Dirty Flight Attendants

- 1 -

Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this flight to Eden!

For too long have we craved after you, desert beauties in long veils, and since we cannot become your lovers, we shall prove villains and take your idle chastity. At last a rare opportunity has come. June 15th, Crown Prince Air, long-distance flight, a newly assembled crew, inexperienced stewardesses, many still maidens. The pilots are tipped off. Take out the purser and the whole cabin shall be our bedchamber. The odds are greatly in our favor.

Amen! Here comes our call to board.

- 2 -

Maryam is alone in the empty cabin, on a last-minute check, but really she is checking out her own uniform. Brand new, freshly laundered, everything speaks of taste, even the hosiery is of top quality. Farewell to cheap no-label tights; here everyone is entitled to a pair of French luxury beige stockings, along with the garter belt to keep them from slipping. And don't even mention her Italian designer brand stilettos!

She is quite satisfied to say the least. At first she had been uneasy about this moving back home. Once upon a time she left there to chase greener pasture in Europe, but it was a different time and a different country. Back then there simply was no place for aspiring women like her. Now things have changed, considerably so, and mostly for the better.

She has already made a home in London, has two kids still in grade school, and works hard to gain a respectful life. It was no easy decision moving back alone without her family. But the minister of tourism and travel called her personally for the job. Said they need a veteran and a symbol of this country's latest progress, and the pay is simply magic. They told her she's a top candidate. She'd be a fool to refuse it. It's now or never, as she was told.

She will soon be 42. Not young but not old either. Her beauty is quite apparent if not enhanced. The golden age of womanhood: the girls here all call her "madam" without a thought and she is much flattered. A lot of nervous first-timers. She's been there before. Time to join them at the gate. Stop fidgeting, honey, your hijab is fine! They are all wearing the hijabs she gifted them a little earlier, finest handcrafts from her hometown, and they all look so beautiful. Young and beautiful! Now, girls, do put on our warmest smiles for our guests, for here they come.

- 3 -

Allah be praised! The takeoff goes smoothly. Through the oval windows the sunset lingers askew, the deep blue sky at its rear almost purple. Seatbelt signs are off and lavatories are now in use. Soon the many bellies in this giant iron bird will need to be fed and tended.

Naturally the flight attendants are ready for the challenge. They hurry out in their dark green hijabs, onto the aisles, with their metal carts clinking and their hips swaying in wine-red pencil skirts. The new uniform strikes a nice balance between daring and modesty, the female curves teased out but not over done and made indecent. Like nimble forest nymphs they navigate the narrow paths with ease, stoping and going at a natural flow. Behind the meal cart their heels follow right on cue and soon, rows after rows, the passengers' cups are filled with their choices of refreshment.

Maryam marvels at the diverse crowd she is serving tonight. People from every corner of the world seem to have found a spot on this plane! She also notices that they are all men: not a single woman onboard except for the flight attendants themselves. A bit odd and baffling, but she has no time to overthink such trifle matters, for the next row are already looking at her expectantly.

What can I get you today, sir?

Why, an excellent choice, sir!

Right away, sir!

Oops, we've just emptied of this one, allow me to fetch another, sir.

The purser squats down behind her cart to search for the replacement. As she does that, her skirt tightens around her ample behind, which contrasts nicely with her narrow waist. Many heads immediately tilt that way to enjoy the naughty little show which the unaware purser has put on. Maryam on her part never feels anything funny, as her work at hand demands full attention, the passengers' satisfaction being the only thing on her mind.

Now she stands up again holding a spare box of berries mix, the men then shift their gaze down the stewardess's legs in leather stilettos. Under the smooth glowing stockings the veins on the backs of her feet converge in a beautiful pattern, her cute toes hidden under the shoe boxes. How her feet form arches so perfect in the stilettos! How savvy and aggressive those sharp heels make her look! Her time to be trained will soon come.

Next, meals are dispensed in their little lunchboxes, along with desserts and fruit. A large quantity of ice-cream and other desserts are also available on demand. But by far the passengers seem most interested in getting more drink, and their choices are overwhelmingly on the hard side. A battle for filling and refilling hundreds of polyester cups ensues.

