which gave her ample opportunity to fulfil those needs.
She’d always committed to long-haul flights, but never long-haul relationships.
So, when she hadn’t known how to reply to his ‘See you again?’, it had thrown her. She’d always been so nonchalant before. This time she’d been made to hesitate, almost thrown off course. Because, for the first time since Melanie, she had wanted to see someone again. Not just happen across him by accident. But actively seek him out. And fuck him senseless. Like they had done last night. More than once. And maybe even get to know him. This was anathema to her.
It had all started on the plane, like it so often did. They were in business class, seated next to one another, sipping champagne, on their way to Hong Kong. They’d started chatting, and it soon transpired they were both delegates at the 25th International Congress on Men’s Health. They were staying in neighbouring five-star hotels. Suzanna was a good sales rep; she demanded the best of her company.
‘Hey, that’s a stroke of luck,’ he said, as they compared notes. Turned out he was giving a keynote speech. Mr Jones, no mere Dr, was an expert in his field. An Australian doctor living in the UK.
‘But give me a woman, and then I’m fucked,’ he said with a smile. Give me a woman, and quite often I’m fucked too, thought Suzanna.
She glanced over at him. Was he her type? Did she have a type? Not really. He looked less like a doctor than some. Dark wavy hair reached his shoulders. He wore a sports jacket, shirt, no tie. Informal. Suzanna liked informal. But then Suzanna liked men. Was he even a doctor? – many had lied before, as she had too. But this time she’d been truthful. There was something about him that suggested sincerity, a friendliness in the tone of his voice, an openness replacing the arrogance she often encountered.
She smiled, inviting a smile in return. Most of all he looked nice. And sometimes nice was good. Sometimes nice relished the thought of getting down and dirty. Nice men were often far less practised at the art of transient fucking, and were keen, willing to please. Suzanna could do nice.
So, an hour or so later, she was more than pleasantly surprised to find that nice was doing her. Once the meals had been cleared away, the lights dimmed, the seats transformed into something approaching a bed, Mr Jones, Simon, was reaching over, his hand working its way under her blanket, and stroking her thigh.
She wondered if he was asleep, dreaming, thinking of his wife or lover.
It didn’t matter. She could be that person.
She turned her body to him, her eyes hidden behind the mask. His touch was feather-light. She guessed he was a surgeon, although he hadn’t confessed his speciality. She parted her thighs, and his fingers worked their way under the hem of her skirt, pushing it upwards. And then they stopped. Fuck. He wasn’t some kind of surgical control freak, was he? A doctor with issues, meaning he couldn’t identify with a highly sexual woman? That would be one major turn-off. Because, although she had imposed limits on her sex life, telling herself it was just about the physical satisfaction, she didn’t want to be a patient. She felt desire but she didn’t expose her soul.
No doubt a psychiatrist would have a field day with her life story. She steered well clear of them.
But apparently, having reached the tops of her stockings, he was merely waiting for the flight attendant to pass before he continued. His fingers were inches away now from her bare pussy. And her pussy was ready and waiting for him. Moist and welcoming, warm and sweet. His hands started to travel again.
Public sex excited Suzanna most. After all, that was how she’d got caught years ago. The athletics and gymnastics of different positions, even the relative danger of being tied up, gagged and bound by a stranger, rarely excited her; but lying on top of a man on the sand, or with her legs around the waist of a pretty woman in the sea, could blow her mind.
And a touch of mutual masturbation on a plane – well, that would do her just fine for now.
His fingers were stroking her shaven mound. She wondered if he was expecting that. They began insinuating their way between her lips.
It was time for her to reciprocate. It was only fair.
She found his flies with ease. She could feel his satisfying hardness, and thought it deserved to be released.
Slowly she undid the zip, the belt and button. The plane was silent and she was quite sure she heard a sharp intake of breath from him as she stroked his cock, feeling its warmth and girth, wondering how it would feel buried deep inside her cunt, or between her ass cheeks. Whatever his pleasure.
She suspected it would feel good.
They got a rhythm going. His fingers flicked across her clit, rubbed over her smooth mound, parted her lips and pushed inside. Expert fingers. Fingers that had done this before. So his looks belied his experience, then? Suzanna liked being taken by surprise.
She squeezed her hand around his cock and pumped, letting go only to fondle his balls, pleased to feel them tighten, and then returning to his cock to finish him off. Unable to see his face, she could just hear the tiny gasps and groans that indicated he was close. And then he came, with a sigh. She smiled. Aeroplane fucking was so much easier for women. In a moment her cunt would tighten round his fingers, her clit would ensure the explosion of her orgasm. And that would be it, done.
And that happened sooner than she expected. He was very good with his hands. His fingers moved more urgently, delving deeper, parting her pulsating cunt. Her head fell back onto the headrest. Her breath was coming in tiny gasps, her hips bucking. She had gone beyond the point when she cared if the flight attendant became aware of their actions.
And then her orgasm came in a torrent, flooding through her. It was all-consuming, intense. And then it subsided, and was over.
‘Thanks,’ she whispered, pulling the mask away, meeting his eyes for the first time since his fingers had found her thigh.
‘No worries,’ he replied.
They chatted for the rest of the journey. He asked questions about her, a rarity amongst doctors in her experience, who generally enjoyed telling her about their achievements. Which helped preserve her anonymity.
And then they landed. He handed her his card. She reciprocated. With a real one.
‘Call me,’ he said. ‘We could meet. For a drink. Or something.’
She was surprised to see him blush. Most conference delegates were like her, people of the world. Used to shedding responsibilities, being anonymous for a few days. Confident and often arrogant. Simon Jones was different. An enigma. Was he married? Not that that bothered many men or women she met. Quite the opposite. On a nine-hour flight he had intrigued her. He made her think of Melanie.
The memory of her face and body nudged its way into the forefront of Suzanna’s mind. She tried to ignore it, dismiss it. But Melanie kept returning, smiling.
And encouraging. It was like she was saying, ‘Go, girl,’ again.
She didn’t call him. She wasn’t sure why. The days were busy. The nights too. There was one fuck. On the first night. It had started out as a fumble in the lift between her and another sales rep. A woman. They’d shared a martini in the bar. Suzanna had gone back to the other woman’s room. And they had fucked, quickly and efficiently. Without much pleasure or desire. It was a mechanical act. Suzanna tried to summon the image of Melanie
