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I prefer to fly Business Class when I travel for work for a number of reasons.

First, there’s more room in the seats and in the cabin generally, in fact almost as much as they allocate to First Class. As I am a big guy, by body size, that sure comes in handy.

Second, pretty much all the Business Class passengers are seasoned travellers, who know what they want and what they expect from the airline, so the cabin staff are also likely to be experienced, capable and very friendly, trying hard to please and retain these regular passengers.

Third, Business Class tends to be a bit of a club for these regular travellers (in fact, is called Club Class on some airlines) and can be quite relaxed about all the normal airline rules by comparison with the other normal airline Classes. I find that relaxed atmosphere to suit my nature and preferences well.

Last, of all the airline Classes, if a flight is not fully booked, it’s most likely that the one with less passengers and more empty seats will be Business. This makes some specific flights even more relaxed and, at the same time, can lead to the few passengers flying in that Class getting a whole lot more attention from the Cabin Staff, even to the Flight Attendants sitting down with non-sleeping passengers and chatting for hours at a time.

Actually, there are occasional flights where there may be only one or two passengers in the Class but with the full complement of Flight Attendants. It is one such flight that led to the following experience.

I was departing a major middle-Eastern country on one of their airlines, booked all the way through via Bahrain and Bangkok to my home destination of Sydney in Australia. On embarkation, I noticed that I was one of only two Business Class passengers, the other being a minor local Sheikh who it turned out was only travelling the short hop to Bahrain for a weekend out of the tight non-alcoholic laws of his own country.

He had, of course, chosen my airline so that, immediately into the flight, he could obtain his first scotch whiskey of the weekend, as this airline allowed that to all its passengers on outbound flights. He spent his time in his whiskey and I had a couple of quick cold flutes of complimentary champagne, followed by a cleansing beer.

In Bahrain, the same aircraft was continuing through for the entire flight. The Sheikh disembarked, but I decided to remain on the aircraft, one of few to do so, as the airline generally liked to clean up the aircraft a bit while on the ground after each leg.

As the first leg had been so short and with only two passengers, the Flight Attendants had little to do and were quite happy to leave me there with an extra beer to be going on with. So was I.

I had expected the Business Class cabin to have filled up when the flight was getting ready to depart on the next leg but was surprised to find that as the cabin staff were bustling around, making ready to depart, I was still the only passenger there. In fact, only in Bangkok would more passengers being joining Business Class. It was also a point not lost on the Flight Attendants themselves, most of whom would be hugely bored with no-one to look after on a long leg.

As both the other classes were completely full and the cabin staff in those classes were likely to be run off their feet, the Business Class girls started to discuss whether they would redeploy themselves to assist in those classes. Of course, I was the only “thorn in this ointment”. What would they do with me?

Would they shift me to one of the other classes, with the possible problem that I might be both very uncomfortable and very unhappy if they were forced to downgrade me? Or would they leave me where I was, which meant at least one of their number needed to remain with me, to look after me, keeping me happy and fully satisfied?

Gladly for me, they decided on the latter, leading to the realisation of a long-held fantasy on that long night flight. I was to remain in Business Class, along with a pretty young Irish Flight Attendant named Helen, petite, slim and willowy. It seemed she was the youngest and least experienced of the crew, but perfectly capable, and she also seemed quite shy and quiet compared to the other more exuberant girls. I didn’t mind that, though, as I am quite partial to quiet women.

She was also a style of woman that I am especially partial to. As I mentioned, petite, slim and willowy, with pale-ish red hair (sort of mixed with blonde) and fair skin without being extremely pale or hugely freckled. For a short girl, her legs gave the impression of some length rather than being stumpy, she had slim but undoubtedly womanly hips and the swell of her pert upturned breasts pushed out the material of her flight uniform just nicely. But, of course, I didn’t notice all of this. Much!

