I suppose there's no worse flight to take in the world than the red-eye flight from Anchorage Alaska. Living in the Great Land may be wonderful, but getting out can be a problem. The Alaska Highway is OK, but only usable during summer.
So if you have to get anywhere, especially to the lower 48, you have to fly. And the cheapest way is the red eye, which leaves anytime between midnight and three AM. When most everyone else was asleep, my wife and I had to fly to Seattle. The only flight open was the red eye, so that's what it had to be.
We settled into the Northwest jet, happy that it was a big Boeing 757 instead of a smaller plane. If we were going to have to fly, at least it would be on a decent sized jetliner. The plane was nearly empty, so we got seats in the back, and stowed our bags in the overhead compartment.
Since we were still cold from the trip to the airport, we asked the stewardess for a couple of blankets. Finally, we belted ourselves in and the plane took off. I watched as the city of Anchorage vanished in the distance.
"We'll need a day just to adjust," said my wife, Gail.
"Maybe we can get some sleep while flying?" I suggested.
"Right," said my wife.
While usually the 757 is a quiet plane, this one was a noisy rattletrap. It banged and thrummed, and I wondered if the wings were going to fall off. Still, we were airborne and cruising along. So I hoped the plane would make it to Seattle, some hours distant.
After having hot coffee we settled down to sleep, pitching the seats back as far as we could. We covered ourselves with blankets, and the stewardess dimmed the cabin lights. It was almost restful. Almost.
I moved the armrest between our seats up and out of the way, so that there was nothing between my wife and me. We were dressed the same, plaid shirts, denim jeans, and boots. Two typical Alaskans, out for a flight.
"What now?" asked Gail, her chestnut hair a mess, but a smile on her lips.
In the seatrest in front of me, I had found a copy of Playboy, left there by a previous passenger. I leafed through it, looking at the pictures.
"Ever hear of the Mile High Club?" I asked.
"Try me," answered Gail.
"When I was in the Air Force, it was a select club for those who had screwed while in the air," I answered.
"And did you?"
"Yes," I answered.
Five years before, Gail and I had met at a hot tub party in Los Angeles. So it wasn't like either of us were virgins before we married.
I reached forward with my hand, still under the covers, and proceeded to unbutton her shirt. Gail undid the zipper, and pulled down her jeans and panties. We were both still under our blankets, of course.
"Okay sport," said Gail, "time for you to earn your wings."
"Wrong airline," I answered, "but my missile has just risen to the occasion."
I undid my jeans, and pulled my shorts down. My dick was hard as a rock, and straight as an arrow. I made my way slowly over, and though uncomfortable (I've screwed in cars easier) managed to hug my wife. We were both under the blankets, and everyone else seemed to be asleep.
In the time we've been married, my wife has never been shy about sex. Her hands massaged and grabbed my prick, exciting me even further. Holding on to her, we quickly coupled together. I pushed into her, and she met each of my pelvic thrusts with one of her own. Even though we tried to keep quiet (unlike our lovemaking at home) we still moaned together in unison. I hoped that the noise of the engines drowned out the sounds of our fucking.
We've always had a good sex life together, ever since we met in that tub. So it was no surprise that my wife was willing to do it on a plane.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, but was probably only a few minutes, I came inside her. Instead of her usual moan, Gail instead looked like she was about to start laughing!
"What's so funny?" I asked when I withdrew.
"Is that why they call it the cockpit?" asked Gail.
"If you think fucking here is hard, there isn't a spare inch up front," I said.
By then, Gail was massaging my cock, trying to get it hard again.
"What's the matter, flyboy? Lose the right stuff?"
Gail then disappeared under the blankets, and I felt her lips surround my cock. She sucked quietly, and I responded to her quickly, my cock becoming erect once more. Gail can be quite a horny little slut when she wants to be, and the novelty of screwing on a jet had taken hold.
I held her in my arms and entered her already moist sex, and drove her to orgasm once more. We bounced, sighed and moaned together, this time making more noise than we should have. I peeked over the seats, and it seemed that everyone was still asleep. We lay quietly when another passenger went to the bathroom, pretending to sleep. Except that our jeans were down around our ankles, along with our underwear.
Just to round out the night, my wife then gave me a blowjob. I got erect again, and she drank my cum as I shot into her mouth with my remaining strength. We pulled up our underwear and pants, and Gail went into the bathroom to clean up. Finally, we got a little nap before arriving in Seattle.
On the way out, we passed the Captain, who was shaking hands with all of the passengers as we left the jetliner.
"Got something for you two," said the Captain, as he passed us two sets of wings, with USAF on them.
"What's this for?" asked Gail.
"You said it yourself, hon. You just earned your wings. Welcome to the Mile High Club," I said.
"Maybe the red eye isn't so bad after all!"
THE END