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Taylor's Southern Soirée Ch. 01

A shiny stretch limo pulled into the large hangar at a private Los Angeles airstrip. A door opened and a succession of designer stiletto heels and expensive high-top sneakers planted themselves one by one on the smooth tarmac as Taylor Swift and her A-list chums exited the long black vehicle. Miss Swift’s luxurious private jet sat juiced up and ready to go on the vast open runway.

The pilot and co-pilot were stood atop the pristine white stairwell as they prepared to greet their morning passengers. The pilot was in his early 40’s, his co-pilot about five years younger. They wore neatly pressed navy blue suits with matching peaked hats, and were incredibly handsome; both men sporting the piercing eyes, pearly white teeth, immaculately trimmed stubble and chiseled jawlines of a pair of Calvin Klein models.

Taylor Swift and her friends crossed the lengthy runway toward the private plane, wheeling behind them large Louis Vuitton and Dolce and Gabbana suit cases as they went. Taylor marched out in front; the popstar dressed to kill in a set of denim short shorts, a cropped white vest top and a spindly set of Gucci stilettos. The outfit was nearly indecently skimpy; the frayed hems of her jean shorts struggling to cover the beach bronzed spheres of her peachy round butt, while her stiff pink nipples threatened to burst clean through the thin white fabric of her tight-fitting vest top.

Her golden hair bounced majestically as she walked; the thick, shiny locks washed and re-washed with all kinds of expensive shampoos and conditioners before being styled meticulously with the singers impressive arsenal of hairdryers, flatirons and curling tongs. What’s more, the fair-haired songstress was dolled to the nines; her pretty face heavily made up with nothing but the finest beauty products on the market. All manner of costly powders, foundations and eye shadows had been dabbed across her freshly cleansed skin. Shiny pink gloss gave her full, puckered lips an alluring shine, while dark mascara teased out her carefully curled eyelashes to a length that Jessica Rabbit would be proud of.

Following behind Taylor were her gang of celebrity pals; Selena Gomez, Hailee Steinfeld, Miley Cyrus, Elle Fanning and Chloe Moretz- each more heavily dolled up and scantily clad than the last. In fact, the girls seemed to be in direct competition as to who could showcase the most skin; the private airstrip a rolling plain of snug-fitting tops, belt-thin micro mini-skirts, sunkissed flesh, toned arms and ab-lined midsections. Not to mention bright blue eyes, shiny white teeth, bee-swollen lips, bleach blonde hair dye, jet black mascara, glistening pink lip gloss, designer sunglasses and expensive jewelry.

“Good morning, ladies,” said the pilot, smiling warmly at Taylor and her friends as they neared the luxury jet.

“Hi, boys,” Taylor grinned back coquettishly as she started up the gleaming white stairwell. “Lovely day for a fly, wouldn’t you say?” she added, slurping suggestively from her iced Irish coffee.

“Absolutely, Miss Swift,” replied the co-pilot, gulping loudly as Taylor brushed his handsome face with a neatly manicured hand, flashing him a cheeky wink as she passed.

Taylor’s friends followed up behind her, each greeting the two lucky men in a similarly flirtatious manner; stroking their faces or running a hand down their muscular torsos. Some even turned around and rubbed their barely-covered ass cheeks teasingly against the crotches of their skinny-fit suit pants; the resulting rush of blood to the loins leaving neither man fit to pilot a tandem bicycle, much less an aircraft. Nevertheless, the flight went ahead as scheduled and the girls funnelled into the private jet, taking to their seats as the pilot prepared for take off.

The plane gave new meaning to the word luxury. The interior decor was so opulent and grand it would’ve put most American homes to shame and there wasn’t a cheap plastic or coarse fabric anywhere to be seen. The tables were crafted from exquisite English oak and glazed with the finest lacquers known to man. The chairs were made from plush cream leather, adorned with scatter cushions hand sewn from the smoothest Chinese silk, and had enough leg room to seat an NBA center.

