The most powerful orgasm


Shaking and trembling in the aftermath of the most powerful
orgasm I’d ever shared with my husband, I forced myself to
breathe slowly. Finally, with still closed eyes, I relaxed into
my window seat and felt the tension drain out of me. I felt so
tired, limp, satisfied, wet, and oh, so happy that after a year
of marriage, Sanford had finally found my very special place. It
was a nicer, much nicer, anniversary present than even the
beautiful diamond bracelet that he had given me on our first
evening in Los Angeles, just after our flight out.
I wanted to tell him how special it had been, and reached
for him next to me, in his aisle seat. My hand encountered empty
space; my eyes shot open; I twisted towards his seat, panic tore
through me, then fear. I felt nauseous; I was sweating; I wanted
to scream! But then I saw him; he was leaving the washroom; he
nodded his head, lifted his arm a little, said something to
someone seated, but continued down the far aisle. I watched him;
I found a tissue and blotted my forehead, my lip; he crossed over
to our aisle.
He slipped into his seat, and I clutched his arm. “Have you
been gone long?” I asked. He must have heard the panic in my
voice, seen the fresh beads of moisture on my forehead.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “You look like … like you’ve got
a fever or something.” He touched my face, my forehead. “You’re
sweating. Are you too warm? Should I turn the vent on? Would you
like something to drink? Are you okay?”
I wasn’t sure. I stared at him. I’d just had the most
incredible orgasm that I’d had in …. How long? Years. And when
had San left his seat? But my dreams had never been so powerful,
or so real. Still, we were on a public plane, full of strangers
and someone wouldn’t just sit down and …. It was preposterous;
it only happened in stories. I must have been dreaming; I must
have. Maybe age and experience were making my dreams better; that
would be a welcome development.
“Are you okay?” he persisted, breaking into my thoughts.
I nodded my head that I was okay, and slipped both my arms
around his right one. He kissed my forehead, and I tilted my head
back for more. I shuddered and he broke our kiss.
“How long were you gone?” I asked again, still fretting over
my dream.
He stared at me for a minute, then shrugged his shoulders
and answered, “Not long; ten, fifteen minutes. Guess who I ran
“Here? On the plane?”
He laughed. “Of course, here, on the plane. Where else?
I shook my head, unable to think of a single person that
might be on the plane. “I … I haven’t the faintest.”
“The Shaws,” he exclaimed brightly.
“Eve and Tim,” I replied slowly, still not completely
concentrating on our conversation. “What were they doing in LA?”
“He had a business trip, and she went along.”
I thought for a minute, and then said, “I didn’t even feel
you get out of your seat.”
He smiled, lowered his mouth to my ear and whispered, “You
were sleeping. I guess you were exhausted after your little
seizure.” He pulled back and grinned at me.
I stared at his smirk for a moment, and then softly said,
“Well, I had a grand one while you were gone.”
Surprise swept over his face; his eyes widened; his mouth
opened, then closed. After a moment spent staring at me, he
finally said, “Really?”
I couldn’t help smiling at his consternation. I pressed
closer and kissed his check, then replied, “Yes, really.”
“By yourself?”
“No, Sanford, the whole plane helped,” I quickly retorted.
Then I smiled, kissed his check again, and continued, “I thought
it was with you. But I must have been dreaming; you weren’t
“It was that real?” he asked softly with something close to
awe in the tone of his voice.
“It was that real,” I whispered into his ear, and then
gently bit his lobe, “and oh, so wonderful. And, oh, love, I was
so thrilled that you had done it to me.”
His hand was under our blanket, on my knee, sliding up.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I whispered as I slightly
opened my legs.
“If you’re dreaming about it, then you still need me,” he
whispered back.
“Umm,” I murmured, wiggling down in my seat, “I feel like
one of those rats with an electrode in its brain that starves
itself to death because it keeps activating the electrode for an
orgasm instead of eating.”
His fingers were home, exploring.
“Would you really want one?” he whispered into my ear.
“Want what?” I questioned.
“An electrode in your brain?”
I nuzzled against his shoulder; I slid my hand up my thigh,
letting my fingertips rest against the back of his hand, and then
I tilted my head to gaze up at him. I smiled, and he returned my
smile. “Kiss me,” I whispered.
The kiss was soft and lingering, and when our lips parted, I
answered, “If it would let me come as in my dream, I would.”
His middle finger slid into me; he slowly fingered me; his
finger slid out, and up; I softly moaned, slouched down in my
seat, and further opened my thighs; I pressed against his probing
fingers; I began rocking against them, I was so close.
“Close,” I moaned, almost whimpered, and tried with rocking
hips and touching fingers to guide him where I wanted him, where
I needed him. “Love,” I whispered, “love,” but he shook my hand
off, and quickened his touch. I tensed, went rigid, and held my
“Get it, baby,” he softly growled into my ear. I did. Oh,
God, I did! But it wasn’t as good as in my dream.
With closed eyes, I tried to relax; my hand stole between
his legs; he was hard. I was coming down; I softly stroked his
hardness through the fabric of his slacks; his hand was still
nestled between my thighs, but I couldn’t will its movement, its
touch. I slipped my hand up and rubbed it against his belt
buckle; his hand deserted me to struggle with freeing himself.
My hand filled the void, fingers dancing; I was back up,
almost as high, then higher; I thought of the hand in my dream,
how it had moved, how it had felt, and then, I was there. There!
There! But it still wasn’t as good as my dream! And then I
slumped into my seat, and realized San was rubbing his cock
against my hand. I languidly closed my fingers over his erection,
opened my eyes, and rolled my head to look up into his face.
“Hmm,” he breathed out softly. His head lolled onto his
shoulder; he wanly smiled at me, and then his eyes drooped shut
as he relinquished the care of his body to me.
“Just a minute,” I whispered, and then bent forward and
groped through my purse for my panties. Finding them, I
rearranged our blanket, and snuggled against his side. He smiled
when I recurled my fingers around his erection. I tilted my head
so I could watch his face as I slowly stroked him. It was like a
baby’s face after feeding, contented, a drop of saliva at the
corner of his mouth. I stretched and licked it. His eyes opened,
smiling; he kissed me very softly, and then lay his head so I
could stare into his closed eyes. I increased the rhythm of my
pumping, and intermittently, the pressure. Slowly, his face
tightened, his breathing increased, became slightly harsher, and
his hips began a controlled but forceful rocking.
I continued stroking him as I brought my other hand to the
tip of his erection, and closed the cool silk of my panties over
it. His eyes fluttered open; he stared at me and tried to smile,
but instead, his mouth opened and he sucked in air; his body
“Panties?” he said so softly that I had to read his lips.
I nodded, moved my lips to his ear, and whispered, “I want
you to soak them, make them wet and sticky with your come.”
“Will you ….” He groaned, and I began caressing the tip
with the silk.
“W… wear them?” he grunted, and began throbbing.
“Yes,” I whispered. “Oh, yes!” and I closed my eyes as his
hot, sticky, wetness soaked through the panties into my hand.

