BY GG SAUVAGE
PUBLISHED: OCT 18, 2023
Khadija Horton/Getty Images
I remember first hearing about the mile high club as a teenager watching The Wedding Singer and being just as dumbfounded as the lady in first class as to what it was. I went through three different girlfriends asking for the deets before the seemingly nerdiest of the bunch gave me the answer (ofc). I was shocked—it sounded so logistically disgusting I didn’t even bother adding it to my fucket list. What, am I supposed to expose my precious pussy to the germ-ridden surfaces of a tiny-ass airplane bathroom? I thought. Besides, how the hell do you actually get two people in there at once without being busted?!
Aaand cut to me as an adult this past summer: happy, horny and curious to see just how elevating an orgasm at 30,000 feet could be. So, naturally, I had my sugar submissive buy me a first-class ticket from LA to NYC to find out. (Side note: ten out of ten recommend up-leveling your sugar “baby” game to the sugar “goddess” game—having a sub to do your bidding is so much hotter than a daddy to do your spanking, IMHO).
Around this same time, my bestie had recently introduced me to The Tudors, a steamy period-piece drama from the late-aughts, complete with a BYOV (Bring Your Own Vibrator) warning and a very fit JRM (Jonathan Rhys Meyers) as King Henry VIII. I found myself constantly aroused while watching—something about a King shoving layers and layers of a lady’s dress up over her head so he can fuck her at his will…ugh (bites fist). Suffice it to say: My spank bank was full of inspiration, so my lack of internet porn wasn’t going to be an issue onboard.
“Champagne or juice?” the glamorous flight attendant asked, as if that were a real question. I grabbed the bubbly, settling into my transcon flight and my transformed life.
As I lowered my pod into its fully flat bed mode (bites fist again), I realized something: Unlike most of my life before, I was in first class now, and I could do pretty much whatever I wanted. Meaning, I didn’t even have to leave my much-cleaner-than-the-lavatory seat to play with myself. Something lit up in my belly—a mischievous spark that I knew wasn’t going anywhere until I “got myself there.”
Thankfully, it was a red eye and, slowly but surely, everyone in first class was snoozing after their complimentary booze and dinner. The lights were low and the seatbelt sign was off—no turbulence awaiting us but for my own imminent bumping. The pods were window/aisle style, meaning no one was technically right next to me. I looked out at the dark night sky, downed the rest of my drink, and lowered the shade. There couldn’t be a better time to try this, I thought, pulling my purse out to stealthily retrieve my vibrator. (I always travel with a tiny bottle of Überlube and a small toy in my purse because I’m nothing if not a prepared horny bitch). And then, giggling like a teenager about to sneak out of the house to meet a crush, I pulled my blanket up over my head.
The white noise of the plane's engine was the perfect cover as I turned my vibrator on momentarily to test the sound, popping my head back out to do a quick visual check as well. All clear—no one could see the little light from my toy, the flight attendants were chilling in the galley scrolling their phones, and I totally seemed like I was joining the rest of the cabin in slumber. I burrowed back in, sliding my pants and panties halfway down my thighs.
Holy shit! I’m naked on a plane full of people right now! I laughed inside, feeling such a rush—exposed yet safe under the (literal) cover of darkness. I took a deep breath and felt around for my lube, pumping a few drops onto my bare pussy and leisurely rubbing it around my lips.
Closing my eyes, I took myself deep into my mind, all the way back to whenever-the-fuck King JRM reigned, as my fingers made their way to my clit. Applying a light pressure to start, I fired up my imagination…
“This way, your highness, the King is calling for you,” my lady-in-waiting said frantically, taking my hand to hurry me down the long, gilded halls of the palace.
Seeing as I’m bisexual, the dream girl I brewed up was super hot—long dark hair and curves for days, her titties spilling up out of her tightly-bound corset and bouncing as we rushed to meet our ruler.
I’d decided I was the Queen (because main character energy, duh), and that it was my job to bow before the King—face down, ass up, whenever he wanted. It was my (imaginary) duty to my (imaginary) country that I should give him my cunt anytime, at all times, and the thought of it was making me start to drip IRL in my seat.
