The Physical Manifestation Of Chaotic Holiday Travel Eats My Ass

Monica is traveling home for the holidays, and this year she’s ready for all the chaos this trip entails. Unfortunately, nothing could’ve prepared Monica for just how wild this journey really is, and soon enough she’s locked in a dangerous race to the airport with little time to spare.

When Monica arrives she finds utter pandemonium, along with a sentient plane who’s just trying her best to keep things in order. But when Monica and the living jet plane finally have a chance to talk, it’s revealed that this beautiful vehicle is not really a vehicle at all—she’s the physical manifestation of chaotic holiday travel.

Monica is disturbed at first, but eventually she begins to understand what this sentient concept is all about. It turns out holiday travel really does eat ass, but not in the way you might expect.

This erotic tale is 4,300 words of sizzling human on sentient physical manifestation of travel action and living holiday trip love.

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THE PHYSICAL MANIFESTATION OF CHAOTIC HOLIDAY TRAVEL EATS MY ASS

By Chuck Tingle

I’ve been bracing myself for this day, running disastrous scenarios through my head and then working out potential counters, but none of these imaginary nightmare journeys started falling apart this early in the day. Nothing could’ve prepared me for this post-apocalyptic vision of endless traffic that stretches out before me, the whole 405 freeway covered in halted vehicles.

Every so often a line of cars will scoot up a bit, creeping closer to their eventual destination mere feet at a time.

I glance at the clock in my dashboard, watching helplessly as this number drifts higher. For the briefest moment, I imagine rolling down the window of my car and then calling out to the people around me, informing them of my plight. Pleading with them.

“I’m headed to LAX, and if I don’t get there soon I’ll miss my flight,” I’d yell.

In this dream scenario all the other drivers begin to nod with understanding, putting on their blinkers and pulling to the side. The traffic parts like some grand biblical gesture, a path to salvation.

In reality, they’d probably just flash me awkward looks and then return to sitting quietly in the driver’s seats, gazing through the windshield before them. Even likelier, they’d flip me the bird.

That’s a fair reaction. Who am I to announce my particular journey this morning is more important than anyone else’s? None of these people are here for the fun of it, they’re all trying their best to get from one point to the next. In fact, I’m sure a huge swath of these weary travelers are headed to the same airport I am.

I know all of this already, but in my moment of traffic frustration I needed a reminder.

Instead of asking to cut ahead, or laying on my horn, I settle back in my chair a bit. I take a deep breath and hold it, allowing my body to accept this hearty helping of oxygen before letting it out with a long, satisfying release.

It’s not too late to make your flight, I remind myself. Not yet, anyway.

Something catches my eye, first making me think the traffic has started up again, then revealing itself to be an unexpected new vehicle maneuvering its way through the stalled fray. I squint my eyes a bit, struggling to make out this odd shape.

It appears to be a massive jet plane, the figuring waving her broad metal wings in various patterns. A red and white Santa hat sits perched atop her head.

I’m not entirely sure what this plane is trying to accomplish out there in the middle of this sea of cars, gesturing strangely from side to side, but her purpose reveals itself as the lane next to me starts gradually picking up speed. Seconds later, my own lane is moving up, steadily continuing forward instead of the jittery stop and go that I’m used to.

As I crawl past the sentient plane I can see the frantic expression on her face, note the weight of exhaustion that seems to bear down on her from above. She’s working as hard as she can to keep traffic moving, to take all the chaos of this notoriously bad travel season and find some kind of balance.

“Wow,” is all I can think to say, my eyes following her movements as I slowly cruise past this traffic bottleneck.

Soon enough, the freeway before me has opened up into a rumbling, steady parade. There are just as many cars as before, but this time they’re actually moving.

After a few more miles I start making my way over to the right, shifting from lane to lane and then eventually taking the exit for my car park. Staying at the airport itself is breathtakingly expensive during the holidays, and even if it wasn’t, there are hardly enough spots to meet the demand.

This leaves the surrounding parking structures, which exist in varying degrees of management. Some of them are reliable, but things tend to get a little squirrely this time of year.

I round the corner, drawing closer to my parking structure and then feeling yet another surge of panic course through me. A huge sign hangs from the front gate with a single word emblazoned across it in bold letters: Full.

