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From: Andrew Roller <roller39@IDT.NET>
Subject: Love Child part 11 of 15 (NND)
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
LOVE CHILD
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter Eleven
Foolishly, I’d let Danielle make the airline arrangements for
me while I was out shopping for clothes. When I was done I called her
from the store. She told me there was no need to return to the dungeon,
unless I wanted to. She said she’d paid for the ticket herself, there
was no need for me to return the extra money. (That alone should have
clued me in. She was a generous woman, but a shrewd businessperson
also.) So I went to the plane and blissfully boarded.
The first thing that caught my eye when I got on board was how
incredibly beautiful the stewardesses were. Of course, being beautiful
myself, I just fell in with them and thought nothing more of it. (Not,
for instance, like a man would have reacted, taking down the girl’s
names and measurements in his mind and wondering how they looked
undressed.)
Since I was in first class, it never entered my mind to go back
and look in coach class. There seemed to be mostly men with me in first
class, but that didn’t clue me in either. After all, weren’t a
disproportionate number of wealthy people in the world men? This was a
Monday, so wouldn’t they all be out flying, going to their appointments?
Just before the flight took off, an elegant older woman sat
down beside me. I greeted her politely and went back to my crossword
puzzle. I was trying to remember the name of the man who drew Calvin
and Hobbes, in order to put it into my puzzle, when she asked me about
it. I was probably a little too enthusiastic explaining it. It was a
cartoon-type puzzle and I’d watched plenty of cartoons when I was
little, so it looked like one I could fill out. So I talked away about
all my favorite cartoons, and we got onto other subjects from there.
It turned out I was on Dungeon Airlines, though it of course
went by the name Elizabeth Air. I’d wondered about the name a little
when I got on, but since there are so many airlines these days coming
into and going out of business, I thought little more of it. As it
happened, Danielle had arranged for me to be on this airline so that I
might get introduced to Elizabeth herself. And she, of course, just
happened to be sitting right next to me.
After the flight had been in the air awhile a stew announced
that the “entertainment” was now available. Everyone in first class got
up and went back. I’d just gotten wind of what sort of plane I was on,
and so of course I stayed right where I was. And Elizabeth kept sitting
right beside me, conversing quietly with me.
I was, in point of fact, a prisoner. I was 35,000 feet in the
air with no parachute. And Elizabeth was no ordinary mortal. She’d
been born in the slums of Rio and worked and gambled and loved her way
to the top. I’m sure she could have done whatever she wished with me.
But instead she just talked, asked questions, and paid a lot of
attention to me. She actually seemed interested in what I had to say
(though she complimented my beauty also.)
By the time the plane landed I’d agreed to visit her estate.
It was to be just for the afternoon, but of course once I got there,
having nowhere else to stay, I accepted her invitation to spend the
night. For the next several days I lingered about the mansion, enjoying
the view of the Atlantic that stretched out before her clifftop villa.
She had parties at night, but I declined to attend. I needed to relax,
gather my thoughts. Her villa was located in Columbia, too, famous for
its mobsters and drug kingpins, and although some of the men who visited
her looked gorgeous, I dreaded what they might really be like when they
let their hair down.
I had a bedroom of my own upstairs and I quickly made it a
habit to turn in early. Lying up there, watching the moon, I’d
sometimes hear shrieks (of pleasure or pain I couldn’t tell). And I’d
hear male laughter, and the sound, distant, of cracking leather.
Elizabeth started to call me her “nun,” after a few days, or her “little
virgin.” But otherwise she let me be. I was grateful to her for that.
We’d sit sometimes in her parlor in the afternoon, sharing tea and
crumpets and chit-chatting. And sometimes we’d talk about flying, and
I’d admit that I’d always wanted to be a stewardess.
“You know, dear, you’d be such a smash on Elizabeth Airlines!”
she would say sometimes. One day she went on about how the FAA had one
of their scheduled inspections of her planes in America. “Of course,
when they visit, we take out all the toys and things,” she laughed.