As the jet took to the air, the ladies finished the last of their alcoholic coffees and waited patiently for the next course. Next on the liquid menu, it turned out, were Bloody Marys and no sooner had the private plane levelled out in the cloudy sky, were the strong red drinks served up by a pair of pretty air hostesses; both dressed in precious little, at Taylor’s behest.

But alcohol and scantily clad stewardesses weren’t the only benefits of travelling on a private jet. As a matter of fact, the advantages of flying private over commercial (even the first class to which the ladies were accustomed) were inumerable. No waiting in line to check in, no irritating kids pestering them for autographs and, most importantly, no airport security. As the girls knew all too well, LAX was stocked to the brim with overweight security guards; each one more than willing to risk a sacking and sexual assault charge in order to give the A-list beauties a thorough and vastly inappropriate pat down at the gates. And by flying privately, they were bypassing the lot of them.

But, most of all, it meant drugs. Lots and lots of drugs, and the girls had barely left California airspace before they were handing big blue bongs and tightly-rolled joints back and forth like Christmas gifts; hotboxing the plane’s interior like a high school senior’s Ford Focus. And it didn’t stop there. In fact, that was just the beginning. Before long, the ladies were popping Molly, Oxy, and a host of other colourful pills like they were Skittles; swallowing them down with mouthfuls of JD and Coke and swigs from tall mojitos. Not to mention passing around a Matterhorn of cocaine and hoovering up lines like state of the art vacuum cleaners.

After 30 solid minutes of large scale narcotics consumption, the girls had worked up considerable appetites and, as the jet soared over New Mexico, lunch was served. However, the in-flight meal bore little resemblance to the average airline fare, and there wasn’t a dry ham sandwich, tiny bag of peanuts of vodka miniature in sight. No- the ladies were dining on nothing but the best. Freshly caught lobster, sauteed portobello mushrooms, roasted eggplant and goat cheese stuffed tomatoes were just some of the highlights of their luxurious gourmet meal. Followed by a freshly baked Tiramisu worthy of a Michelin-starred Roman eatery and all washed down with bottles of vintage champagne.

And still the liquor continued to flow. Next up was the wine course and the air hostesses brought out six glass tumblers accompanied by a selection of the finest Chiantis and Pinot Grigios west of Tuscany. The ladies sipped the fine wine, passing around joints as they chatted amongst themselves. They discussed a wide range of different topics; music, movies, hair, grooming, makeup, clothes, dieting, working out, food, drink, drugs, friends, sex. Mostly sex, and after numerous bottles and countless marijuana cigarettes, somebody suggested a game of Truth or Dare. The girls nursed glasses filled near to the brim with expensive Italian wine, passing around a mountain of cocaine atop a small mirror as the game got underway.

“Right, Selena,” began Taylor Swift, taking a swig of her vintage Chianti, “truth or dare?”

“Hmm,” pondered Selena Gomez, racking up portions of coke with her platinum credit card, “truth.”

“OK,” said the blonde. “What’s the most cocks you’ve sucked in one day?”

“Ermmm,” thought the Latina, pausing to snort a line through a rolled up $50, “not sure. How many guys were at your last party?” she asked.

“15,” Taylor replied.

“OK, then that many,” Selena declared, rubbing her cute little nose as several lines of Ecuador’s finest shot to her brain.

“Wow, 15!” exclaimed Hailee Steinfeld. “Selena, you little slut!”

The girls laughed.

“Oh, come on, bitch,” Selena replied, handing the mound of coke onto her brunette friend, “it’s not like you didn’t suck them too!”

More laughter.

“Your turn to ask someone, Selena,” Taylor prompted.

“OK, Hailee,” Selena began. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

Selena grineed. “How far can you squirt?”

Hailee blushed, taking a sip of her wine. “My record is ten feet.”

The ladies whooped and applauded.

“Damn, girl!” Taylor declared. “You should be in The Guiness Book of Records with a trajectory like that!”