“What the hell,” I murmur, pulling up to the gate and coming to a stop. I lean over towards the passenger seat and open up my bag, quickly sorting through some papers and then extracting the one I was looking for. This is my reservation.

A post with a speaker mounted on the top of it sits to my left, and I reach out to press the call button.

A crackling ring emanates from the box—once, twice, three times. For the briefest moment it occurs to me that an answer never might come, that the whole place has been shut down and those who were expecting a spot are left out in the cold without explanation, but suddenly a voice comes tumbling through the speaker.

“Yeah?” the mysterious voice asks, annoyance in their tone.

“Oh, hi!” I blurt. “I have a reservation here at the lot, but it says there are no spots left. I think there’s been a mistake.”

The mysterious voice clears their throat. “Sorry about that. We gave up the last spot yesterday.”

“But I have a reservation.”

“Not anymore,” they counter.

“You can’t just do that. If I don’t park right now, I’m gonna miss my flight.”

“Better park then.”
 “Where?”

The voice lets out a long sigh. “I don’t know. Fuck off.”

There’s a click as the line goes dead. For a moment my frustration boils to the point where I actually consider stepping on the gas and slamming into the gate, tearing the whole thing from its hinges and then finding a spot a spot whether they like it or not.

Of course, this potential future never manifests itself, the flash of rage within me quickly transitioning into something else. Instead of acting out in a state of wild, reckless abandon, I manage to synthesize these feelings and turn them into something productive—a game plan.

I throw my car into reverse and peel out, then take off down the next street. My eyes are focused, scanning my surroundings as various other parking lots fly past on either side. Each and every one of them is packed to the brim, their gates closed and locked.

The farther away from the airport I get, however, the more promising things seem. Eventually, I manage to find an empty spot—a singular opening at some particularly sketchy lot that’s miles and miles away. There’s no attendant on duty here, but I slip some cash into a small mailbox nearby that’s marked with various prices.

The only problem now is getting back to the airport. A few shuttles pass by and I struggle to wave them down, desperately swinging my arms and calling out for the drivers to stop. They ignore me, and when I see the way each of these busses is packed to the brim, I don’t blame them. I don’t think I’d fit anyway.

Eventually, one of the shuttle’s slows just enough that I find myself with a dangerous choice. I could reach out and grab the back bumper, hoisting my bag onto the outer ledge, but this kind of unconventional trip is far from safe. The driver hasn’t even noticed me, just slowing enough for the nearby stop sign, and I have no idea what kind of speed they’ll eventually get up to.

I check my phone for the time, a surge of panic erupting through my body as my eyes nearly pop out of my head. All that chaos has finally taken its toll. If I don’t get to the airport now, then I might as well just turn back around and head home. I’m minutes away from missing my flight.

I make the call, reaching out to grasp a vertical pole on the back of the shuttle and then leaping onto the bumper. My bag is heavy enough to give me some trouble, but I somehow manage to hoist it up after me before the vehicle turns and starts rumbling down the street, picking up speed as it goes.

I grip tightly to the pole, my body rocking violently. I’m doing my best to anticipate the inertia, but with every push and pull I can feel my grip slipping. Glancing down, I see the asphalt whipping past me below, moving at a speed much faster than I’d anticipated.

“Oh fuck,” I blurt, realizing now that the weight of my bag is causing my hand to slowly unwrap its grip on the pole. My fingers are clenched as tight as they can get, but it appears that’s not quite enough.

On a positive note, I’m almost to the airport, but if I don’t figure out a way to keep from falling off this shuttle, I’ll be headed to the hospital instead.

A terrible realization washes over me, the sacrifice becoming more and more apparent with every passing second. The only way I’ll catch my flight is if I let go of my bag.

I quickly consider all the things I’ll be leaving behind, running the contents over in my head. I’ll have to buy a new toothbrush and a few similar items when I land, but those are replaceable. There’s a week’s worth of clothing stuffed in there, too—including a few articles that I adore—but at this point I’m not sure what choice I really have in the matter. This is the only way.

Aching with regret but fully understanding what I need to do, I slowly unfurl my grip on the luggage. As my fingers straighten the bag slides away from me, dropping to the street with a hearty crack and then rolling awkwardly on its tiny wheels.

