A/N – A brief explanation of some of the warnings:
OC – characters I devised for the purposes of this fic, NOT Mary-Sues; think “NPCs”
Minor – minimalist descriptions of a teenager’s first orgasmic experience; she barely gives herself any physical stimulation
Exhib – characters performing private acts in public places, but still trying to be discreet
M/F – hints of various X-Men pairings and minimalist descriptions of OCs in coitus
Also, I welcome reviews, as long as they're more substantial than 'Good story' or 'This sucked'. Tell me what you liked, what you didn't, what made you laugh, what made you roll your eyes...
The Mile-High Club When Jean Grey woke up from her nap in the middle of her flight back to New York, she shifted uncomfortably. Her neck was stiff and one of her feet had fallen asleep, but she realized she had an even worse problem: she was horny, hornier than she could remember being in a long, long time.
Jean had been attending a conference on developmental psychology in San Francisco for a week – a long, lonely week without her husband, Scott Summers. She smiled to herself as she thought about how much in love the two of them were, even after several years of marriage: they still had sex every night, except during her period.
Her brow furrowed. There was no way she should feel
this horny after only a week without sex; she’d never felt like this after her monthly cycle. She sighed to herself, remembering that she’d finished her cycle just before the conference began, so she’d actually gone without sex for
two weeks. She looked down at her feet sticking out from the airline blanket and thought wryly that the only reason they weren’t covered in her juices was due to the fact that her seat was reclined.
She returned her seat to the full upright position, wondering if she could endure until she got back to the mansion to jump her husband. The cloud tops outside her window resembled nothing so much as a field covered in fresh snow, but that offered no clues as to where they were. Her mind conjured an image of Piotr, the mighty Colossus, the gentle giant, on his first flight to America, sketching furiously from his window. A smirk curled her lips at that thought, and the thought that Kitty was a lucky girl.
One of the airline attendants walked down the aisle toward Jean with the cart of in-flight refreshments. The attendant smiled at Jean courteously. “Would you like a drink, ma’am? Perhaps something a bit more filling?”
Jean swallowed, knowing her face was rapidly approaching the shade of her hair. “Ummm… n-no… no thank you,” she stammered. The word ‘filling’ echoed in her mind, summoning images and sensations of Scott: Scott caressing her from head to toe, his cologne filling her nostrils, his normally commanding voice murmuring her name tenderly. Not to mention the sensation of her mind and soul linking with his, a sensation which far surpassed the purely physical pleasure of him penetrating her, filling her…
Jean forced herself off of that train of thought as quickly as she’d gotten onto it. She licked her suddenly-dry lips and looked at the attendant. “Could you tell me where we are?” she asked, hoping her voice didn’t betray her.
The flight attendant pondered for a moment. “Let’s see… we should be crossing the Mississippi River and passing over the state of Mississippi. We’ll be arriving at our Atlanta stop fairly soon.”
Briefly Jean’s mind dwelled on Rogue and Gambit, since this was their part of the country; dimly she wondered if the Cajun had yet annoyed Rogue to the point where the sassy Southern belle turned him into jambalaya.
Then Jean sighed inwardly; the Atlanta layover was notoriously lengthy. She thanked the woman and let her continue her rounds. The telepath caught a stray thought from the departing attendant:
I bet that redhead really needs to get laid… or at least jill off. A shiver passed down Jean’s body at the thought. She knew she’d never be able to endure a long stopover in her current state; but she also doubted she would be comfortable with a ‘quickie’ in an airplane restroom, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to let everyone on the flight see her hand working under the blanket. She really doubted her fingers would suffice right now anyway.
An idea formed in Jean’s mind, but she would need to be both careful and discreet if she didn’t want the whole plane to know what she was doing. While she looked through her purse, a quick telepathic scan showed that no one on the plane was paying any particular attention to her. She found what she sought: not a vibrator – she actually didn’t own one – but instead her toothbrush holder. She bit her lip and looked around to make sure no one happened to look in her direction, since her telepathic scan of intent wouldn’t screen for incidental glances.
