Aviation

Funny, isn't it, what you pick up from the atmosphere around you?

There I am, minding my own business -- and giving thanks for the empty seat next to me -- when the drinks trolley approached. And instead of the usual plasticized and practiced smiles being dispensed left and right, there was very clearly some animosity crackling between the angels of mercy who were about to serve the drinks.

And what crackling it was. Bags of peanuts (about four in each -- why do they bother?) were not passed across the trolley but positively hurled; it wasn't just the rattle of bottles that announced the approach of alcohol -- the clipped, hissing conversation between the crew members resonated for rows around. So it was with more than mild interest I looked up as the bar reached my row.

And believe me -- I was glad I did. For the vision that beheld my eyes was nothing short of stunning. Wearing a nameplate advising all and sundry that her name was "C. Morgan", the first of the adversaries, stopped next to me -- and this must have been my lucky day. Why? Because standing before me, looking slightly harassed was a true vision of beauty. About 5 foot 10 -- but looking taller because of the 3-inch court heels she was wearing -- "C. Morgan" epitomised everything I looked for in a woman. Her dark hair was drawn tightly back from her forehead but tendrils were escaping around the nape of her neck; the slightest sheen of sweat glistened on her upper lip. Her dark eyes were flashing anger as she smiled professionally at me and offered me a drink.

"I hope it's not ME that's upset you", I ventured.

"No" came the response. "I'm having something of a -- let's call it a 'professional disagreement' -- with my colleague. Now, sir -- what can I do for you?"

That was the wrong question to ask! Or at least, as I looked beyond "C Morgan's" face, the thoughts that were running through my mind had nothing to do with what she could do for me on the plane. Well actually, they did, but I was guessing that she'd want to keep her job!

This woman, as I've already started to indicate, had the appearance of an angel. Well -- let's make that a fallen angel. With fire in her eyes and flushed complexion above the stiff collar of her white satin blouse, this was clearly a lady of some spirit. Trying not to be obvious about it, I let my eyes travel the length of her body -- and what a body. Magnificent breasts, with clearly engorged nipples peaking the cloth that covered them; a nipped waist with a tightly belted skirt; legs that looked -- from the knee down, at least -- as though they should be advertising hosiery -- this woman was ALL woman. And, as she crouched gracefully in that way that only air hostesses can achieve, I saw -- or thought I saw -- the line of a suspender as her skirt was pulled taught against her thigh. Stockings, too....ahh, be still, my raging groin!

So, equipped with drink, I sat back and tried to concentrate on my book. But as the trolley moved on, I caught a glimpse of the fellow crew member. And she, too, was very beautiful. And she, too, was clearly agitated. She didn't serve me, but as she passed a drink to the passenger in the row ahead, I could see that her hands were trembling and, despite her professional smile, that she was deeply unhappy. With her face half-turned towards me, I could see the deep flush in her cheeks and the moistness in the corner of her eye.

This lady was someone who must have barely met the airline's height requirements. Even with heels, she stood only around 5 foot 6. Clad identically to "C Morgan", I could only harbour dreams that she was wearing stockings too. And I wondered what the issue was between these two....

I must have nodded off for a while -- well, it was a long flight, and I'd had a few! -- because next time I looked around, it was dark. And the slight figure of the second of the girls who'd been serving the drinks was taking my empty glass from the tray in front of me. I don't know what prompted me to ask, but I said to her almost immediately my eyes opened -- "are you okay?"

For some reason, instead of simply looking sideways at a complete stranger who had asked a somewhat personal question, she simply looked at me and mutely shook her head. Her long braid, reaching almost to her waist, swung back and forth a couple of times and then -- to my utter astonishment -- her shoulders began to heave with quiet sobs.

What's a guy to do? There's something about helpless female tears that really pushes buttons in me (there's something about helpless females, too, but more about that later) so I took her hand in both of mine, and asked her to sit down and tell me about it. And do you know what?

She did.

And what she told me made the ancient knight in shining armour buried somewhere inside me want to leap on his horse and ride into battle on her behalf. "C Morgan" had taken one or two liberties, to say the least. You see, my new seat-mate was new with the airline (let's call her Susie) and "C Morgan" had apparently told here that all crew baggage had to be searched before travel. "C Morgan" was a nosy bugger -- there was no such rule -- but Susie was humiliated when the search was conducted and her array of "toys" was revealed before the entire crew....