Fatimah, go and see what that gentleman needs over there!

Fetch me that can and let me open it for you -- watch out Sana, coming behind!

Take a breath, Nadia and Mona, don't wear yourselves out too early!

Somebody please tell me how the second deck is doing!

In a graceful bow Maryam bends forward with the wine bottle in her hands; as the man raises his cup he try to catch a glimpse of her bras through the little gaps in her blouse. She then pours another shot of brandy for a bearded white man whose face is already red like a lobster. She is so busy and can't catch a single breath.

Excuse me? Another fill for me!

She turns around, her large bright eyes searching for the caller but she can't quite place where the call came from. Suddenly something trips her feet beneath and she falls heavily on the ground. Had someone not been quick to catch the bottle from her hands the carpet would have been ruined!

Maryam groans in pain; for a second or two she struggles to get up on her own. The fall also makes the skirt roll a little up her legs. Now the brown welts of her stockings are partly revealed, and their intricate floral pattern is carefully studied by the passengers. Another flight attendant soon comes to the purser's aid, and Maryam is back on her feet in no time. Thankfully nothing is torn on her clothes. She apologizes and resumes her work.

But what a heartless crowd! No a single of them rose from his seat to offer her a hand, but glued to their seats instead and watched her suffer. Maryam's heart turns bitter at this thought. To think she was serving a group of gentlemen! Now she's even suspecting whether someone had tripped her deliberately in the first place. But Maryam has a heart of gold and never wants to think the worst of other people. So she moves on, greeting passengers with her usual warm smile. Rude or not, they are on her plane and she has a job to do.

While Maryam is dashing along the aisle overseeing the service, she is stopped by something that demands her immediate attention: the toilet in one of the lavatories seems to be malfunctioning and people are waiting with quite some urgency, having indulged too much of their beer.

- 4 -

Alas! Once onboard a flight attendant is expected to handle any situation. Plumber or not, Maryam is determined to get this toilet fixed. She pushes the flash button a few times but nothing happens; the toilet won't flash. The many foams and bubbles on the yellow water stare back at her in their collective silent wonder. After a few more tries it is time for her to admit that she doesn't know a thing. It's a new plane and she has to consult the user's manual.

That means the passengers outside will have to wait for other lavatories for now. Maryam feels bad for them, all standing there holding it back. At least they are decent enough not to pee in a broken toilet! Before she leaves for the manual Maryam decides to quickly clean the toilet. Just as she bends down to clean the urine from the rim she hears the door close behind her.

Sir, could you keep this door open please --

She has not finished her sentence before realizing she is not alone. Someone is inside the lavatory with her. She sees in the mirror a very short man who cowers in a tight spot behind her. He has a shrinking air that makes her dislike him instantly. Then to her mortification she sees that his pants are already dropped to his knees, and his little prick is hanging out amidst a dark grove of pubic hair. An unremarkable standing guard it is, with the head larger than its shaft.

Sir, you cannot be in here like this--

Maryam tries to turn around to face the man but the tight space makes it impossible. She feels a hand reaches over her hijab and lands around the back of her neck, while the other hand feels her inner thigh and then slides slowly upward. The purser is shocked but not afraid; she has confronted such a scene many a time before. Those drunken lads who think they can do anything to the flight attendants need to be put in their place. So in a most righteous tone she says,

Sir, I am warning you, if you don't get your hands off me right now--

But the other hand shows no sign of slowing down. Following the strings suspending the stockings it reaches deeper into the purser's skirt, until it rests on her soft panties, caressing her crotch which is warm and slightly wet from sweat.

Sir, this is a serious assault and you are subject to arrest upon arriving--

The hand on Maryam's neck suddenly tightens its grasp and pins her head against the folded changing table. She cries out. But the man wastes no time: in one move he drags up her skirt to around her belly and pulls aside her panties. She is rendered speechless. He starts to play between his fingers the tender folds of her hairless vulva, newly shaved this morning just for her job. And what fat juicy lips she has down there! Maryam starts to panic; she never thought her assailant would dare to go this far.