So, the rest of the Business Class Flight Attendants disappeared to assist in the other two classes, leaving us alone. Helen bustled about in the galley for the first few minutes of the flight, while the Seat Belts sign was isveçbahis still lit. In fact, the time started to drag a little and, being an Aussie bloke, I was starting to get a little dry. I was just considering getting out of my seat and wandering back down to the galley to get a drink from Helen, when she popped her head around the corner of the galley and called out asking what I wanted to drink.

I asked for my normal beer and she replied that she’d bring it down in a few moments. I responded that she needn’t do that, I’d come up the back for it. Another thing I quite often do when I fly is stand at the galley with the crew, so that they do not have to run up and down the aisle to me in the middle of the night and also as it has often given me the chance to chat with the girls. Occasionally, this has led to getting together with some of the Flight Attendants while they’re on lay-over in the same city in which I am staying. But those occasions are other stories.

I arrived at the galley to see Helen’s cute rear end pointed toward me, as she bent forward to rummage in one of the galley drawers for my beer. She found one, straightened up and turned around, to be surprised by me standing there. Her cheeks flushed a little and she asked me how long I had been there.

Without thinking, I replied that I’d been standing there about 6 or 7 inches, a more crude variation on an old family in-joke, in which my father always replied “five foot ten and a half” whenever asked a How-Long question. He, of course, always meant his height, mine was just a little more basic. Helen’s cheeks flushed a little bit more.

Immediately, I regretted my insensitivity and lack of thought in what I said and started to apologise when Helen surprised the hell out of me by bursting out laughing and calling me a decidedly cheeky man. Thank God for the more relaxed atmosphere in Business Class, I thought, as I too started to laugh. Then she suprised me even more as she asked me, giggling, whether I liked her arse. Did I like her arse? Is the Pope an unwed Father?

In for a penny, in for a pound, I told her that she had a fine arse, she had a beautiful arse, she had the arse of all arses, that her arse looked good enough to bury my face in. She stopped me there, in my tracks, by gently slapping my wrist and suppressing her laugh to an intriguing smile. She then told me that, if I was not better behaved, she’d take that arse out to one of the other classes and send another of the Flight Attendants back to deal with me. I had visions of being in a bit of trouble, which obviously showed on my face. She smiled up at me, in an impish fashion, and said “Gotcha, you cheeky man!”.

I smiled back, relaxed, realising that she too had enjoyed the exchange and wasn’t really offended by it at all. So, I told her, yes, her rear end was very cute, at which she beamed back at me and thanked me for the compliment.

I asked her if she minded me hanging out there at the galley with her and she said it was fine and, in fact, the company was welcome, as she’d never before worked a flight without the other girls around and she thought it would be lonely to do so. But she said that, with only me in the class, she was not going to have a whole lot to do and thought we’d both get bored just standing around. Plus she’d like to get a chance to get off her feet.

Of course, if I was going to continue to drink beer, one of us would always have to be jumping up and down to get me a fresh one pretty regularly. So I asked her if she’d be happy to grab me a couple of bottles of the airline’s complimentary champagne, plus some ice, take them down to my seat and sit with me for a while. She remarked that she’d assumed that, after a while, I would have gone to sleep and that she’d planned to curl up on one of the seats close to the galley for a little snooze, so my suggestion would sort of fit in with that.

I mentioned that I rarely, if ever, slept during a flight but that, if she wanted, she could for a while and I’d wake her if I really needed anything that we had not thought of yet. Rather cryptically, she asked whatever I might mean by that but did not continue to elaborate and left it at that. I let the moment slide, not really thinking that she meant anything by it.

Once she’d finished the absolute necessities in the galley, she turned the cabin lights down lower and we adjourned to my seating area, sitting side by side. I opened the first bottle of champagne and I poured myself a glass. Instantly realising how impolite that seemed, I asked her if she wanted one too. She told me that it was not allowed for Flight Attendants to drink during the flight, as they had passengers to look after. I pointed out how silly that all seemed in the current circumstance, mentioned that I’d never tell if she didn’t and asked again if she WANTED a glass, not would she HAVE one.

