sides, allowing her to keep her clit well lubricated with her juice. She would stroke her clit rhythmically between her fingers at the same time and her thighs began to heave up and down to this motion as she began a steady climb. She adored the wet sticky sound her pussy made around her fingers, as each penetration of her lips made more and more juice ooze out of her. Pulling her lips wide apart she would marvel at the deep fleshy pink entrance before her, the entrance to her soul. On and on she would pound at her clit, breathing more and more uncontrollably, her soft moans becoming louder and more urgent. Climbing higher and higher, she would begin to work faster and faster, eyes focused on her soaking wet pussy and stiff pulsating clit. In her mind her audience were going wild, many were now unashamedly stroking themselves with as much fervour as herself. She could see through the mirror a number of faceless men, at least six of them, all with large erect penises pointing straight at her. Each one pulling at himself to the rhythm of her bouncing thighs. And at last, when she could hold back no more, her hands would slow, her legs would begin to spasm and her whole body would shudder as she let out a long low scream of pleasure. On and on her orgasm would send her into rapture. And in the mirror she would see penis after penis begin shooting their hot creamy cum all over the glass. As the energy drained from within her, the image of herself in the mirror would blur as if obscured by the sea of cum now streaking its way down the glass. As the sweat poured down her smiling, exhausted face she would lie back outstretched with her tired arms above her head. And to the sound of a momentous standing ovation from her fully satisfied audience, she would fall asleep... It must have been some moments before I realised that she had finished telling her story, such was the effect of her mesmerising words. She had conveyed her fantasy with such passion and realism that I was still miles away, in her bedroom, staring at her sleeping body from within the mirror. As a member of her audience I had felt the full effect of her orgasm, for I believed I had cum too when she described the ejaculating penises before her. As I became aware once more of the drone of the aircraft's engines, it was with much relief that I realised that I had not in fact creamed my trousers. Regaining consciousness as it were, I saw her sitting close to me, head back against her seat, staring at me with a wild and wicked look on her face. She was revelling in the effect she knew she had had on me. Her face was glowing with satisfaction. If she had been in any doubt that she was going to be able to match my story, that doubt was now gone, such was her look of triumph. With each passing second back in the real world, I became all too aware of the agony of my pulsating penis, ever erect and quivering against my inner thigh. She seemed to sense my frustration in that same instant, for the expression on her face also changed to convey a total understanding of what we had done to each other. We sympathised over our predicament in silence, yet ever conscious that it was all our own doing.