Chapter 11: Charu Wins Sex Competition on the Flight Back

My eleven-hour flight home was during the day, so sleeping wasn’t an option. The question lingered: could I come up with something hotter than banging another flight attendant?

Fucking ten tight, eager Mexican virgins in the gym’s changing room had been a mind-blowing thrill, but repeating the debauchery twice over had left me completely spent. Those orgies had definitely pushed me to my limits. As amazing as it is to have ten dripping-wet chicas fighting to take turns riding your cock, there’s only so many times a man can climax and ejaculate before he’s tapped out.

Then I thought about the opposite situation. Women were built differently; it was so much easier for them to handle an endless parade of men, wasn’t it? Taking cock after cock, every one of them pounding her and dumping their load before stepping aside for the next. How much could she really take before she broke? Or did she just keep going, dripping cum, swallowing it down, letting it pool inside her until there was no space left? Where was the limit?

The thought hit me like a rush of adrenaline. Wouldn’t it be fascinating to find out just how many balls a single woman could empty on an intercontinental flight?

It was genius, really. My scientific mind couldn’t resist the challenge. I was a Ph.D. student, after all, and I knew how to get meaningful data. I’d need more than one subject to make it a proper study. A competition would be perfect: a group of girls competing to see who could drain the most cocks. The idea was intoxicating; dozens, maybe hundreds, of horny men lining up to fuck, unloading in a frenzy of raw, unrestrained lust. And the best part? Their unsuspecting husbands sitting just rows away, completely unaware that their wives were being pounded and filled in every possible way.

It would be pure wickedness. Just imagine it; stepping off the plane hand in hand with your partner, no clue they’d been used and stretched, their cunt still tingling from the relentless pounding it had taken. Standing at immigration, smiling politely, while the guys who’d just fucked them raw smirked knowingly, their eyes darting to the spot where their cock had been buried. Some carried the sharp fear of being discovered, their secret desperately hidden from unsuspecting lovers, whether they were standing right beside them in line or waiting at home with patient loyalty. Others, used to cheating or with no one to answer to, wore their satisfaction with shameless pride, relishing the thrill of having cuckolded the poor bastard holding the hottie’s hand just a few steps away.

A plan began to form in my mind. I’d be the only one screwing bareback, ensuring there’d be no sloppy pussies or sperm competition for my prize. The rest would have to use condoms, with every filled one serving as a clear, undeniable scorecard for the girl in the competition. This way, I could tally their numbers without having to keep track of every release in the massive gangbang I had in mind.

To pull it off, I needed to be prepared. A massive number of sizes and varieties was essential. So, before heading to the airport, I made a stop at a Walmart-sized superstore and cleaned out their entire stock.

I checked out with a cute cashier, whose nametag read Fernanda. Her deep cleavage spilled out of the snug, low-cut uniform, the kind of outfit clearly designed by her employer to keep customers coming back. That rack alone made her worth the detour. When she noticed the pile of condoms, I said with a wink, “Little party.” She blushed instantly, her eyes dropping as a delicious red flush crept up her neckline. It was adorable; she couldn’t hide her arousal - or was it embarrassment?

I checked my watch. There was still more than an hour before I needed to head to the airport, plenty of time for a little spontaneous fun. There was no one in line behind me, no reason to rush. This chance encounter was far too tempting to let pass. Making up my mind quickly, I discreetly smeared a little tx34 onto her hand as I handed her the cash, setting the stage for what was about to happen. How far would she go, right there in the middle of her shift? Just thinking of her agonizing state of hyper-arousal that tx34 would induce in her was tantalizing, wicked.

Fernanda’s breathing quickened as she suddenly seemed overwhelmed with heat. Her fingers fumbled nervously as she opened the top button of her blouse, giving her ample tits a bit more room. She glanced up at me, biting her lip, and spoke in broken English, her voice trembling. “Señor, maybe ... you follow me? Necesito, um ... short break.”

It was her attempt at flirtation, dripping with desperation and barely masked arousal. She didn’t even wait for a response before calling for a colleague to cover for her shift.

