Chapter 27 - The Flight

The jet’s engines hummed a low, powerful vibration that thrummed through the plush leather of Steve’s seat. He watched the familiar landscape of his hometown shrink into a patchwork quilt below, a nervous knot tightening in his stomach. This was all so fucking surreal.

Heather, impeccably dressed and smelling of expensive perfume, unbuckled her seatbelt with a smooth click. She turned to him, her gaze appraising. “You look like you’re on your way to a funeral, my dear boy. Unclench. This is supposed to be fun.”

“Fun?” Steve grunted, shifting uncomfortably in the opulent surroundings. “Heather, I feel like a fucking imposter. This jet, the money ... it’s not me.”

“It is now, ” she said, her voice softening from its earlier posh teasing into something more maternal, more insistent. She leaned closer, her green eyes locking onto his. “The power you wield isn’t just in a title, Steve. It’s in the confidence to command a room, a boardroom, or a private jet. It’s in accepting that you deserve the finest things in life. And right now, you look like you think you deserve a rusted-out pickup truck.”

She reached over, her fingers deftly unbuttoning the top button of his shirt. Her touch was electric, a stark contrast to his simmering anxiety. “The first lesson in feeling at ease is to be at ease. You’re wound tighter than a spring.” Her fingers trailed down his chest, tracing the hard lines of his pectorals. “Let me help you relax.”

Steve’s breath hitched. This was his grandmother, but the woman looking at him now was all predator, her intentions clear and heated. Her other hand settled high on his thigh, her touch firm and proprietary. “All that tension ... it needs a release valve.”

“Heather, we’re on a plane,” he whispered, though his body was already responding, blood rushing south, thickening his cock against the inside of his jeans.

“And we have it all to ourselves for the next hour and forty-five minutes, ” she purred, her smile wicked. Her fingers found the button of his jeans, popping it open with a practiced flick. The rasp of the zipper followed, a loud, metallic shhhhk in the quiet cabin. “No one to bother us. Just you, me, and thirty thousand feet of empty sky.”

She didn’t wait for permission, sliding her hand inside his boxers. Her cool, smooth fingers wrapped around his rapidly hardening length, and she let out a soft, appreciative gasp. “Fuck, Steve. Every time I feel it, I’m amazed. It’s a fucking masterpiece.” She began to stroke him, a slow, torturous up and down that made his hips twitch. Squelsh. Squelsh. The soft, slick sound of her fist moving over his skin was obscenely loud.

His head fell back against the headrest with a soft thud, a groan escaping his lips. His own hands, seemingly of their own volition, reached for her. He cupped the incredible, heavy weight of one of her breasts through her silk blouse, feeling the stiff peak of her nipple pressing into his palm. “God, Heather...”

“Mmm, that’s it, ” she encouraged, her voice a husky whisper next to his ear. Her breath was warm. “Feel how much I want you. My tits are so fucking heavy and aching for your mouth.” She guided his hand inside her blouse, and his fingers met the hot, soft skin of her magnificent chest. He squeezed the full, bountiful flesh, his thumb rasping over her nipple. She gasped, her own hips pushing forward against the armrest between them.

With a low growl, Steve gave up any pretense of resistance. He pulled her blouse open, buttons pinging and scattering across the cabin floor with tiny plink sounds. Her bra was sheer black lace, struggling to contain the massive, pale orbs of her breasts. He yanked the cup down, and her tit spilled free, the nipple a dark, pebbled berry begging for his tongue.

He leaned forward and took it into his mouth, sucking hard. Slurp. Gurgle. He lavished her with his tongue, licking and nibbling, as his grandmother—the poised, powerful matriarch—dissolved into a writhing, moaning mess beneath him.

“Yes! Fuck yes, Steve! Suck your grandmother’s tit! God, your mouth feels so fucking good,” she cried out, her head tossing back. Her hand on his cock worked faster now, a steady, slick rhythm. Squish. Glrk. The wet, dirty sounds of her pumping fist filled the cabin.

He switched to her other breast, giving it the same wet, devouring attention while his free hand worked its way up her skirt. He found the hem of her stockings, the smooth skin of her thigh, and then the hot, damp silk of her panties. He pressed his palm against her, and she was soaked. A low, guttural moan ripped from her throat.

“Fuck me, ” she demanded, her eyes blazing with need. “Right here. Right now. I need to feel that fucking magnificent cock splitting me open, Steve. I don’t want to wait.”

She practically clawed at his jeans and boxers, pushing them down past his hips. His cock sprang free, slapping against his stomach, fully erect and glistening from her ministrations. In one fluid, shockingly strong motion, Heather rose from her seat, hiked her skirt up around her waist, and hooked her thumbs into the sides of her panties. She tore them off with a sharp rrrip of fabric and straddled his lap, facing him.