“All they see is a sauna, wet bar, hot tubs. We tell them it’s for the
health of our customers, and they dutifully write that down on their
forms. Being chartered, of course, we can (I suppose) be anything we
want, but I always err on the side of appearing conservative. Like you
do, perhaps, hmmm?”
A week later I was a new stewardess on Elizabeth Air. Upon
boarding I met Tiffany. Introducing herself, she told me she was the
“lead stew” on this flight, which meant she had overall responsibility
for ensuring the happiness of the customers. She had long blonde hair
that tumbled over her shoulders. It was flaxen, thin, light strands,
that looked like they could all be blown off her head by the slightest
breeze. It was as if God had made her that way so that her shimmering
mane couldn’t block the view of her spectacular body. In fact, she
seemed to have assisted the Lord a little, for I noticed that her hair
was cut just short enough to prevent it from covering her nipples. Of
course, I couldn’t see her nipples just then, she was wearing her flight
uniform, but the thought struck me all the same. “Our uniforms are a
little racier than the last time you flew with us,” Tiffany smiled.
Except for the fact that she’d switched from a blue cloth jacket to a
black leather one, though, I didn’t notice any difference. Well, the
new jacket did seem tighter, showing off her proportions more
thoroughly, but she had the same white blouse underneath and black
trousers. It seemed the same to me.
Tiffany introduced me to the other girls. They each greeted me
warmly. She showed me around up front but did not give me a tour of the
“entertainment center” in back. Then Tiffany escorted me to a little
bathroom in first class and gave me a flight uniform of my own. “Don’t
take too long,” she advised. “The passengers will be boarding soon and
it will be your job to hand them their drinks. Take everything off,
including your underwear. Just put on what I’ve given you. There’s a
clothes closet in the bathroom where you can hang your things. We lock
it at takeoff, so you won’t have to worry about any of the passengers
taking anything that belongs to you.”
I was naked in the bathroom, just about to dress in my flight
gear, when I realized Tiff (as they called her, at least when no
passengers were there) hadn’t given me any panties. I opened the
bathroom door and stuck my head out.
“Tiff! Tiff!” I called, in a sort of meek little voice because
I was, after all, new and didn’t yet feel at home with my companions,
though of course they’d all been terrifically nice to me. Suddenly,
around the corner came Tiffany, and I was nearly struck dumb! Her
blouse was gone. Her black flight jacket, which had hugged her so
nicely, was zipped wide open. Out stuck her glorious breasts. They
jiggled with her every leggy step. She was just applying a touch of
rouge to one nipple, while licking some newly applied lipstick on her
upper lip.
“What is it, honey? Aren’t you dressed yet?”
“I-You didn’t give me any panties to wear,” I stammered.
“Darling, please,” she answered, rolling her eyes just a
little. “What do you think we are all here for? Get into your things
and help me get these drinks poured.” A girl came out behind her,
holding a liquor bottle in one hand and two glasses in the other. She
was deftly filling them while walking out of the flight kitchen to see
what I needed.
I was taken aback somewhat by the thought that I wasn’t pulling
my share of the load. Apologizing, I closed the bathroom door and
quickly got dressed. There were ankle-high black leather booties for my
feet, and black lace mitten gloves for my hands. And then there was the
dress. I snuggled into it (it was so tight there was really no other
way to describe it.) It zipped, curiously, from the top of my back
downward. Since the back was cut below the level of my shoulders I
decided to zip it myself. But when I got the zipper down to my ass, the
bulging of my cheeks prevented it from going any lower. The dress was
simply not big enough to accommodate the outswelling of my bottom. And
I had a small derriere, too, a teen’s butt. Of course from the front
you couldn’t tell that I was unzipped in back, but surely Tiff didn’t
intend for me to walk around the plane with a bare ass!
I looked at myself in a full-length mirror. It wasn’t wide,
but it was long enough so that you could see yourself from head to toe.