Her gaze glanced over the receding airline attendants whose backs were turned, the sweatshirt-clad university students a few rows directly ahead, and the mother-daughter pair across the aisle. Jean froze when she made eye contact with the middle-aged woman, stern-looking with her graying hair and rectangular glasses. Jean offered the woman a courteous smile, noting that the daughter – not more than 14 and oblivious to the world thanks to the earbuds of her iPod – had a full head of familiarly-colored hair. The mother simply raised an eyebrow and returned to her copy of
The Da Vinci Code. Jean steadied herself. Now that no one would notice, she removed the toothbrush holder from her purse and set it on the seat, next to her thigh and hidden by that thigh from view. A shiver of anticipation tickled across her skin.
Slowly she stood, wrapping the blanket around her waist – so it now brushed the floor – and telekinetically floated the toothbrush holder to the floor. The ridged white cylinder moved slowly, since Jean didn’t want the toothbrush inside to rattle and draw attention to her. She twisted at the waist and otherwise moved about as if limbering up after a nap. Trying and failing to ignore the feeling of her nipples rubbing against her bra, she kicked her sandals aside, which lay where they had fallen before she fell asleep. Thankful she’d chosen to wear a sundress, she tugged her panties down to her knees handlessly and let gravity slide them down her calves to pool around her feet.
Jean arched backward and rose up on her toes, hands kneading her lower back; but this was just for show, a ruse to allow her to lift herself upward about a centimeter. That centimeter, however, was just enough for her to telekinetically nudge her underwear out from under her feet and the blanket so that it rested atop her sandals. Her feet returned, spread apart, to the carpet.
Her light pink panties floated obediently to her hand, her own body once again serving as a shield from prying eyes. As she balled them up in her hand, she could feel how wet they had become. Jean licked her lips and glanced around once more; when she discerned the continued disinterest of her fellow flyers, she tossed her panties onto her seat and smoothed them flat with only a gentle caress from her mind.
Now for the hard part, thought Jean. She eased the toothbrush holder under the blanket and under her skirt. Her arms stretched out above her head, nearly hitting the overhead compartment. The cylinder rose up between her thighs, narrow end first, as if it were a heat-seeking missile. A part of her was still unable to believe she was about to do this, until the makeshift dildo seated itself in her entrance. Jean bit her lip to stifle a moan as she slid it into her wet and waiting pussy.
The redhead moaned anyway.
Fighting down a flash of panic, Jean tossed her ponytailed head back as she moaned around her bit lip, in the hope that she would appear to the other passengers as if she were merely having a thorough stretch. No sense of confusion or sudden interest in her activities arose within the airplane, so she assumed her ruse had worked. Jean decided to take a few moments for deep breaths, for savoring the feel of having something stiff inside her, and for telekinetically pushing the makeshift dildo in to the joint between the two segments of the toothbrush holder.
Once she was ready, Jean sat down slowly, gingerly; the last thing she wanted was to wind up in the hospital with some embarrassing injury. To keep her toothbrush from rattling, she held it in place via telekinesis, letting the muscles of her vagina hold the container itself. Her rump ended up on the edge of the seat before she reclined the seat again.
Her head lolled to the side, toward the window, so no one would see her facial expressions. She was silently thankful that she wasn’t particularly loud in bed, but she also remembered nearly giving herself away just moments ago.
Time to get this show on the road, she told herself.
Her eyes fluttered closed as she mentally mapped the contours of her makeshift dildo. She created a sort of telekinetic crash webbing around the toothbrush inside to keep it suspended within the faux phallus once she started moving it in a slow thrusting motion. Maintaining such a complex buffer while manipulating the exterior structure was rather demanding on her focus, but Jean felt like she could handle the effort.
Jean felt herself tremble all over. The feeling of being filled by the rigid cylinder combined with the thrusting motion to give the lonely, horny redhead the pleasure she needed – not wanted, but
needed. Jolts traveled down her legs, triggering mild twitches of her feet and the slight bending of her knees. As the pleasure rose inside her, her hands clenched and unclenched the armrests of her seat.
