High, Wet & Helpless

He handed me the panties before we left for the airport, that crooked smirk on his face...the one that meant I was already fucked and we hadn’t even boarded yet.

By the time we hit cruising altitude, I was soaked.

Middle seat. Packed flight. His hand casually in his lap while mine gripped the armrest like salvation. The moment the seatbelt light blinked off, he pressed the button.

Vibration. Sharp. Immediate. Right against my clit.

I gasped and bit down on my lip so hard I tasted blood. He turned to me, calm as ever, leaned in close and whispered, “You’re not allowed to cum until we land.”

And then he cranked it higher.

One and a half hours of torture. Legs clenched, pussy pulsing, thighs slick with need. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. He’d turn it off when I got close...smirk when I whimpered. Whisper filth in my ear like a promise.

I came the second we hit the tarmac.

No hands. No mercy. Just a soaked seat and his smug, filthy laugh.

That was the moment I knew I’d let him ruin me at 30,000 feet again and again......

And again.