The dress was sleeveless. It left my shoulders bare. In front it held
my bosoms in tight, forcing them up until the nipples almost showed
above the dress’s low-cut front. Down below the hem of the dress barely
covered my pussy. I tugged on it, and figured I could keep myself
covered down there as long as I didn’t sit down. I tried once more to
zip the dress closed over my bottom, but it was futile. The zipper
simply couldn’t go any lower than the small of my back. Biting my lower
lip, I decided I couldn’t back out, despite the strange uniform.
Elizabeth had been so nice to me, and the other girls also. I’d take
one flight, just this once, to satisfy my curiosity, I told myself.
Before I could change my mind, I opened the bathroom door and went out.
“Very good,” Tiffany said, admiring me as I stood before her.
The sexy flight jacket she wore, black leather like my dress, had been
zipped back up. Between the halves of her jacket you could see the
inner spheres of her breasts, hugging each other. The blouse she’d been
wearing beneath her jacket was still gone. Also gone were the sleek
black trousers she’d had on. Instead, there was only the jacket now,
plus her booties and a new pair of mittens, just like mine. And, I
noticed, she’d buckled a small black dog collar around her neck. In
front it was adorned with a black bow-tie.
I looked about me. The other girls, just finishing their
preparations, were all dressed now like Tiffany. You could see the tops
of their thighs and their strikingly long legs, but (fortunately for
them) each girl’s jacket did just manage to cover her private area. In
back each girl was covered too, though when I saw a girl bend over to
get something her jacket inched up just enough to reveal the lower part
of her ass. She, however, wore white panties, I saw. Ruefully I turned
to Tiffany and she knew what I was thinking. She told me that what I
was wearing was to indicate that I was a brand new stew.
“We use a different sort of attire on the new girl each time,”
she explained. “Sometimes we have her dress like she’s just an ordinary
passenger, and surprise the guests when it turns out she’s not. With
you, Elizabeth hopes to play a little game with them. The girls and I
will take care of the passengers after you’ve given them their drinks.
You’re to work up in the flight kitchen until I call you.”
“Okay,” I agreed. That was fine with me. The flight kitchen
was right behind the cockpit, and then came the passenger lounge, “first
class.” The men would enter at the front of first class and then walk
back, find their seat, and sit down. With luck I could slip into the
flight kitchen without turning around.
When the passengers entered I was standing just inside the
door. I was holding a silver tray, with drinks on it. I smiled sweetly
at each man as he entered and offered him a drink. Mischievously I
wondered what his reaction would be if he knew how I looked in back.
None of them suspected, however. Two women came on board. They were
each with a man and looked hopelessly spoiled and elegant. Yet they
smiled nicely at me, and each took the the drink that I offered her.
As soon as all the passengers had been served I slipped into
the flight kitchen. I made a point of not turning around. But I
couldn’t help peeking out. I found I could see Tiffany and almost all
the passengers if I stuck my head out of the kitchen and gazed into a
mirror mounted in the passenger cabin. It was one of two that Elizabeth
had installed to keep a better watch on the passengers. Of course the
stewardesses told the passengers that the mirrors were there for their
enjoyment, and certainly you could see more of the lovely female flesh
wandering about the cabin if you kept one eye cocked toward the
mirrors. A girl might bend toward you but moon the mirror, giving you a
view into her decollete jacket while, with your other eye, you inspected
the soft contours of her bottom. By sticking my head out just beyond
the kitchen door, where a helpful magazine rack still blocked it from
passenger view, I was able to observe everything that went on in the
cabin.
I watched as Tiffany began the safety presentation. First she
pointed out the location of the emergency exists. Then she went on
about not smoking, and how the instructions of the pilot and the flight
attendants must be obeyed in the event of an emergency. What she said
next, though, shocked me:
“In the event of smoke entering the aircraft, you may need to
cover your mouths,” Tiffany said. “With that in mind we offer you our
panties in advance.” All eyes were upon her. Deftly she slipped her
hands up underneath the rim of her jacket and slid down her panties.
