The only available seat was in the last row on the aisle. Her rowmate at the window had her eyes on a paperback book and didn’t seem interested in chat or even an introduction. Fine, be that way. It was a short flight, after all.

Take off took them up so fast, and Pamela couldn’t help but notice the young woman didn’t bother with a seatbelt, and the flight attendant didn’t bother to rebuke her. Okay. It was only a 45 minute flight. Nothing to get worked up about. But she loosened her own belt and wondered if there was time for a nap.

Out of slitted eyes she saw her companion glance ever so briefly at her before turning a page in her book. What’s that all about? The next page was slow in coming. Indeed, the woman’s breath seemed to slow and deepen, and now she noticed her thighs, clad in some not-quite-leather skirt, clamped close. The woman was squeezing her thighs together, a slow but pronounced rhythm, and the page still hadn’t turned, and the woman’s nipples were clearly poking the fabric of her blouse. Oh my, she was masturbating! Witnessing something so subtle but overt became a turn-on. Watching those nipples extend, those thighs squeeze, and now could it be: cunt scent. Yes. And the woman’s hips undulated, just a little but with clear intention. And a soft sigh escaped her mouth, and the page didn’t turn, and the thighs squeezed, and the nipples thickened and poked, and suddenly a jerk. A shudder. A soft gasp. Oh my! The woman had come.