Elvira wasn't happy. Bad enough that they were stranded, the radio broken, the airfield deserted, with no way to signal for help and several dozen miles between them and civilization, but she'd slipped a nip in the crash. Normally, no big deal, only this time her loose mammary had shot up and slapped Elvira in the face, giving her a black eye. And normally, that was one of her best features! It was a bad omen.
She reflected on the roller-coaster ride that the day had been. Before the crash, Gordon Vought had been in complete control, having organized the entire trip, confidently arranging every last detail. But with their plane strewn from one end of the landing strip to the other, Gordon seemed to have come apart too. His orders were uncertain, his decisions timid or arbitrary. By the end of the first day, Danny had with quiet certitude usurped the older man from his position of authority.
Gordon was at least well enough to realize he was being challenged and had castigated Danny severely, ranting and raving and blaming Danny for every last facet of the mess they were in. Danny had listened, or at least Gordon vent, long enough for the man to dig his own grave. Then, at Gordon began to tediously repeat himself, he put a stop to it.
"Mr. Vought, I understand that you're a big deal, a mover and shaker, a man who gets things done. But that's in your office, sitting at your desk, with all your power a phone call away. You don't have access to any of that out here and you don't have any assistants to do your job for you. Decisions have to be made for keeps and I've seen you make some pretty foolish calls since we ended up here. Back in your world, all that might do is lose someone his job until he gets scooped up by someone else in your racket. Here, it might mean us not getting out of here alive. I don't trust anyone else to keep us safe until we're rescued, so from now on, I'll be giving the orders."
A conference-call tyrant Gordon might be, but he knew when it was time for action and the way he saw it, there was only one way to assuage his dignity. He came at Danny with fists flying. But though the decision seemed purely spontaneous to Gordon, he telegraphed it exactly to an alert and ready Danny, who sidestepped the assault and countered with a quick jab.
The blow contained precisely enough force to deflate Vought, who slumped to the ground, shaking his head to clear the glossiness from his eyes.
"You son of a bitch!" he spat, tasting blood in his mouth and feeling it run down the corner of his lip. He wiped it away with the back of his hand.
The pilot stood over Vought's downed body. "I'm sorry you made me do that, but it wasn't much of a choice. I said I wouldn't let you get anyone killed and I won't--not with your bare hands or with your lousy leadership. There's only one take-charge man to a group: here, it's me!"
Danny had been on the verge of helping Gordon up, but with the bitterness in Vought's eyes, it was obvious he wouldn't accept any amount of magnanimity from the usurper. And Danny wouldn't embarrass himself by offering it. Elvira went to get Gordon to his feet. She led him, unresisting, to a stream that ran alongside the runway. The icy water, soaked into the hem of Elvira's borrowed coat, made short work of the superficial bleed.
When they returned, Gordon had nothing to say. Danny was well underway organizing their camp in the abandoned air strip: taking charge of all food, medicine and arms, directing what structures they would take shelter in, and ordering the laying of signal fires. He told Gordon that it would be he who would be handling the first sky-watch. And out of the slowly dawning panic that Gordon had been barely able to stave off, Danny established enough of an order for the morale of the group to stay above sea-level.
***
Elvira still wore the impromptu outfit of trench coat, stockings, and heels. It'd only been intended to cover her up during the flight; after all, they were all friends, except for her and Danny, and she wouldn't mind being friends with him.
She had plenty of clothes to change into: all dresses, all of them black. But before she did, she might as well wash up. The stream by the runway led into a big pool, almost a lake. It was just beyond a set of rolling hills, which gave Elvira some privacy. Not that she needed it, but probably best not to distract the others while they went about their little chores. Elvira, she attended to morale--namely, her own.
With a carryall of dresses and a few haircare products waiting for when she got back, Elvira shed her coat and approached the shoals of the pool. Below her, reflected in the smooth surface, a gorgeous woman smiled up at her. Elvira took a moment to stand there, admiring her nakedness. Her black eye was quickly fading; as Elvira had long since learned, she didn't bruise easily, which was great... she'd hate to have to choose between welts and plunging necklines.
Still, she was taken aback at just how good she looked in the supple sleekness of her nudity. That Bettie chick had nothing to be ashamed of either, but Elvira took it as a given she would be queen bee of this little camp-out. Especially when Page had been dumb enough to think she could get all her toiletries on the other side of the flight. This was exactly why a true diva took her own make-up
everywhere.
"Not that you need any touching up," Elvira told her reflection, giving her lush breasts a tiny hoist with her fingertips. They sagged so little in the first place that they barely jiggled. "Any honey with this much honey just
has
to wear a beehive hairdo...!"
Elvira actually licked her lips in her admiration of herself: the flatness of her stomach, the long shapely sculpting of her legs, and her pussy...