She sleeked them down her long thighs and plucked them off her gently
raised high heels. She held them aloft a moment, as if contemplating
them, then offered them to the nearest passenger. “Sir, please see if
these will work for you,” she said. The man held them to his nose and
delighted in their feminine aroma, her aroma, and she smiled with just a
touch of deprecation at him. A goddess belittling her worshipful
disciple. But he minded not.
Simultaneously the other flight attendants were removing their
panties now, and each offered her underpants to a passenger. I watched
as a woman passenger sniffed a stew’s panties, then nodded her approval
at the girl. I shivered at the subtle games of dominance and submission
that were being played out. Some girls seemed to be cast, willingly or
unwillingly, as victims or “bottoms,” while others, like Tiffany,
clearly retained the reins of power even after she surrendered her
panties.
When the “panty game” had been played out, Tiffany continued
with her presentation. She held up an oxygen mask and cupped it over
her nose and mouth. Her eyes seemed to bulge slightly as she did it, I
saw, as if she were surprised, a captive princess suddenly gagged. Next
she put on a life vest. She pinched the little tube sticking out of the
vest with her fingers. Then she pretended to inflate the vest. With a
loving tongue she licked the tube, then put her lips to it and blew,
letting her cheeks puff up.
The audience clapped with appreciation when she announced that her
presentation was over.
The girls then each made sure each passenger was strapped into
his seat. Bending over, each female presented an admirable rear view to
the men across the aisle. After strapping in each man the stew gently
unzipped him, first asking permission, of course, and drew forth his
cock with questing hands. I heard Tiffany explain the reason: “Your
penis will need lots of oxygen during takeoff. The blood gets
redistributed in your body as the airplane lifts off, and its most
healthy for your cock if it is erect and free of any restraint. Of
course,” she continued with wide-eyed innocence, “on ordinary flights
laws and such won’t allow this, but here the health of our passengers is
our foremost concern, and there aren’t any children present that might
cause it to be a problem. Please make sure your penis is fully erect
during takeoff, sir, and ask a stewardess for assistance if you need
it.” She gave her charge a few quick strokes to make sure he was
properly presenting himself, then kissed the tip for him and told him to
be a good boy. The man seemed about to lose himself with excitement.
“Sir, discharging is not allowed in the passenger lounge,” Tiffany said,
using Elizabeth airline’s terminology for first class, sometimes called
the “first class passenger lounge.” “Please hold yourself in until the
play portion of our flight, when you will be encouraged to discharge as
many times as you can. O.K.?” Her voice was lilting, musical. The man
nodded his head vigorously, his body trembling slightly.
A stewardess ran past Tiffany toward my hideout in the flight
kitchen. She appeared flustered.
“What’s the matter?” Tiffany asked, her voice louder than the
two of them would have needed if they were conversing alone. Obviously,
this was meant to be heard.
“Oh, the man in 5B has had an accident,” Beverly replied.
“Where do we keep the vomit bags?”
“Sperm bags, you mean,” Tiffany said. “Oh, yes. I’d almost
forgotten. Men, we’re going to give each of you a little sperm bag. If
you feel you absolutely must shoot, please hold the bag over your
cock.” She took a bag from Beverly as the woman emerged from the flight
kitchen with a handful of them. A little plastic pouch, Tiffany opened
it and held it over the cockhead of the nearest man. She asked him
politely if he understood what he must do if he felt the need to cum.
He nodded, as if he were a schoolboy learning from Teacher some
difficult new subject.
“That’s good!” Tiffany congratulated the boy/man, and let him
have the bag. She gave the stem of his cock a little pinch by way of
farewell and told him she new she could count on him to save himself for
recess.
Like a gaggle of schoolgirls the stews then retreated to the
flight kitchen. While the plane trundled out toward the runway they
merrily compared mental notes about the different men’s cocks. I
listened with fascination as the girls gossiped about which man they
liked best, and which organ.
