Mid-Air Awakening: My First Taste of the Dentist’s Wild Side
The cockpit hummed over Grenoble’s scorching valleys. Mme Besson, my usually frosty dentist, sat topless beside me. Heat had melted her reserve. I’d handed her the controls after some pointers, sneaking caresses on her bare skin. Heart pounding, I took back the yoke. ‘You did great, but I shouldn’t have touched you like that.’ She grinned. ‘I liked it. But try filling a cavity while getting ass-fucked.’ Shock hit as we buzzed the Grande Chartreuse convent. Sodomie? From her? Silence stretched. ‘Did I shock you?’ ‘No, just seeing you anew.’ Her tits swayed as she gazed at peaks. I stole glances. She caught me. ‘Eyes forward, or you’ll cramp.’ ‘Natural?’ ‘Yep. Almost reduced them—big tits are a curse.’ Silence again. Then, ‘What’s that peak?’ ‘Mont Blanc.’ ‘Closer?’ I banked hard. She lurched into me, clutching my thigh. ‘I’m scared!’ Wings leveled, her hand lingered high on my leg. Pulse raced. Was it on purpose? It crept up, cupping my bulging short. ‘Not just me who’s tense.’ ‘You caused it.’ ‘Let me relax you.’ Risky. But her hand dove in, freeing my half-hard cock. Wet already. ‘You’re leaking like a fountain. Thirsty.’ My heart thundered. No turning back.
She bent low. Hot mouth engulfed my glans. Sucking fierce, like starving. Engine droned, mixed with wet slurps. God, it was heaven. Her right hand fished out my balls, kneading. Then her mouth switched—gobbling both nuts whole. Tongue firm, rolling them. I veered; she gripped my shaft, not stopping. Jerked me steady. Left tit pressed my thigh, soft heat. Mont Blanc crawled closer, agonizingly slow. Spasms built. She deep-throated full length, determined. No escape. I erupted—jets of cum she gulped eagerly. Face flushed, she rose. ‘Good?’ ‘Undeniable. You’re a pro.’ ‘Used to hate it. Age changed me. Wish I could offer it to patients, strangers.’ We laughed. Talked her female clients’ flirts. One slip with a patient—story for later. ‘Mountain’s growing slower than your cock!’ ‘180 km/h.’ ‘But I gotta pee bad.’ Classic woman. Diverted to Albertville airstrip. She bolted out, squatted under wing, skirt hiked—no panties. Golden stream hissed out, steaming. I approached from behind. Perfect view: plump ass, tight hole, endless piss jet. Hand slid down her crack. She shivered but kept going. Fingers dipped to the flow. Splashed. Cupped last drops. Sniffed—sharp, musky. Tasted. Salty tang exploded. Drank her piss. Her eyes widened. Pure discovery. Raw, forbidden rush.
The Approach
She stood, smirking. ‘We’ll get along fine, M. Clément.’ Plane quiet, us buzzing. That flight broke something in me. Her cold facade shattered mine too. No more innocent flights or checkups. Tits, blowjob mid-air, tasting her piss—first time horizons cracked wide. Adulthood hit: desires once hidden now ruled. Nervous kid gone. Man awakened, hooked on her secrets. Heart still races remembering.