A few minutes later, as soon as the door clicked shut behind us, Fernanda was all over me, her trembling hands fumbling urgently with my belt as if nothing else in the world mattered. I wasn’t far behind, tearing at the buttons of her blouse to free those magnificent tits. Her feminine curves were flawless, an hourglass figure with wide, firm hips, a taut, flat stomach that accentuated the impressive display of her full tits, and a perfectly round ass that looked made for a hard fuck, just firm enough to take a relentless pounding. Her dark, puffy nipples stood proudly, firm and inviting, so I rolled them between my fingers, eliciting a gasp from her lips as her arousal escalated with every second.

She yanked her skirt up and pushed her panties down in one swift, desperate motion, revealing a neatly trimmed pussy already glistening with wetness. Her thighs were smooth and strong, framing her drenched slit perfectly, and the sight alone was enough to make my cock throb painfully. She clawed at my shirt, her breath hot and uneven as she pressed her bare body against mine, the heat of her cunt brushing against me as she whispered something incoherent in a mix of Spanish and raw need.

Her hands guided my hard shaft to her dripping entrance, her body trembling with anticipation. She pushed herself down onto me, crying out as I penetrated her fully. For a mature woman in her late twenties or early thirties like her, her tight tunnel stretched noticeably to accommodate my thick girth, making me briefly wonder about her husband’s endowment. When her pelvis met the base of my cock, I was buried so deep inside her that the tip of my shaft pressed firmly against her cervical opening, sending a jolt through both of us at the exquisite pleasure.

Her desire consumed her, and the sounds of her gasps and moans filled the tiny room as she rode me like a woman possessed. Her hips moved with an instinctual rhythm that was mesmerizing. I realized I was going to miss these fiery, passionate Mexican women, their fit bodies and their untamed energy. Fernanda wasn’t holding back; she cried out as another orgasm rocked her, her pussy clenching around me in waves of pleasure that made my cock pulse inside her. She wasn’t tight like those delicious virgins, but she more than made up for it with a raw passion honed by experience - an experience likely shared with the man behind the glint of her wedding ring.

But I wanted to finish in a different position, to make the most of this chance encounter. I slid my hands under her soft ass, easily lifting her small, athletic frame. Her legs wrapped tightly around my waist, locking me in place as I pressed her against the wall. Her arms snaked around my neck, holding on for dear life as I began to pound into her. Each thrust forced a sharp cry from her lips, her nails digging into my back as I drove into her tight body, the wet sounds of our fuck echoing off the walls.

As the tension built within me, I decided I wanted a different position once more. I slid her down, her feet hitting the floor as I quickly spun her around, pressing her ample jugs firmly against the wall. She arched her back instinctively, presenting her perfectly round ass to me. Grabbing her hips, I thrust into her from behind, earning a loud moan as I filled her again. Her fuck-tunnel clenched around me as I pounded into her with relentless force, my cock driving deep with every stroke.

That ass hadn’t promised too much, it felt as if it were made for a hard pounding. Its soft flesh yielded to every thrust with just enough firmness to give a resistance that screamed youth and vitality. Her butt cheeks weren’t massive, just big enough to be perfectly feminine and round, balancing her hourglass figure beautifully. Each forward thrust created a loud, rhythmic thud as her hips met mine, a sound that would undoubtedly be heard in the corridor outside. The risk of discovery sent a thrilling jolt through me, heightening the raw intensity of our fuck.

My release imminent, I gripped her hips even tighter, pressing her firmly against the wall with each thrust as I slammed into her with all my strength. Just before the eruption hit, an overwhelming, primal urge consumed me: the instinct to deposit my seed as deep inside her as possible. As if acting on its own, my cock buried itself fully, pressing hard against her cervical opening and holding there, motionless, savoring those few seconds of utter fulfillment perched at the brink of release.

Then the climax struck with overwhelming intensity. My glutes spasmed uncontrollably as my cannon erupted, shooting thick globes of hot cum deep into her trembling body. Her head tilted back, her cries dissolving into soft whimpers as she surrendered entirely to her own climax, submitting completely to the primal need of a woman to be filled with potent seed.

When I finally set her down, Fernanda could barely stand, her legs shaking so badly that she had to lean against the wall for support. Her flushed face and heaving chest were a sight to behold as she tried to catch her breath, her body still lost in the lingering waves of what we’d just shared.