The pilot announced that the airplane was ready for takeoff.
With calm efficiency Tiffany and Beverly emerged from the flight kitchen
and swept down the aisles. They touched each man’s cock to make sure it
was sticking up as it should be. Meanwhile, the other girls began
buckling themselves into the bulkhead. It turned out that they were to
remain standing during takeoff, but with their arms tied off above them
and their legs spread, their calves overlapping and their ankles secured
with straps. I watched with amazement as Tiffany, returning to the
front of the plane, hurried the girls into position. Like soldiers the
girls lined themselves up across the length of the bulkhead. Tiffany
buckled each one into her restraints if a friend hadn’t done so
already. Then Tiffany and Beverly each broke open a collapsible seat by
the bulkhead and sat down and put on a seatbelt. I myself found a
collapsible seat in the flight kitchen and sat in that. With a roar the
plane lifted off and a moment later we were skyborne, to what heights of
depravity I could only guess.
The flight soon took on a humdrum air, as the plane slowly
gained altitude. When the “Fasten Seat Belts” sign went off Tiffany and
Beverly freed the other girls and they began bustling about the planes,
checking each passenger and asking what he wished for in the way of
snacks and drinks. I noticed that despite the intimate friendships that
were developing between the girls and their passengers there was no
touching of the females, no groping. This was another rule of
Elizabeth’s, and I heard there was a bouncer in the cockpit to enforce
it if need be, an ex boxing champion. But no rules were violated, and
so the girls were able to serve their passengers with happy abandon,
keeping each man’s cock up if it started to sag and answering any
questions they might have about the girl’s measurements, or her favorite
foods and the like. Sex, however, was not discussed. Another of
Elizabeth’s little rules to keep up a sense of sophisticated decorum,
even on a flight that looked like it was hauling a crop of freshly grown
toadstools. With a delighted look in her eye Tiffany advised each man
that he could put his penis away if he wished, now that the plane had
taken off. If, for his enjoyment or out of simple need he had to keep
it exposed, he was permitted to, the only rule being that it must be
fully erect at all times, so as not to look unmanly.
In the kitchen I soon became busy helping two other girls
prepare snack trays for the passengers. It was so enjoyable working
with them, being a real stewardess, that I almost forgot about my bare
behind! Only when the girls went out to serve the trays, leaving me
behind, did I think about it. But I reassured myself, telling myself I
was new and they’d let me have an easy flight. Then, not dead like a
cat, I’d head off for some new experience in life, with the feather
neatly placed in my cap, available to impress any girl with, that I’d
flown as a stewardess on “Dungeon Airlines.”
Am I a “lifest”? Someone who embraces life? I didn’t think
so, actually. I always saw myself as quiet, reserved. And indeed
Elizabeth had called me her “little nun.” So, sure that I was still my
same old conservative self, I played with the little plastic swords in
the flight kitchen while the girls took care of our guests. I arranged
the little swords by color, looked at myself in a mirror holding one,
and finally set about spearing olives with them.
The trays were collected at last and returned to the kitchen,
where I and two other girls set about dumping the leftovers into a trash
bin. It was the first truly unpleasant thing I’d had to do, looking at
that half-eaten food, but my companions had bright spirits and I decided
to think like they did. It seemed odd, I reflected to myself, that
being bare-bottomed on a flight full of men presenting their penises was
less objectionable to me than scraping trays. “You are a silly girl,” I
scolded myself. “Just a spoiled mall rat from Rio. I can just see you
explaining this to your children when they have to clean their plates.
