Flight attendant thigh skirt touched fingers-Night Flight - masturbation fingering panties skirt

Gratefully I sink into my seat. It is going to be a very long flight. I usually prefer to sit on the aisle but none of those seats are available and I feel lucky to even get a window. And with any luck the middle seat would stay empty, giving me just that tiny bit of precious space that makes so much of a difference on a long flight. Gradually the plane fills.

Flight attendant thigh skirt touched fingers

Flight attendant thigh skirt touched fingers

And with any luck the middle seat would stay empty, giving me just that tiny bit of precious space that makes so much of a difference on a long flight. Above the crotch was a thicker creamier wet substance thoroughly saturating my panty front to back. I squeeze my bottom together and thrust myself deep into her fngers. He smiles across at me. I must do something for her.

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It was all I could do to keep from moaning Flight attendant thigh skirt touched fingers loud. Very gently, very lightly, and we both moaned softly as her lips returned my kiss. He was eating me with abandon. I watched her face turn toward me as she slowly rubbed her fingers over my erect, thumb-sized clit, and down into my wet wide-open cunt. If found posted anywhere other than Lushstories. I exploded, squirting my cum in her mouth. Kim sighed as her bare tits fell into my hands and I began rubbing them and cupping them, pushing her white bra up and out of the way. I Unlawful harassment of neighbors guilty. His mouth felt so amazing. I ifngers also see her nipples pressing through the material of her blouse. No amount of soothing would keep him quiet.

Reading over the announcement, the core topics and activities sounded excellent.

  • We know that you have many choices when you fly and we appreciate you choosing United.
  • I fumbled with the keys to open the door, my right hand on the luggage handle.
  • I sat there at the gate steaming about why they hadn't started boarding the damn plane yet.
  • I boarded the flight with my wife and one year old son, knowing the next 5 hours would be very trying times if my son was not in the mood to co-operate.

By Jack Elsom For Mailonline. But one flight attendant soared above and beyond to deliver a side-splittingly silly demonstration which infected the cabin with fits of laughter. He humoured the Westjet trip from Alberta, Canada , to Arizona with a slapstick act which saw him struggle to fasten the seat belt and yank the oxygen mask down like a madman before 'accidentally' pinging himself with the elastic.

He humoured the Westjet trip with a slapstick act which saw him struggle to fasten the seat belt left and use overly emphatic gestures right. I can honestly say that in all of my 61 years, I have never ever seen a flight attendant captivate the passengers like this. The five-minute clip filmed by the amused passenger shows the flight attendant - dressed in a short-sleeved white shirt and a bright turquoise tie - demonstrating how to fasten one's seat belt.

He slams the two ends together before finally inserting the parts correctly and gives the crowd a jokey stare. But the highlight of his comedy routine was when he demonstrates how to don the oxygen mask. Mimicking the scenario, he goes red in the face and pretends to scream before pulling the mask across his face and pinging the elastic on to his head in the process.

When he puts it on, he then proceeds to pull a series of silly faces and even perform some dance moves. Remarkably, he then repeats the whole act during when the briefing is read out for a second time in French. After finishing, the cabin erupts in rapturous applause and he takes a bow.

Air Force Fun! Share this article Share. Share or comment on this article: Cabin roars with laughter as hilarious flight attendant delivers slapstick safety briefing e-mail 3. Bing Site Web Enter search term: Search. Blac Chyna puts 'family first' as she takes Dream Kardashian and King Cairo to the pumpkin patch with Tyga's aunt Blac Chyna's personal relationships have a habit of grabbing the headlines. Delta Goodrem announces her third fragrance Destiny What happens next?

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Kim was loving this, not physically but mentally, knowing she was in control and had me at her mercy using her feet on the ground as leverage as she pumped up and down, riding me hard and fast. I was tired and ready to relax on the couch with drink. The way she had wiped and dabbed, I knew she had to have clearly felt my reaction under her touch; looking in her eyes though she seem unfazed. Perfect Little White Round Booty! Those were the only ones I had.

Flight attendant thigh skirt touched fingers

Flight attendant thigh skirt touched fingers. Comments (12)


Reading over the announcement, the core topics and activities sounded excellent. Sounds good to me! I dress comfortably, but respectably. A black jacket, light blue blouse, and a knee-length charcoal grey concertina pleated skirt over matching white bra and undies. I complement that with sheer black thigh-high stockings and three-inch black ankle-strap shoes. I also take along a pair of soft comfortable slippers stuffed in the top of my handbag to wear on board the aircraft.

When I booked my ticket, I deliberately chose a window seat in the rear of the aircraft. I anticipated a quiet flight and fully intended to quickly grab a pillow and blanket and snooze my way to France.

I am standing in the aisle next to my seat doing the usual balancing act of trying to lift my carry-on bag into the overhead storage compartment without braining myself when a man appears at my side. In fact, he appears to be an extremely distinguished looking gentleman who I estimate to be somewhere in his mid-fifties, around five feet ten with silver grey hair and goatee.

Granting me a slight bow of his head and a smile, he graciously relieves me of my baggage and coat and places them in the overhead storage compartment, followed by his own. He has a rather polished manner about him and there is certainly no mistaking his Armani suit for something off the rack at Burlington Coat Factory. With the baggage chore accomplished, I squeeze by him and sit down in the window seat.

He then makes himself comfortable in the aisle seat with the empty seat between us. Introductions complete, I reach into my handbag and take out my slippers. Lifting each knee in turn, I unbuckle the ankle strap on my high heels and slip them off, replacing them with my old comfortable slippers.

