Serena poked her head into the cockpit, and seeing that both pilots were on board, slid inside and closed the door behind her.
"You boys need anything?"
One man turned in his captain's chair to look at the stewardess. The other, the actual captain, didn't even move, but he was the one who answered in a rich Texan drawl.
"Nothing yet, darling." He was busy working through the safety protocol and his eyes never left the notebook on the dashboard. "But we can use some bottles of water before the cattle loads in."
"You got it, sir," she said.
The co-pilot eyed her up and down, making no effort to hide his lascivious hunger. He even licked his lips as his gaze vacuumed up the prodigious swell of her bosom in her tight blue uniform. Serena was surprised his eyes didn't bulge a foot out of their sockets like horny wolves in those old cartoons.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph, you sure do fill that little outfit out. Screw the water, I'm thirsty now."
Serena tittered politely and shook her head in an indulgent "boys will be boys" way. Her hair, thick auburn wrapped up tight in a professional bun, didn't budge.
As she turned to walk out, the co-pilot gave her ass a hearty slap. She knew it was coming, but it still sent a thrill through her. Now it was the captain's turn to shake his head.
Serena closed the door behind her and paused for a moment in the forward bulkhead. The co-pilot was Kerry Holt, a no-good sonofagun, but a hell of an airman. She had often worked his crew flying the Atlanta-LAX run over the past year. A year in the sky is like four on the ground; you go through some shit, you form a tight bond with your crew. You learn about them, about their dreams and fears, their stories and their jokes.
One thing she had learned about Holt was that he was packing serious heat. Even thinking about the eight-inch coke can waiting in his pants gave her another shiver. Many a red-eye had included a midnight fuck, and he had taken to shoving her panties in her mouth to keep her screams from reaching the cabin as he pistoned in and out of her eager snatch behind the cockpit door.
The captain was Steve Murray, whom Serena had met for the first time only 20 minutes earlier. He and Holt had wheeled their suitcases down the jetway while she was speaking to the gate attendant. Murray looked straight out central casting for a 1950s Pan Am pilot. He was cordial and warm in their short introductions, but she saw his eyes canvass her body while they shook hands. She wouldn't have expected -- or wanted -- anything less.
The passengers would be boarding any minute, but Serena slid into the bathroom. She hiked up her thigh-length dark blue skirt. She'd always had a thing for men in uniform, and the attention from these two masculine specimens had gotten her hot. Sure enough, her pink thong already had a large oblong wet blotch in the front. Dammit, and in her rush to the airport she'd forgotten to put in a liner. She sighed and pulled the underwear down her smooth legs and wadded it into her pocket.
A memory floated into her head of a conversation, years ago over late-night cocktails, when she'd admitted to some flight attendant friends how much moisture she could produce when aroused, even before physical stimulation. How shocked they'd been! Over the years, she'd learned to keep extra pair or two of panties in her carry-on. She would slip back to the crew baggage nook to grab them in a moment.
Gathering some toilet paper, she wiped down her pussy. No matter what might happen after take-off, she couldn't afford to be distracted as the first-class passengers filtered in. She needed to be as charming and engaging as could be to get the fives and tens flowing out of their wallets.
The toilet paper was coarse, one-ply shit -- corporate bastards cut back everywhere they could -- but the pressure on her hairless cunt was amazing. Even as she intended to nip her horniness in the bud, she found she had ditched the toilet paper and was rubbing her clit at full speed.
She splayed her left hand against the mirror for balance as her legs tightened, then spasmed. Her breath came in sharp jabs and the familiar warmth spread out from the space behind her pussy into her stomach and down her thighs. Her fingers were dripping with her wetness. She barely suppressed a moan as her climax swept over her.
Half a minute later, her breathing had slowed and the blood had mostly drained from her face. She produced a comb from some hidden pocket and got the stragglers from her bun back in the line. She washed her hands, then took a slow, long breath and looked at herself in the mirror. This wasn't how she'd intended this shift to start, but no harm done. Now to just dip out, grab her new panties, pop back in the --
The door rattled with several knocks. "Serena, what are you doing?" It was her colleague Jeanie. "Boarding has started, we need you out here."
Damn, Serena swore at herself. That little session must have taken longer than she thought.
"Dang, sorry Jeanie, be right out!"
Fuck, she couldn't leave Jeanie to welcome all the first-class passengers herself. They expected personal attention from a pretty, smiling stewardess; it was part of the huge markup on the tickets. She didn't even have time to put her wet panties back on. She had to get out there now.
She opened the door. Jeanie's face was wrinkled in a look of annoyance, but she must have caught a whiff of the pussy smell lingering in the bathroom.
"OK porn star, let's go."
Serena walked to the open exit door. Indeed, several passengers had already taken their seats in the first few rows. Serena plastered her work smile on her face and got down to business.
A gust of cold air swept in from the jetway. It was February after all. The frost worked its way up her legs and to her bare pussy. She rubbed her legs together to warm up and smiled as a family of four walked through the door, children yelling and parents dragging a mountain of bags.
******
