Upright and Locked
Released under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. Share, modify, and redistribute - as long as it's attributed and noncommercial, anything goes.
This is my first attempt at writing this kind of thing, and I love criticism, so hit me up. I don't do a lot of straight-up smut, but I wouldn't mind improving :3
"Upright and Locked," by Rob Baird.
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London. That was what it said on the ticket. And he was not afraid of flying, per se. Which was to say that it was not the airplane that bothered him, it was the destination that was causing the butterflies to turn, over and over again, in his stomach. London. The word seemed to describe an impossibly distant place, but now he was going and there was no turning back. The plane was starting to push back from the gate already. Jeff reached into the pocket of his jacket, feeling for the little capsule his doctor had prescribed him.
"You're the youngest person we've ever transferred like this," Mr. Field had said. He was the company president - a German shepherd like Jeff, but older, with a distinguished white starting to cloud his muzzle.
"I'm honored," Jeff had said. He had shaken Mr. Field's paw, and smiled. Then he had excused himself and nearly been sick.
He was honored, sure. He was honored, but he was also terrified. The London office of WMS was prestigious; It would make his career. So why was he being so damned paranoid? It was the self-doubt; that's what his therapist had said. He didn't believe he had earned his acclaim in Los Angeles, so he didn't think he'd be able to earn it in London, either.
He swallowed, and tried to focus on the safety presentation. He dutifully located his two nearest exits - one of which was immediately behind him; he had been given a ticket at the very rear of the plane. He mused on the possibility of a water landing. He decided not to take up smoking in the next twelve hours, and vowed that even if he did he would refrain from tampering with, disabling, or destroying the lavatory smoke detectors.
The flight attendant demonstrating the oxygen mask showed how, to cope with muzzles of different sizes, it clamped elastically around one's nose. She promised that oxygen would flow, but all Jeff could think was that it must feel remarkably like suffocating to have your air delivered in such a fashion. By the time the 747 clawed itself airborne, Jeff was focused on breathing. His tongue felt thick and unwieldy. He looked out the window, watching as California grew smaller and smaller beneath him.
"D'you want to move, hon?"
He turned quickly. One of the flight attendants had come up to his row, and was now watching him expectantly. "Oh - I'm sorry. Do you need me to?"
She smiled brightly, and shook her head. From the charcoal tips of her ears, Jeff thought she was probably a vixen, lithe and young and full of energy. Peppy. "Nope. I just thought you might want to, that's all. There's nobody for eight rows in front of you."
"Empty flight," he said quietly. "I'm fine here, thanks. Lots of room to spread out."
The stewardess grinned and moved off. Yes, peppy. Her tail wagged, the white tip waving like the flashlights the ground crew used to guide the planes. Well, she was a distraction, at least. The shepherd wondered, eyeing her, if that was part of the airlines' plan - give people eye candy, to keep them from getting unruly.
He watched her movements, the easy way her hips swayed, and the quick smile she favored all the passengers with. It was better, at least, than worrying about his impending failure. Or, if nothing else, it was more biological.
That carried with it some discomfort of its own. Imagining what the vixen looked like beneath her uniform - which was already flattering enough - was enjoyable, and it took his mind away from London. It also made him acutely aware of his general lack of privacy. Nobody had yet come back to the rear of the cabin to use the lavatory. He wondered if anyone would mind if he escaped there for a few minutes to relieve the tension. Then he wondered if the lavatories might be monitored. Well, discretion was the better part of valor.
It was an overnight flight, and the skies were already dark. Two hours into the flight, after dinner had been served, they dimmed the cabin lights, and in the darkness Jeff reconsidered his options. The stewardess was forward, caught in the light of a reading lamp. He could see the curves of her silhouette, and the way the fur of her tail rendered her outline fuzzy as the thick brush swayed - but professionally. Enough to give the impression of happiness; not enough to disturb anyone behind her.
With nobody else in the rear of the cabin, it was dark and quiet. The shepherd lowered his tray table and placed his computer on it, so as not to arouse suspicion. He started to unzip his pants - and realized that, in the process of getting his computer out, the stewardess had vanished. Jeff had a very clear vision of being discovered - publicly humiliated, no doubt. Perhaps they would even force the plane to land, and escort him off to the waiting police.