I smile and remain friendly. It is that primal male thing - men cannot help looking you over. Well aware of his steady appraisal, I push my discarded heels underneath my seat, smooth my skirt down and turn to gaze out of the window. There is little outside to see besides the flashing blue taxiway lights and the line of planes awaiting takeoff.

I pull down the window shade, then stuff my pillow into the gap between the window and the side of my seat and put my head against it. Thank goodness for a nice large blanket that effectively covers me from neck to ankles. Aircraft cabins can get very cool on long-distance flights. I pull the blanket up around my shoulders and snuggle down. A few hours sleep and I will be ready to greet Paris in the early morning. I was not sure for how long I dozed, but we were at altitude and well out over the Atlantic.

The aircraft is quiet, cabin lights dimmed and I can hear that steady hissing sound of circulating air. I can also feel a hand on my thigh. I look over to see that while I was asleep my French fellow traveler has exchanged his aisle seat for the seat next to me. Underneath my blanket, the palm of his hand is resting on the front of my skirt, fingertips gently stroking the material. What do I expect to see? Surprisingly there is nothing challenging or reproachful in his demeanor.

He appears strangely respectful. Nothing salacious or aggressive, rather there is a silent unspoken questioning in his face. A seeking … seeking what? This is the moment I am supposed to indignantly jump up, scream blue murder and slap his impudent face.

The moment I expose this perverted outrage and demand the Flight Attendants move me to another seat. Instead, I turn my head away. His touch is extremely gentle and rather playful. I can feel his hand and fingers lightly tracing the pleats in my skirt, a tactile examination of the material and the contours of my body underneath.

His hand moves slowly and tenderly over the front of my skirt, softly feeling its way up over my hip to my waistband and back down across my stomach. When his hand reaches my lap, he gently lets it rest there. A pause in his explorations. A gesture, perhaps to give me time to evaluate and signal my approval or objections. My chest feels tight, and I think I must be holding my breath. I am frozen in place. I say nothing and after several minutes, he slowly presses his hand against my lap, his fingers pushing the pleats of my skirt down between my thighs and into my crotch.

I keep my face turned away from him, bite into my pillow and keep my thighs tightly clenched together. The exploring fingers pause and he slowly withdraws his hand from my lap. An opening gambit? Perhaps a point of reappraisal. Our flight continues eastward and it seems Monsieur Henri has chosen to behave himself.

I snuggle down under my blanket and doze off. I awake to feel his hand upon my knees, fingers tracing the front hem of my skirt. I do believe he is teasing me now. His hand moves excruciatingly slowly. There is no haste in his delicate explorations, no bull in a china shop rush for the goodies, however, his hand is inexorably heading upwards.

The front hem of my skirt is across his wrist and being pushed farther up my legs with every feel of his hand and fingers. I continue to hold my legs tightly together. The wayward hand pauses at the top of my stockings and explores its way around the lacy thigh band. After some minutes of his fingertips tracing the lace tops, it slides above my stocking tops and onto that area of bare skin between my stocking and panty leg.

He pauses again on that area of bare skin. A decision point, for him and me? He gently squeezes and taps his fingers against my thigh. A subtle signal. I am not sure what my response should be. A kaleidoscope of impressions fills my head. His finger taps seek a response and I reply to his tactile inquiries. I open my legs enough to allow his hand full access. He reaches up and caresses my panties. His palm quickly cups my mound while his fingers extend downwards to feel and tease the cleft in my panties.

I take a firm grip on the edge of my blanket, hold it tightly around my neck and bury my face into my pillow trying to stifle my erratic breathing. I smother my gasps and silently sob as he fingers me through my panties. I bite down into my pillow and silently chant a mental mantra. Do not scissor your legs, twitch a thigh muscle or wriggle your ass. I cannot believe I am actually telling myself this nonsense.

Oh sure. I am going to sit here quietly aloof and unresponsive while he fondles me through my panties. Nevertheless, I decide that I am going to try because I recognize that Henri is no fool. His controlled body language is indicative that he is also well aware of our possible public exposure and has no wish to embarrass either of us. Under my blanket, my own body is already betraying me with a hot dampness trickling between my legs. His hand slides up underneath the leg of my panty pushing my panty gusset aside.

I draw in a deep expectant breath. It is an experienced hand that firmly engulfs my naked pussy. His thumb has little difficulty in locating my tingling clit, partnered by a finger that is simultaneously inserted into my vagina. To my chagrin, my pussy pulses and grips his finger. He fucks me with his hand, tickling and teasing, entering and withdrawing. My clit swells under his circling thumb, while his finger slides in and out of my wet pussy.

Monsieur Henri dutifully does just that. Underneath my panties, he steadily finger-fucks my bare wet slit. Somewhere during the night, I make my excuses and leave my seat heading for the nearest bathroom. Locking myself in, I quickly pull my skirt up, push my panties down to my knees and sit on the toilet. I pee up a storm. God knows how I managed that! I put it down to a bad case of nerves caused by my digitally amorous seatmate.

I would have sworn on a stack of Brooklyn bagels that I did not have a single solitary ounce of fluid remaining in my body.

I am a mess and thinking, had I have known … geez, what a ridiculous thing to be thinking. At home, I would simply place a bath towel under myself, but since I am happily winging my way to the Continent, I had not foreseen this particular eventuality. My inner thighs and ladyparts are sore and chafed.

Flight attendant thigh skirt touched fingers

Flight attendant thigh skirt touched fingers