Naughty Bucket List Sex
"Lists," a Naughty Licorice Whips Story by Jaye Raymee
He had the tattoo -- got that at 30.
He had the sports car, the second wife, the second divorce, and the salary he’d targeted when he started making his “bucket” list.
He’d jumped out of an airplane.
He’d even done the threesome thing. And the image of the little brunette from his office going down on the busty redhead from the café next door while he pumped her from behind was one of his all-time top memories.
But there were still a few things on his list, as he was explaining to his companion in the VIP lounge at the airport.
“What’s on it? I mean, that you can tell me, ” asked the woman next to him at the bar, with a wink. Both of them were on their third drink, part of the delayed-flight tradition of frequent flyers around the world: when in doubt about departure times, order another round. Her question was another one of those traditions, the casually intimate probing brought on by a little too much booze and the promise of never seeing the other person again once they recommenced their respective voyages.
Although casual flirting was all part of the delayed flight tradition, he opted not to mention the Mile High Club, as that would be too much of a cliché. “Oh, there’s a few things, but I’m pretty sure I’ll never break up an international spy ring or date this month’s Playboy centerfold.”
The woman laughed. “Well, if not the spy, I suppose the Playmate is at least a possibility for somebody who’s decent looking, single, and can afford all this.” She gestured around them at the luxurious settings of the VIP lounge. “I’m usually in the cheap seats.”
The airline had opened up its lounge to anybody on the delayed flight, so he figured this must be a first for her. She signaled to the bartender for another round -- a margarita for her and a beer for him.
“I’ve got a list too, but it’s not really a ‘bucket’ list,” she continued. “I’ve got a bunch of things I want to do before I turn 40, so I got my tattoos at 30, visited Macchu Picchu a couple of years ago, and there’s just one or two more things before I hit the big 4-0.”
He smiled, he was in the same boat. As his thirties had drawn to a close, he realized that his list was either too short or not adventurous enough. They chatted lightly about exotic places they’d been to and things that had seemed incredibly adventurous until they had done them, like whitewater rafting or seeing the pyramids. Finally, their flight was called, and he drained his glass and made his slightly unsteady way to the boarding ramp. As a regular first class traveler, he boarded first and had already mostly forgotten their conversation as he found his seat in the forward cabin.
He was traveling on one of the new luxury airlines, with first-class “berths”, seats that converted into almost mini-bedrooms with ¾ height partitions and a modicum of privacy for the long flight. He had gone one step further and reserved the single berth nearest the emergency exit. This meant that on the long flight from San Francisco he had one of the most private possible sleeping areas in any flight short of the uber-expensive Emirate Air cabins that he had seen advertised for the long trips to Dubai. Maybe someday he’d have a reason to go there, but for now he was content with more personal space than he’d ever had on an airplane and he eagerly awaited their take-off so he could recline and enjoy the individual sound system and movies.
While waiting, he accepted a glass of champagne from a petite blond stewardess, and then was surprised to hear “Well, maybe I can hear about the rest of your list, after all,” come across the aisle.
The woman from the bar was seated ahead and on the opposite side of the cabin from his spot. She stepped over to his berth and leaned over the intervening partition. Offering her own glass of champagne in a toast, she said, “To reunions!” He smiled and clinked her glass with his own, admiring both her smile and the generous cleavage she was showing as she leaned across the berth. He hadn’t noticed that much showing before when they had been chatting in the lounge, and he was pleasantly surprised to see her, especially those bits, in the cabin with him.
“What about the cheap seats?” he asked, “I thought you would be back in coach.”
She cocked an eyebrow and then winked at him. “I have a friend who works for the airline, and every now and then I get an upgrade.” She smiled a little impishly, “Besides, today is my birthday, so I think I should get to sit wherever I like, don’t you?”
He touched his glass to hers again, “Happy Birthday!” She toasted him, and then made her way back to her seat. He caught the eye of the little stewardess and motioned her over. “Could you pour the lady another glass of champagne? It’s her birthday, so any special treatment would be greatly appreciated.” The lady in question had already situated herself and so he had to motion a little more specifically so the stewardess could tell where she was seated. He was definitely feeling the champagne, and his gesture was a little bigger than he’d intended. He splashed most of the last of the alcohol in his glass onto the crisp uniform shirt the stewardess was wearing.
She waved off his apology and said, “Oh, that’s ok. I’ve had much worse spilled on me! That’s sweet that you want her to have a special day. I’ll just go check on her.” Her perky tones were undiminished by his sloppiness, and she dabbed daintily at the widening damp spot on her chest where he had spilled his champagne as she moved on to check on the birthday girl. He could hear her talking to the black haired woman, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. A couple of giggles drifted his way, and he figured the birthday girl was feeling the booze too.