She looked up at me with a mischievous smile, her lips slightly parted, and murmured in a breathy voice, “You’re ... increíble. My esposo ... nunca like this.” Her accent made the words even sweeter as her dark eyes held mine. Her hands slid up to rest on my shoulders, pulling me down into a deep, eager kiss. Her lips were warm and soft, her tongue teasing mine as she pressed her still-heaving body against me.

I let my hands wander, cupping her full tetas and squeezing them firmly. Her nipples were still stiff under my palms, and I couldn’t resist rolling them between my fingers. She moaned softly into the kiss, her body arching into my touch. Pulling back just enough to catch her breath, she whispered with a playful grin, “You big cañón,” her eyes flicking down to my impressive shaft, giving it a gentle, teasing squeeze with her delicate hands. She stepped back slightly and grabbed it with both hands, her wide eyes locked on the thick head that still stood out as her fingers wrapped around the shaft. Then, giggling softly, she added, “Grande ... so BIG! I no able sit ahora.”

Her admiring words, a playful mix of broken English and Spanish, coupled with her teasing touch, made the moment even more deliciously satisfying. Who doesn’t love a hot chick marveling at his cock after an intense fuck, calling it huge and admitting it’s better than her husband’s? It made me feel like a king.

With no paper towels in sight, Fernanda used her panties to clean herself, the soaked fabric barely enough to handle the mess. I grabbed the soiled cloth as a souvenir, pulling her into a lingering kiss before leaving for the airport with a satisfied smile on my face and a bag of condoms tucked in my luggage. What a delicious appetizer this had been for the nasty fun I had planned for the flight.

A short while later, I found myself on the flight back to London. The plane was a 747, configured with an upper deck for the first-class cabin. This particular layout featured a luxurious bar and ten separate cabins, each equipped with a small bed and a separate chair, all tucked away behind thick curtains for privacy.

Of the ten cabins, I had one, four were empty, and the remaining five were occupied by a well-known model, an actress, and three gray-haired businessmen.

The model, known by her stage name Vivienne, was tall and lean, her tits small but perfectly round, their shape emphasized by the plunging neckline of her figure-hugging dress. Her long legs seemed to go on forever, toned and smooth, crossing elegantly as she sat with an almost arrogant air. Her ass, though petite, had a perky curve that promised a delightful bounce, and her dark hair framed a face with sharp cheekbones and a sultry pout, which I couldn’t wait to savor later. She had graced the centerfolds of men’s magazines, the ultimate male fantasy brought to life. In short: the perfect contender for a sex competition.

The actress, who introduced herself with a playful smile as Savannah, had a face I was sure anyone would recognize from countless steamy Hollywood movies, where she was known under a completely different stage name. But here, she preferred to use “Savannah”, perhaps her real name, or simply the one she used when she wanted to avoid attention. Considering the embarrassing acts she’d soon be engaging in, let’s stick to calling her Savannah to protect her stellar reputation as one of Hollywood’s biggest stars.

Savannah had a strikingly voluptuous build, her full, round tits, true melons, straining against the buttons of her fitted blouse as though they might burst free at any moment. Her pencil skirt hugged her curvy hips and shapely thighs perfectly, drawing the eye to her hourglass figure with every movement. Her ass was round, firm, and perfectly proportioned, jutting out just enough to make me want to grab it every time she walked past. Her long, wavy blonde hair framed a youthful, glowing face with bright blue eyes, a disarming smile, and soft features that gave her a sweet, approachable charm, until her confident smirk hinted at the bold, fiery side she undoubtedly unleashed behind closed doors.

If Vivienne brought elegance and refinement, Savannah delivered unfiltered, voluptuous heat, making their contrast the perfect combination for what I had in mind. Their undeniable allure would keep the three businessmen eager to participate or at least watch what I had planned. While these three appeared rather bored with their drinks, flipping through business journals, I noticed them stealing the occasional surreptitious glance at those two famous hotties, as if they were barely managing to suppress their hidden desires. Well, they wouldn’t have to hide those desires much longer, I thought with a smirk, satisfied that everything was falling perfectly into place.