As we talked, I began to feel more and more that "C Morgan" needed to be taught a lesson or two. So I asked Susie a few questions -- how many crew members were in the aft galley; what the crew rest area was like -- and how long we still had to go before the crew were expected to make their next, breakfast-before-landing, round of the cabin. And as Susie talked to me, a plan began to unfold in my mind. Leaning closer to her, I first outlined, and then sketched in detail, of a way in which Susie might have her revenge on "C Morgan". Of course I was not motivated purely by altruism -- I'd begun to have some pretty specific thoughts about Ms. Morgan (Charlotte, apparently) myself....

Which is why, 15 minutes later, I found myself in the galley at the rear of the plane. Susie had drawn the curtains that separated the galley from the main cabin and the crew rest area was just beside us. I'd tossed around a few ideas about how to make this work, but in the end, decided that brute force was as good a plan as any....

Charlotte was seated on the jump seat, turned slightly away from me. With no preamble whatsoever, I walked up to her and grabbed the two-tone blue silk scarf knotted around her neck -- and twisted. Immediately beginning to gasp and choke, Charlotte was yanked irresistibly to her feet and propelled into the bathroom at the rear of the plane. Placing my knee in the small of her back and still holding tight to the scarf around her neck, I forced her to bend forward in front of me. The total shock of being assaulted by a complete stranger -- together with the fact that she couldn't breathe very well -- meant that Charlotte wasn't putting up much resistance and, taking the plasticuffs that Susie had given me from the store kept to subdue unruly passengers, I brutally lashed Charlottes wrists together behind her. The plastic bit deeply into her flesh as she began to writhe and wriggle; to try to turn to face her assailant -- but being immobilised already, there was no way back.

The first phase of Susie's revenge was simple. Charlotte had humiliated her by using toys -- so Susie wanted to use toys on Charlotte. And you should know at this point that Susie is no angel -- her range of toys was impressive, to say the least! -- so there were plenty of options to choose from.

Back to the bathroom. Picture the scene, if you will -- a broad-shouldered, strongly built guy has at least restrained this beautiful woman, and has her bent double at the waist facing away from him. In their struggle, her uniform has become somewhat dishevelled -- her blouse has untucked and, with one knee on the closed toilet seat, her skirt has begun to rise up. But she still had too much freedom of movement, and was making WAY too much noise. Both of those things had to stop.

One of the recent innovations in aircraft -- designed for families, but now put to much earthier use -- is a fold-down tray for changing babies. Standing Charlotte upright again for a moment, I lowered this tray and forced her forward over it. I took my already-loosened tie and used this, looped around her neck, to keep her in place over the tray -- and was able to let go of her for a moment. That noise, though -- I hadn't thought of a gag.

But then -- she wasn't going to be needing much in the way of underwear as this developed, was she? So I unzipped her skirt and as it dropped to the floor, ripped her French knickers away in one movement. I crammed the wadded-up material into her mouth, blessedly eliminating the yelps she'd been emitting.

Susie was standing in the doorway, and now that I'd subdued Charlotte, squeezed into the toilet beside me. With no preamble whatsoever, she cracked her open palm against Charlotte's beautifully formed ass -- hard enough to raise a distinct hand print. And having raised that handprint once, Susie was goaded into repeating the experiment -- again, and again, and again. All the while, as the rhythmic slap against these beautiful cheeks persisted, I held Charlotte tightly by the scarf round her neck -- but now, becoming very aroused myself, kicked her feet apart and thrust my fingers between her legs.

Her cunt was absolutely dripping wet. And this was kind of a dichotomy because there was no WAY Charlotte was enjoying this. The shame and fear on her face as she was fairly brutally assaulted was clear to see, and she was fighting with all her strength against her captor. Her body was reacting in a different way -- but this was in no way going to earn her any pity or reprieve, and in fact her physical reaction made me angrier than before -- and determined to find a way to avenge Susie.