He tried to get a better image of the woman from his earlier conversation with her, even though the booze was making the whole afternoon a little hazy. He was trying to fill in the details beyond her coal-black hair and the nice rack she had displayed while announcing her presence to him on the plane just now. He thought she was tall, and based on what she had said she was on the plus side of her thirties. She had a confidence about herself and an air that translated as “mature” to him, in spite of the giggles and whispers that were still coming over from that side of the cabin. She had been wearing a snug red blouse with short sleeves, and designer jeans with open toed sandals. He also seemed to remember that her ass was smaller than he usually liked, and was at odds with the generous cleavage that had been on display just now. Ah well, he’d been with enough women to know that they came in all shapes and proportions. “Which is great,” he laughed into his last drink of champagne, “As long as they come in the end.”
Moon Reach by Ron Lukas
Still chuckling at his own wit, he dozed off as the captain announced their imminent departure and he slept right through the safety announcements and take-off.
An hour into the flight, he woke up and groggily made his way to the fore of the darkened cabin to the tiny restroom. As he passed through the other rows, he noted the shapeless lump of blanket that must be the birthday girl, already fast asleep herself with the white tracery of Ipod headphones snaking into the top of the blanket covering her head. Other than the woman, the luxurious First Class berths seemed to be mostly empty. He figured that, in spite of opening up the lounge to appease grumpy coach passengers, the tradition of last minute upgrades and filling up First Class from the other sections had gone away due to the recent economy. The less champagne handed out for free, the better, he supposed.
Feeling less groggy but still tipsy as he left the small restroom, he did notice there was one other person in the cabin. The perky flight attendant was seated, dozing, off to one side in a seat near the service galley. Her seat looked uncomfortable, not much more than a cushioned jump seat, clearly the airline’s luxury didn’t extend to the staff. Her uniform jacket had fallen open, and even in the dim light from the galley he could see the still-wet spot where he had spilled his drink making her blouse cling to the curve of her breast. The slight chill of the air conditioning had teased her nipple into stiffness, and its stark raised outline pressed against the clinging fabric, tenting it outward suggestively.
The attendant blinked her eyes open as if feeling his stare. She smiled sheepishly at being caught napping, and asked “Is there something you need, sir?” She yawned prettily, “If there’s anything you want…”
He must have been tipsier than he thought, because he could have sworn she was flirting with him. When she lightly brushed one hand across her aroused breast and daintly stretched catlike with her arms over her head, he was sure of it. When he didn’t reply, she relaxed back into her seat and pouted prettily. “Well, I’ll be here if you need anything. Just press my button…” she grinned a little too innocently, “I mean, push your call button and I’ll come.” I bet, he thought, I just bet you would.
He returned to his seat, pleased at the flirtation and just a little surprised at the blatant nature of the petite blond woman’s actions. He adjusted his berth to its sleeping angle and pulled closed the light privacy curtains on the ¾ height “walls”, then snuggled under his blanket, smiling to himself as he considered the possibilities for that stewardess once they reached their far destination. He had invited stewardesses out for dinner before, usually with good results.
As he slept, he dreamed about that bucket list night with the two girls, but they kept changing. At one point he was watching the little stewardess, her breasts bare under the aggressive kisses of the redhead from his actual experience. The dream intensified, and he could smell the heady perfume of arousal as the raven haired birthday girl made an appearance, all three dream women opening and exploring each other’s intimate flesh, at times displaying themselves or one another to him, at others totally absorbed in giving and receiving pleasure from each other. When the dream shifted to even more personal sensations, and he again felt the girls’ mouths on his as they had done that one incredible night, and he could feel their hands, more than he could count, drawing his pants down and gently teasing his trapped member from his underwear and stroking it lightly, squeezing it, at times almost so tightly that the pressure was painful.
His eyes shot open, and at the first sight he took in he thought he was still dreaming. In the sleep darkened berth, there was just enough light to make out the features of the birthday girl inches from his own face. He realized that she did have a hold of his cock in one hand and her other hand was at her lips, one finger raised to warn him to be quiet. She darted his eyes to the left, indicating the general direction of the flight attendant’s seat beyond the scant protection of the privacy curtains.
“Shhh,” she whispered, “I left her dozing, let’s keep it that way.” The woman grinned wickedly, and he realized that in spite of the narrowness of the seat-cum-sleeping cot, she had managed to slide in with him and was even under his blanket.
More impressively, she had managed to get her clothes off, or at least most of them. She was wearing the red silk top, but as she moved against him he realized that she was naked from the waist down, not even wearing panties. He slid one hand down to cup her ass, and she released her grip on him, moving her own hands up to unbutton his shirt and lightly run her nails across his chest.
“How did you get over here without being seen?” he whispered the question, still not quite sure if he was awake or not.
The woman smiled up at him and whispered back, “Who says I did?” and she cut off any further questions by kissing him deeply, her open mouth an invitation that drew him in, her soft breasts under the red silk fitting themselves to his hands, and he felt the heat rising in his groin as he tasted everything her lips had to offer. She tasted like alcohol and a musk that he recognized from his dreams of sex and pleasure.