The girls laughed raucously, cooing and awwing at their friend’s impressive revelation. Then it was Hailee’s turn to ask.

“Chloe,” she said, “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” replied Chloe Moretz.

“What’s the most cocks you’ve handled at once?” Hailee asked.

“Five,” smirked the blonde. “One in my mouth, one in my pussy, one in my ass,” she recalled, pointing helpfully at each of her orifices as she explained, “and one in each hand,” she added, mimicking the vigorous jerking of two imaginary penises. More cheers and applause.

“Yeah, I saw that,” Taylor chimed in. “It was pretty hot!”

And so the game continued. A stewardess brought out a bottle of ouzo and the girls took shots between glasses of wine, passing around weed and cocaine like Miami drug barons as they asked one another a whole host of sex-related questions. How many times a day do you masturbate? What’s the longest cock you’ve deepthroated? How many dildos do you own? How many times can you squirt in ten minutes?

Before long, Miley Cyrus grew tired of the X-rated mass interview and when Elle Fanning posed her the question ‘truth or dare’, the blonde singer replied ‘dare’. The ladies cheered. They’d been waiting the better part of half an hour for someone to take on a dare, and Elle thought long and hard about what that challenge was going to be.

“I dare you,” she began, pausing to down a shot of ouzo, “to suck the co-pilot’s dick!”

*

Taylor Swift’s private jet flew over eastern Texas at an altitude of 35,000 feet; the luxury aircraft soaring through the clouds at a rate of 500 knots. Inside, Taylor and her celebrity pals manned the plush leather seating; grazing a buffet of seafood hors d’oeuvres and passing around joints as they nursed freshly mixed Pornstar Martinis and Tequila Manhattans.

Ryan, the plane’s co-pilot, was stood before Miley Cyrus; the older man’s deep brown eyes nearly bulging clean out of their sockets as he looked down at the randy popstar, her soft, dainty hands pawing at the crotch of his suit pants. Miley was kitted out in a scanty hip hop-style outfit; the southern songstress looking as though she’d just stepped off the set of one of her music videos.

She wore a figure-hugging Chicago Bulls jersey; the tight-fitting top cropped just below the chest, showcasing her beach tanned midriff in all its flat, ab-lined glory. On her bottom half she wore a denim mini-skirt; the scanty garment barely extending past the round, shapely orbs of her sunkissed apple bottom, her long, smoothly waxed legs travelling all the way down to a pair of expensive looking red and black Nike hightops.

A matching Bulls snapback was pulled backward over her exquisitely styled, carefully slicked back, bottle blonde hairdo, while all manner of golden trinkets graced every extremity and appendage of her hot young body. Shiny 24-carat rings adorned her lengthy nailed fingers. Diamond necklaces, thick bracelets, designer bangles and gold plated watches hung around her neck and ringed her dainty wrists, while all kinds of golden studs, hoops and barbels gleamed in her navel and tongue, and dangled from her earlobes.

Ryan could scarcely believe the sheer amount of flesh on display. He’d seen strippers who’d shown less skin, and as his eyes feasted on every stretch of silky smooth, beach bronzed flesh, he felt his dick grow and swell in his pants; the lengthy member testing the sheer fabric to its limits. And his crotchal growth didn’t go unnoticed for long. Miley’s vibrant red lips formed a perfect O-shape of wonderment as she spotted the thick lump forming in his pants; the blonde beauty stroking the outline of his cock through the thin material.

“Wow!” she exclaimed. “Taylor, your co-pilot’s got a big dick!”

“Yeah, no duh, bitch,” Taylor replied, taking a swig of her martini. “Why do you think I hired him?”

The girls laughed. It was true that Ryan’s size had ultimately landed him the job of Taylor’s trusted co-pilot; the fair-haired songstress valuing endowment over little things like experience and certification throughout the hiring process. Miley unbuckled Ryan’s belt and was unzipping his fly when suddenly she paused; looking up at the older man as she addressed him in her trademark husky voice.