Images of Scott bubbled through her mind: his sculpted body as he worked out in the gym; his relieved smile as he cradled her head upon her return from the nightmare of the Dark Phoenix; his strong arms around her waist; the first time he confessed his love for her. She focused on her memory of their most recent bout of lovemaking and brought it to the forefront of her mind. Most vividly she remembered wrapping her legs around his waist as they climaxed together. A sigh-turned-whimper escaped her lips.
Little did Jean know that, between her concentration on replaying her erotic memories and her complex use of telekinesis, the mental shields that protected her privacy and sanity had begun to slip ever so slightly. While the influx of others’ thoughts remained blocked, her thoughts began to escape. Fortunately, no images were transmitted, only sensations; the nature of the minor breaches to her mental shielding directed the sensations of pleasure solely to the other females on the flight.
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A few rows ahead of Jean, two sisters of Delta Zeta sorority, clad in their green-lettered pink sweatshirts, suddenly felt a familiar yearning in their nether regions. Both blondes – one bleach-induced, the other naturally honey-colored – rubbed their thighs together, trying to finish their issues of
Cosmo and
Vogue. Their perfectly-artificially-tanned legs flexed and relaxed for anyone to see, thanks to their too-short shorts.
After glancing sidelong at her friend, the bleach-blonde whispered, “Ummm, Becky… are you, like, really horny all of a sudden?”
The honey blonde closed her magazine, one finger keeping her spot. “Shut up,” she murmured, “I’m trying not to, like, think about it.”
“Chill, babe. I’m only asking ‘cuz I’m totally turned on right now too.”
“Wow, I so don’t believe that,” Becky replied. “You’re not drunk, and you’re not being hit on by 15 cute guys. You feeling okay, Trisha?”
Trisha slapped her friend on the arm. “Fuck you, slut.”
Becky took a ragged breath; the pleasure was rising inside her as she ground against her seat. “I am such a slut. I need a dick soooooo bad.”
Trisha swallowed, knowing exactly how her friend was feeling. “Sorry, babe, I kinda don’t have one.”
“Trisha, I kinda know that. I’m gonna go to the restroom,” she decided. “I’ll be back in, like, five minutes, tops.”
Trisha turned around in her seat to look towards the restroom, just in time to see the blonde flight attendant pull one of her male coworkers inside. “Looks like we’re not the only whores on this plane.”
Becky groaned, “What do we, like, do? I totally didn’t bring my vibe.”
Trisha looked shocked. “Whatever, you take it, like, everywhere in your purse.”
Becky shook her head. “I didn’t want security to, like, see it on the x-ray and, like, pull it out for everyone to see.”
Trisha sank into her seat, frustration growing. “And there’s, like, no outlet for my magic wand.”
After a few more moments of grinding into her seat, Becky had had enough. She leaned back in her seat, pulled the hem of her sweatshirt out of the way, and slipped her hand into her shorts. Legs parted, her hand moved up and down, eliciting a content sigh.
Trisha’s jaw dropped upon seeing her friend’s brazen behavior. “Becky, you whore,” she admonished through clenched teeth, “what are you doing?”
“Duh, I’m masturbating,” Becky replied distantly, her eyes closed by this point.
Trisha rolled her eyes. “I can see that. Can’t you, like, wait till the stewardess is done with her quickie or something?” Becky just shook her head and moaned. Her whole body trembled as her hips started working with her fingers. Trisha tried to ignore her friend, but to no avail – her craving for pleasure only grew. Since she had the aisle seat, she folded her arms over her breasts, discreetly massaging her nipples while she waited for the restroom.
When Becky emitted a soft whimper, Trisha knew it would be a long, long wait.
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Cassandra, the middle-aged woman across the aisle from Jean, turned the page of her novel, tuning out as much of the conversation between the sorority girls as she could. The snippets she caught reminded her of the sorority girls she’d known in college: the ones who’d kept her up when she tried to study and who, as a prank, had encouraged attractive males to approach her, sometimes seeking only sex but sometimes genuinely interested in her – usually as a study partner, which hurt in its own way. She glanced at her daughter Amanda and prayed, not for the first time, that Amanda would never join a sorority.
