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"Straight" College Boys in Vegas

Chapter 3: Airplane Mode

Pete's hand slid back under my blanket, palm warm and wet with fresh lube, and wrapped around me without a word of warning. I was fully hard by the second stroke. One pull, a twist at the top, a second pull, and my entire body tingled. I quit pretending I wasn't into it.

In public, my newly adventurous buddy was jerking me off, right under the blanket on an airplane. The facts swam through my head, masked by how good it felt.

We both faced forward. That was the vibe, pretending like we were just two guys staring at the seatback wall, chillin with blankets over our laps. Meanwhile his fist worked in my lap in long, greasy pulls. I folded my hands on top of my blanket calmly. Pete watched the clouds out the window, with his big, dumb jaw set at an innocent angle, and only his shoulder betrayed him, rolling a little with every stroke.

And the plug in my ass changed everything. Each pull of his fist made me clench, and each clench squeezed me down around the fullness he had pressed into me, so the pressure came at me from both directions at once, his grip gliding up the outside while the weight of the toy pressed back from the inside. I had jerked off thousands of times in my life and not one of them had felt anything like this. My toes curled against the footrest. I breathed through my nose and stared hard at our little wall.

"You feelin' good?" Pete whispered, eyes still out the window.

"Shut up," I whispered back, and my voice came out thin.

He tightened his grip in response. The engines droned on, somebody's reading light clicked somewhere behind us, and under two first class blankets my best friend stroked me with steady patience, easing off whenever my breathing picked up, keeping me right at the edge of it. I understood we were going to be at this for a while.

A flight attendant came around our little wall with his drink cart, and Pete's hand stopped mid-pull and flattened against my stomach under the blanket, warm and slippery, his fingers resting against the base of me. It was surreal being rock hard an arm's length from a stranger in a uniform, my ass stuffed full of my friend's toy.

"Anything to drink, gentlemen?"

"Two waters, please," Pete said. His muscular shoulders were relaxed, and he asked him how long until  we landed, like a man with nothing up his ass. He told him. He thanked him warmly.

The whole time his pinky kept moving against me, one small finger dragging up and down the underside, so slight nobody could have seen it, and I had to breathe through my nose while I took my cup off his tray with a steady hand. Even that tiny effort made me squeeze down around the fullness inside me.

He wished us a nice flight. The cart rolled off, and the stroking started again before he was even gone.

Pete leaned his weight onto the armrest between us, slowly, until his big shoulder pressed into mine and his broad jawline hovered right over my ear. From the aisle we probably looked like two bros huddled over a phone screen. I felt his breath on my neck, warm and even, while his fist kept up its greasy rhythm under my blanket.

"I can feel you squeezing on it," he whispered. "Tensing every time I stroke your cock. You clamp down on that toy in your ass, and your whole dick, it sort of kicks in my hand."

"Shut up," I breathed.

"It's crazy, bro. You're basically milking yourself on it."

I opened my mouth to tell him to shut up again and a thin hum came out through my nose instead. His grip tightened around me, and the long pulls turned into short ones, fast and tight at the tip where everything was most sensitive, his thumb sweeping over the tip on every pass. The lube had gotten warm from the friction, and every pull dragged heat up me and left me throbbing against his palm. My thighs pulled taut against the footrest and my heels dug in.

I pressed my fist against my mouth and bit down on a knuckle. My hips rolled down into the cushion, grinding onto the fullness he had packed into me, and the weight tipped and pressed deeper at a new angle, so I did it again, harder, rocking down against the seat while his fist worked me from above. Pressure from both ends met somewhere in the middle of me and my eyes watered. In my head I thought, I can't believe I'm doing this in first class, as I kept rocking away.

"There it is," Pete whispered against my ear, and his shoulder rolled faster. "Ride it, bro. Nobody can see you."

I responded with a small confirmation into my knuckles.

"Bro," I breathed. "I'm gonna."

Pete didn't slow down. His free hand came off his armrest, grabbed the little stack of cocktail napkins off his tray, and slid under my blanket. I felt him cup them over the head of me, the paper rough for half a second before the lube soaked it soft, his palm holding the wad in place like a catcher's mitt while his fist kept working underneath it.