It was paranoia again. He knew that, intellectually at least, but it was too late; his arousal had ebbed in a rush of fear and doubt. Well, he reasoned, it hadn't been a great plan anyway. He opened a game of solitaire and tried to distract himself in the cards.
"So much for spreading out, huh?" When he turned, she was back, standing next to his row with that grin flashing again.
"It's mostly the dark, you know? There's always that one person reading or whatever who leaves their lights on. Sometimes you just want to sleep. It's a bit early yet, but... you know. Principle of the thing."
The stewardess nodded. "I'm not trying to move you. Or bother you - was just curious. I can leave you alone, sir."
Now Jeff was torn. He didn't want her to go, but he had nothing to discuss with her and, therefore, no reason for her to stay either. And if she did stay, it could only increase the likelihood that he would do something stupid. "I mean, I'm not doing anything..." he said, noncommittally.
It was, apparently, good enough for the vixen, who sat heavily in the aisle seat. "I didn't think so. You looked like you could use some company. My name's Amanda, by the way... you probably can't read the tag in this light." She reached out a paw.
"Jeff," he said in answer, shaking her hand, which was warm and soft.
"This your first flight, Jeff? No, it must not be. First long-distance flight?"
"Flown a lot of times for business," he said. "I'm moving, now, so... it's a bit of change."
"Moving permanently? You looking forward to it?" Her voice was bright and cheery; unlike the other flight attendants, it was also unaccented. She must've been an American.
And he was opening up to her, for reasons he couldn't even fathom. "No. I mean - yeah. It's a huge opportunity. But... no, also. I'm terrified. Moving to Los Angeles from San Bernardino was a big change for me, you know? So I'm a little nervous."
"It's a good city," she reassured him. "You'll like it there, I'm sure. What do you do, anyway?" Amanda leaned forward to prop her elbows on the armrest, resting her muzzle atop her black paws.
"I'm an artist," he said. "For an ad agency. I draw print advertising. It's not as exciting as it sounds, when I tell people I'm an artist." He was having to struggle to keep his eyes on hers, which were dark and lovely.
"Anything I would've seen?"
"The, uh... the ads for the new Kosava phone, maybe... I saw one in LAX, it's the phone against kind of a Keith Haring background of people, in colored pencil."
"Oh, I think I saw that! It looked really nice!" She beamed at him, and her look was so appealing that he had to smile back. "You're going to be doing more of that in London?"
London. There was that word again, huge and ominous. "Yeah. I mean... I know it'll be really cool, and I'll get to work with some great people, I'm just... nervous."
The vixen reached out her hand, and rubbed his shoulder affectionately. "Don't be. It'll be good. You'll meet new people, it'll be a lot of fun. And you're getting there for the holidays... do you have plans? You going to explore the city?"
"I wouldn't really have plans anyway," the shepherd admitted. "I don't get on well with my family, and my friends're all settling down, you know? Getting engaged and all that. Your late 20s is really... something."
She smiled, nodding slowly. Her head still rested on her paws, and her ears were perked in a fashion he found almost unbearably cute. "That kind of thing not for you?"
"At the agency I used to work seventy hour weeks. My girlfriend gave that up quickly... haven't had the time since. And I'm not... real good with people," he said, giving Amanda an apologetic smile. It was taking a lot of work to avoid stammering.
"Oh... I know that feeling." Her ears drooped. "My boyfriend left me two weeks ago for the same reason. I mean... I'm from Boston, right? We're from Boston, I mean. I used to fly that route. When I picked up this one, he... got tired of it, I guess."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Jeff said, and the vixen's ears slowly perked again. "I'm sure you'll find someone more understanding. You can't live your life for other people, right?"
"I know, I know." She straightened up, smoothing down the fur on her arms. "Just don't like being alone, after all this time. Around the New Year's, too, you know?" She sighed, and for a moment Jeff wanted achingly to hug her; to offer some reassurance. But there was no point in presuming. He remained still. A few minutes passed, and Amanda lifted up the armrest to slide into the middle seat, looking over him and out the window. "Is that Chicago?"
