Gilbert Michaels - Society slut

Samantha was horny.

There was no one sitting next to her on the airplane so she got up and took down the blanket from the overhead storage rack and spread it over her lap.

Then she leaned back and put a hand under the blanket, slowly moving it upwards, feeling the silky smooth skin of her inner thighs.

She cupped the vee of her sex mound that bulged beneath her panties and began to rub herself, harder and harder, making herself get hotter and hotter.

Then she spread her legs a little so she could slip her middle finger up into her cunt-hole. That felt even better and as she began to slowly ream herself out, she knew she was going to come.

She closed her eyes as she felt her pussy get wetter and wetter. She used a fingernail to scratch at the side walls of her cunt, slowly exploring every inch of her tight little canal.

Then she concentrated on her love button, rubbing and poking at it, making the ultra-sensitive little nubbin of cunt flesh erect and radiate out pleasure and excitement to every part of her body.

She felt her nipples get thumb hard and wished she could have touched them but she didn't dare to. Her clit would be enough to do the job.

She began to breathe faster and faster and wondered if the people who were sitting in front and in back of her noticed.

Then she thought the hell with it, I don't care. A wave of pleasure swept over her as she inched towards her climax, determined to reach it.

Massaging her clit was the only way and she kept at it with grim determination, the sound of the jet engines growing fainter and fainter.

She came.

Wetness filled her cunt canal as she spasmed. Juices flowed down over her finger and stained her panties as she squeezed her legs together as if she was trying to extract every last little bit she had.

She waited for a few minutes until she was breathing normally and then she returned the blanket to the storage rack over her head.

She felt much better.

Of course a cock would have been even nicer, but she did the best she could under the circumstances. Yes, a nice fat cock, banging up into her tight cunt until she begged for it to stop.

That was next on the agenda.

And soon, too.

Samantha was home.

The 747 wide body jet made a large turn over San Francisco Bay as it began its approach run into the airport.

From her window seat on the starboard side of the aircraft, Samantha looked intently at the panoramic view of the great city as it was held by the last rays of the setting sun just before it slipped into dusk.

The oblique light, washing over the skyline, bathing it in soft gold, rolled over the greenish blue waters of the bay, snaked under the Golden Gate bridge and then met the buildings.

It stopped midway up the huge hill that the city was built upon, not reaching the summit. The venerable old homes on top were already bathed in semi-darkness.

Samantha looked at them as the flaps came out from the rear of the wings, making the aircraft jump a little as the air speed was reduced.

The pilot and his crew would be going through their landing drill now, in almost constant contact with the control tower.

The no smoking sign was on and those people who were afraid of landings and take-offs were already beginning to white knuckle it.

The old homes were familiar to Samantha. Eighteen years ago she had been born one morning in the upper bedroom of one of the more fashionable mansions that overlooked the bay.

She knew everyone worth knowing in those homes. She knew things about them she shouldn't have, private things, personal matters.

These people, like her widowed mother, were the elite of San Francisco, the power brokers, the wheeler dealers.

They were an integral part of the city's past and tradition. They never seemed to change like the city that always seemed to be the same somehow despite all of the social upheavals that it had undergone in the last fifteen or twenty years.

No, San Francisco never changed and neither have I, thought Samantha to herself. She felt a tear begin to come out of the corner of one eye and brushed it away, hoping it was alone.

There were a couple of men on the plane who had no interest in the view at all. Girls interested them and they always had a keen lookout for someone fresh, someone different looking.

They were hunters who preyed on humans and now their attention was focused on the shapely body and face of Samantha Harding.

From where they sat, diagonally across from her, they got a good view of her profile and her legs as she twisted in her seat.

Had these men been able to see a picture of what Samantha had looked like when she left San Francisco four years ago to go to finishing school, they would have disagreed with her self assessment.

Four years ago, puberty had assaulted Samantha. At the time she was a shapeless, human lump of flesh. She had no self-confidence and her mother, worried that this might carry over into adulthood, immediately packed her off to a prestigious school in the east.

Martha Harding had seen her daughter infrequently during the time she was away. She traveled a great deal and the school didn't give its students many vacations.

In spite of the tear, Samantha knew she bad changed dramatically. Naturally she hoped her mother would approve of her.

She was confident that she would.

All of the baby fat had melted away. She was no longer round-shouldered. Instead she carried herself with remarkable poise.

She was slim, knew how to dress and make up her face and tried to convey an image of bored worldliness which was a defense, if it was anything.

She had full lips that held a promise of explosive sexuality that could be triggered off in a minute as long as the right man knew what to do.

She was latently sexual, a great well waiting to be tapped, but it had to be done right, all the right moves had to be made, otherwise it wouldn't happen.

Samantha knew she wasn't going to put out just for the sake of putting out. That didn't make any sense to her at all.

There were times at night, when she lay awake in her room at the boarding school, unable to sleep that she used to dream of sex.

The perfect connection, the ultimate experience when everything came together like it had never come together before in her life.

Then she got tired of thinking and the fire in her loins died down a little bit but never completely went away.

It was always there like a reminder of something she never had before. She realized she was still young and that there was plenty of time but she was still impatient, eager and at times, impulsive.

The practiced eye could see this lust that lay behind the cool, lady-like exterior. It wasn't that easy to tap though, like looking for oil.

One of the men saw it for what it was and nudged his companion.

"Little bit of cock therapy would be good for her," he said a little too loudly.

"Yeah, you're right there," agreed his pal as he looked at Samantha's calves.

The too loud whisper drifted over to Samantha and made her cheeks and ears turn red as she blushed, turning her head to the side. She kept staring out of the window but she no longer saw the city below her, no longer felt the plane being buffeted by the wind.

Yes, outwardly she had changed and her mother would approve of that change as would everyone who met her and who had known her before.

But inwardly she had changed too and this change would not be condoned by her mother. Inside she had grown aware of sex and, more important of the particular kind of sex she had to have.

She hadn't found that kind of sex yet and was beginning to wonder if she'd ever find sexual fulfillment, if it would ever happen.