I needed some help, though. Our stewardess was a stunning Russian, her name tag reading Anastasia, a name as alluring as her presence. Strikingly tall, with long, shapely legs that seemed to stretch forever in her snug uniform skirt, she rivaled even Vivienne and Lila in height, aided by the impossibly high heels that Russian women seemed to favor. Her large breasts were perfectly showcased by the low-cut blouse, her deep cleavage forming a tantalizing shadow that hinted at the softness within. Her long blonde hair was folded into an intricate twist, adding a touch of elegance that contrasted beautifully with her curvaceous body.

Anastasia exuded the kind of icy, refined beauty Russians were known for, with a confident demeanor that hinted she wasn’t shy about using her assets to captivate men. The way she bent over to serve drinks, pausing just long enough to offer an enticing glimpse down her blouse, or how her miniskirt would ride up just enough to reveal a teasing hint of her garter belt, all felt meticulously calculated to seduce, or at least to keep eyes glued to her every move. Was she just a master flirt, or did she have more in store for the right opportunity?

Whatever the answer, she radiated a readiness that made me certain she was perfect for the help I had in mind.

Once we were airborne, I called Anastasia over and slipped her two neat stacks of ten $100 bills, accompanied by a knowing smile. Just to be on the safe side and guarantee her full cooperation, I discreetly gave her the tiniest dose of tx34. It wasn’t enough to make her lose all restraint or drown in uncontrollable arousal, but just enough to ease her inhibitions and make her more pliable. That should do the trick, I thought, fully confident in my plan.

Her eyes widened slightly at the sight of the stacks of money, and she quickly pocketed it, glancing around before leaning in closer. With a sly smile, she tugged at the edge of the curtain to my cabin, her voice dropping into a sultry tone. “Something ... private?” she asked, her words laced with playful suggestion, clearly expecting me to invite her into my cabin for a mile-high romp.

For a moment, I was taken aback at just how easily the right amount of cash had turned a professional cock-tease like her into someone so ready to offer herself. As she leaned in closer, her body perfectly angled to shield us from the other passengers, I couldn’t resist testing just how far she was willing to go. My hand slipped inside her blouse, the soft fabric yielding to my touch as my fingers brushed against her bare, warm skin. I traced the edge of her bra, savoring the feeling of her firm breast beneath, before cupping one of her full tits.

Her nipple stiffened instantly under my touch, and she let out a sharp, breathy gasp. Her cheeks flushed as her lips parted, an unexpected response to such a bold tit grab from a stewardess mid-flight. After her initial surprise, her teeth caught her lower lip in a seductive gesture, her gaze smoldering with a silent invitation that screamed she was ready to go all the way. Her body arched subtly into my hand, as if urging me to continue, her transformation from professional tease to willing whore unmistakable.

However, I had something far more ambitious in mind than just a quick romp with a Russian stewardess, as enticing as she was. Leaning back in my seat, I smirked and began explaining the plan in a low voice. “We’re about to host a little competition here in first class,” I said, gesturing subtly toward the two women in the other cabins. “Those two and eight more from downstairs are going to participate.”

Her expression faltered slightly, her pouty lips pressing together as though almost disappointed. It was as if she was used to a little whoring on the side, treating it like an unspoken perk of working in first class. Who would’ve guessed this kind of thing went on in such a respectable airline?

Catching her reaction, I leaned forward, my tone dropping lower. “Don’t worry,” I added with a sly grin. “The ten ladies will be competing in an X-rated activity up here in first class. It’s gonna be a hot!” As I spoke, my hand brushed her clit through the fabric of her tight miniskirt. Her breath hitched, and she let out a soft moan, her cheeks instantly flushing.

“Oh, well ... as long as it’s all voluntary and no one objects,” she stammered, her voice shaky but tinged with curiosity.

I smirked. “Of course. You’ll see for yourself. Can I count on your help?”

She nodded quickly, trying to regain her composure, and straightened her blouse before stepping away to serve the other passengers. Her face was still flushed, and I couldn’t help but notice the way her hips swayed just a little more than before. Clearly, the tiny dose of tx34 was doing its job.