The pressure inside me and the heat around me met in the middle of me and everything let go at once. My legs straightened against the footrest and locked. I came into the napkins in long pulses, longer than I knew I had in me, and every pulse clamped me down around the toy, and every clamp pushed out the next pulse, the whole circuit feeding itself while my hips gyrated on their own. I jammed my fist against my mouth again, biting into my skin as I grumbled a nonsense word into my knuckles that was mostly his name, and another syllable mixed with some air, repeated until I ran out.

The internet had apparently told the truth. Ten times might have been conservative. Every climactic burst I had ever squeezed out alone in my bedroom or in the shower, or during a shameful trip to the bathroom at school, had been a sneeze compared to this. It felt like I was having two orgasms at once, rolling out of me in waves, starting deep behind my balls where the toy pressed and ending in Pete's cupped hand. My eyes watered and our little wall blurred in my vision.

He milked me through all of it slowly, loosening his grip whenever I flinched, wringing the last of it out of me with one gentle pull that made my whole body jerk one last time.

"Damn, bro," he whispered, still watching the clouds. "That's a Vegas load."

I couldn't answer. I sat there clamped tight on the souvenir in my ass, breathing through my nose, my cum cooling in a wad of paper in my best friend's hand.

Pete folded the soaked napkins into his empty cup, pressed the lid back on top of them, and wiped his palm dry on his own thigh. I tugged my waistband back up over myself, settled the blanket flat across my lap, and we sat facing forward again like two guys who had been watching the seatback wall the whole time.

He ordered us a snack box and we split it over his tray, crackers and cheese and little salami coins, his big jaw working steadily through his half while he talked.

The toy felt different now. After I came, all that pressure that had been lighting me up just sat there, heavy and dull, and every bump of the plane nudged it somewhere new. I half wanted to pull it out. But I left it in. Pete still had his in, so I kept mine in too.

I figured I was done for the flight, anyway. Pete wasn't. He kept shifting in his recliner, pressing himself down into the seat cushion slowly and easing back up again, over and over while he went on about where we should eat when we landed, and his blanket wasn't lying flat over his lap either.

We had been cruising quietly for a while, both of us playing on our phones, the snack box long gone, when Pete's hand slid back under my blanket and hooked my waistband down again without asking. I was soft and so oversensitive that his first touch made my whole leg jump.

"Easy," he whispered, eyes still out the window.

He worked slowly. Long full strokes, root to tip, his palm still slick, his thick forearm laid heavy across my hips to hold me flat while he did it. Yet another sexual interaction instigated by my buddy, the third in the last twelve hours. 

Every pass dragged a small shiver out of me where I was still tender from the first round, and underneath all that tenderness I felt myself filling back up in his fist, thickening against his fingers a little more with each pull. His arm pressed my hips down into the cushion, and that rocked the fullness inside me, so even the arm holding me still was working on me from the other end.

I let my head fall back against the headrest and quit fighting it. I kept one eye cracked on the gap around our little wall, watching for a uniform, while my best friend patiently stroked me hard again, somewhere over the clouds.

Pete shoved his own blanket halfway off and worked his free hand down the front of his sweats, so both of his arms were busy at once, one fist wrapped around me and the other pumping on the window side where nobody could see. He was rock hard too. I could tell by his pace and by his breathing, both of us getting stroked and stuffed at the same time, matching souvenirs doing their job in our bodies.

Turbulence rolled through the cabin and the fullness shifted deep in me. We both exhaled at the same instant, one shaky breath in stereo, and that set us off. We cracked up into our fists, shoulders bouncing, strangling it quietly while the plane bumped along.

"C'mere," he whispered, letting go of my dick to put a hand behind my head.

Before I had even understood him, his hand guided my head down over the armrest and I took him in my mouth. He was hot and thick and heavy on my tongue, and he tasted like skin, with a hint of flavored lube. His fist never stopped its rhythm under my blanket, so I was getting stroked while my mouth stretched around my best friend, right there in first class on the airplane.

And every bob of my head made me tense up slightly, almost gagging. It made my body squeeze down on the fullness in my ass. A warm sensation, more developed than before, spread outward from my core. He pressed me down, onto his meat. Above me he exhaled slowly through his nose, and his thigh flexed under my cheek.