She seemed to sit and mull it over a moment then, instead of replying, she jumped up from her seat next to me, skipped quickly up the aisle and disappeared into the galley. I thought that she isveçbahis giriş had come to a realisation that maybe this situation might have been getting a little out of control and that she’d decided to go back to her original plans for the flight. I found that made me feel a little sad and disappointed.

But, now, she skipped back down the aisle toward me, bringing a glass for herself and another bottle, which she told me was “just in case”. Again somewhat cryptically, she told me she didn’t think that we’d want to have to get up to go to the galley yet again. Once again, I let this slide, although I have to admit that I had by now begun to dare to think of where it all MIGHT lead.

She settled down beside me again, with her legs up on the seat beneath her, took the opened bottle from me and poured herself a glass. We both sipped at our glasses and chatted idly awhile about our lives, what we’d done and where we were from. We refilled once or twice and continued to fill each other in on details of our lives.

I had noticed that, when she’d been away to fetch the second glass, she had shed the little jacket that all the Flight Attendants wore over the top of their uniform blouse. Looking down, I could see the faint line of her bra straps through the light material of her blouse and, as my eyes followed the line of the straps, also noticed the slightly distinctive lacy look of her bra cups underneath the blouse. After a few moments of savouring the beautiful view, I slowly moved my eyes back up to her face, to find her watching me intently.

She called me a really cheeky man again and asked whether I liked her breasts too. I started to open my mouth to spill out some further crap about them but she stopped me by putting her finger up against my lips to shoosh me and reached down to the top button of her blouse with the other hand. She undid the button, wriggled her shoulders a little to open up the blouse a little more and leaned forward toward me to replace her finger with her soft lips in a brief kiss. As I started to move to make the kiss a little more intense, she broke away and swivelled her body around to lay across me, leaning against my far shoulder.

I pulled her a little closer into the crook of my shoulder with the arm wrapped around her back, holding her comfortably in place. Looking down at her, I was able to have a great view of the twin swells of her breasts, the cleavage between them and the pure white soft lace cups of her bra. I was also able to notice that it fastened in front but stopped myself short of reaching to release the catch. Instead, I undid the next two buttons of her blouse, as I moved my mouth forward to kiss her on the lips again.

As we kissed, our mouths opening a little more, she hunched her shoulder up, freeing it from the confines of the blouse. I slid the blouse down her arm, which she drew completely out of the sleeve. I undid the remaining buttons of the blouse, pulled it from the waistband of her skirt and flipped it round behind her, giving myself full access to most of her bare upper body. I started stroking the exposed patches of bare skin gently, rubbing all over her upper body but initially avoiding those parts covered by the bra. She moved a little on me and was making a sort of purring sound in the back of her throat.

This spurred me to slide the bra strap off her shoulder and down her arm, which she again drew out of the garment. This relaxed the tight fit of the bra cup and exposed more of her left breast to view. I could see the pale skin changing to the rosy pink of her nipple, which I could see was also becoming quite hard and erect. I reached within the cup to pop that breast out of its confines and began to massage the nipple with my thumb. Almost instantly, it became noticeably more erect.

She made that purring sort of sound just a little louder and reached beneath my arm to the catch between the cups of her bra. She flipped it open, allowing the cups to drop away from her breasts, exposing them both to the air fully. The slight coolness of the airconditioned atmosphere of the cabin caused the nipples of both breasts to be instantly fully erect and hard like little stones at the end of the perfectly-sized appendages. I continued to massage them, making the aureolae area around them begin to rise as well.

She murmured that she had thought, and had hoped, that she might have been able to hold out a little longer than this. My response was just to kiss her again. She broke the kiss and whispered that she had hoped to make this a lot harder for me. Again, my response was to kiss her, until I broke the kiss to tell her that she had. She giggled and informed me that she knew, she could feel it, as she was lying across me with her side against my now growing cock.

She moved away a little to raise herself up on her knees as I turned a little on the seat to face her more front on. While she was up there, she took the opportunity to complete the removal of her blouse and bra, which gave me the chance to concentrate on her right breast a little isveçbahis yeni giriş more than had been possible with her laying across me as she had been. I was able to cup both breasts in my hands and massage the nipples even more.

