Strangers on a Plane Ch. 04

Author's note: This is my 30th story for this site and perhaps my last for a while. It concludes the story of Nicole and Derek, the couple who met by chance on a jet from New York to Paris. I suggest you read parts 1 - 3 first before diving into this one. Enjoy!

*****

Derek was trying to fall asleep. He was seated in 29C, the aisle seat in the rear of a red-eye from Paris to New York. The plane had just reached its cruising altitude and he was trying to get some sleep. But the guy in the seat directly behind him was doing everything in his power to prevent it. Besides kicking the back of Derek's seat, he kept pestering the woman sitting next to him. Derek couldn't see them but he could tell the guy's attentions were unwanted.

"I've been our top sales guy for three months straight," the man bragged. "How 'bout you? What kind of work do you do?"

Derek sighed and looked over his shoulder. He was one of those typical corporate guys on the make. He was never going to shut up. Derek glanced at the woman. She was young, and very beautiful. She gave Derek a look that said, "Sorry."

"So, you need someone to show you around the city?" the guy went on. "I can get a table at the Union Square Café anytime. I'm personal friends with the maître-d."

The woman was trying to brush him off politely but he was kept on.

"So, are you model or something? You look like you could be a model. You sure got the looks for it."

Derek had had enough. He stood up and stepped into the aisle. The guy was facing the woman, honing in. She was leaning way from him.

"Excuse me," Derek said, his deep voice polite but forceful. "Would you mind switching seats with me? You see, we weren't able to get seats together."

Derek gestured to the woman. The sales guy looked startled.

"You mean, she's your...Of course, no problem. I was just trying to make conversa..."

"I really appreciate it," Derek answered as the guy clambered out of his seat. "Since, we're on our honeymoon and all."

The woman covered her mouth to hide her laugh.

"Definitely," the guy continued, "I'll just move up here...no problem at all."

"Appreciate it," Derek said as he flashed a quick smile to the woman. She mouthed the words "Thank you" to him.

Derek grabbed a couple of pillows and a blanket from the overhead bin and offered them to the woman. She accepted with a smile. Derek settled in his seat, adjusted the fan, and turned off the overhead light. The woman did the same. Derek reclined the seat. So did the woman.

Derek lifted the armrest that was between them.

"To give you a little more space. In case you want to stretch out," he said.

"Thank you," she said, charmed by his thoughtfulness.

She placed her pillow against the wall of the plane and turned her bod so she could lean against it. But she was too tall for that to be comfortable. Then she lowered her tray table and put her pillow on it. She tried to rest her head on her pillow but there wasn't enough room due to the seat in front of her.

"I'm afraid there's no good position," he said, sympathetically. "I've tried them all."

She looked at him forlornly and shrugged.

"Unless you want to use me as your pillow," he smiled. "We're honeymooners after all."

She chuckled at his subterfuge.

"Sure. Thanks."

She carefully placed her pillow against his broad shoulder.

"It might work better here," he said, putting the pillow on his thigh. "In my extensive experience sleeping on planes."

He smiled warmly and she smiled back. He said this so simply, and so kindly, that she took it for just that - a simple gesture of kindness.

She gave him a flirty look and lay her head on his broad thigh. He smiled down at her and she smiled back.

It was only now that he could really study her face. She had beautiful hazel eyes, with high cheek bones and full, bee-stung lips. The sales guy wasn't wrong. She really could be a model.

She was laying on her back looking up at him. He was ruggedly handsome with dark curly hair and bedroom eyes. He was incredibly hot, she thought, this man who rescued me.

He reached over and covered her with the blanket as she snuggled next to him. He could see a small smile form on her lips.

"Thanks," she whispered.

"You're welcome," he whispered back.

She turned on her side to get comfortable and placed her right hand on his thigh, to support her pillow.

It was an innocent enough gesture, quite reasonable given the circumstances. But the body isn't given to reason and the feeling of this beautiful woman's hand on his thigh caused his cock to twitch ever so slightly. She moved her head and shoulders around, settling in, which caused his cock to twitch again.

She blew a strand of hair that was tickling her face. He reached down with his right hand and softly tucked the strand behind her ear. He could see her smile again. She slid her hand so it was touching his inner thigh.

Derek was now faced with the problem of where to put his right arm, , now that she was laying across his lap. He couldn't very well keep it elevated the whole flight. It had to lay somewhere.