I had barely found a rhythm when Pete pulled me off of him by the shoulder, pushed me back into my recliner, and bent himself over my lap instead. His elbow braced on my thigh, his mouth closed over me, hot and tight, and his lips dragged real suction up me on every pass while I stared at our little wall and quit thinking entirely. I nervously watched for signs of the airplane dude while he quickly brought me to the edge. When I tapped his shoulder, he pulled off, dragging my head back down to him. He was running this, and I was just along for the ride, getting all the strange sensations that were coming with it.

We traded like that. He'd come up for a breath, tug my head back down over the armrest, and after a while he'd haul me up again and take his turn sucking me. I felt like he enjoyed sucking me even more than being sucked, and I was clearly the opposite, but I went along with it every time. I stopped caring about anything past the wet heat of a mouth, his or mine, and the slow rock of the fullness in me with every bob of either of our heads. 

The parts where he sucked me were the best parts. I knew it, and I'm pretty sure he knew it too, and I kept dropping back down onto him anyway, working him over the armrest just to earn another turn on myself. And every time I did, he'd pull me up after a minute and pay me back, with interest.

We were two edged fuckboys losing our sense of inhibition, both about to cum when we heard footsteps suddenly clomp near us. 

We snapped upright so fast the armrest rattled, yanking our blankets flat across both our laps less than a second before the steward leaned in to collect our food trays. We breathed through our noses, mouths wet, eyes forward on nothing. I pulled out my phone while the steward gathered our discarded things, my hand shaking, cursing myself for being an idiot.

But as soon as the steward's footsteps faded past our little wall, Pete bent over my lap, clearly eager to get back to work. His free hand quickly burrowed under the blanket and under my thigh, and his fingers found the base of the toy and wiggled it. That weight rocked over everything it had been pressing against for hours, and my knees drifted apart on the recliner to give him room. He tugged it partway out of me, the stretch waking up all over again, and pressed it slowly back in, again and again, working me with it gently while his mouth stayed busy on the other end of me.

Twice he felt my legs start to lock and pulled his mouth off of me completely, holding the toy still while I throbbed in the cabin air, gripping the armrest and breathing loudly through my nose. 

"Please," I whispered, as quietly as I could.

And the third time my legs locked, he pulled his mouth off me again, but this time he gripped the base of the toy, pumping it roughly in and out, making my hips spasm while nothing touched my dick. 

I had never seen my dick look so engorged, hard as steel hovering over my abs, angry and desperate for release. It was like he had added another inch to my length.

He was pushing the girthy part of the toy into me in short, hard strokes that lit a fire deep in my body. I felt the tingle start in my ass and radiate outward, until the muscles at the base of my cock spasmed, and I squirted straight up into the air, with nothing touching my dick. The first shot landed in his hair, and he flinched, then quickly sank back down over me. He sealed his lips around me, and swallowed the rest as it pulsed out, and a moan climbed out of my chest before I could bite my lip down on it. Both of my hands grabbed his head, his hair pulled tight between my fingers, while he drank me through the last of it.

He let me fully empty myself into his throat before he slowly sat up, careful not to make a loud suction sound as he licked the rest off of me. He gave me maybe one breath before his hand cupped the back of my neck and pressed me down over the armrest, and my lips stretched around him. He ground his butt down into the seat cushion while he held me on him, down to the base. I was almost out of breath when he grunted once through his nose, and squirted.

And that was yet another new thing. He throbbed against my tongue with each pulse, stretching my throat in waves. He pushed in and out of my throat as the warmth spread thickly across the roof of my mouth, salty and heavier than spit, so much of it that I had to swallow in the middle just to make room. My best friend's load, sitting on my tongue in first class, and I swallowed it because he had done the same for me. I stayed down until he quit twitching, and when he pulled me up by the shoulder he wiped my bottom lip with his thumb.

The captain came on about beginning the descent. We sat there in our matching gray sweats, waistbands back where they belonged, souvenirs still seated deep in both of us, blankets folded in our laps, like two model passengers. Every chime of the seatbelt light made me squeeze down on the fullness in my hole without meaning to. My mouth still tasted like him.

"So how'd I do?" I asked.

He turned from the window with his big jaw already grinning. He laughed, I laughed. We bumped fists over the armrest, and he closed his eyes for a nap.