"It could be, I think. If that dark spot is the lake, then I think it could be Chicago."
The vixen leaned closer still, until her head was only inches from his shoulders. He could feel her breath as she talked. "I like to watch, sometimes. It's like having fireflies, sometimes, all the lights down there. Coming into a city at night, it's beautiful. Like something out of a space movie."
"Yeah. It's kind of cool, watching them go by."
Amanda leaned on him, and Jeff tensed. "You're so jumpy," she said quietly. "Why are you so jumpy?"
Trying to keep himself calm, the shepherd shrugged in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner. "Wasn't expecting it. You're very warm. And very..." He caught himself.
Now, though, she straightened up, twisting sideways in the chair to face him. "Very? Very what?"
Yes. Now he'd done it. Ruined everything. Perhaps they wouldn't land the plane for a simple compliment. "You're very, very gorgeous, that's all."
In the dark, it was hard to tell if she was blushing, but Amanda brushed the hair from her face and grinned at him, her paw seeking his out to hold it for a moment. "Why, thank you."
"'s true," he said. "Even without any lights here, I can tell."
He felt her movement before he saw it. She pressed closer, her arm pulling him to face her, and when he did so the shepherd felt his lips press to hers in an abrupt kiss. It was slightly awkward; they broke it quickly, and she tilted her muzzle when he pressed forward again so that their lips met deeply.
This time it lingered. The shepherd's paws found her back and, hesitantly at first, he explored her body. Even beneath the uniform he could feel her plush, soft fur. She was warm to the touch, inviting. As his muzzle pressed more firmly, the vixen parted her lips invitingly; then his tongue was caressing hers, teasingly.
Amanda's paw was now, he discovered, slipping firmly up his thighs to brush between his legs. There was no way to disguise his arousal, but he offered a breathless apology. She growled in answer, a low murmur that the vixen accentuated with a firm squeeze that did nothing to help.
Committed, Jeff trailed one of his paws around the vixen's shapely waist to the buttons of her dark blouse. They yielded easily, as did the shirt beneath, and then he found his paws running through the thick, soft pelt of her belly, up to her chest. She was wearing a bra; thin, silky fabric that did little to shield her from his probing fingers. There was a soft, encouraging moan - then the stewardess stopped, pulling back. "No, hold on... hold on."
"Mmf?" His utterance had never had a prayer of being a word. And her paw was still between his legs, resting on the stiff bulge there. The heat of her fingers teased him through his jeans, and he wanted her to keep going more than anything else in the world.
She nipped the shepherd's nose. It was more playful than painful; he wrinkled his muzzle. "I can't get undressed in the middle of a plane, Jeff."
"Oh." It was obvious enough that he barked, choking on the sudden laughter. "Yeah. Sorry."
"Don't be." She pulled up his armrest and slid over to the aisle seat, pulling him to the middle of the row. When he tilted his head, curiously, she simply grinned. The vixen reached beneath her skirt and twisted a little - she had a lithe, flexible body; it was wonderful simply to watch her silhouette as it moved.
He felt something wet on his nose. Soft fabric. He sniffed, and caught the subtle, musky scent of the vixen on it. He reached up to remove her panties from his nose, and she grinned at him, locking her eyes on his. The shepherd watched, and remained watching as her paws pulled open his pants, simply feeling her fingers as they dexterously pulled the zipper down and guided his boxers over and away from him.
Amanda kissed him, impishly. Then the vixen swung her leg over him, hiking her skirt up to sit down in his lap. He felt dampness as she straddled him, a slick heat that teased him as her thighs settled against his own. She shifted around expertly, until the tip of the shepherd's length caught between her lower lips.
Jeff knew there was still one final moment to protest, one chance for self-doubt. He let it go by, and the vixen lowered herself slowly onto him. She was wet, and warm, and the shepherd had to stifle a groan as he felt himself sliding deeply into the woman. When she could go no further, she opened her eyes again. Her breath was shaky. "Keep an eye out, okay?"