I clicked my vibrator back on and opened my eyes for a split second, looking around to make sure all was still kosher in my actual surroundings. Thankfully, the white noise was so damn loud you couldn’t even hear the slurpy sounds my suction toy made as it lapped up my wet clit. When I returned to my fantasy scene, two male guards were opening the doors to the King’s chambers…
Mmm, we have watchers, I thought, eyeing the men up and down as they respectfully stared straight ahead, holding their spear-thingys with their built arms. I took in my surroundings—the lush tapestries on the walls, the fire crackling beside the four-post bed, and my King, standing in a fancy robe while pouring himself a glass of wine from one of those marble side tables that always exist in stately rooms.
“What took you so long?” He huffed, turning around to face me.
“My apologies, your highness, I was—”
“Nevermind what you were doing,” he snapped, showing me my place as he motioned for my ladies in waiting to enter the room.
And just like that, standing at the foot of the bed while the guards watched and King JRM sipped his drink, three beautiful women began undressing me. First the ties at my billowing sleeves were loosened, the sleeves removed. Then they took to my corset as I stood “helpless” and obedient, letting their hands work their way around my body, forbidden from protesting. I felt my breath getting short as they dropped my outer skirt to the floor in my fantasy (and my ass brushed against my blanket in the real world).
“Not so fast,” he said, after my ladies had stripped me down to a sheer chemise and started to exit the room. “Your Queen will be needing your assistance tonight.”
My posse obliged, circling around the bed as the King disrobed himself while staring into my eyes. His body was perfect—just the right amount of ripped—and I obeyed willingly when he motioned for me to get on the bed, giving my ass a smack as I walked past him.
“Good. Now pull her legs apart,” he instructed my girls. “The King needs room to make an heir.” (In reality I never want kids, but GD, am I a sucker for a breeding kink).
Ugh! I was already getting close as I imagined the women scooting my shift dress up to avail my pussy to his highness, gently opening my legs with their soft hands and holding me steady. I lay back further, tilting my hips up to show him I was being a good Queen—ready for his taking.
The King stroked his cock as he slowly walked towards me on the bed, all animalistic, as if there weren’t five other people in the room with us. He was only focused on me—his prey.
One of my ladies reached out and petted my head, as if to calm and prepare me for the impact I was about to receive, and just then: bam! The king slammed his cock in me, leaving no time for kisses or foreplay. He wanted what he wanted—and what he wanted was to use me the fuck up and put a royal baby inside me…now.
Back on the plane, I was dangerously close to climax, mentally reminding myself that it would have to be a quiet come—something very far from my norm. Inside my mind I was screaming—moaning as my king pounded me mercilessly, tied down by my court of ladies, and secretly loving being at his highness’ behest.
“Cover her mouth,” he grunted between thrusts, and my original lady-in-waiting heeded his order.
This was it. I was about to blow. Fully restrained in make believe and fully free in reality.
“Hold still, I’m nearly there,” he said, grabbing my belly and using his grip to pull and push me off his cock in perfect rhythm. “Keep her open!” He yelled, making my ladies push my legs into the mattress even more firmly. Then:
“Ahhh!” He grunted, pumping spurt after spurt of his royal lineage into me and sending me straight to the finish line back in my seat.
HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! I pushed my face into my plane pillow hard, swallowing my would-be screams and rolling my eyes all the way back in my head as I reverberated with a full-body orgasm. I wasn’t on the plane or in the palace anymore—I was in the ether, existing as a beam of ecstasy, even if just for a minute or two.
LMAO! I just did that! I thought when I regained my composure. I didn’t bother going back into the fantasy scene—too amazed at myself and what I’d just pulled off in my actual surroundings. I poked my head out of my blanket cave, wondering if I’d made it smell like sex with all my juices, and curious how messy my hair looked from squirming around under there.
Hilariously, nothing around me had changed. It was as if no one on my flight noticed I’d just gotten knocked up by a movie-star monarch. I laughed inside, sneakily putting away my jerk-off supplies before going to the bathroom to pee (where I wondered what level of UTI prevention they had in the Tudor period). And I gotta say: When I looked in the mirror, I absolutely saw the new Queen of the mile high club staring back at me.
GG Sauvage is a writer and all-around artist on a mission to f*ck shame away and empower people with self-love. She designed The Sexiest Deck Alive: Erotic Oracle Cards to Turn You On & Help You Turn the Corner, co-hosts the Basic Witches podcast, and wrote the audio drama Sex and the Synchronicity. See her work at Refinery29, Vogue Italia, Vulture, CollegeHumor, and WhoHaHa, and check out her website for more!