“It’s OK for you to be back here, right?” she asked. “The plane’s not gonna, like, crash or anything?”

“N-no, I think we’ll be alright, Miss Cyrus,” he replied.

Ryan trusted the abilities of his colleague and knew he was perfectly capable of manning the aircraft solo. But even if he hadn’t been, the trembling co-pilot was in no position to drag himself away from the pretty young popstar. In fact, the jet could have been in a 600 mph nosedive, headed straight for downtown Dallas and he still would’ve struggled to prize himself from the draw of her plump, inviting lips and hot, athletic body.

“OK,” Miley smirked, quickly picking up from where she left off.

She unzipped Ryan’s fly and whipped down his pants and boxer briefs in one swift motion; his cock springing out like a Jack-in-the-box as both garments pooled around his freshly polished brogues.

“Oh my,” Miley cooed at first sight of the co-pilot’s dick.

It was simply huge; eight inches long with girth to match. A big set of balls hung at the base; the giant pair already bulging and inflating with a copious load of thick, creamy spunk brewing inside. A complex network of veins and capillaries run up and down the length of his shaft; criss crossing along the way like train tracks, while the head was swollen up the size of a ping pong ball; a rock pool of diluted precum glistening in the wide open tip. Miley licked her lips in anticipation of the thick, girthy wand; reaching up and gripping it at the base as she gazed up longingly at the handsome stud looming above her.

“Now this is what I call a dare,” she grinned, shooting out her slick red tongue to lap at the seeping tip.

“Oh, Jesus,” Ryan sighed, the mere tip of the singer’s skilled, wet tongue enough to send shivers up his spine as it flicked at his dripping slit.

“Mmm,” Miley groaned, the randy blonde delighting in the taste of the older man’s prespunk as it oozed from his dickslit and across her tongue like sap from a conifer.

She stroked the shaft, wrapping her lips around the swollen pink head and guiding them back and forth, feeling his crown twitch and throb as she did so. Miley bobbed her pretty head; her thick, pouty lips venturing past his helmet and down to the top of his shaft, a soft, velvety hand travelling up and down his dick, while the other reached down to fondle his balls.

Ryan stood still like a statue; rooted to the spot as the horny songstress worked him over like a seasoned pro. Her lips roamed up and down his shaft as she blew him; her drooling mouth generating more suction than a top of the range Dyson. He moaned and groaned; the hunky co-pilot cooing like a wounded animal as he was sucked nigh on into a coma by the skilled young blonde.

By this stage, Miley was taking nearly all eight of Ryan’s fat, girthy inches between her lips. A hand kneaded and caressed his oversized balls, while the other rested on his thigh; her long red nails digging into the muscular appendages as she worked him over with her mouth. Ryan was in seventh heaven. He could hardly comprehend the sheer wealth of tricks Miley’s talented mouth was capable of, and as she sucked down inch after inch of his big, lengthy prick.

Indeed, the naughty popstar reeled of every technique in the blowjob handbook over the duration of her world class suckjob; performing each and every one with the skill and expertise of an experienced pornstar. She lapped at the veiny underside of his dick, encircled his bulging head with her tongue and lapped at his open prickslit; coaxing yet more watery precum out from the urethra.

Miley’s girlfriends watched on from the sidelines snorting up lines of coke and knocking back pills with shots of black sambuca; whooping and hollering encouragement like fans at a sports game. By now, Miley had her hands on Ryan’s hips, her mouth travelling up and down the length of his shaft at an impressive rate of knots; her pretty head little more than a blur of red, black and bottle blonde as she bobbed and dipped on his big, chubby cock.

All manner of sucking and slurping, choking and gagging noises escaped her busy mouth; the lusty singer going at Ryan’s dong like a woman possessed. Her lips went up and down his dick like a glass elevator; the thick red pair edging ever nearer to the hilt with every pass she took until, finally, it disappeared. Miley’s plump, bee-stung lips wrapped snugly around the base of his dick; the red closure of her Chicago Bulls hat pressing against his abs, while her cute little nose nestled amongst his neatly trimmed bush of pubes.