Our original thought had been to pleasure Charlotte with one of Susie's vibrators, whether she wanted it or not. And she clearly didn't, judging by her continuing, fruitless struggles. But now I grabbed the monster Susie had brought into the bathroom with her and, pausing only to soap it a little, pressed its tip against the puckered ring of Charlotte's ass. She clearly knew what was coming and her struggles redoubled, but to no avail -- I slid that thing deeply into her and, once she'd taken about 5 inches of it, turned it on. The effect was, if you'll pardon the pun, electric! Bucking and writhing as she continued to try to escape the ruthless grip in which she was held, the anal invasion galvanised Charlotte into ever-wilder movements -- that did nothing to bring her closer to release. It was easy to keep her controlled -- I simply twisted the scarf around her neck a little tighter, watching carefully as her face suffused with oxygen-starved blood to ensure that the punishment we were subjecting her too didn't become permanent.

Given that Charlotte DID need to breathe, and being ready to move on to the next phase of her humiliation, I pulled the vibrator free of her ass. I told Susie to stop her spanking of Charlotte's now-glowing bum, and, as the sensations ceased, Charlotte tried to look at us over her shoulder. I stood her upright and turned her to face us. Her face returning to a more normal colour as I eased the pressure on the scarf round her neck, tears staining her face from the pain and humiliation of her ass being violated, hair coming loose from her bun, nipples almost tearing holes in her blouse, moisture darkening the tops of the flesh-coloured stockings she wore and saliva running from the corners of her mouth around the improvised French-knickers gag, Charlotte was probably the most erotic vision I'd ever seen.

We had not, by any stretch of the imagination, finished with her yet. I reached into my pocket and took out a couple of capsules of Rohypnol, the so-called "date rape" drug. This wasn't a date, but we wanted Charlotte compliant -- what we were planning for her wasn't something she would have gone along with uncoerced. I pulled the gag from Charlotte's mouth and thrust the capsules inside -- and to ensure that she didn't try to spit them out, I sealed my lips over hers and pushed the capsules deep into her throat with my tongue as Susie frigged furiously on her throbbing clit. Charlotte swallowed reflexively and the capsules were on their way to start their work....

Half an hour later, their effects were becoming apparent. Charlotte was surprisingly docile, given that she'd just been fucked in the ass and strangled half to death by a complete stranger. It was time to tell her what she had to do -- and to see if the drugs had had the desired effect.

"Put your skirt back on" I said. "Go now to the guy in 34C (appropriate, given what I could judge of her magnificent breasts!) and make him come. Don't care what you do -- use your hands, which I'll release in a moment, use your mouth, give him a tit fuck for all I care -- just make him come. And don't say a word to him or anyone else before, during or after this -- come straight back here. But before you go...."

Susie took a pair of love balls from her bag and jammed them inside Charlottes sopping pussy. I cut through the plasticuffs and pushed her out of the bathroom where she pulled her skirt back up over her legs -- ah, those legs, sheathed in the sheerest nylon -- I was looking forward, later, to lying between them and lapping tirelessly at her throbbing bud. She looked uncertainly from me, to Susie, and back again. "GO" I commanded. "And we'll be watching -- make him come, and get back here. You haven't got long -- you need to serve breakfast in half an hour!"

On still-trembling legs, Charlotte turned towards the designated seat. Looking back constantly over her shoulder, she was clearly behaving under duress. As she reached row 34, she looked beseechingly at us one more time. Clearly she was going to need some further encouragement to carry out her task. Moving quickly and silently up the aisle, and shielded by the darkness enveloping the sleeping cabin, I reached her side and once again grabbed her scarf. Pulling her close, I hissed to her "Suck him. NOW!" and pushed her head down towards the sleeping man's groin. With trembling hands, she unfastened his zip and pulled out a flaccid, but still impressive cock. With me still holding her head immovably in place, she began to trace her pointed tongue the length of it, immediately producing a twitching reaction -- and a fluttering open of eyes as the guy in 34C began to realise what was happening to him.

Not surprisingly, he was somewhat taken aback -- but had obviously sussed out the situation very quickly, and sat back in his seat to enjoy Charlotte's ministrations. He looked quizzically at me, asking an unspoken question, and I whispered "she's being forced to do this for mistreating a colleague. If I was you, I'd sit back and enjoy!"