There's still a chance for you to undo what you have done, sir, please stop it right now. Stop touching me! Let go of me! Wait, what're you doing, no--

Maryam feels a sudden pinch between her thighs that sends a shiver out to her whole body. He has found her clit. It is in that man's hand, between his fingers, and being tortured in a relentless manner. Having never been treated this violently, it instantly swells up and becomes hypersensitive. Maryam has always been bothered by a high libido, and it's only getting worse as she ages. In recent years her husband has not quite been able to match her needs and since she left him for this new job she has not had any form of sex. She rarely masturbates; only bad women do that. So all her excessive urge has been accumulating for a long time until that hand found its way to her clit.

As the rubbing and squeezing on that tiny spot become more intense, Maryam feels herself rapidly approaching an early crisis. But how strange! She has never reached one this fast, and by an unknown man! The thought makes her feel ashamed, but as humiliating as this assault on her is, there is also something she has never experienced before, a forbidden form of passion which she has perhaps secretly craved in many shapeless dreams past. She instinctively covers her mouth with her right hand while her left hand struggles to support her body against the wall.

The hand suddenly ceases. Maryam's legs stand apart at an unseemly angle over the toilet, muscles in her smooth calves convulsing, unsteady in her stilettos. Then she feels a finger slowly circling around her aroused clit. It's counterclockwise and it goes round one, round two, round three... Before round seven has finished Maryam can hold it no more. She utters an exasperated moan, and from between her opened thighs a stream of yellow urine is discharged into the bowl at an amazing speed and volume. Behind her, the man quietly enjoys his handiwork: the purser's steamy pee splashing into the toilet water is music to his ears.

- 5 -

When the last wave of reverie recedes from her body, Maryam lets out a relieving sigh. But the hands on her will not let go. She is brought to face her molester, who grips her shoulders firmly. Her body sinks down following the hands' cue, and the next thing she knows, both her knees are on the cold ground, while his dark prick dangles right in front of her face like an exited little animal.

Maryam's eyes are wide open, seeing flashbacks from her pest, the random meaningless moments that swarm the mind when one is in shock. Open your damn mouth. He sounds very impatient, like he's got a flight to catch.

She pleads. She swears. She threatens that she will bite it off. Biting the head off first and then the shaft and perhaps one of the balls too, she cries. The gross thing keeps dancing around her mouth and in its attempt to gain entrance collides against her aquiline nose. Maryam has never confronted such an ugliness before in her life. The head rubs its slippery discharge against her pursed lips. The smell is incredibly vile and she wants to throw up. In a reflex she opens her mouth.

What a mistake! Now he is in her mouth. It is short and takes no time to get all in, but hard like rock. The cock is absolutely rigid against her soft lips and tongue. It stays in her warm mouth for about a dozen seconds. Then like a commute train it starts to go in and out, in and out, slowly at first, but soon picks up its speed.

Maryam feels every bit of the male organ in her mouth, its uncut foreskin wallowing back and forth against her teeth, the horrid taste making her stomach turn. Then through all this disgusting darkness something hits her like an epiphany: a basic instinct kicking in. Her tongue has a life of its own. It now helps rolling the foreskin back and works around the head diligently.

She is extremely perplexed by what she is doing, and why she is able to do it so effortlessly. She has never done this kind of thing with her own husband. It is unnatural; a sin, a grave sin! Or so she is taught. This man has very long hair down there, very hard and brittle too, and now they are brushing against every inch of skin around her mouth. Some reach into her nostrils, and repeatedly too. Very nasty, very irritating business!

The man gives a satisfied sigh. His hands reach for Maryam's head and grab at her dark green hijab. He has no intention of getting it off her. Better this way, he thinks, better to hide your whore's hair. So this is how it is: cocksuckers, you all are, every last one of you. He presses her head hard on his groins, feeling her nose poking at him. Focus--focus on her mouth--those glossy full lips of a married woman, her almond eyes--large, smoky, alert, in tears--looking away, avoiding his hot earnest gaze, but her warm tongue is uncontrollable, swirling and swimming--around--his--

- 6 -

For more than a minute Maryam kneels very still, almost motionless. It would have been a very pious pose has she not had a half-limp cock in her mouth. The flow of hot semen down her throat has stopped at last. So thick and rich it is, that even to swallow it proves difficult.

