Adult Industry System-Chapter 119

Chapter 119: Chapter 119
​"Fuck," I hissed under my breath, the sound swallowed by the roar of the jet.
​Sasha was a pro. She knew exactly how to work around the cramped confines of an economy seat. I could feel the rhythmic bob of her head beneath the blanket, her tongue swirling around the head of my cock with a desperate, hungry intensity. Every time she breathed, the scent of her vanilla perfume drifted up from beneath the shroud, mixing with the thrill of the risk.
​I looked down. From the outside, it just looked like she was sleeping on my lap, but the way the blanket was twitching told a different story. A passenger across the aisle stirred in his sleep, and I froze, my muscles locking up as Sasha’s suction increased. The danger of being caught at thirty thousand feet only made the cock surge harder.
​She was relentless, her throat opening up to take every inch of me, her hand reaching back to tease my balls through the fabric of my pants. I reached under the blanket, my hand finding the silk of her hair, guiding her, pushing her deeper until I felt her nose press against my pubic bone.
​"Sasha..." I groaned, the word barely a vibration in my throat.
I felt the tension coil in my gut, a white-hot surge that was impossible to suppress. As Sasha’s rhythm reached a frantic, desperate pace beneath the shroud of the blanket, I gripped the armrests until my knuckles turned white. With a final, heavy pulse, I came, filling her mouth with the heat of my victory. Sasha didn’t miss a beat; she swallowed every drop, her throat working with a rhythmic gulp that sent a shiver down my spine.
​Exhausted from the effort and the high-altitude thrill, she didn’t even move. She simply adjusted herself, resting her head on my lap beneath the blanket, and drifted into a deep, satisfied sleep right there on my cock.
​The cabin remained quiet for a few minutes, the only sound the steady hum of the Boeing’s engines. But then, the soft
clink-clink
of the trolley returned.
​The flight attendant—the "fan" from earlier—was making her final rounds. She stopped at our row, her eyes immediately darting to the heavy blanket draped over my lap and the way Sasha’s head was positioned. She knew. The blush was back, deeper this time, and her chest was heaving slightly beneath her uniform.
​"Water, Mr. Hart?" she whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of professional duty and raw curiosity.
​She leaned over to set the cup on my tray table, her blouse straining against her breasts. As she did, she let her hand linger on my knee, her fingers grazing the edge of the blanket. She looked at me, her pupils dilated in the dim blue light.
​"You look... very relaxed," she breathed, her eyes dropping to where Sasha was tucked away. "Is there anything
else
I can get you before the cabin prep for landing? The crew rest area is empty for the next twenty minutes."
​She was practically handing me the keys to the plane.
I looked at the gold name tag pinned over her heart, Miranda.
​She was looking at me with a hunger that surpassed mere fandom. The way she was breathing, her chest rising and falling rapidly against the fabric of her navy blazer, told me she wasn’t just interested—she was desperate to be part of the legend.
​I carefully shifted, making sure Sasha was still deep in her post-session coma. I slid out from under the blanket with a silent, fluid motion, standing up in the darkened aisle. I was a head taller than her, my presence filling the narrow space between the seats.
​"I think I need a stretch, Miranda," I whispered, my voice vibrating low in my throat. "Show me the way to that empty rest area."
​A flash of pure excitement crossed her face. She didn’t say a word; she just turned on her heel and began walking toward the back of the plane, her hips swaying with a deliberate, inviting rhythm in that tight pencil skirt. I followed her past the rows of sleeping passengers, the "pornstar" moving through the shadows toward his next conquest.
​We reached the rear galley, behind the heavy blue curtains that separated the passengers from the crew. Miranda turned around, her back hitting the cold metal of the food prep station.
​"I can’t believe I’m doing this," she breathed, her hands trembling as she reached for the knot of her scarf. "I’ve watched your scene with the twins ten times. I never thought I’d actually have you in my galley."
​"Believe it, Miranda," I said, stepping into her space and pinning her against the station with my body. "But this isn’t a movie. There are no retakes at thirty thousand feet."
​I reached out, my hand cupping her chin and forcing her to look up at me. "Now, show me just how much of a fan you really are."
She didn’t waste a second. She fumbled with her skirt, pulling it up to her waist to reveal she was wearing sheer black stockings and a matching garter belt. She looked like a professional’s secret fantasy.
​"I have five minutes before the co-pilot comes back for coffee," she gasped, her hands moving to my zipper. "Make them count, Druski."
I crashed my lips onto hers, swallowing her surprised gasp as I pinned her against the cold metal of the galley wall. My hands didn’t waste a second, diving under her blazer to find her perky, bra-bound tits. I squeezed them hard, feeling her heart hammering like a trapped bird against my palms.
​"You’ve been watching me from a distance, Miranda," I growled against her mouth. "Time to see how the ’King’ feels up close."
​I spun her around in one fluid motion, her face pressing into the stainless steel prep station. I hooked my fingers into the waistband of her navy pencil skirt and hiked it up past her hips, revealing a pair of sheer black stockings held up by delicate lace garters. Her ass was small, tight, and practically glowing in the dim galley lights.
​
SLAP.