It was great to watch her. Anastasia seemed caught between temptation and curiosity, her flushed cheeks and lingering glances betraying a strong desire to give in to her lust. I could almost feel her struggle, as though she was moments away from abandoning all pretense of professionalism and throwing herself at me. I was certain that even a sliver more of tx34 would have had her ripping off her blouse and dropping to her knees right there in front of everyone.

Instead, she focused on serving the other passengers, her eyes occasionally darting in my direction, as if anticipating what would happen next. Her restrained longing was almost as delicious as outright surrender. I leaned back in my seat, letting my mind wander as the plane ascended, savoring the mental image of Anastasia naked and breathless, that tight blouse discarded and her perfect tits on full display.

As we reached cruising altitude, I got up and descended the spiral staircase to the lower deck. Strolling through economy class, I carefully scanned the passengers, searching for young, fit girls with the stamina for prolonged screwing. My luck couldn’t have been better: a group of six barely legal high school cheerleaders sat chatting in their seats with that unmistakable jailbait look: youthful, fit, athletic, and the embodiment of forbidden fantasies. These toned cock-teases were just about perfect for my plan, smoking hot and as fit as they come, exactly the kind to push the limits in a competition designed to see how many men a single female could take in one session.

Their tall captain’s name was Britt, the commanding presence in their group with her long, lean legs and confident smirk. Beside her sat Jess and Meg, both stacked in ways that made their tight uniforms seem like they could barely contain them. I didn’t catch the names of the others as I continued my stroll, but their giggles and lingering glances told me they were just as promising for what I had in mind.

For a bit of variety, I also selected a stunning Indian woman in designer clothes, her massive tits threatening to spill out of her top, and a statuesque Swedish bombshell with pale skin, flowing blonde hair tinged with red, and full, luscious C-cup or D-cup breasts. Both exuded sex appeal and had killer figures, yet carried a more mature aura than the barely legal American cheerleaders with their youthful jailbait look. In their mid- to late twenties and clearly married, as they traveled with their partners, they radiated an air of elegance and unapproachability, the kind of women men admired from a distance but rarely dared to engage.

When my selection was complete, I approached each of the chosen contestants individually with a carefully crafted story. I explained that they had been randomly selected for an exclusive first-class upgrade as part of a special airline promotion aimed at enhancing passenger satisfaction. The phrasing was so perfect I couldn’t help but silently applaud myself, after all, “passenger satisfaction” would undoubtedly be enhanced, if not for the chicks themselves, then certainly for the men who’d soon be fucking them raw.

I made a polite show of apologizing to their companions for taking them away, assuring them it was a program with no extra charges, even emphasizing that it included a generous cash reward and the chance to win a big cash prize right on this flight. To cover my tracks, I discreetly jotted down the companions’ seat numbers, intending to monitor them later to ensure no one grew suspicious. The worst-case scenario would be one of those men wandering upstairs and stumbling upon their partners getting nailed by a line of men. That kind of drama, amusing as the thought might be, was the last thing I needed on this flight.

I threw in a few well-placed platitudes about how the airline appreciated their cooperation, keeping my tone light and professional as I led the eight gorgeous contestants up the spiral staircase to the first-class cabin.

Once upstairs, the girls gathered around the sleek, modern bar, their curious, excited chatter filling the air as they took in their luxurious surroundings. I flashed a reassuring smile, encouraging them to relax and enjoy a complimentary drink while they waited. “Just get comfortable,” I said smoothly, “I’ll handle all the arrangements.” Their eyes sparkled with anticipation, the initial tension melting away as the promise of something exclusive and thrilling began to take hold.

From there, I approached the three male first-class passengers together, pulling them aside to a discreet corner of the cabin where their voices would be masked by the low hum of the engines. With quiet authority, I laid out my proposal: the chance to screw one of the bombshells now perched at the bar, in exchange for letting me use their private cabins for the rest of the flight.

At first, their skepticism was palpable: furtive glances exchanged between them, brows furrowed in doubt. The age gap was glaring, and the whole idea seemed too good to be true. Why would any of these stunning, young, smoking hot temptresses, with their tight bodies, firm tits, and glowing, youthful energy, even consider letting these older men lay a hand on them? The thought of getting even a handful of those luscious tits seemed like an unattainable fantasy, let alone an actual fuck - a dream so out of reach it bordered on absurd.