Amanda shifted in her seat uncomfortably, her hand reaching down to switch off her iPod. Cassandra smirked when she saw that her daughter had been listening to Cyndi Lauper: as a teenager growing up in the 80s, Cassandra had eagerly awaited each of Lauper’s singles and albums after “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun,” and she hoped that that shared interest would keep their mother-daughter bond strong as Amanda adolesced.
The teenaged redhead tucked the earbuds of her iPod into the pocket of her denim skirt. The feel of the pocket-fabric against her thigh, propelled by her hand, was causing some strange sensations. Her eyebrows seemed to gravitate together.
“Welcome back to the real world,” her mother teased, providing a welcome distraction from her body’s suddenly-strange behavior. “What song were you listening to just now?”
Amanda looked over at her mom, smiling faintly. “I was listening to ‘She Bop.’ I gotta say, for such an old tune, it’s pretty catchy.”
Cassandra favored her daughter with a careful smile, tensing at her answer. “I always preferred ‘Time After Time’ myself.”
Amanda nodded. “That one makes way more sense to me than ‘She Bop.’ I can’t figure ‘She Bop’ out. Is it some kind of 80s thing she’s singing about, that I can’t understand ‘cuz I didn’t grow up back then?”
“Yes, that’s right, sweetheart. It’s hard to explain if you didn’t grow up then,” Cassandra explained. She relaxed from her earlier tension, giving a silent prayer of thanks that Amanda couldn’t pick up on that song’s references to self-pleasure. The middle-aged woman’s mind began to drift at that point, as she tried to remember the last time she’d masturbated. Since her libido was fairly low – she’d remained a virgin through college entirely, another source of teasing from the sorority girls once they'd found out – it had been quite some time, probably shortly after her husband had left.
Her attention was recaptured when Amanda said, “Mom… I feel really weird.”
Cassandra adjusted her glasses. “What do you mean?”
The teenager licked her lips uncertainly; her cheeks were definitely flushed. “I feel really warm all over, kinda lightheaded. And I feel like my stomach’s turning into a pretzel.”
“I hope you’re not getting airsick. Why don’t you head to the restroom and see if… you can get it out of your system.”
Amanda looked like she was about to protest, but thought better of it and headed toward the back of the plane. When she reached the restroom, she saw the light that indicated it was occupied. What primarily caught her attention, however, were the sounds coming from within: soft moans, airy sighs, guttural groans, and a noise she could only identify as a ‘squelch.’ When she heard a muffled “Ohhhh, fuck me…” in distinctly feminine tones, she took a step back, but was otherwise fascinated by what she heard and how the sounds intensified the odd sensations she was experiencing.
The spell was broken by a piercing shriek that sent Amanda dashing back to her seat. She sat for a long moment, panting, trying to catch her breath. Her stomach was now roiling.
“Feel better?” her mother asked absently as she turned another page.
“The restroom was being used,” Amanda replied softly. Her voice dropped to a whisper as she added, “I think there were two people in there… and they were, um, doing it.”
Cassandra snorted. “Tasteless, absolutely tasteless. Just how long were you listening?”
“N-not too long…” stammered the teenager. “Long enough to hear the, um, f-word.”
Her mother kneaded the bridge of her nose. “You shouldn’t have stood there listening, Amanda.”
“I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t exactly mean to.”
Cassandra gave her daughter a brief glare. “All right, all right. I guess you’ll have to check on the restroom again later.” She returned to her book, intending to complete the chapter she was on.
That was the plan, anyway. Instead, her mind refused to focus on the page and insisted on bringing up memories of her husband, Derek – and not just any memories, but specifically memories of lovemaking. Ultimately, her mind’s eye fixated on her wedding night, the night she finally gave herself to a man, and – though she couldn’t be certain, she certainly suspected – the night she conceived her daughter.
Though she didn’t realize it, Cassandra’s breathing had grown shallow, her cheeks flushed. She was preoccupied by reliving her most memorable sexual experience: every kiss, every caress, every sigh, every moan, every thrust. Her eyes squeezed shut as she felt herself being penetrated over and over again – not just remembered, but truly
felt as if she were again lying beneath him in that Hawaiian hotel suite. One dim corner of her mind recalled that that night had been the only instance in which she was multi-orgasmic.