So, he gently lay his arm across her tummy. It seemed the least invasive place to put it. She immediately reached down and held his arm against her chest.

He could feel her breasts pressing against his forearm. They felt firm and substantial. It felt like there was nothing between her breasts and his arm but the sheerest material of her blouse.

His fingers were resting against her neck and collarbone, the part of a woman's body he had always found irresistible. He gently ran his fingers over her skin and she responded, arching her back, pressing her breasts against his arm.

She let out a soft moan and gently caressed his inner thigh.

He felt his cock lengthening now, on its inexorable march toward arousal.

Encouraged by her reaction, he began to slowly brush his fingers along her neckline, gently caressing her tawny skin. He was moving his fingers slowly, sensitively, but with a sense of purpose. He glided his fingertips along her chin and over her lips. They were full, and fleshy. As soft as velvet. She kissed his fingers and wrapped her pillowy lips around his index finger and gave it a gentle suck.

Now he could feel his stiffening cock pressing against his pants.

He wrapped his arm tightly around her torso. She was moving her body so that his muscled forearm rubbed against her breasts. There was an animal, almost feline quality about her. She was nuzzling her face against his upper thigh, inches away from his lengthening cock.

He began to unbutton the top button of her blouse. He did this slowly, to both communicate his intention, and to gauge her response. She pulled the blanket up higher, seemingly to block any prying eyes. Her hand returned to the inside of his thigh.

That was all the signal he needed.

His fingers deftly unclasped the remaining buttons. Then, his strong hand moved softly from her warm tummy, softly over her ribs, and finally caressing her bare breasts. They were warm and as soft as silk.

She let out a moan and she arched her back. Her hand slid higher up his inner thigh.

He ran his fingers gently over her breasts and over her pert nipples. She let out another moan as her hand found his hardening cock.

There was a pause, as if she were registering what she had discovered. Then she started to feel him, to feel his length. She started to rub him, almost involuntarily, as if lust had gotten the best of her.

He took the escalation as permission and reciprocated by letting his hand migrate southward, where his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her yoga pants. His fingers eased their way over her mound where they were greeted by the warm, wetness of her slit. She's as turned on as I am, he thought.

He began to play with her, teasing her, and eventually penetrating her with his fingers. She responded by pulling down her stretch pants and separating her legs to give him better access.

The more he fingered her the more she began to writhe, her face tossing from side to side. She could feel his hardness under her face and she rubbed against him, making him even harder.

By the time, he had slipped two fingers inside her, her breath had become ragged and her body was trembling.

She reached down to reposition his fingers onto her clit and he massaged it expertly. Her body convulsed as her silent orgasm swept over her body.

As she came back down to earth, she looked up at him in the dim light. He could see her smile, her white teeth gleaming.

It was his turn, she seemed to be saying. She turned over on her tummy and began to unbutton his trousers. He helped her by pulling his pants over his hips. His large cock sprang upward and she licked her lips.

She began by softly rubbing her face against the skin of his shaft. First her cheeks, then her lips. With the tip of her tongue, she gently flicked the head, like a painter dabbing a watercolor with the tip of his brush.

He laid back and enjoyed every sensation, while his right hand caressed every corner of her beautiful ass.

She placed her full, fleshy lips against the tip and sucked it into mouth. It felt incredible.

But that was nothing compared with what her tongue could do.

It was magical. It swirled and flicked, teased and caressed, and took him on a roller coaster ride of libidinal pleasure like he had never known.

She wrapped her luscious lips around his throbbing cock and then slowly swallowed half his length, then releasing him with a smack. For a moment, he wondered if the other passengers could hear the magnitude of the blow job he was receiving, but he simply didn't care.

He closed his eyes and pressed his pelvis into her face. She took him deep, swallowing him completely. He could feel his rock hard cock deep in her throat.

The pressure grew in his balls. He felt like he would explode at any second.

That's when Derek woke up.

He was in Nicole's bed in her Paris apartment, naked, laying on his back, while she was going to town on his cock. She had been giving him the blow job to end all blow jobs - while he was asleep.

Slowly, it hit him. This is reality. He was getting a real blow job from a beautiful French woman. And it was, without doubt, the greatest blow job of his life.