My case follows along behind the shuttle for a moment and then awkwardly veers off to the side, tumbling into a ditch where it finally comes to rest. It might be here when I return, but I won’t hold my breath.

A wave of despair washes over me, but just as soon as this feeling arrives I push it away. If I lose my cool now then all of this will have been for nothing. I need to stay focused on the goal ahead, not gazing off into the past.

The closer we get to the airport, the more chaotic things become. Cars begin to crash and crunch all around me, tires screeching as angry shouts of rage fill the air. A helicopter hovers overhead, catching the travel action as it unfolds.

At one point, a man completely engulfed in flames goes sprinting past, orange curls rolling off his body and transforming into black smoke.

It’s getting wild out here.

I don’t hesitate when we finally pull up to the departures terminal, leaping from the back of the shuttle and hurrying towards the large sliding glass doors that wait ominously before me. If I can get inside before the other passengers, it’ll give me a better position in line.

The second I enter, however, I realize this small advantage amounts to nothing in the face of such an unfathomable clusterfuck. I’ve never seen lines like this, the whole building packed to its brim with frustrated travelers. Lines weave back and forth across the terminal, so condensed that I can barely see the check-in counters beyond.

What I do see, however, makes my heart sink.

Airline employees are doing the best they can to keep up with the onslaught of bags and questions and furious customers, but I can tell this ship is sinking fast. Most of them are teary eyed, and I can hear the heated shouts of furious customers from all the way over here.

“Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!” someone is screaming at one of the airline workers, who has no choice but to back away in terror.

Someone else hurls their bag through the air, this massive rectangular piece of luggage tumbling end over end before slamming into the logo for Borson Airlines, which cracks and then tilts precariously away from the wall behind it.

“Oh my god,” I gasp, standing in utter shock.

A realization slowly begins washing over me: there’s no way I’m making this flight.

At least I’ll be able to go find my luggage by the side of the road.

I start turning away from the chaos, ready to make my exit, when something stops me in my tracks. While my travel plans might’ve been ruined, there are other people here who were just as desperate as I was to get home and see their families. Maybe there’s a way I can help, maybe there’s a way that I can keep them from suffering the same fate that I’ve suffered.

I’ve got nothing but time on my hands now.

I turn back and scan the pandemonium, hoping to find some simple way to lend a hand. My gaze immediately catches on a familiar figure.

The airplane from earlier this morning is now here in the terminal, clad in the same Santa hat but wearing an expression that’s even more frantic than before. The plane is pushing her way through the crowd, struggling to head deeper into the terminal but having a difficult time thanks to her incredible size.

“Hey!” I call out, hurrying over and waving my hands over my head. “Are you okay? Do you need some help?”

“I’ve got this!” she yells back to me.

“Like hell you do!,” I retort. “Tell me what you need. I’ve got you.”

The sentient plane finally hesitates, considering something. “Half these flights have been delayed until tomorrow, but the board is malfunctioning. If people knew, they wouldn’t all be trying to push to the front. I’m a plane, so I’m too big to get to the board and plug it back in.”

“Say no more!” I reply.

I immediately spring into action. I race through the crowd, bobbing and weaving as I press deeper into the madness. The bodies move and pulse, difficult to predict but not impossible. Being so much smaller than the plane, I can duck down low and avoid most of the clusters, making my way past a variety of gesturing arms. It’s not long before the massive announcement board comes into view above me, its giant screen a static, black mirror.

I maneuver around to the side of this giant structure, arriving at the wall and then following it to the base of the screen. It’s here that I find the culprit of this particular disaster, a long extension cord that’s been unplugged, likely tripped over at some point during this day of travel catastrophe.

I reach down and grab the cord, then plug it back in.

Immediately, the board above me flickers to life, the names of various destinations appearing in a series of long columns. Distant locales appear one after the next, every so often flashing a brilliant red cancelled sign next to the name.

The crowd stops pushing and shoving one another, turning to gaze up at the board. Several of them let out long groans of disappointment, while others continue going about their business. It’s not long before half the airport has cleared out, heading home to wait until their scheduled return tomorrow.

The plane walks up to me, shaking her head in amazement. “Oh my God, you saved me,” she gushes.