“Oh, shit,” Ryan groaned, all eight of his thick, girthy inches lodged firmly between Miley’s lips; the horny young blonde drooling and slobbering over his dick like a wild dog as she held it in her mouth.

Finally, and with much reluctance on her part, Miley came up for air; retrieving the fat, lengthy penis from the recesses of her throat and spitting a thick jet of saliva across the already spit-slathered shaft. But she wasn’t done yet, not by a long shot, and the randy popstar angled Ryan’s dick upwards; jerking the oversized dong wildly, as she dipped down to get at his balls.

Miley fed one of his nuts into her mouth; sucking on the large, cum-filled orb like a flesh gobstopper, glazing it in slick, wet spittle before moving onto the next. Then, she returned to the cock; the blonde beauty licking up the veiny underside, kneading the spit-slicked head with a dextrous hand as she went. She fed the dick back between her lips; feeling the lengthy member twitch in her mouth and hands as she stroked and sucked him in equal measure.

Ryan tilted his head back; the co-pilot’s usually handsome face contorting in all manner of unsightly ways as he fought to retain the gooey spunkwad brewing and churning in his oversized balls. Indeed, the older man had been clinging onto his load for dear life amid a vicious assault from Miley’s skilled young mouth, and as the horny singer jerked his spit-shined shaft and sucked at the head like a child with a popsicle, he knew it was only a matter of moments before blew his beans.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum!” Ryan cooed in warning, his voice strained and breathy like he’d just run a marathon.

The words were music to Miley’s ears and she released the cock from the vice-like grip of her smooth, lotioned hands; parting her lips as she looked up at him, in wait of his creamy load.

“Mmm, yeah! Come on, big boy,” she purred with excitement, “gimme that cum!”

Ryan jerked himself off; the rugged co-pilot violently beating his throbbing meat as he looked down at the popslut beneath him; licking her pouty red lips in anticipation of his load. Miley reached up to fondle his balls; feeling the thick, gloopy spermwad brewing in his balls as he stroked his pulsing dong. She tongued at his dickhole; greedily lapping up the stream of prespunk as it flowed from the open tip like the Missouri River.

“Oh, fuck!” Ryan groaned; the older man trembling from head to toe, his dick throbbing in his hands like an athlete’s ticker as he prepared to shoot his goo. “Here it comes!”
Miley barely had time to brace herself as a thick torrent of spunk shot out from the hole in his dick; the big, sloppy load splattering across her open mouth and up her cheek like off-white wall paint.

“Oh, wow!” she exclaimed, unprepared from the sheer ferocity of the co-pilot’s ejaculate and she savoured the rich flavour on her skilled red tongue before swallowing it down.

Then, Miley used a finger to scoop up the trail of cum from her chin and cheek; feeding the lengthy nailed digit between her lips and sucking it clean.

“Mmm,” she murmured, grinning up at Ryan as she enjoyed the taste of his seed, “yummy!”

The ladies cheered and whistled from the surrounding seats; heaping praised upon their accomplished friend as she clean the gooey jism from her fingers. Ryan stood before her; carefully palming his tingling cock; the handsome older man still overcome from the intensity of the first class BJ.

“Wow, well done, Miley,” gushed Taylor Swift, as she took a shot of sambuca. “You made that dick go off like a rocket!”

The girls laughed.

“Thanks, girls,” Miley grinned. “That was fun! Now,” she added, as Taylor passed her a freshly rolled joint, “where were we? Oh yeah! Chloe, truth or dare?”

Chloe Moretz took a shot of sambuca before responding. “Dare.”

“OK. I dare you,” began Miley Cyrus, taking a hit on a long, thick joint and blowing a dense cloud of smoke into the air, “to make out with one of the flight attendants.”

Loud hoots and cheers went up from the surrounding women. Chloe blushed; pouring another shot to compose herself.

