Eep Yer Seats From Stanin'

The following is a work of fiction: All of the people, places, and events depicted are merely figments of the authors' warped imaginations. Since it's our imaginations, we imagine that all of the fictional characters are of legal age, and all of their fictional activities are legal in their fictional jurisdiction. In fact, we further imagine that Plato was correct, and we are all chained inside of a cave just watching shadows on the wall.

Keep yer seats from stankin'

- by Jamie and Lisa

1176 words

Hey there, I'm Francine, but my friends an' family all call me Frannie. My given name means "free spirit" in French which is fittin' 'cause this used to be part of 'Ouisiana. A while back, I noted a musky, stanky odor while I was at work. My office is in the front of a pretty white an' silver C-53, the 5000th airplane ol' Donnie Douglas built to Spec'fication A-669. Sixty-nine, hey, I like that ... Sorry ... Sometimes my mind wanders. Well, mine 'as a pretty green stripe along the fus'lage 'tween the windows an' matchin' leather seats. It was them seats where the stank was coming from.

Good thing they was leather 'cause some Armor All on an ole' tee-shirt mostly cleaned 'em up. But they was real old leather, bein' made back in '42 an' all, they do have some cracks an' such. 'Parently that stank can slip down into the cush'ning too. So I came up with a solution. Then I figured I'd share it an' put this here story "out there" on the interwebs because you know dry cleaners an' even 'polsterers don' have no idea 'bout how to stop the jizz leakin' outa happy pussies from makin' yer workplace real stanky.

It ain' really all my fault that I'm so leaky. I just work fer a great comp'ny that treats all its employees 'jus like family, if yer know what I mean. We got six us line pilots. Let's see there's Daryl an' there's Daryl an' then there's Daryl an' there's Daryl. Oh an' Fern an' me. We got two 'ministrators runin' the place who also can fly if they need to. That's Bubba, he's Daryl an' Daryl's father, an' there's Bubba's brother Bubba, who is Daryl an' Daryl's father. Were all real friendly-like, but it's hard to get it on at work. The cockpit... That's funny, I thought my snatch was the cock pit ... Oops, my mind wandered again.

Well, the DC-3's cockpit's jus' a lil' bit cramped to be getting it on while we're flying. But necess'ty is a mother, or was that opportun'ty? Somebody's a mother. On the firs'-hand that ole' Sperry Autopilot just maintains yer heading an' attitude, nutin' fancy. So if'n you accidental-like bump yer ass into the yoke while givin' yer co-pilot a hummer, it don' do nothin' 'noying like disengage. It jus' brings the plane back to where it wuz. But on the secon'-hand, it's kinda easy to accidental-like hit the dern in'ercom butt'n on that yoke.

Let me tell you ... You can kind of freak out the pass'ngers in the back by broadcastin' the sounds of the pilots moanin', groanin', an' screamin' if'n they don't know what's going on up-front. 'Specially if'n the plane is movin' down or sideways at the time. But, then on yer third-hand, if you're really sly you can pick-up the mike, an' blame it all on bumpy air. Then the pass'ngers 'll be relieved an' they prob'ly won't even notice that your pants are unzipped, an' you're buttoned-up crook'd, when you thank 'm for flyin' Air Ark'nsas.

We don't actually live in Ark'nsas, but we sure don' live in misery neither. Home is a wonderful place, a nice big comf'able double-wide right on the edge of the airport next to our skinny dip'n an' fishin' hole. On flights home leak'ge ain't as big a deal as it's on the way out, they're just being two of us up front. But the trip out is different, old pilots say you can never have too much runway in front o' ya, air und'neath ya, or fuel in the tank. We don' trust the inst'ments, bunch o' dead pilots trusted them liar gauges, We act'lly dip the tanks 'fore each flight 'cause being all fill'd up is import'nt.

Ever'one wants to make sure me an' Fern 're safe, so to that end they usually call a man'atory pilots meeting before we take a flight out. They ain't being chauv'nistic, just showing a little chiv'ry wantin' to make sure that we get all filled up 'fore a long flight. We usually have us a nice dinner 'gether - but no alcohol cuz we're flying - each of the guys, let's see there's Daryl an' his brother Daryl an' their daddy Bubba, an' Bubba's brother Bubba an' his son Daryl an' his brother Daryl.

The six of 'em usually take turns going one or two 't a time. Takin' care to fill Fern or me, whichever one of us is taking the plane out, full of nice fresh jizzim so our pussies' 'll be happy an' full for the whole trip. That of course leaves either Fern or me without a boy to take care of us. Fortunately Bubba's wife Edna, she's Daryl mom an' Daryl's mom, an' Bubba's wife Jew'l, who is Daryl's mom an' Daryl's mom are always there to give a little tender carin' to whichever one of us, me or Fern that isn' going on the trip.

Let's see, that's the boys and ... Well now, I don' want t' forget about Fern, were both senior so we don' usually fly together. But I fuck 'round with Fern too jus' the same. Now, bein' a girl she don' leave no jizz in me. In fact if'n I'm not careful she sometimes steals it outa me - vixen jus' gobbles it down right from my snatch - course I do the same with her if'n I get the chance.

Oh, I almost forgot. I was going to tell you how t' avoid having the jism that leaks out o' your snatch soak into your seats an' make them all stanky the next week. It's really pretty simple. After we get ever'body settled in for the flight, in accordance with the current guv'ment mandate we have to lock that cockpit door. That works out pretty good. As my co-pilot locks the door I take off my uniform pants, an' panties if I happen to remember to wear any. Then he takes a plastic garbage bag an' puts it over the seat - tada!

I set bare-assed on the plastic garbage bag for the entire flight, an' drip all the cum in me onto it. Then we just throw it away when we get to des'nation. Even wi'out pants I'm a professional. I always keep my shirt all buttoned-up 'til after we've reached flight altitude so the fellers up in the 'troll tower know that ever'thin's jus' fine. But sometimes, if it's a long flight an' the weather's nice, my co-pilot 'll get the nipple clamps an' Hitachi outa his big black case jus' fer me.