#damsonidris

Have you ever wanted to join the mile high club? I mean why not right. Just something to tick off the bucket list. Bragging rights or simply fits of laughter to follow as you retell an old story. But it’s all fun and games until you squeeze your way into that small ass bathroom stall. It’s barely enough leg room to stretch in there, let alone have two people actively fuck. And I, for one, am a screamer so it's really only so much noise I can hold off.

Can you imagine? The walk of shame down the aisle and back into the seat as if everyone is unaware of what just happened. That once the stall door opens, the fumes of sex won’t have seeped into the air. The crooked clothes, the lazy smiles, and God forbid any fluids are visible. And don't even think about one person leaving first and the other waiting a few minutes to leave after, because what if someone is itching to use the john and comes face to face with the culprit? I'm getting second hand embarrassment just thinking about it all. Call me up tight, but there are way too many ways that sex on a plane can go wrong. And unless my man has his own aircraft, I refuse to buss it open in the seats of economy.

And that’s what I’ve been trying to drill into Damson’s thick ass skull since the moment we’ve sat down. Albeit, we’re in first class and with about five other people on board that does take care of the extra lingering eyes, but that still leaves too much to chance and the way my OCD is set up, I’d quite literally die of shame.

“Who says we have to leave our seats?” Damson whispers.

“Huh?” Eyebrows crinkled in confusion, I’m not sure where he’s going with this, but very little surprises me with this man.

Leaning over the armrest, his fingers lightly stroke my arm, slithering them further up until they meet my jaw, where his lips eagerly replace them. Peppering kisses along my skin, he leaves behind wet patches in his trails, muttering in between each one how we can do the deed in our seats.

“Damson, no.” I giggled. “How do you expect us to have sex right here?”

“Look around you, all these old motherfuckers are knocked out,” he slyly remarks.

“And what about the flight attendants?”

“They only get up during the flight for two reasons, landing and snack time,” he answered. “And snack time doesn’t start for another 45 minutes.”

Chewing on my bottom lip, I can’t believe I’m even considering this, but dammit my man has a way of being very persuasive, though I think it’s just cause I find him insanely sexy. Body burning with lust, I peek up at him through my lashes and notice that silly grin of his widen, but I have to quickly whisper shout to him that my answer isn’t a flat out yes. And that there’s still a chance of someone catching us in the act.

But ever the adventurer, Damson insists that we’ll never see these people again and he couldn't care less if we were to get caught. His nonchalant attitude has gotten us into more trouble than I’d care to admit, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t the reason for some of my wildest stories. Like the time when -

“Damson,” I squeak.

“Shhh calm down,” he coos. “Just relax your thighs and see how this plays out okay.”

Of course I wanted to look cute today. Pairing my blue plaid skirt with a white turtleneck and the plaid jacket to match, I look fresh out of the Clueless movie, and I feel every bit of such as Damson continues to slip his fingers between my thighs. I should’ve known there was an ulterior motive behind him insisting that I wear a skirt today.

Damsons digits meet a bit of resistance in the form of panties, but he doesn’t let that deter him and instead pushes them to the side, effortlessly entering my pussy with the help of my natural lubrication. He wastes no time in scissoring through me, thumb already firmly pressed against my clit, adding the most delightful pressure. His other arm curls around my waist to help hold me steady as my hips start to twist and turn, too turned on to sit still. A moan slips from my mouth as I squeeze my thighs shut, trapping his fingers in between them; a silent plea to slow down before I combust.

“Sweetness,” he croons through kisses. “Just *kiss* breathe *kiss* through *kiss* your *kiss* nose.”

Mumbling into my ear that I should just bite him if I have to, Damsons fingers continue their assault on my pussy, sharply thrusting them as I snap my mouth shut, opting instead to harshly breathe through my nose.

This man is so sexy, like the way he gets me going is unnatural and I fold every. single. time; the squelching noises a clear indication of that. Unwrapping his hand from around my waist, he reaches up to brush it across my lips, which in turn has me searching for his. There's a tense stare down between us, his pupils largely dilated, as he tugs on my bottom lip and stretches it forward. After he lets it go, it snaps back into place and his lips immediately find mine in a soft kiss. One, two, three pecks later and the hand that once lingered over my mouth now grabs a hold of my jaw, opening it wider as he pushes his tongue inside.

Face cradled in his palm, his nose brushes against mine and I can’t help feeling slightly more relaxed as I delve into the warm kiss, thighs slackening in the process. Drawing my arm up, I grab him by the neck and bring him closer, fingers sinking into his kinky scalp as I deepen the kiss. Our tongues glide over the other, slick with moisture, while Damsons fingers have now taken on a slower pace. Removing them, there’s a sticky trail that follows as he reattaches them to my clit, twirling it between his fingers, in a gentle pinching like sensation.

We finally pull apart, chests heaving, while his minty breath fans over my face and he shoots me a sinful gaze that has me on the verge of exploding. The smirk that follows has evolved into a bit of a chuckle and I find myself whining for several reasons as the twisting of my bud is now being pressed into a steady motion of figure eights. Placing his lips on my neck, Damson whispers assurances and sweet nothings alike, which manages to turn me on even more.

My hips roll into his fingers, desperate to cum and then I feel it, one of his digits reentering me as he starts a come hither thrusting motion. Face still planted on my neck, it only now dawns on me that Damson would make the shittiest look out, and the macaroni noises that's picked up in sound has me lining the border of panic and thrilled.

My hips continue to meet his fingers as he swiftly plunges them into me and my hands fly to my mouth to cover any noises that may slip out. Reaching up to remove them, he makes me promise not to keep those pretty sounds to myself. And that does it. Those honeyed words that he’s constantly whispering to me, the excitement that we may possibly get caught, and the intense clitoral stimulation pushes me all the way over the edge.

Hands now tightly clutching both armrests, I have to lean over and clamp my mouth on his shoulder so as to not wake the rest of the passengers. Speeding up his actions, we manage to hit a bit of turbulence which normally leaves me queasy, but now has my eyes rolling back at the heavenly sensations.

Damsons fingers come to a final stop as he slides them out of me and into his mouth instead, lustfully peering through half closed lids as he does so; and it takes everything in me not to fuck him right then and there.

“Woah, someone got carried away,” he teases looking back at his shirt indented with teeth marks. “What’s the saying? Don’t bite the hand that fingers you?”