“Which one?” she asked.

“Take your pick,” Miley grinned, popping a yellow pill into her mouth.

The stewardesses, mixing cocktails at the bar, turned toward the young actress expectantly as they awaited her decision. Chloe looked the two girls up and down. They were nothing short of stunning, straight tens by anyone’s assessment; both women boasting looks so elegant and flawless they could give most catwalk models a run for their money. One was blonde, the other brunette; their shiny, neatly styled hair pinned up underneath matching light blue hats.

Their uniforms, such as they were, left precious nothing to the imagination; the pretty flight attendants showcasing just as much beach bronzed flesh and alluring curvature as their passengers. They wore form fitting sky blue blazers, unbuttoned past the chest; offering tantalizing glimpses of their delightfully full cleavages, and matching skirts; the garments cropped so high that they barely extended south of the crotch and so tight that they clung to their juicy round butts like needy children.

“Hmm, I pick...” Chloe pondered, “both.”

A deafening, high pitched whoop sounded out across the luxury jet. Chloe eyed the two women hungrily, beckoning them over with her manicured index fingers and a playful bite of her lower lip that no hot-blooded human, male or female, could possibly resist. The girls approached, cocktails in hand; smiling back at the fair-haired starlet as they went.

“Miss Moretz,” they said in unison; offering Chloe the two freshly mixed drinks; a Manhattan and a Margarita.

“Why thank you, ladies,” she grinned, downing the drinks one by one, then patting her beach tanned thighs; gesturing for the two women to sit.

The girls took a seat on Chloe’s thighs like they were giving her a lapdance, each throwing an arm over her fitness model shoulder blades as they did so.

“Hmm, who first?” Chloe mused, looking back from blonde to brunette like she was picking ice cream flavours. “You,” she decided, turning to the blonde and puckering her glossy pink lips invitingly as she leaned in for a kiss.

The girls locked lips passionately, Chloe running a hand down the flight attendant’s smooth, sculpted back as they made out; exchanging tongues like birthday presents. Then, Chloe turned to the brunette, kissing her with equal zeal and gusto; their soft wet tongues dueling like medieval knights.

“Now you two,” Chloe grinned, licking her bee-stung lips as she and the brunette broke from their kiss.

The stewardesses looked across at one another, blushing like schoolgirls as they met for a kiss. Chloe watched for a moment before joining in; a trio of soft, pouty lips pressing together in a threeway smooch so alluring it would leave even the most God-fearing of Catholic monks begging for mercy. Then, after what felt like an eternity, the girls seperated; smiling and blushing across the private jet in equal measure, their spectators sat stunned and slack jawed before them.

“Damn, Chloe!” gasped Selena Gomez, the randy Latina sat legs akimbo, teasing her stiffened clit through the frilly white crotch of her scanty French knickers. “That was friggin’ hot!”

“Oh, I know,” the blonde replied, kissing the two flight attendants on the cheek one by one before they hopped down from her sunkissed thighs. “Thank you, ladies,” she smirked, giving each one a playful pat on the butt as they returned to the bar. “OK, Taylor,” she added, “truth or dare?”

And so the game progressed. Taylor Swift and her A-list pals dished out dares like preteens at a sleepover. They removed clothing, did bumps of coke off one another’s anatomies, swapped Mollies back and forth from tongue to tongue, gave each other lap dances and made out with fellow celebs and lucky stewardesses alike- the game quickly descending into an all-girl, scantily clad smoochfest; so hot and beguiling it would have even the most devout of homosexuals spewing in their shorts.

And as the game went on, the booze continued to flow. In fact, by the time the luxury jet had cruised into Arkansas airspace, the ladies had sunk enough cocktails to make Ernest Hemingway blush. Cosmopolitans, Mai Tais, Whiskey Sours, Mint Juleps, Sazeracs, Sidecars, Daiquiris; they drank them all and many more to boot. In fact, by the time the plane soared over the city of Fayetteville, the girls had downed enough liquor to put most lifelong alcoholics out of commission. Not to mention hoovering up a ski slope of cocaine, dishing out more pills than a retirement home and smoking more weed than the populations of Compton and Inglewood combined.