She gasped and bit her lip as he slid a hand down between their bodies and slipped a finger into the source of the wetness he could feel pooling against his own skin. Her passage was slick and throbbing, and he brought his fingers, now shiny with her juices, to his own lips, tasting something that was both different, sweeter than what he found on her mouth, and yet somehow ineffably the same.
The different flavors of intimate arousal.
His cock throbbed at the image that sprang into his mind, and with a quiet growl he grabbed the birthday girl’s ass again, this time with both hands, and pulled her up, her legs spreading and her mouth open again to his tongue as she impaled herself on him, her already tender and swollen inner lips gushing anew to accommodate this wider and deeper penetration.
He continued to be intensely aware of the different flavors of her mouth, the tequila from her margaritas, the champagne, and that other tang, the mystery that gave this whole experience its transcendent edge.
The birthday girl was grinding up against him, moaning against his mouth, her hands on either side of his head as she leveraged herself to allow deeper penetration into her depths, his organ sinking again and again into her.
She flung her head back, and he heard her softly saying “Yes, yes, yes,” in time with her measured impalement. He opened his own eyes, and they widened as he saw the perky stewardess standing at the opened curtains, her mouth a surprised O at the sight of the impending orgasms she was witnessing.
Trapped by the birthday girl and the blanket, there was nothing he could do. In fact, he had reached a point where he wouldn’t have cared if the pilot announced over the intercom that the “quit fucking” sign had been turned on, he wouldn’t have stopped.
Then he realized something else. The stewardess wasn’t staring at them in shock at all. She was breathing heavy, her eyes wide with arousal, and she was whispering in time with the birthday girl, “Yes, yes, yes…”
Suddenly, the girl on top of him flung an arm out of the blankets, and the stewardess grabbed her hand, pressing the fingers into her mouth and moaning gently.
Struggling for control, he closed his eyes at the erotic sight of the other woman’s arousal as the birthday girl covered his mouth again with hers. Suddenly, she stiffened against him, sharp teeth nearly biting through his lip as she crushed herself even more tightly around him, tightening her three-limbed entanglement.
At the sudden sharp pain and the intense pressure her spasms created, he gave a silent cry of his own and with a final thrust deeper than he had been, he emptied himself with surge after surge into her body, triggering a second orgasm to go shooting through the woman on top of him, and she finally collapsed limply against him, both partners gasping for breath.
Carefully, he opened his eyes, to see the stewardess smiling down at the both of them, a faint sheen of sweat marring her perfectly made up face.
Slowly, she leaned down, and almost tenderly, gave him a slow, full kiss on the lips, opening her mouth and teasing his tongue with hers. He tasted the same combination of champagne and intimate musk, but now he realized that he recognized that too, she tasted like the birthday girl herself, and in a sleepy post-coital haze he figured it all out and with a sigh, again fell back against the cushions of the berth, spent both physically and emotionally.
In another gesture of tenderness, the stewardess put an extra blanket over the now relaxed lovers and pulled it up to cover them. She smoothed a stray lock of raven hair back over the birthday girl’s ear, and lightly touched her cheek before disappearing back to the service galley.
He dozed off, and as he did, he realized he could cross “Mile High Club” off his remaining bucket list items. The pleasing thought sent him off into deep and this time dreamless sleep.
“Sir…Sir…Please put your seat in the upright position…SIR,” the petite blond stewardess was gently shaking him awake, no hint of tenderness in her touch this time.
He yawned, stretched, and looked around. No birthday girl, and when he looked up at the stewardess expecting something like a smile or a wink, he was met with only the cool professional mask of flight crews everywhere in the world.
In the sunlight now streaming through the cabin windows, he saw that there was not one single sign of the wildness of the night before. There was only the one blanket covering him, no telltale clothes hanging out of the cupholder, and not even the post-coital smell of bodies in lust that tended to fill small spaces after a night of pleasure could be detected.
He could just see the back of the birthday girl’s head in the seat a few rows away from him. As if sensing his gaze, she turned slightly to face him, her face the same unreadable blank as the stewardess. He was about to say something, to try and connect or at least share knowing comment, when she gave him a wink and shake of the head, finger held to her lips in a shushing gesture. The smile she gave him lessened the sting of her seeming cool, and he was thinking that there still might be some possibilities for them once they were back on land.
He was still thinking of those possibilities as he approached the baggage claim, where he saw the black haired passenger waiting patiently for the carousel to start turning. He stepped behind her and whispered, “So, what else is on your bucket list?”
Then, from behind him he heard a faint giggle. He turned around, surprised to see the blond stewardess standing there. She smiled up at him, her professional mask now an open and pleasant, and infinitely more human, face, and she stepped forward and slipped her arm into the birthday girl’s.
“That wasn’t on my list,” said the black haired woman, “But watching it was on hers.” She gave the blond a surprisingly chaste kiss on the cheek and said to her, “Happy Birthday, babe.”
They left him standing at the luggage carousel, adding one more memory to his all-time favorites.
Originally published January 2011.