Mrs. Witherfork
“I wish I was rich, so I could fly first class”, that’s what I thought five minutes after the flight attendant seated me. It was horrible. There was this fat woman with a crying baby sitting behind me; the damn infant cried for nearly 2 hours. A smelly old man with no teeth sitting next to me, he kept his false dentures on a glass of water, and he would only use them whenever he ate. A group of giggling school girls, who were celebrating their sixteenth birthday, kept talking aloud and making unnecessary trips to the bathrooms. But to be fair, I didn’t mind much the sixteen year olds; some of them looked quite hot with their private school uniforms (gray pleated skirt and white bloused). But the single, most annoying thing on this fly was Mrs. Witherfork, a middle age woman who complained about everything; the air-conditioner didn’t work (too cold, and then too hot), the hard pillows, the loud baby, the awful food– not enough food, too much ice on her drink, the plane is moving a lot, etc. After an hour or so, flight attendants had to play “rock-paper-scissors” to see who would be the unfortunate one to attend Mrs. Witherfork.
I don’t know how I survived this trip, but when the captain announced that we would be landing soon; all thoughts of killing the fat woman and the old man were gone, but I still wanted Mrs. Witherfork to die, preferably in a slow and painful way.
The plane landed smoothly, and even though the seatbelt sign was on, some of the passengers were already up trying to get the bags they kept on the compartments above them. Everything seemed normal, flight attendants were already up, and preparing to bid farewell to passengers, when all of sudden three men with large machetes walked up to one of the female attendants and threaten her. Then, another man sitting two or three rows from where I was sitting started swinging his machete at passengers so they would sit back down.
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Loud screams erupted from every part of the plane, there were more hijackers.
I didn’t panic; instead I had a huge headache. The old man pouted, the baby cried even harder, but the schoolgirls were the nosiest, they were screaming, sobbing, fainting, kicking (their seats), doing everything you shouldn’t do in these kinds of situations.
The hijackers had to do something, that’s when a woman stupidly stood up and try to escape. One of the hijackers then swung his machete, and cut her head off. The bloody head landed fast on the floor, but the body just stood there rigidly. That’s all it took to quiet all the people on board, all except Mrs. Witherfork. She started to insult the terrorists, calling them murderers, cowards, and all sorts of names. All the hijackers laugh, that is, until Mrs. Witherfork called them “camel-humping faggots”; apparently insulting their manhood was a big mistake, but I made an equally big mistake by chuckling.
Mrs. Witherfork and I were forced to stand up, and we were told to strip naked. She refused, so the hijacker swung his machete again at the decapitated woman, cutting her right hand off. We took our clothes off, all except our underwear, so the machete guy replicated the same motion, this time cutting the remaining hand off.
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We were now totally naked, so they tied us up together on the floor; the sick bastard who did the tying up made sure I had my penis up her pussy. Mrs. Witherfork, up-close, wasn’t that bad. She had beautiful blue eyes, and the wrinkles in her face gave her a sophisticated quality, like those British royals; she had long blonde hair which cover our faces (she was on top) from everybody, and gave us unwanted privacy.
I tried to be a gentleman, and think of nonsexual stuff. On the other hand, Mrs. Witherfork kept screaming profanities at me, like I was to be blame for our predicament. I thought, “Baseball, yeah baseball, I like baseball, Babe Ruth was a great hitter…” then she would yell, “get your skinny ass off me, faggot”, and my thoughts would switch to “Babe Ruth had a big ass, Witherfork has an ass too…” and these thoughts, and the constant rumbling of the plane would not help me at all- I had an erection.
I had to do something; I said to myself, “I am master of my penis, I can control it,” I thought of my childhood that had to be the remotest thing from sex I could think of. I remember all the fun I had watching cartoons after school, “Bugs Bunny was one of my favorites…” then I was interrupted by Mrs.
Witherfork, she cursed and breath heavily, making her sound odd, and I would suddenly think of, “Elmer Fudd, she sounds like Elmer Fudd. . . Bugs Bunny kissed Elmer Fudd”, and that’s all I needed, there was no stopping to my erection. It got bigger and stiffer, and we didn’t have to move at all, the vibration of the plane did the rest.
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At first, Mrs. Witherfork moaned but tried to pass it out as a cough, and I too tried to keep a straight face, and I had some difficulties breathing, even though she wasn’t that heavy. Her pussy felt surprisingly wet, warm, and tight. She kept pounding my dick (thanks to the vibrations of the plane), and I even made an uncharacteristic girly sounding groan. I also lasted longer than usual, but when I finally came, I was surprised to see her with a different look in her face. She had a tender, blushing bride-like look in her eyes, and she smiled spontaneously. At this tender sight, my dick got hard and erect again. The plane kept making her pound me mercilessly, but this time we didn’t faked disliking each other, we were enjoying the whole experience.
For six straight hours we made love, I couldn’t feel my dick anymore, and every time I came it felt painful; the floor was covered with our cum, my back was completely soak on it, but I kept unloading my seemingly endless supply of cum on her- I had never been this good, but there was something different about her; you might even say that this was love at first fuck.
But all good things must end, suddenly an S. W. A. T. team burst on the plane, and started firing at the hijackers, who responded with more firing. Lots of people would have died if it wasn’t for the old man (a former Sergeant), and the fat lady (a Wrestler); they took care of all the assailants on our part of the plane, and even the sixteen years old schoolgirl managed to disarmed the guy who decapitated the woman, and beat the shit out of him.
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Finally, after some intense cackling from members of the S. W. A. T. team, we were released, but Mrs. Witherfork was dead. I don’t know if it was due to the sex or the rescuing. She had a beautiful smiled on her face though; I only wish I hadn’t wished her death. .
