As my dick slowly wilted in her warm softness, we looked at each other and smiled. “We haven’t even been properly introduced,” I chuckled. She flashed me a dazzling smile, her hands still gripping my ass.
“I know your name from the manifest—it’s Dave Connor. Mine is Sharon. Sharon Kelly.”
“Pleased to meet you, Sharon,” I said. “I am definitely giving this airline the highest possible review on Trip Advisor.”
She laughed as we pulled apart, my cock leaving her tight pussy with a slight pop. “They don’t call them the friendly skies for nothing. “
We reassembled our clothing and made ourselves presentable. I was just about to make some inane comment when all hell broke loose in the cabin.
My first thought was, This is definitely the most exciting trip I have ever taken, and I haven’t even gotten off the plane yet…
My second was, Something is seriously wrong here!
Sharon and I peered through the curtain to see several of the Middle Easterners standing in the aisles, one of them waving what seemed to be a white gun. I had heard of plastic guns made by 3-D printers, that could avoid TSA scrutiny, and wondered if that was one of them. One of the men had the blond stewardess in a death grip, with what appeared to be a ceramic knife held to her neck. He was barking orders to the air marshal, ordering him to drop his gun or he would kill the girl.
The plane was dropping like a stone, and my stomach flipped as we free fell for a couple of thousand feet. The marshal finally complied, and as he placed his gun on the floor of the plane, the hijacker sprang on him and plunged the knife into his neck. The poor bastard dropped to the ground, bleeding out in seconds. The stewardess fell to her knees in the aisle, sobbing. Passengers were screaming and one woman was vomiting in fear. Several other attackers held hostages, and I heard banging and screaming from the front of the plane as they attempted to force the cockpit door.
One of the hostages was a burly man, and was probably a poor choice for a spindly terrorist with a knife to take on. The attacker glanced at the dead marshal, and the passenger took advantage of the distraction and ducked under the knife, grabbing the assailant’s arm. A brief struggle ensued, and he quickly disarmed and stabbed the hijacker, dropping him to the floor. Several other men seemed to take heart in this, and jumped up from their seats, rushing the terrorists. I saw at least 2 go down fighting, but others
had more luck, subduing the knife-wielding assholes and disarming them.
The plane was more steady now, but below the cloud cover. I caught a glimpse of the vast Indian Ocean below us as I crept unobserved out of the galley and hid behind the service cart a few rows up the aisle. I motioned Sharon to stay behind me as I peered out from behind the cart. One of the Arabic women in a burka was two rows up, and appeared to be pulling something out of the carry-on bag they had brought aboard in Johannesburg.
At this point several members of the passenger resistance movement rushed the gunman in the center of the plane. I had to admire their courage, but they didn’t stand a chance. He began firing at them, dropping 4 men cleanly, until his next shot missed and shattered one of the windows. A hurricane of wind began roaring through the plane as the cabin depressurized. The pilot must have realized the problem, for again the plane fell out of the sky in a sustained free-fall as he brought our altitude down to a level at which we wouldn’t all suffocate. The gunman was howling in rage, hurling his now empty gun at one of the surviving heroes, and passengers all over the plane were screaming. Under cover of the deafening chaos, I began pushing the cart up the aisle ahead of me.
I could see the burka-clad female terrorist pulling another of the plastic guns out of a bag in front of her, obviously intending to resupply the ringleader. I quickly shoved the cart forward until I was next to her, and grabbed the gun in her outstretched arm before she could do so. She screeched and began clawing at my face with one hand, and fought like a tigress to prevent me getting control of the weapon. Suddenly bullets began erupting from the gun as she squeezed the trigger reflexively.
By the purest of chances, the first bullet plugged her boss right in the forehead. As my weight dragged her arm downward, several shots penetrated the emergency exit door, entering the wing, and others punctured the floor. By the time she had emptied the weapon, ominous grinding noises were emanating from beneath us, and smoke was erupting from the port engine.
The plane shuddered and descended rapidly toward the ocean below us. I caught a glimpse of a beautiful tropical sunset out one of the windows before the terrorist bitch I had hold of head-butted me in the face. I let go of her arm in pain, but before she could do any more damage, Sharon clocked her in the head with a metal coffee pot from the galley.
It became apparent that our plane was not long for the air, and would be ditching in the dark waters below. Sure enough, the pilot came on the PA system, saying we were making an emergency water landing. He urged everyone to assume crash positions. Sharon pulled me back to the galley, where there were 2 jump seats. She got herself strapped in in an instant, but I was having trouble figuring out the unfamiliar mechanism. Just as I found the lock, we struck the water.
I launched out of the seat, slamming painfully into the bulkhead. I had a brief impression of screams, bouncing, and flashing lights and then everything went black.
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