Her head was bobbing up and down, while her hand was massaging his balls. He put his hand on the back of her head. Her eyes met his.

She could see he was on the verge. She slipped her hand under his ass, her finger penetrating his hole.

That was all it took.

He exploded into her mouth. Huge streams of cum filled her throat. He kept coming and coming and coming.

It took several minutes before he caught his breath.

"Wow," he panted. "That was incredible."

"Tu veux?" she smiled. "You like?"

"I like," he said with emphasis. "I think that was the greatest orgasm I've ever had."

"C'etait mon plaisir," she said with a cute little shrug. "It was my pleasure. In fact, I think I get as much pleasure from it as you."

"I doubt that," he laughed. "That was amazing! All those nights practicing on your brother paid off I guess."

She let out a laugh.

"Pierre would insist I practice on him every night."

"I bet he did," said Derek.

"So," Nicole asked, "what were you dreaming about? While I was sucking you. You were making quite a lot of noise."

Derek let out a sigh.

"Well," he answered, "I was on a plane. And it was dark. And one thing led to another..."

"Was it me?" Nicole ask, coquettishly.

Derek looked at her.

"It was a stranger," he answered.

"Ah, strangers on a plane," she shrugged. "That's how we met."

Derek turned to her.

"What about you? What were you thinking about?"

Nicole looked down, hesitating.

"Come on," Derek teased, "tell the truth."

Nicole looked him straight in the eye.

"To be honest, I was thinking about my brother, Pierre."

Derek just looked and her and nodded.

"Of course you were," he said simply.

"He used to like it when I woke him up that way," she explained. "He said it was one of his favorite ways to cum."

"You think about him a lot, don't you?" Derek asked.

"Lately, yes," she answered. "I don't know why. Maybe because I'm going to see him soon."

This was news to Derek.

"Oh, really?" Derek asked. "You going to the States?"

She shook her head.

"He's coming here. To Paris. This weekend."

"This weekend?" Derek shot back. "Why am I just hearing about this?"

She was taken aback by his reaction.

"I didn't have a chance to tell you," she answered.

"Well, I think it's a fairly important piece of information, don't you?" he said, sarcastically. "I'm kinda surprised you didn't mention it."

"Well, I'm sorry!," she snapped. "I would have told you but my mouth was too busy sucking your cock!"

"Yeah," he muttered, "while your brain was obsessing about your brother!"

She let out a howl of frustration, got out of bed, and went into the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, Derek was softly knocking at the bathroom door, a cup of espresso in his hand.

"I brought you some coffee. It's not as good as you make it but..."

Nicole opened the door. She looked like she'd been crying. He handed her the cup.

"Listen, I'm sorry I was jealous," he said softly. "It's...well, it's not a part of me I'm particularly proud of."

She took a sip.

"I'm sorry too," she said.

Derek nodded.

"It's just, when you're with me," he said, "I want you to be with me. Not him."

She thought about this a moment.

"I won't feel guilty about my thoughts," she answered. "These are my thoughts. Mine."

"I know. Look, I'm not judging...but it seems you and your brother have some...I don't know...unfinished business."

"Peut-être. Je ne sais pas. Perhaps we do. I don't know. I don't understand myself sometimes."

Derek nodded. There was a pause.

"When was the last time you saw him," Derek asked.

"Two years ago," she answered. "At his wedding."

Derek thought about this and nodded.

"It makes sense you'd be thinking about him then."

Nicole nodded. Not much made sense to her these days.

"Listen," he said, "I've got some work to take care of. I'm going to go back to the hotel."

She looked at him bravely although the sting was palpable.

"OK," she said simply. "See you later then."

At the front door, Nicole stopped him.

"Do you want to meet him?"

Derek paused, considering this.

"I guess. Why not?"

"I was thinking of having a dinner here on Friday. With Pierre and his wife. I'd like you to come."

Derek looked at her, trying to read her face.

"OK. Sure."

"Merci," she said. She touched his hand.

"A bientôt."

He looked at her in both eyes.

"Bye."

In the days that followed, Derek was in a funk. He walked the streets of Paris, filled with equal parts jealousy and shame. Jealousy because the woman he was obsessed with seemed to be equally obsessed with her own brother. How could he compete with that bond? Shame because he hated his immature response.

