Night Flight

O.G. Johnson settles back into his seat, his cock still throbbing from the earlier tease. Flight attendant Melchor drops to his knees without a word, eyes locked on that thick shaft. He leans in, lips parting wide, and takes as much as he can—stretching his mouth around the girth, tongue swirling greedily along the underside. Saliva slicks the length he can't quite swallow, his throat working hungrily. Buster, lounging in the row ahead, catches the show and grins. 'Up here,' he murmurs, voice low and inviting. They rise, bodies brushing close in the dim cabin light, and slide into his space. What starts as a stolen blowjob blooms into a fevered three-way: hands roam freely, mouths claim skin, cocks grinding together in a slick, urgent rhythm that turns the aisle into their private inferno.