After an hour of watching her friends kiss, strip and suck dick like seasoned pornstars, Taylor Swift was getting horny beyond words. In fact, the fair-haired singer was burning in her nether regions like a forest fire; her piping hot pussy seeping enough fluid to water half of Ethiopia in the process. And as Hailee Steinfeld was allocated the next dare, Taylor peeled off her denim shorts and skimpy white panties in one; spreading her legs like a Times Square hooker as she gazed across the jet at the brown-haired beauty.

“I’ve got a dare for you, honey,” Taylor announced, parting her vaginal lips like the Red Sea, offering everyone in eyeshot a spectacular view of her glistening pink insides as she did so. “Come over here and give this a lick!”

*

Taylor Swift’s comfy leather seat was titled back like a single bed; the fair-haired songstress wearing little more than her designer stiletto heels as she lay back atop the plush leather chair. Between her legs knelt Hailee Steinfeld; her arms wrapped tightly around the popstar’s thighs, the brunette beauty lapping at her stiffened clit like a big cat from a river.

Taylor’s eyes were shut, her thick, pouty lips agape; all manner of soft, feminine moans and breathy, impassioned coos escaping her pretty mouth as she was eaten into ecstasy by her skilled young friend. Taylor’s right hand was rested on her perky chest; the horny singer caressing one of her breasts and teasing her puffy pink nipples. The other was placed at the back of Hailee’s head; the actress’ silky chestnut locks flowing through the gaps in her fingers as she tongued at her dripping pussy.

Hailee’s long brown hair shook back and forth as she busied herself between her girlfriend’s thighs. To say that Hailee was enjoying Taylor’s vagina would be something of an understatement. In fact, the young brunette was munching on her girlfriend’s hot pink twat like she hadn’t eaten in days; all kinds of muffled groans and greedy scoffing noises emanating from Taylor’s crotch as she feasted on her sodden gash.

Miss Swift’s celebrity girlfriends manned the surrounding seats; sipping from cocktails, knocking back shots and passing around joints as they watched the live lesbian lickfest unfold. Some reached up to fondle their bare breasts, while others slipped lengthy nailed fingers under the hems of her scanty underwear; the sapphic sex show getting everyone in eyeshot hotter than noon in the Sahara.

For Selena Gomez, the oral exhibition was all a little too much. Indeed, the lusty Latina had been frigging herself stupid under the frilly hem of her French knickers for the better part of 15 minutes and was one step away from feeding an empty wine bottle up her cooze by the time she rose from her leather seat.

Selena stood beside Taylor and leant over; kissing her fair-haired friend passionately on the mouth and she wasn’t the only one getting up to join the action. In fact, within a matter of minutes all four of the horny spectators had shed their remaining clothing; rising from their comfy seats as they waded into the fray.

Chloe Moretz was squatted opposite; the randy blonde sucking on one of Taylor’s perky young tits. Miley Cyrus positioned herself behind Hailee; burrowing between her ass cheeks like an ostrich in the sand as she tongued at her sopping wet twat. Elle Fanning crossed the jet to where the two flight attendants were mixing drinks at the bar; slinking in between the pretty pair and making out with them one by one.

Before long, the game of Truth or Dare had become something of a free for all and, as the private plane flew over the border into Tennessee, the scene had descended into little more than a rampant all-star orgy; like so many that had been broadcast over the Internet in the prior weeks.

Selena Gomez was sat on Taylor Swift’s face; the Latina fondling her girlfriend’s tits while Hailee Steinfeld licked her sodden gash. Across the way, Miley Cyrus and Chloe Moretz were locked in a 69; fingers probing tight pink buttholes and strumming throbbing clits as they lapped at one another like thirsty kittens. Elsewhere, one of the flight attendants had climbed up onto the surface of the bar. Her friend knelt beside her, kissing her ardently, while Elle Fanning squatted between her thighs; the randy starlet scoffing at her dripping snatch like it was her last meal.