“I was nothing,” I reply, then introduce myself. “I’m Monica.”
 “Libla,” the plane replies, extending her wing for a shake.

“You’ve been running around helping people all day,” I state. “I saw you on the freeway this morning, too. That’s a lot of responsibility for one plane.”
 Libla hesitates, this awkward pause hanging ever so briefly between us. “I’m actually not a plane,” she finally reveals. “I may look like a living object, but I’m actually the physical manifestation of a living concept.”

“Oh! What concept?” I ask.

She hesitates again, this time her pause continuing on and on until I’m forced to interrupt it.

“You can tell me,” I insist.

“I’m the physical manifestation of chaotic holiday travel,” she says.

My heart immediately sinks as I hear this. I can’t deny the attraction that was already bubbling up within me, and Libla certainly seems like a kind, loving person on the surface, but getting this close with the physical manifestation of chaotic holiday travel feels like a bridge too far.

“Oh,” is all I can think to say, the single word falling out of my mouth with a thud.

But before my thoughts can travel down this road any farther, I’m treated to a memory, an impressive vision of this beautiful living concept struggling to get everyone where they needed to be on time.

“I’m kinda surprised the physical manifestation of chaotic holiday travel cares this much,” I finally admit.

“I mean… I’m just trying to get people home to see their families,” she replies. “I know it’s frustrating, but what’s the alternative? Modern travel is a miracle when you really think about it. It’s not like I’m causing all this chaos, either. I’m a product of it. I didn’t ask to be pulled into reality.”

She’s right, and I’m suddenly feeling a little heartbroken about the way I reacted.

“Are you really the only one out here keeping all this running?” I ask.

“I mean, there are hardworking employees just trying to earn a living, too, and most of them just get yelled at non-stop. It’s rough,” she explains. “If I had more energy, I could carry that load a bit more.”

“Yeah, I never really considered all the employees getting screamed at,” I say. “I was pretty frustrated back at that parking lot when they gave up my spot.”

“Oh no, they were assholes,” Libla replies with a smirk, “but there are plenty of folks who aren’t. Most of these people are just trying to help or to make things right, and they’re certainly not getting paid enough for it.

I let out a long sigh. “What can I do to help?” I ask. “You’ve got so much weight on your shoulders. What do you need?”
 The plane laughs, shaking her head. “Honestly, now that things have calmed down around here, I could use a good fuck.”

The second she says this my heart skips a beat. I know she’s joking, but there’s always a kernel of truth in there somewhere.

Instead of joking back, I just stare at her with steadfast confidence. “I think I can help with that.”

The plane’s smile drops, immediately transforming into a fiery erotic gaze. “Follow me,” she says, taking my hand in her wing.

This part of the airport is completely empty, an unfinished terminal that’s not quite ready for use. The second we enter this enormous, private space our hands are all over one another, completely losing ourselves in the moment.

I rub my fingers along her enormous aircraft hull, starting at the nose and then strolling along below her. I trace my digits across her most sensitive areas, taking my time as I saunter below. I can sense the giant aircraft tremble above me, aching with anticipation.

When I reach the middle of her elongated body I hesitate, the wings spread out above and marking this as her metal waistline. Instead of pressing onward I trace my hands back and forth, teasing this beautiful physical manifestation with the prospect of something more.

“Please,” Libla whimpers, her voice carrying through our quiet section of the airport in a soft whimper.

I allow the tension to build a little more, then finally have mercy as I drop lower beneath her tubelike body. It’s here that I discover the airplane’s waiting pussy, glistening and wet.

I reach up begin to play with Libla, gentling moving my fingers up and down across her clit. The quakes across her hull grow even more pronounced, the erotic tension unable to contain itself within this physical frame. She’s loving it.

With every movement of my hand I can feel Libla’s body push back against me, and soon enough the two of us fall into a confident rhythm together. I understand the pace that she craves now, and I’m happy to provide.

I could easily push Libla over the edge of climax right here, but when a nearby stepladder catches my eye I swiftly alter course. Feeling inspired, I pull over the steps and place them directly below the gorgeous plane. I climb up onto them and tilt my head back, bracing myself against the metal hull as I begin to lap away at her pussy.