Amanda might have questioned her mother about her shallow breathing, flushed cheeks, and distant gaze, if she hadn’t been distracted by her own sensations of tingling, shivering warmth. This sudden warmth seemed to kindle on its own, the heat rising to her skin from a furnace that felt like it was in her belly. Her stomach was churning, not unlike the way it would when a cute boy smiled at her – only several times more intense.
All the heat she was feeling seemed to gravitate to three places: her still-growing breasts and between her thighs. The girl clamped her legs shut in an effort to stifle the spread of the strange sensation, but the effort was futile. In fact, the feeling of friction against her thighs only amplified the heat. Amanda had the distinct impression that she was “getting turned on,” as some girls at school might put it.
Her hopes that her mother wouldn’t notice were dashed when she looked down to see a pair of small bumps in her lemon-yellow tanktop – her nipples had turned traitor. A glance at her mother, however, set her fears of discovery to rest, since Cassandra’s mind was in another time, another place.
Whatever was happening to Amanda was growing harder and harder to resist. Her stomach had thoroughly knotted and unknotted itself, creating a terrible, wonderful tension within her that seemed on the verge of exploding. Amanda braced herself in her seat when she felt the craving begin – a deep yearning to be kissed, to be touched, to be filled (by what, she wasn’t sure, though she could guess). However, she wouldn’t, couldn’t touch herself the way she so desperately needed, not in front of people and not when she wasn’t exactly sure what to do.
The pending explosion, though pleasant-seeming, also terrified the girl. “M-M-Mom,” she whimpered, “what’s happening to me?”
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By this time Jean’s knuckles were white from gripping the armrests of her seat as the pleasure within her threatened to boil over at any moment. The pending orgasm, she could tell, would barrel through her like a freight train. Her eyes squeezed tighter when the whimper escaped her lips; in a terrible moment of clarity, she knew she would be wholly unable to ride out this orgasm quietly.
As her mind raced to figure out how she was going to orgasm without everyone on the plane hearing her, her mental shields slipped a bit further. Suddenly she felt the sensations of arousal emanating from the other passengers: the wonder mixed with trepidation from the teenager, the ghost of intimacy fueling the loneliness of her mother, the nearly-unrestrained lust of the sorority girls tempered only by an edge of embarrassment, and the pleased satisfaction of the flight attendant as she rode her partner. The sudden bombardment of sensations caused Jean to speed the thrusting of her hidden toy, and she could just hear the squishing sound coming from her own pussy.
Jean’s hips bucked as she orgasmed suddenly. A deep, guttural groan escaped her throat, which was soon echoed by moans and squeals across the plane. Her pussy clamped down on her toy, and she didn’t have the focus to try to fight her muscles. She wished it were actually Scott she was gripping tightly, and his name spilled from her lips.
In the plane’s restroom, the flight attendant tossed her head back as she bounced up and down on the dick of her fellow flight attendant. A stream of moans from her signaled her orgasm, and the twitching of her pussy around her partner triggered his. He gripped her rump as he filled her.
Ahead of Jean, Becky let out a high-pitched squeal as her back arched. The fingers she had buried inside her elicited a flood of juices onto her hand, soaking it and her panties. Beside her, her sorority sister Trisha gasped aloud when her orgasm hit her; Trisha’s orgasm came as a surprise because she was only giving herself light stimulation on her nipples. Nevertheless, she savored the release, her eyes rolling back in her head and her toes curling.
Becky’s head lolled to the side so she could see her friend. “I totally needed that,” she purred. Trisha simply nodded in agreement.
Across the aisle from Jean, Cassandra rocked in her seat, reliving her wedding night. She moaned her husband’s name and begged him to go faster, harder, deeper. Her pussy flexed in time with his phantom thrusts; later, when describing the experience in her diary, she would swear that she truly felt as if she were being penetrated. Cassandra sighed contently as she basked in the afterglow of her orgasm until she remembered where she was. Her face flushed with shame as she glanced over at her daughter, terrified to see the girl’s reaction to her unusual behavior.