Anticipating their doubts, I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice to a conspiratorial tone and flashing a knowing smile. “Let’s just say these sluts are part of a very special promotional campaign. They’ve been fully briefed to ensure your satisfaction, and trust me, they’re completely on board. No strings, no complications, just pure indulgence. This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance to fuck someone way out of your league, so don’t overthink it.”

Their skepticism began to crumble as their gazes drifted to the girls at the bar. The lineup was irresistible: tight tops clinging to full tits, legs crossed seductively, and playful smiles or flicks of hair that seemed designed to tempt. The men’s lust quickly overtook their doubts, the absurdity of the situation giving way to the fantasy unfolding before them.

“Uh, she looks younger than my daughter, but why the hell not? I sure wouldn’t mind banging this blonde one,” one murmured, his eyes locked on Meg with a lecherous stare. The others nodded in agreement, their earlier disbelief evaporating as their salacious gazes roamed greedily over the girls’ youthful bodies. The idea of fucking someone who, age-wise, could easily have been their daughters was clearly unlocking a corrupt fantasy, a perverse craving, that had been hidden deep inside.

“Take your time picking your favorites,” I told them smoothly, flashing a confident grin. “I’ll finalize everything with the girls.”

They barely heard me, their creepy stares glued to the chicks as their imaginations ran wild, as if undressing them with their eyes. The strain in their trousers betrayed just how eager they were, their growing bulges leaving no doubt about their readiness to give in to their animalistic urges.

With their attention thoroughly captured, I called Vivienne and Savannah over, gesturing for them to join the sexy new arrivals at the bar. “Why don’t you all relax with a complimentary cocktail?” I suggested, flashing an inviting smile. The ten women gathered around the sleek bar, their curious chatter mixing with the faint hum of the plane’s engines as they sipped on their drinks, clearly intrigued by what was coming next.

When the moment felt right, I reached into my bag and produced an expensive-looking bottle of perfume, its sleek glass catching the soft light. Holding it up with a casual grin, I said, “This is a rare fragrance I picked up in Paris. I thought it’d be the perfect way to set the mood for what’s to come. Why don’t we give it a try before we start a little competition?”

One by one, they extended their wrists with varying degrees of curiosity, some giggling nervously, others glancing at each other for reassurance. The cheerleaders whispered among themselves, their youthful excitement evident, while the more poised women exchanged skeptical but intrigued looks.

The perfume, of course, contained tx34, a generous dose, far more than I’d ever used before. The effect was almost instantaneous. Soft gasps and nervous laughter filled the air as the arousal hit them, their bodies reacting instinctively. Several began to fidget, shifting awkwardly, while others unconsciously brushed their hands over their pussies as the heat between their thighs became undeniable.

I waited until the tension was palpable before I addressed them. “Ladies, we’re about to have a friendly little competition,” I said with a smirk. “The goal? To see which of you can satisfy the greatest number of men.”

Their eyes widened, a mix of surprise, hesitation, and nervous excitement flickering across their faces. A few exchanged uncertain glances, whispering to one another, while the cheerleaders let out soft giggles, still trying to gauge if I was serious.

I leaned in slightly, my tone firm yet reassuring. “This is going to be great fun, believe me. You’ll enjoy every second of it. And there is a big cash reward for the winner! Now, please, don’t be shy! Undress and leave your clothes and purses on the bar stools.”

The air crackled with erotic tension. The effects of the tx34 had begun to take hold, their inhibitions dissolving like mist under the heat of their growing arousal. It started slowly, with nervous glances and hesitant movements.

Savannah was the first to break the stalemate. Used to being in the spotlight as an actress, she stepped forward with a sly smirk, her fingers deftly undoing the buttons of her blouse as she seemed to slip into a role, embracing the part of a seductive professional stripper. Each button popped open with theatrical flair, her movements deliberate and teasing, as if she were performing for an unseen audience. The luscious globes of her melons came into view, straining against a lacey bra that looked ready to burst under the pressure.