“Oh fuck,” Libla groans, her body clenching slightly at the change in pressure. “That feels so fucking good.”
 It’s not long before we fall back into our groove with one another, the sensation of my touch pushing her closer and closer to the edge of a powerful climax. My massive vehicle lover is shaking wildly now, her wings flapping ever so slightly as she struggles to accept this overwhelming pleasure spilling across her frame.

“Just like that, just like that,” the physical manifestation of chaotic holiday travel repeats over and over again, her voice growing louder with every passing round. “Just like that! Just like that!”

The aircraft suddenly buckles forward, briefly arching above me as a final, massive surge of erotic energy crackles through her. The words spilling from her throat quickly mutate into a single, blissful howl, echoing across the airport.

When the plane finally finishes she settles back down, letting out a long sigh of satisfaction.

“Come up here,” she commands.

I walk back to the front of the plane, seeing now that she’s opened her door and rolled a staircase into place so that I can safely enter her cozy interior.

“Strip,” Libla continues.

I do as I’m told, my body humming with erotic anticipation. I slowly begin to peel away the fabric from my body, exposing my skin to the cool terminal air.

“Sit anywhere you’d like,” she coos.

Completely nude, I climb the staircase, making my way into this empty plane. I turn to my right, gazing down the long aisle of chairs that stretches out before me.

As I make my way down this central path I run my fingers along their headrests, taking note of the textured fabric. Libla is a classic aircraft, her design distinctly retro with an elegant, 60s flair.

Eventually, I settle into one of the rows, seat G2.

“I’m here,” I say.

The tingle is subtle at first, barely noticeable as I sit here quietly in my warm chair. Slowly, the feeling begins to announce itself. My seat is vibrating, moving faster and faster with every passing second and causing my body to react in turn. I squirm a bit at first, instinctually pulling away from the sensation, but when my conscious mind kicks in I force myself to push back against it.

I can feel a tongue emerging below, positioned slightly lower than one might expect. Libla begins to lap away at my ass, first teasing the rim and then plunging deep inside.

I settle in, allowing the sensations to carry me away. While the attention below continues, the back of the chair starts massaging my body.

“That’s so nice,” I moan, closing my eyes.

It’s not long before I can feel the first hints of orgasm blossoming within me. This feeling starts at the pit of my stomach and then works its way out across my arms and legs, a fuzzy warmth that floods my veins. The feeling looms larger and larger until it’s towering above me like a cresting wave.

I’m holding it back with everything I’ve got, battling the pressure and then finally submitting to its uncontrollable strength. The climax hits me hard, carrying me away as I throw my head back and let out a frantic, carnal scream. My hands grip tightly against the armrests, holding my body in place as I writhe and convulse.

The orgasm lasts for what seems like forever, carrying me from beginning to end and then finally settling when every ounce of erotic tension has been purged.

I take a moment to sit in silence, catching my breath, then finally rise and stroll back to the front of the plane.

I exit, carefully making my way down the steps on wobbly legs.

“That was incredible,” I gush. “Thank you.”

“It was good for me, too,” Libla replies warmly.

When I reach the bottom of the steps I find a familiar rectangular bag waiting for me. I gasp aloud, taking in my missing luggage and then glancing up at the sentient plane.

“Oh my God! Where’d you find this?” I ask.

“I saw you lose it on the road,” she informs me. “It’s been in my cargo hold ever since. I’m glad I had a chance to return it.”

I give the plane a powerful hug. “Thank you so much.”

We stay like this for a long time, basking in each other’s warmth.

“I guess it’ll see you back here tomorrow,” I finally say, releasing my grip. “My flight is one of the handful that got delayed a day.”

The living concept considers this for a moment. “You know… now that everything’s settled down for a bit, I’ve got some free time. I’m also feeling very relaxed.”

I hesitate, not quite sure what she’s implying.

“Would you like me to fly you home for the holidays?” Libla asks.

“Wait, really?” I blurt. “Would you?”

She nods. “Of course. We can get to know each other a little more on the way.”
 I gather my clothes and the plane returns my bag to her luggage compartment. Soon enough, I’m climbing back up the stairs and closing the door behind me.

Libla begins to taxi out onto the runway and I find my seat, settling in.

“Ready for take-off,” the plane announces.

I grip the armrest gently, holding her hand in mine.