A chorus of moans and groans carried throughout the expanse of the private jet. Orgasms were igniting across the luxury plane like sticks of dynamite; the randy A-listers licking, fingering and tribbing one another to a seemingly never ending series of climaxes, each more wild and earth-shattering than the last. Bodies were interlocked, interwoven and intertwined; the scene quickly resembling a nude game of Twister as the ladies ground and bucked their hot young frames together like rutting beasts.

Selena and Miley were scissoring violently, their sopping wet vaginas slip-sliding against each other like black ice; the randy duo tribbing one another to countless toe-curling orgasms. Meanwhile, Elle was perched on Selena’s face like a resting bird. The Latina tongued at the lusty blonde like a seasoned pro, dishing out orgasm after orgasm, in spite of the near constant stream of intense pleasure tearing through her slender frame like an earthquake. Taylor was fingerbanging a lucky flight attendent; the randy stewardess strumming her throbbing clit and spraying what felt like a gallon of squirt fluids over the singer’s naked body as she did so.

After half an hour of untamed all-girl action, Taylor requested that some of her in-flight movies be screened to the sweating crowd, as they sucked and fucked, tongued and scissored their way over western Tennessee. One of the flight attendants clambered down from atop Chloe Moretz’s greedy young mouth and made her way to the back of the plane where two pristine white cabinets stood either side of the spacious gangway.

She opened the doors, unveiling what can only be described as a treasure trove of exotic films; each of the tall cabinets containing more adult-themed Blu-rays than an Amsterdam sex store. The stewardess gathered as many skin flicks as her slender arms could carry and distributed the X-rated discs to the numerous 4K plasma screens that lined the walls of the private jet.

Before long, the plane was screening more exotic material than a teenager’s laptop; the luxury jet a wall to wall exhibition of adult entertainment to make the folks at Vivid Video blush. There was FF, MF, MFF, FMM. Oral, anal, DP, toying, squirting, orgies, gangbangs; you name it, they were watching it, and as the mass smut screening commenced, the orgy raged along with it.

By now, Hailee Steinfeld was fingerfucking Elle Fanning’s ass, while a horny flight attendant fed an entire fist into Taylor Swift’s tight, wet cunt. Chloe Moretz licked Miley Cyrus’ ass. A stewardess was fingering Selena Gomez; the lusty latina squirting more fluids than a New York fire hydrant in the process. Then, with the all-star fuckfest reaching its peak, an announcement sounded out across the on-board PA system; the slightly muffled voice of the pilot barely audible over the loud impassioned screams of the rampant passengers.

“Good afternoon, ladies. We are now approaching Nashville. At this point you should be in your seat with your safebelt firmly fastened.”

The ladies looked at one another’s nude, sweat-shined bodies; entangled in all manner of unbridled sexual poses. A hoot of raucous laughter went up from the A-list flyers, completely drowning out the pilot’s voice as they rose from the airplane floor and returned to their seats.

“...with all hand luggage tucked under your chair. Please ensure all electronic devices including laptop computers and television screens are switched off.”

The bare-assed flight attendants hurried through the private jet; hastily switching off the multitude of HD plasma screens, before taking their positions for landing.

“...thank you,” the pilot concluded.

The girls necked a final dose of Oxy for the landing, swallowing them down with a swig of tequila as the plane began its descent. Taylor Swift rooted through her designer hand luggage, retrieving two large battery-powered vibrating wands and handing one to Selena Gomez in the seat beside her. The girls spread their legs; turning the buzzing devices up to full power and holding them to their throbbing pink clits. They looked at each other, both their pretty faces lit up in orgasmic delight as they frigged themselves side by side. Taylor licked her glossy pink lips, cooing lightly as she opened her mouth to speak.

“Now that’s what I call travelling in style!”
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