Source (Archive)
PUBLISHED: OCT 18, 2023
Khadija Horton/Getty Images
I remember first hearing about the mile high club as a teenager watching The Wedding Singer and being just as dumbfounded as the lady in first class as to what it was. I went through three different girlfriends asking for the deets before the seemingly nerdiest of the bunch gave me the answer (ofc). I was shocked—it sounded so logistically disgusting I didn’t even bother adding it to my fucket list. What, am I supposed to expose my precious pussy to the germ-ridden surfaces of a tiny-ass airplane bathroom? I thought. Besides, how the hell do you actually get two people in there at once without being busted?!Aaand cut to me as an adult this past summer: happy, horny and curious to see just how elevating an orgasm at 30,000 feet could be. So, naturally, I had my sugar submissive buy me a first-class ticket from LA to NYC to find out. (Side note: ten out of ten recommend up-leveling your sugar “baby” game to the sugar “goddess” game—having a sub to do your bidding is so much hotter than a daddy to do your spanking, IMHO).
Around this same time, my bestie had recently introduced me to The Tudors, a steamy period-piece drama from the late-aughts, complete with a BYOV (Bring Your Own Vibrator) warning and a very fit JRM (Jonathan Rhys Meyers) as King Henry VIII. I found myself constantly aroused while watching—something about a King shoving layers and layers of a lady’s dress up over her head so he can fuck her at his will…ugh (bites fist). Suffice it to say: My spank bank was full of inspiration, so my lack of internet porn wasn’t going to be an issue onboard.
“Champagne or juice?” the glamorous flight attendant asked, as if that were a real question. I grabbed the bubbly, settling into my transcon flight and my transformed life.
As I lowered my pod into its fully flat bed mode (bites fist again), I realized something: Unlike most of my life before, I was in first class now, and I could do pretty much whatever I wanted. Meaning, I didn’t even have to leave my much-cleaner-than-the-lavatory seat to play with myself. Something lit up in my belly—a mischievous spark that I knew wasn’t going anywhere until I “got myself there.”
Thankfully, it was a red eye and, slowly but surely, everyone in first class was snoozing after their complimentary booze and dinner. The lights were low and the seatbelt sign was off—no turbulence awaiting us but for my own imminent bumping. The pods were window/aisle style, meaning no one was technically right next to me. I looked out at the dark night sky, downed the rest of my drink, and lowered the shade. There couldn’t be a better time to try this, I thought, pulling my purse out to stealthily retrieve my vibrator. (I always travel with a tiny bottle of Überlube and a small toy in my purse because I’m nothing if not a prepared horny bitch). And then, giggling like a teenager about to sneak out of the house to meet a crush, I pulled my blanket up over my head.
The white noise of the plane's engine was the perfect cover as I turned my vibrator on momentarily to test the sound, popping my head back out to do a quick visual check as well. All clear—no one could see the little light from my toy, the flight attendants were chilling in the galley scrolling their phones, and I totally seemed like I was joining the rest of the cabin in slumber. I burrowed back in, sliding my pants and panties halfway down my thighs.Holy shit! I’m naked on a plane full of people right now! I laughed inside, feeling such a rush—exposed yet safe under the (literal) cover of darkness. I took a deep breath and felt around for my lube, pumping a few drops onto my bare pussy and leisurely rubbing it around my lips.
Closing my eyes, I took myself deep into my mind, all the way back to whenever-the-fuck King JRM reigned, as my fingers made their way to my clit. Applying a light pressure to start, I fired up my imagination…
“This way, your highness, the King is calling for you,” my lady-in-waiting said frantically, taking my hand to hurry me down the long, gilded halls of the palace.
Seeing as I’m bisexual, the dream girl I brewed up was super hot—long dark hair and curves for days, her titties spilling up out of her tightly-bound corset and bouncing as we rushed to meet our ruler.
I’d decided I was the Queen (because main character energy, duh), and that it was my job to bow before the King—face down, ass up, whenever he wanted. It was my (imaginary) duty to my (imaginary) country that I should give him my cunt anytime, at all times, and the thought of it was making me start to drip IRL in my seat.