‘Well, girls,’ you’ll say. ‘You can either help me wash up the dishes
or you can run around the house with bare bottoms.’ And then I
shivered. For I knew every little girl delighted at least once in her
life in racing around the house naked, chased by Poppa or brother and
perhaps even spanked soundly when she was caught. Or even running out
of her bedroom naked in front of guests, that was even more of a
delightful dare, I thought to myself, and how I’d let a friend goad me
into doing it when I was four. Mommie had been so surprised. She was
having a quiet dinner, my friend and I supposedly tucked away for the
night, when all of a sudden I bolted out of my bedroom. I squealed and
laughed and jiggled myself crazily, my little bottom doing a wiggly
dance as I streaked around the table. Mommie had to run me down to get
hold of me, finally catching me in my bedroom, by my pile of teddie
bears. She picked me up and sat down on my bed and put me over her knee
and lifted her hand to whack my fanny. I was scared but somewhere
inside I was trembling with anticipation, I realized. I knew the guests
would hear me bawl and I could keep their attention for half an hour,
maybe, I thought. They’d say, “My, she’s a little dickens.” And Mommie
would say, “Yes, she’s a handful alright.” But instead my mommie
lowered her hand, softly, on my heinie. Then she bent over and kissed
me on each upturned cheek.
“You’ve had your fun. Now I want you to go to bed, okay?” she
said to me. I looked up at her, my eyes wide.
“Okay, mommie,” I replied. And so I slipped into bed with my
friend. We actually went to sleep then, instead of staying up all night
like we’d planned and bothering the guests. Later when I got up to go
to the bathroom I thought I heard mommie crying. There was a cracking
sound in the distance. I slipped out of my bedroom and went upstairs.
I knocked on mommie’s bedroom door. A lady answered, her hair wreathing
her face. She had lovely long hair and she was very pretty. I saw that
she had wrapped a towel around her, but it didn’t look like she’d just
stepped out of a bathtub or anything. And she was wearing stockings,
black fishnet stockings, with high heels. On her forearms she wore
matching fishnet gloves, tied just above the elbows with little black
bows. Otherwise she seemed to have nothing on, except for the towel,
which she was still trying to tuck into place.
I told the lady I wanted my mommie. She stroked my hair and
said mommie was busy, that she would be my mommie for awhile if I
wanted. I said no, but she offered to read me a story and said mommie
had specially asked her to see that I got some ice cream if I wanted it,
for being so good earlier and going to sleep like I was supposed to. Of
course I immediately agreed that this must be done, this having of ice
cream, especially as mommie was always limiting how much I could have.
Mommie always said if I had too much my teeth would all fall out and I’d
grow up to be fat. But tonight I could have a special treat for being
good. So I trooped downstairs, holding my newfound mistress firmly by
the hand, and had almost as much ice cream as I pleased, while she gazed
at me softly and happily and told me how much she wanted a daughter just
like me.
Out in the cabin Tiffany was being asked about dessert.
“Elizabeth wants you all to have a healthful dessert,” Tiffany
replied.
“What?” a man asked.
“Cucumbers,” Tiffany said. “I realize you might not like
cucumbers ordinarily, but Elizabeth assured me that they taste very good
with pussy juice on them. Would you like to try some?” An amazed cheer
of approval erupted from the passengers. Tiffany said that she would
have to rub herself, and it might be a little obscene, and would anyone
object to it? Nobody did. Lifting the hem of her jacket just a little,
not enough to allow a clear view of her pussy, Tiffany cupped her pubis
with her hand, then let the jacket drape back down over it. Moistening
her upper lip with her tongue, as if to inspire the lips below, she
began to massage herself. The other stewardesses joined in, each
titillating herself with her fingers while discreetly keeping her pussy
from being displayed. I watched with awestruck eyes as each girl, still
in her smart flight jacket, still the perfect picture of efficiency,
rubbed herself toward orgasm. Each of them began emitting little moans,
and it was all I could do to contain myself, to keep from rubbing myself
along with them. Not a few of the sperm bags had to be put to use, the
men jetting into them with abandon while others frantically tried to
hang on to their own loads. I realized that it was Elizabeth at work
again, settling the men down, taking off their edge, to keep them under
control.