Cassandra was surprised to see Amanda in the throes of pleasure, her face flushed, jaw open, eyes half-shut. The girl panted heavily while clutching her bare knees, the heat inside her growing intolerable. Suddenly her eyes shot wide open and her whole body turned rigid, her head pressing against the headrest of her seat and her feet pushing into the back of the (thankfully empty) seat in front. She emitted a squeak – part surprise, part shock, part wonder – as the heat inside her seemed to rush out from between her thighs, and she noticed the curious sensation of her privates throbbing.
Gradually she relaxed, for which she was thankful since her legs and neck had begun to ache. She looked over at her mother with a sheepish expression. “M-Mom,” she began tentatively, “what was that?”
Cassandra’s mind reeled, unsure as she was about how to explain. “Well, Amanda… it’s, ummm… let’s talk about it when we get home, okay, sweetheart?” She patted her daughter’s hand.
Amanda nodded and looked ahead. “It’s a sex thing, isn’t it, Mom?” she surmised.
A tense, awkward silence settled for a moment, until Cassandra answered, “Yes… yes, it is.”
Jean’s eyes fluttered open once her orgasm finally subsided. She looked around nervously at the other females until she realized they were all doing the same. When her eyes met those of the teenage girl across the aisle, Jean couldn’t help but grin at the girl’s disheveled appearance. If the aura Jean sensed was accurate, the girl had just experienced her first orgasm. The teenager flushed with embarrassment and looked away.
On impulse, Jean called across the aisleway. “It’s all right. It happened to all of us just now.” Jean pursed her lips, transforming her amused grin into a sympathetic smile. “In fact,” she added, “I was about your age when I had my first —“
“Excuse me, Miss,” Cassandra interjected, leaning forward to glare at Jean. “Discussion of such matters is best left to the girl’s mother, wouldn’t you agree?”
Chastened, Jean simply nodded and turned her attention to the toothbrush carrier still buried in her pussy. Removing the object noiselessly required her to shift position just a bit, carefully leaning back; she passed off her movements as post-orgasmic stretching, complete with contented sighs. When she later told Scott about the incident, he jokingly asked whether or not she’d really been acting those sighs, which earned him an exasperated swat on the arm.
Once her improvised toy was out, she reached for her purse and set it in her lap. She made a show of touching up her makeup, so that only a telekinetic tap was needed to knock her purse to the floor, spilling its contents helter-skelter; a separate telekinetic tap dumped her toothbrush holder to the floor also. An exaggerated sigh of exasperation later, she was kneeling by her seat and collected the strewn items, among them the glistening carrying case. The flight attendants left the restroom as she gingerly grasped the white cylinder, and she dashed back to reach it first after sensing that one of the sorority girls wanted to clean her hand and the other wanted the restroom for an extended “finger-fuck.”
Jean quickly rinsed off her toy in the sink and returned it to her purse. Seeing her reflection in the mirror, she chuckled and asked, “You’re a naughty girl, aren’t you?” After some minor grooming, she returned to her seat, intending to nap for the remainder of the flight.
En route, she passed the sorority girls waiting outside the restroom. The bleach-blonde had the look of a girl desperate to masturbate – Jean knew the look well because it often adorned the faces of girls living at the mansion, especially after a girls-put-boys-through-wringer Danger Room session. Jean favored the young woman with a knowing wink.
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When Jean returned to the X-Mansion, she practically pounced on her husband in a manner vaguely akin to Wolfsbane, the werewolf-woman of X-Factor. Once their passions were spent, Scott inquired the reason for Jean’s eagerness. With a mixture of embarrassment and good humor, she told him about the incident on the plane. Scott listened and laughed heartily.
The telepathic, telekinetic redhead nuzzled her one true love sleepily. “You know,” she murmured sleepily, “this proves something I’ve believed for a long time.”
“Oh? What’s that?”
“That the mind is the most potent sex organ, the most sensitive erogenous zone, that humans have.”