And he clearly was enjoying this, growing and swelling as Charlotte's tongue went to work on him. He placed his hand on the back of her neck -- I let go the scarf for now, and instead ran my hand up the back of her legs, jamming two fingers roughly into her still-distended ass. He began a spasmodic thrusting of his hips into her face, holding her head firmly in place. She was trying to pull away as she sensed his explosion approaching but he wasn't having any of that -- a man after my own heart! -- and so she was forced, moaning in protest, to swallow reflexively as his jism gushed forth.

The guy in 34C grinned at me. "Thanks for letting me help you punish her!" he said, still holding Charlotte's head in place, forcing her to lick the last drops from his now drooping member, lest they drip down her chin. "Just a shame we woke the neighbours!". And sure enough, the little old lady in 34A was wide awake, and must have seen every moment -- or at least the latter moments -- of what had just happened. She looked at Charlotte in disgust -- clearly, "young gels" hadn't done that sort of thing in her day!

Marching Charlotte back to the galley, I took her firmly by the throat as soon as we were through the curtain. Slamming her against the toilet door, pushing her head back and forcing her to stand on tiptoe so that her eyes were level with mine, I wanted to make sure she got the next message very, very clearly.

"You're going back to work now", I growled at her. Her eyes widened in fear as she heard the ferocity in my voice, and felt my fingers tighten around her neck. "But don't think for a minute I am finished with you yet. I will be watching EVERY move you make; Susie, too, will be watching you. You are to do NOTHING to indicate to anyone what has been happening to you. When we get off this flight, you are coming with us. When you strap in for landing, Susie's going to fasten your harness with more plasticuffs to ensure you don't try to leave without us -- and in the meantime, I'm going to keep you fed on Rohypnol to keep you quiet." So saying, I jammed another capsule into her throat, again forcing it home with my tongue and this time, pushing first two, then three and finally four fingers into her tight, dripping pussy. I sought and found that elusive ganglion of nerves hiding behind her pelvic wall, and pressed on it insistently -- Charlotte's knees buckled slightly with this new sensation, and for a moment, her entire weight was supported by my left hand around her throat and my right hand jammed deep in her cunt.

I released her throat first, then pulled my fingers out of her aching vagina. She stood, trembling mutely, wondering what was coming next.

As a last touch (for now, at least) I told her to remove her blouse and take off the white satin bra she was wearing, then to put the blouse back on again. As she did so, I caught my first sight of her magnificent breasts and before she closed the buttons on her blouse, caught hold of her engorged nipples, squeezing insistently on the dark, prominent buds. Charlotte gasped in pain as I said to her "remember -- you do EXACTLY as you are told". Unable to speak, tears coursing down her face, Charlotte nodded vehemently. Her spirit was breaking under the incessant pressure.

Breakfast service that morning was one that many of the passengers will remember for years to come. Because they hadn't often been served breakfast by a hostess who presented as clearly a dishevelled picture as Charlotte did that morning. Removed from the restraints of her bra, her fantastic breasts swelled proudly against her white satin blouse, her prominent nipples clearly delineated against the fabric. Her once fastidious bun was in disarray, tendrils of dark hair escaping everywhere; she was clearly not focussing on the task in hand as the combined effects of the drugs and the still-inserted love balls were distracting her constantly. But somehow, she got through the service and, as the captain instructed the cabin crew to be seated for landing, sank into her jump seat. She was bewildered and ashamed -- never had she had so many explicitly sexual comments directed at her as she'd served breakfast braless; the withering look of contempt from the lady in 34A coupled with the leering wink from her near neighbour in 34C had reminded her forcefully of her acts in the early hours of darkness; and her ass still ached from the pounding it had taken from Susie's vibrator. She shrank back into the seat as Susie, as promised, fastened a web of plasticuffs around the four-point buckle on the restraining harness -- and began again to weep silently as she realised that her ordeal was far from over....

As we landed, and knowing that one particular hostess wouldn't even think of chiding me for moving before the seat-belt sign had gone out, I got to my feet, grabbed my carry-on from the overhead bin and made my way to the rear galley again. Yet again with an early arrival we were to be coached from the aircraft but, somewhat unusually, there was also a set of stairs being positioned against the rear door. This couldn't have worked better! I cut the plasticuffs around the buckle holding Charlotte in place and pulled her to her feet whilst Susie opened the rear door. Securing Charlotte's wrists once more in front of her, I disguised her captivity by draping her uniform jacket over her bound hands and, Susie taking the lead, we set off down the steps.