When each girl felt she was wet enough she took a cucumber
from a tray on one of the little flight carts. They’d been rolled out
under the covers of gleaming silver lidded serving trays, as if what was
underneath was chocolate pie or some other ordinary dessert. Each
female inserted the cucumber into herself, holding her cunt lips open
but trying her best not to expose them to the passenger’s prying eyes.
Then she would move the cucumber up and down a few times within herself
to properly wet it, and then slowly remove it. When the end finally
popped out she delivered it to the closest passenger, who promptly
chomped into it. Even the two female passengers joined in the game,
each delicately taking a bite out of the cucumber when a stewardess
presented it to her.
Next it was time for a movie, Tiffany announced to the
passengers. She went up to the bulkhead and, standing on her tiptoes,
her hindcheeks peeking out from underneath her jacket, she reached up
and pulled down a little movie screen. Then a movie was shown, about
how to properly wear a condom. Cartoon figures demonstrated how the
condom was worn, slipping it on each other and engaging in various sex
acts with it it place. A man did a woman and a man did a man, while
happy music chirped away in the background.
After this Tiffany stepped into the flight kitchen. I’d heard
her announce something about the “entertainment.”
“Are you ready?” she asked.
“I guess so,” I replied, suddenly breathless.
“Just walk to the back of first class and open the doors to
‘coach’,” she said, using the euphemism for the airborne dungeon area.
“Okay,” I said.
“I’ll be unzipping up front while you do,” she added.
I gulped. After a final check in the kitchen’s full-length
mirror, I stepped out. I began walking down the aisle. Behind me,
Tiffany stepped out of the flight kitchen. With a flourish, saying that
it was time for the “festivities,” she unzipped the front of her jacket
and her beautiful boobs spilled out. I stole a glance over my shoulder
and saw that all eyes were fixed on her. She brandished her bosoms as
if they were ornaments rather than part of her body. They were for the
passengers’ enjoyment, she said, and in due time they could pluck at and
suckle and perhaps even bite them, if they promised to do it gently.
The other flight attendants, following Tiffany’s lead, bravely bared
their own sumptuous globes, their nipples invitingly sprouting. I half
wondered if they weren’t a flight hazard. A passenger might get poked
in the eye with all those lovely pairs of nipples sticking out,
especially if there was turbulence.
Reaching the double doors that separated “coach” from first
class, I took hold of their handles. They were brass, highly polished,
set on doors of cherry wood. I was just pushing them open when Tiffany
pointed me out to the passengers. They turned, seeing me really for the
first time, thanks to the fact they’d all been distracted by her, and
because all the seats faced forward. Blushingly I pushed the dungeon’s
doors wide open as everyone’s eyes fixed on my bare ass. Mine was the
first for them to really get a good look at, and they admired it as
lustily as I imagined mom’s guests had admired me when I’d run around
her dinner table naked. I had a rather wide stance, thanks to some
idiot leaving a snack tray on the floor where I was supposed to stand.
Glancing back at the passengers I smiled at them, meekly, my long legs
in a bold vee and my ass sticking out unashamedly like twin white
creampuffs.
Beyond me lay only darkness. The dungeon was completely
black. Elizabeth had mentioned that the windows in the dungeon were
blacked out, so absolutely no one could see inside. “We don’t need
piper cubs zipping around us trying to get a view,” she’d told me.
Two stewardesses brushed past me. Their jackets were now
unzipped, like Tiffany’s, their breasts displayed like ripe fruit at a
market.
“Come gentlemen...ladies?” Tiffany said. “Let’s play.” With
robust enthusiasm the passengers got up and began filing toward the
back. Not wanting to be run over, I slipped inside the dungeon, where
Amber and Sylvia were busy lighting candles fixed on the walls. Amidst
the flickering gloom I saw for the first time Elizabeth’s “entertainment
center.” There were cages, trestles, a rape rack, plus a hot tub with
fresh towels stacked beside it. On the walls every conceivable type of
flagellation instrument known to man seemed to be waiting, and I
wondered with trepidation whether they were for the stews to use on the
passengers, or vice versa. Bottles and vials busied a little night
stand, and there was a flower vase with colored condoms in it, prettily
arranged. Everything you could think of was there, and many things I
didn’t want to think of.