The purser kneels still, her hips rest against the stilettos hard leather cases. She can't feel her calves. She is thinking, that this is all new to her, being used like a whore, and she doesn't object to the taste. So this is what it tastes like, this is what men really taste like. Now she wonders what her husband's cock will feel like in her mouth. But what a horrid idea! She is immediately ashamed and regrets ever harboring this thought.

The moment his cock withdraws from her mouth the purser almost collapses on the floor. She is helped to sit onto the toilet. Her bare buttocks sink in around the lid, and the pressure makes her wanting to pee again. There sense gradually creeps back into her legs. She asks if he will let her go now.

He shakes his head and instead points at her feet. Take them off, he says. Hesitantly, she reaches down and takes her stilettos off. Now her feet are bare save for the sheer stockings, and they lay atop one another, her toes curl tightly, unused to this new exposure and vulnerability. She is holding the heels in her hands, not sure what to do next.

Lick!

No! That's ridiculous! I can't--

Lick them, bitch!

Please just let me go please just leave

I said lick! (lightly, playfully slaps her face) You speak English no?

Maryam lowers her head and buries her face into the heels. She can't believe she is really doing it, but at this point she is willing to do anything to leave this one hell of a lavatory. Under his thrilled gaze she starts licking her own shoes, first along the sleek vamp, then the sharp toe box. She detects the smell of carpet. Then she reaches into the soft leathery insoles. Her feet don't sweat much, but there is still a faint unpleasant smell that tries her limit.

While she is performing this most bizarre task for her abuser, the man's hands begin reaching to touch himself. His breathing quickens, he is hard again, he is near another ejaculation--all under a minute or two.

Give me that!

He suddenly grabs the left one from Maryam and hoods it around his little hardened prick, where he starts releasing his remaining load, and there's still a lot in his surprisingly mighty balls. She waits in silent anticipation, watching him ruin her shoes in terror and awe.

When the stiletto is returned to Maryam, its inside is completely soaked with cum. The other one, having been covered with her own saliva, is just marginally better. The man appears extremely satisfied with he has achieved here. Before he leaves he asks her to put them both back on.

- 7 -

This isn't happening, she says to herself; this can't be happening. Her feet are soaked, completely soaked in that man's semen. Now that the slippery mess has turned cold and slimy in her heels it feels even worse. She remains in the lavatory for a long time, recollecting herself.

What a setback! What an embarrassment! During her two-decade long career she has had many close calls with unruly passengers, but never one this bad. This is way over the line. Her tongue feels something between her teeth and spits out a short curvy hair. in the midst of rearranging her loosened hijab she suddenly bursts into a sob and collapses against the mirror. It's not fair! It's not fair!

Thank God the cabin is filled with the dreary engine hum and no one hears a thing.

When Maryam finally emerges from that lavatory, there is no one about in the aisles. The service has ended. Trays are taken away and garbage collected, all done without her. She feels bad for her absence but also proud for her crew. They must've handled everything flawlessly. Now the cabin is dark and full of people drunk and snorting. The short man is nowhere to be found. No matter; she will have the chance to identify him when the plane lands.

She makes her way to the middle galley where, behind the curtains, several of her crew are resting by the bulkhead. They greet her and ask if she is alright. Maryam has to find some excuses for herself. She hopes that it's dark enough here so no one will notice the dried urine patches on her stockinged legs. She feels most strange; hot in her cheeks but cold between her thighs. She had to dispose her panties after the incident as it was drenched in pee, so now she is wearing nothing beneath her skirt. Strangely this feeling of being vulnerable and exposed makes her feel younger and more impulsive.

On her seat Maryam is about to catch a nap when someone at the end of the cabin suddenly presses the call button. The purser leaves her dozing crew to answer the call. It is a seat by the aisle. The lights are dimmed in the cabin and she proceeds carefully, not wanting to awake the sleeping passengers. She walks in a slightly awkward manner because of her heels. The semen on her feet is drying off, but the insoles will remain damp for the rest of this flight.