Free Sexy Book of Sexy Sex by Kristen Schaal

apple bottom. He wondered what kind of apple his love’s derriere most resembled and finally settled on Macoun. Firm yet juicy, and excellent in a salad. Rex felt his prick stiffen in his Jams, which he’d purchased for SandWhispers’ Sexy Eighties theme brunch. Of all the sex-meals they’d savored in the past week, it may have been Rex’s favorite. They never did find Stacee’s leg warmers.
    Stacee opened the overhead compartment and hoisted up her suitcase. Rex saw his chance. He sidled up behind his bride and pressed his taut manhood into her pillowy rump.
    “Rex!” Stacee scolded. “Put that thing away before you get Tasered by the air marshal!”
    “Let him try,” Rex cooed. ‘I’ve got him outgunned.”
    The lovebirds settled into their seats and Rex covered his Jams bulge with a SkyMall catalog. After seven days of submitting to their every carnal desire, the next four hours weren’t going to be easy. It added up to literally hundreds of miles of nonstop celibacy. As the stewardess went through the motions of the safety demonstration, Rex slid his hand under Stacee’s ample fanny.
    “Didn’t you get enough this week?” Stacee giggled. “Or should I have given you two blow jobs when we were parasailing?”
    “Sorry, baby, I can’t help myself. I saw you reaching up to adjust that little air nozzle and it made me think of what we did at SandWhispers’ Erotic Colonial Village.”
    “You mean with the bellows?” Stacee grinned. “The ones we ‘borrowed’ from the blacksmith?”
    “Yeah...” Rex could still feel the musty air tickling the tip of his erect penis, freshly drizzled with hot beeswax. Rex had read enough history to know SandWhispers had taken some license with their overtly sexual applications of colonial-era technology, but he wasn’t complaining.
    “I can’t wait to use that scrimshaw vibrator we bought at the gift shop,” Stacee said, nervously patting the outside pocket of her carry-on. “Do you think we’ll have any trouble getting it through customs?”
    “I doubt it. It’s not real whalebone.”
    Finally the plane lifted off the runway. The couple watched as their sexual playground faded into the distance like the last spots of butterscotch on Rex and Stacee’s body sundaes. Now the only topping on Rex’s skin was beads of blue-ball sweat. He wasn’t going to make it. Somehow, his blood-starved brain hatched a plan.
    “Hey Stacee, I’ve got an idea. We should go to the bathroom.”
    “Good idea. Before the beverage cart blocks the aisle.”
    “No,” Rex said, caressing her upper arm. “We should both go … together.”
    “You mean … join the Mile High Club?!” Stacee’s face flushed. “You can’t be serious.”
    “Serious as a fart attack,” Rex said, misremembering an expression he’d heard on TV. “I need you.”
    Stacee’s heart raced. Was she really thinking about doing it in an airplane bathroom? It would be her riskiest sexcapade to date, even more daring than the time she masturbated in the dressing rooms at Gap, Banana Republic, and Old Navy all in the same day. Still, the idea intrigued her. “What if someone knocks on the door when we’re in there?” she asked, remembering a close call at Abercrombie.
    Rex thought for a second. “I'll say you’re diabetic and I was giving you your shot. They need shots and shit, right?”
    “What if they ask to see the needle?”
    “Shit, you’re right.” Rex’s mind raced faster than the blood to his penis. “Ooh, I know! I could say I was holding your hair back while you puked.”
    “You’re a genius.” Stacee grabbed her husband by the back of the neck and kissed him hard.
    Without another word, Stacee got up and made her way to the bathroom. She stared straight ahead, avoiding eye contact with anyone for fear she’d already switched to her bedroom eyes. Stacee had nearly reached the restroom when a wobbly old Frenchman emerged. He held open the door and flashed an apologetic smile.