I clicked my vibrator back on and opened my eyes for a split second, looking around to make sure all was still kosher in my actual surroundings. Thankfully, the white noise was so damn loud you couldn’t even hear the slurpy sounds my suction toy made as it lapped up my wet clit. When I returned to my fantasy scene, two male guards were opening the doors to the King’s chambers…
Mmm, we have watchers, I thought, eyeing the men up and down as they respectfully stared straight ahead, holding their spear-thingys with their built arms. I took in my surroundings—the lush tapestries on the walls, the fire crackling beside the four-post bed, and my King, standing in a fancy robe while pouring himself a glass of wine from one of those marble side tables that always exist in stately rooms.
“What took you so long?” He huffed, turning around to face me.
“My apologies, your highness, I was—”
“Nevermind what you were doing,” he snapped, showing me my place as he motioned for my ladies in waiting to enter the room.
And just like that, standing at the foot of the bed while the guards watched and King JRM sipped his drink, three beautiful women began undressing me. First the ties at my billowing sleeves were loosened, the sleeves removed. Then they took to my corset as I stood “helpless” and obedient, letting their hands work their way around my body, forbidden from protesting. I felt my breath getting short as they dropped my outer skirt to the floor in my fantasy (and my ass brushed against my blanket in the real world).
“Not so fast,” he said, after my ladies had stripped me down to a sheer chemise and started to exit the room. “Your Queen will be needing your assistance tonight.”
My posse obliged, circling around the bed as the King disrobed himself while staring into my eyes. His body was perfect—just the right amount of ripped—and I obeyed willingly when he motioned for me to get on the bed, giving my ass a smack as I walked past him.
“Good. Now pull her legs apart,” he instructed my girls. “The King needs room to make an heir.” (In reality I never want kids, but GD, am I a sucker for a breeding kink).
Ugh! I was already getting close as I imagined the women scooting my shift dress up to avail my pussy to his highness, gently opening my legs with their soft hands and holding me steady. I lay back further, tilting my hips up to show him I was being a good Queen—ready for his taking.
The King stroked his cock as he slowly walked towards me on the bed, all animalistic, as if there weren’t five other people in the room with us. He was only focused on me—his prey.
One of my ladies reached out and petted my head, as if to calm and prepare me for the impact I was about to receive, and just then: bam! The king slammed his cock in me, leaving no time for kisses or foreplay. He wanted what he wanted—and what he wanted was to use me the fuck up and put a royal baby inside me…now.
Back on the plane, I was dangerously close to climax, mentally reminding myself that it would have to be a quiet come—something very far from my norm. Inside my mind I was screaming—moaning as my king pounded me mercilessly, tied down by my court of ladies, and secretly loving being at his highness’ behest.
“Cover her mouth,” he grunted between thrusts, and my original lady-in-waiting heeded his order.
This was it. I was about to blow. Fully restrained in make believe and fully free in reality.
“Hold still, I’m nearly there,” he said, grabbing my belly and using his grip to pull and push me off his cock in perfect rhythm. “Keep her open!” He yelled, making my ladies push my legs into the mattress even more firmly. Then:
“Ahhh!” He grunted, pumping spurt after spurt of his royal lineage into me and sending me straight to the finish line back in my seat.
HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! I pushed my face into my plane pillow hard, swallowing my would-be screams and rolling my eyes all the way back in my head as I reverberated with a full-body orgasm. I wasn’t on the plane or in the palace anymore—I was in the ether, existing as a beam of ecstasy, even if just for a minute or two.
LMAO! I just did that! I thought when I regained my composure. I didn’t bother going back into the fantasy scene—too amazed at myself and what I’d just pulled off in my actual surroundings. I poked my head out of my blanket cave, wondering if I’d made it smell like sex with all my juices, and curious how messy my hair looked from squirming around under there.
Hilariously, nothing around me had changed. It was as if no one on my flight noticed I’d just gotten knocked up by a movie-star monarch. I laughed inside, sneakily putting away my jerk-off supplies before going to the bathroom to pee (where I wondered what level of UTI prevention they had in the Tudor period). And I gotta say: When I looked in the mirror, I absolutely saw the new Queen of the mile high club staring back at me.
GG Sauvage is a writer and all-around artist on a mission to f*ck shame away and empower people with self-love. She designed The Sexiest Deck Alive: Erotic Oracle Cards to Turn You On & Help You Turn the Corner, co-hosts the Basic Witches podcast, and wrote the audio drama Sex and the Synchronicity. See her work at Refinery29, Vogue Italia, Vulture, CollegeHumor, and WhoHaHa, and check out her website for more!
Source (Archive)