Walking on the Rue St. Germain, he thought about Pierre, Nicole's older brother. The French expatriate visiting from the U.S. The former model turned business magnate. Maybe he's gone to seed, he thought, develop a paunch from all those business trips and executive wining and dining. Nah, with my luck he's probably still got his model good looks with flecks of grey that make him look "distinguished".

He purposely didn't call Nicole, not wanting to subject her to his neurotic musings. Instead, he walked the streets with his camera, shooting the twisting streets of Montmartre and the Marais. He was supposed to be shooting Paris from a "fresh perspective," his editor wanted something "edgy." He felt uninspired and after five days had little to show for his efforts. He kept thinking about Nicole laying in bed naked. With Pierre.

Finally, when the day of the dinner party came, Derek showed up at Nicole's place feeling awkward. He had brought a nice bottle of wine and some fresh cut flowers. When the door to her apartment opened, he saw Nicole all made up and looking fabulous. She kissed him, pressing her body against him, but there was a distance between them.

"I'm glad you came," she murmured.

"Thanks," was all he could summon.

Inside, her brother Pierre and his wife Colette were standing in the kitchen drinking red wine. Nicole made introductions and then placed the flowers he'd brought into a vase.

Pierre was roughly Derek's age, with swarthy, Mediterranean good looks. He was friendly if somewhat tightly wound. He was wearing a sport coat with a crisp white shirt. The years had been kind to him.

His wife, Colette, was American. She was young, maybe 25, an attractive brunette with stylish shoulder-length hair and a wicked body. She was wearing a clingy, sparkly cocktail mini dress that showed off her figure. She was a bit demure, with keen, cat-like eyes.

Derek was struck by how much Colette looked like Nicole. With their dark complexions and petite figures, they could be sisters.

After some idle chitchat and crudités, Nicole said "À table" and they were seated at the dining table. They enjoyed a leisurely dinner, with multiple courses and lots of wine. Nicole did all the cooking and the food was amazing. Simple, country style, and utterly delicious.

"What are you two going to do while you're in Paris?" Nicole asked while serving salad from a large, ceramic bowl.

"I have meetings during the day," Pierre shrugged. "So Collette can do what she wants."

"I want to see the Eiffel Tower, but he refuses to take me," Collette said.

"It's for tourists," Pierre scoffed. "A waste of time."

"I don't think it's a waste of time," Collete said with a slight edge in her voice. "Millions of people from all over the world don't think it's a waste of time."

"Exactly," Pierre answered, looking at the Nicole and Derek. "She makes my point for me."

"Well, I recommend walking around Le Marais," Nicole said, valiantly trying to change the subject. "It's delightful. It used to be the Jewish ghetto."

"The Marais is fantastic," Derek agreed. "Visually stunning."

"Derek's a photographer by profession," Nicole offered. "Quite a good one in fact."

"Really," asked Pierre. "What sort of photography?"

Derek poured the others some wine, and then himself.

"All kinds," he answered. "Lately it's been travel stuff. But I've done portraits, photojournalism. Some fashion."

"Really?" Collette asked.

"Collette is a frustrated fashion model," said Pierre. "She thinks it's all glamour and glitz. Hah!"

Collette took a drink of wine, annoyed by his dismissive tone.

"I just think the pictures are nice," she muttered into her glass.

"Well, it can be grueling, that's for sure," said Derek, diplomatically. "But you certainly have the looks, if you ever wanted to pursue it."

Collette smiled and raised her glass to Derek as a thank you.

"Don't encourage her," Pierre growled. "It's a shitty profession."

"Oh Pierre, don't be such a hypocrite," said Nicole, starting to clear the table. "You did your share of modeling."

"That's how I know what I'm talking about," he said, a bit too loudly. The wine was getting to him.

"Pierre was quite the Adonis as a young man," Nicole said to Collette, joking. "Il etait très, très beau. All the young girls wanted his ass."

She leaned over the table to collect the plates.

"But I had my eye on another girl's ass," he laughed, slapping his hand across Nicole's butt.

"Hey! Tais toi!" Nicole cried. "Watch your manners!"

Pierre smirked at Derek and reached for more wine.

"Ça suffit," Nicole said, taking the wine bottle from his hand. "You've had quite enough."

Nicole carried a load of dishes to the kitchen sink. Derek brought her the rest. She let out a sigh, brushing the hair from her forehead.