Then, with my hands beneath her armpits, I hefted her up a little to place her tits within the reach of my mouth. I licked each of the nipples, then sucked them into my mouth, nibbling on them with my lips and swirling my tongue around them. They had become really hard and warm now and the quiet noise within her throat was becoming both a little more pronounced and a lot more ragged now.

She reached down and was unbuttoning my shirt, putting her little hands inside to squeeze, flick and tweak my nipples as well. She rocked back off my hands supporting her and pulled the shirt off my shoulders and partway down my arms. Rather than being somewhat twisted up in the shirt, I took it off completely, at which she launched herself forward again to the position she’d been in before and allowed me to resume the stimulatation of her breasts and nipples.

While I was thus pleasurably engaged, one of her hands left my upper body and reached down once more, this time rubbing across the front of my soft cotton Pakistani-style trousers and exploring the feel of my growing erection. She slid her hand back and forth along its length a few times and then massaged my balls in their soft skin sac, cupping them in her hand and squeezing very softly. When wearing that style of trousers, I rarely wear underwear and this occasion was no different. The touch of her hand almost right on the skin of my cock and balls was having the profound effect of bringing blood rushing into the organ from the rest of my body.

As she felt it grow even more, lengthening and thickening in her hand, she once again concentrated on the shaft, rubbing back and forth a little more urgently now. She murmured that she wanted to feel it in her hand itself and, without waiting for me to respond or do anything to assist her with that objective, she reached into the top of the waistband and tugged deftly at the drawer-string holding it closed tight. The knot released, freeing the waistband completely and she slid her hand straight down onto the object of her attention.

As she curled the fingers of her hand around the shaft, my cock leapt a little, delighting her, by the little peal of laughter that she gave when she felt it. She whispered that she thought he liked what she was doing and jacked up and down the shaft a few more times a little harder. I could feel it continuing to grow and, pleased by her enjoyment of my cock in her hand, decided that it was time that I gave her a little similar pleasure to what I was feeling between my legs.

Helen had now taken her full weight on her knees, perhaps sensing what I was about to do and knowing that I would not be able to provide the support to keep her up in the position that she was in. I removed one hand from her upper body and slid it down over her arse and hip outside her skirt. Going down past the hem, I stroked her nylon-clad calf and the back of her knee. As I commence to slowly slide my hand up and down on her thigh, moving a little higher with each upward stroke, further under her skirt, I realised that we were going to have a problem when I got to the top of her thighs.

I was assuming that her pantiehose were going to make access to her sweet secret female regions difficult. I was delighted to find, though, when I slid my hand near to the beginning swell of her bum at the top of her thigh, that I had encountered the soft but taut skin of her leg, unenclosed by nylon. Not pantiehose, then! At first, I thought she might have been wearing stockings and a garter belt but then determined that this was a thoroughly modern girl who was wearing self-supporting stockings. Encouraged, I slid the palm of my hand onto the cheek of her arse. The same soft but taut skin as on her thigh.

No knickers??? This was my first thought as a stroked the skin of her bum, until further exploration revealed a g-string (or maybe it was a t-string) which I traced down into the crack of her arse and as far as I could reach between her legs from that direction. I could feel the increasing heat from the centre of her femininity, as I stroked the silken material of her knickers between her legs. She gave a little sort of involuntary twitch as she felt my fingers close to the petals of her most private flower, the portal of the well from which springs all life.

By now, I could tell that she was starting to get keen to move events forward a bit, as she had temporarily let go of my rigid cock and straining balls, and had grasped the waistband of my trousers on either side of my hips, and was beginning to pull them down, to free my dick for whatever we may decide to do next. I helped by lifting the weight of my lower body off the seat so that the trousers could slide freely beneath my arse. Not needing any further invitation, Helen slid them right down to my knees, leaving them there to get a hand back onto my cock and point it straight up into the air. She then proceeded to rub up and down the shaft, curling her fingers and thumb around it and twisting them slightly back and forth, as she slid her hand up and down.

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