“You look like you should have feathers around your mouth,”
I said, and smiled at San’s grinning face as I slid over him,
settled into my seat, and readjusted our blanket.
“Did you put them on?” he asked eagerly, in a hoarse
With a raised eyebrow, I smiled at him.
He stared at me and began sliding his hand up my thigh.
I stared back and spread my legs.
“Oh, God!” he moaned into my ear when his fingers
encountered my panties. He quickly slipped two fingers around
them and into my overly moist sex; he stroked me several times,
then withdrew, and pressed the fabric of my panties deep into my
slit. His fingers left a sticky trail down the inside of my left
thigh as he slowly withdrew.
We silently stared at each other for several minutes; I
closed my legs, crossed them; we both sighed.
“We should try and get some rest,” he said. I nodded,
respread the blanket, and closed my eyes.
For whatever reason, exhaustion or satisfaction or both, I
remember nothing until the thump, bump, and roar of our landing
startled me awake. With a still groggy head and barely focusing
eyes, I saw San watching me, a lazy, pleased-with-himself smile
spread over his face. I smiled back, and said, “I’d really like
to wash my face.”
“Good idea,” he replied. “While I get the luggage, you can
use the ladies room.
“You sure? You can manage without me?” I offered.
“I think so,” he laughed.

“Sanford,” I said quietly, seriously, as we stood waiting
for the baggage to begin arriving.
He glanced at me, and asked, “Is something the matter?”
I slipped my hand into his, and replied, “We need to talk.”
“What about?” he asked, his voice edgy, his eyes searching
my face.
“I don’t want to talk about it now,” I answered with
emphasis, “but I think you’ll like it. Maybe at dinner tomorrow.
We can end our anniversary celebration.”
“Why will I like it? What’s it about?” he asked, the
edginess nearly gone from his voice.
“Not now!” I repeated, smiling, almost grinning. “Tomorrow
at dinner.” I kissed his cheek, and whispered, “I’ll wear the red
dress that you like.”
His face lit up; his eyes glowed; he said, “The one you
deliberately forgot to pack! You must be feeling guilty.”
I laughed. “Yes, the slutty one that I forgot to pack, and
I’m not feeling guilty, but,” I continued, moving closer and
lowering my voice, “it will fit the mood for what I want to talk
He grinned at me.
“Is it a date?” I asked.
“And I’m going to like it?” he asked slowly, almost
“I’ll make you like it,” I replied with a deliberate, low
He laughed.
“The carousel just started,” I said, nodding my head towards
it. “I’m going to the ladies room.”
“Don’t get lost,” he responded.
I gave him my best evil eye.

I was standing, waiting for San to finish fighting the crowd
and collect our luggage, when I heard, “Hello Amy.”
I twisted towards the voice, smiled, and said, “Oh, hi Eve.
San said he saw you and Tim on the plane. Did you get to visit
your family?”
“Yes, even Tim got away from his meetings one day. Happy
“Oh, thanks.”
“San told me I had to see your new bracelet,” she said, a
sound of genuine pleasure in her voice.
“That man! Sometimes, …,” I began a little haltingly, then
blushed as I lifted and shook my wrist.
“Oh, Amy! It’s beautiful,” she exclaimed as she took my
hand, lifted it slightly, then traced over my bracelet, and my
wrist, with her fingertips. I shivered beneath her gentle touch.
“Thank you,” I replied. “It was a huge surprise.”
“Do you like surprises?” she asked, glancing up, her face
flushing slightly.
“Sometimes,” I answered slowly, thinking of several that I’d
very recently had.
“Did you like LA?” she asked.
“Yes,” I answered. “Did San give you a blow-by-blow account
of our visit?”
“He might have given one to Tim, but they started talking
sports, so I went to the washroom.”
“San does love his sports.”
“So does Tim. Loves sports, hates opera. I, on the other
hand ….”
We both laughed.
“I visited you after the washroom.”
“You what? I …. You ….” I flushed scarlet with the
memory of the gentle hand in just the right place between my
“Oh, God! Please don’t hate me. I ….”
“Amy, let’s go,” San shouted to me as he approached, a bag
in each hand.
“I have to ….” I nodded towards San’s approaching figure.
“I have tickets for the opera, next Saturday. Will you join
me?” Her words came out in a rush; her hand tightened gently on
I hesitated; her fingertip brushed over the inside of my
“Yes,” I whispered.
Our hands slowly slipped apart as I went to join San.