He nodded, and looked over her shoulder. Everything was still. There was no movement in the cabin; nothing moved at all, until Amanda began to lift her hips up. He draw a sharp breath, and when she pressed herself down again and he felt himself surrounded once more in the tight, silky heat of her folds he let out a muffled groan that fetched a warning nip from the vixen.
With her paws anchoring her at his shoulders, Amanda began to move her hips in quick, steady rhythm, rocking herself in the shepherd's lap with a firm intensity that pumped his shaft steadily inside her. She was starting to squeeze at him, her breath coming in shallow pants. It took effort to hold back; he could already feel his knot beginning to swell.
Judging by the way her hips ground against his, with a lewd, wet noise, so could she. Amanda rested her muzzle on his shoulder, leaning her chest heavily against his as her body worked insistently over him. Her deep grinding was becoming more urgent. He heard her gasp, each time his knot slipped past her lips, meeting more resistance each time. He found one black-tipped ear, whispering a sharp warning. "If you keep going, I'm going to tie with you."
"'s the idea..." she murmured into his shoulder. Her rhythm had lost any fluidity; she moved haltingly, and her ears flicked back with the intensity of some deep, primal emotion at the firmest point of every grind. He lifted his hips to help her, bringing an appreciative, gasping sigh - then he found that he could not withdraw. Amanda's claws gripped hard at his shoulder. She knew.
For the final act, short as it was, he took over. He bucked his hips up, grinding into her body. He was close, his breath short and ragged. As his tip probed at her soft folds and her walls squeezed encouragingly around the base of his knot, he gave in. He grunted deeply; a low, feral sound, that carried only as far as her ear. His paws found her hips, pulling the vixen down by her shapely rear, immobilizing her as his shaft jerked, the shepherd pumping her eagerly with the sticky warmth of his release.
He felt Amanda stiffen up as he reached orgasm within her. The vixen's breath left her in a sigh of released tension, and her tail lashed against his knees. Her breath hitched in little gasps with each pulse, and then her claws took his shoulders deeply, and he felt her squeeze tightly around him. The spasm eased for only half a second before it resurged, over and over, and he felt a rush of warmth spill over his trapped shaft.
It was a few minutes before he could think clearly again; he let her hips go and simply gave her a hug. Her claws were still sunk in his shoulders; he wondered, briefly, if his sweater would even be salvageable. She relaxed her hold, and leaned back to give his nose a kiss. "Did anybody notice?"
"I don't think so." The paranoia had gone.
"Good." She straightened up again, turning in his lap to settle in comfortably. "Because we are not going anywhere."
"Upright and locked," he said.
She turned to him again, her eyes narrowing quizzically. When she got the joke her face brightened, those dark ears perking up in her devilishly charming fashion. Then she giggled, and the vixen shook her head. "You don't write the taglines for the ads too, do you?"
"No." He laughed with her, caught up in the ebbing afterglow. He felt light and at ease.
"Tell 'em I said you should."
He kissed her impulsively, and she returned it, before settling into a heavy snuggle against his body. It was half an hour before he could withdraw, and they spoke little. She escorted him back to the galley for some towels, and an hour later, as the plane turned over the Atlantic, they were presentable again.
She gave him a wink when she rolled the breakfast cart through, and lingered awhile, preparing his tray. Then she was gone, with her wonderful laugh. He was in good spirits, too, grinning back at her departing form. The plane descended swiftly, and he watched out the window while the ground swelled up, until it met him with a thump and the sharp deceleration of an ending journey.
He thought that he might not see her again, and so he waited until the plane was almost empty to fetch his overhead suitcase and move forward. She was standing there, and as he passed she gave a smile and a professional nod. And, with her paw pressed to his, a folded piece of paper.
In the terminal, he unfolded it. It was short, and he held it upside down for a moment before correcting his error. At first it looked like a code. Then it hit him. It was a name, a phone number, and an address. The name he knew, even if it had been too dark to read her uniform. The number he could commit to memory. But it was the city in the address that caught his eye - the city whose name made him whistle as he strolled towards the baggage claim; the city he now called home:
London.