Most passengers had their high-end Bluetooth headphones on, watching their chosen content on the entertainment screens, every single one of them with an obvious erection they weren’t trying to hide.

Then the lights flickered. Every screen went dark.

A collective groan. Neha’s heart kicked up a beat. She kept her expression steady and went to the cockpit.

“Entertainment system just died,” Jammy said, rubbing his temple.

“Nippy. We need a backup plan. These passengers aren’t paying coach prices. They want luxury and they want excitement. We need to give them something.”

Neha’s mind was already there. She felt the pulse of it — the cabin, the audience, all those attentive eyes.

“Can we run music through the PA?” she asked.

“Should be possible,” Jammy said. “What are you thinking?”

She pulled her iPod from her purse. “Maybe I could put on a live show. Dance for the passengers while you work on the system.” She handed it to Jammy. “‘Bedroom Beats’ playlist. Can you cue it up?”

“Sure thing,” Jammy said, perking up considerably.

“Wish me luck.”

“Give them a show to remember, Nippy.”

* * *

She danced. Fluid, sensual, unhurried — hips swaying, hands traveling through her hair and down her body, all legs and suggestion. She owned the aisle the way she owned any room she decided was hers.

The cabin came alive. Clapping, catcalls, a ripple of energy moving through the seats. She twirled, hair flying. Bent at the waist, held it — giving the back rows something to appreciate — and heard the collective intake of breath.

“Strip dance,” Hardik Shah called from 1A. Not a request. A statement. His eyes hadn’t moved from her once.

She stepped directly in front of him and began unbuttoning her blouse to the beat. Slowly. One button, then another. When she freed her breasts — inches from his face — the catcalls moved through the whole cabin like a wave.

“Mr. Shah,” she said, running one finger along the tent in his trousers, “you do have a hard Dick.” She held his eyes as she said it. Let the name land.

She stepped back before he could reach for her. Not yet. She moved down the aisle again, swaying, her breasts moving freely, working the room — before turning around, bending at the waist, and starting to twerk. She unhooked her skirt. Inch by inch, drew it down, revealing the red thong, the curve of her ass. Turned to face them. Let them see. The intake of breath was almost one sound.

“Shed the panties,” someone said from the back.

Neha grinned. This was the part she liked — the moment she held all of it in her hands. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband and slid the thong down, stepped out of it with a little kick, and tossed it at the man who’d asked. He caught it, looked at the damp spot, and brought it to his lips without taking his eyes off her.

She was fully naked now, the cabin air warm against her skin. She turned slowly for all of them, knowing exactly what they were seeing.

Hardik Shah had his cock out and was stroking it openly, mouth slack. “Fuck, Nippy. I want to see that pussy properly fucked.”

“Let me see what I can do about that,” she said, standing on unsteady legs.

She made her way to the cockpit — still naked, still glowing.

“Any luck with the system?”

“Working on it,” Dicky said without looking up. Then he looked up. Took her in — all of her. His expression shifted. “Jesus, Nippy.”

“I danced for them. Stripped. Masturbated till I came. Now they want more. If you don’t get that system fixed, I’m fucked.”

“Jammy,” Dicky said. “Go.”

Continue the story in Airotica Airlines.

All images are AI generated and do not depict any real person.