I thought then a melee might ensue. Both the men and the women
passengers seemed eager to unburden themselves of their stiff, starchy
businesslike clothing. That was another of Elizabeth’s requirements,
one newly implemented. There was a dress code for the passengers as
well as the stews. I suspected it had something to do with why they
hesitated now, didn’t act like the hungry mob that they actually were.
Tiffany glided through them, bade them to sit down. Turning
round, they noticed for perhaps the first time (certainly I did!) that
the room had children’s chairs in it, as if for some preschool or
library story hour. With some bumbling and clumsiness they sat down,
the men, at least, still riveted with awe to Tiffany, who paused before
them.
Glorious as ever, her magnificent breasts now freely displayed,
still wrapped in her endearing little flight jacket, Tiffany began
pointing out the “accouterments” of the dungeon as if she were giving
another safety demonstration at takeoff. The other girls, their nipples
twitching, a few of them uttering pretty little moans of arousal from
their still lingering experience with the cucumbers, knelt expectantly
amongst the guests. As for myself I stood awkwardly off to one side,
facing our passengers, my bottom safely out of view once more, the rest
of me still neatly covered, as if I were to simply watch like some
governess and not participate.
“And lastly here we have Barbi,” Tiffany said, pointing to me
as if I were just one more toy in her dungeon. “She is a new stew, and
she must be properly broken in.” Tiffany beckoned to Amber and Sylvia,
the two girls who I’d helped in the flight kitchen. The rose and padded
softly over to me, the heels of their booties muffled by the smooth
carpet. With gentle hands they stroked my shoulders and hair, as if
presenting a new car or something to potential buyers. I felt a rush of
excitement like when I’d been naughty before mommie’s guests. As
Tiffany introduced me one of the girls pulled my long hair out of the
way while the other whispered open the zipper at the back of my dress.
With relish in their eyes they slipped the straps of my dress off my
shoulders and in an instant I went from being the most clothed to the
most naked. I stood before the crowd now revealed as I’d been when I
was four, but now I smiled sweetly and blushed instead of acting crazy.
The girls retreated with my dress, leaving me all alone with nothing on
before a roomful of strangers.
Tiffany stepped up to me. She asked me to raise my right
hand. I obeyed, stifling a giggle. Even though I was somewhat fearful
about being in a dungeon with so many awful things in it I couldn’t help
but feel that we were all playing roles, me and Tiffany and even the
passengers. We were delighting in our beauty and in our youth, and they
were sharing our joy, watching with keen eyes our every twitch,
impulsive gesture, even the darting of our eyes.
Tiffany said I must repeat the Elizabeth Airlines’
stewardesses’ pledge. I nodded.
“I promise to always be beautiful...”
“I promise to always be beautiful...”
“To keep my hair pretty and my nails brightly polished, to love
my passengers as much as myself and always to obey any legal order that
a passenger gives me.” My voice echoed her as she led me phrase by
phrase through the singsong chant. When I’d finished she lightly took
hold of me and kissed me on the lips.
“Now my dear you must be spanked, the same as when a baby is
delivered, and I want you to cry a little too, just like a newborn
should,” Tiffany said. “Because on this flight you’re our Baby Stew,
our Air Baby!” And she said it with such delighted triumph, taking me
quickly by the hand and leading me immediately across the room, that I
could only stumble after her. She sat down on a leather chair, a chair
for grownups, which was straightbacked and without any arms. And before
I could protest she’d thrust me over her knees, just like my mommie had
so long ago. With her knees parted, to allow the men an open view of
her pussy, she began to swiftly spank me. Hard smacks, that rang about
the room as I blanched and started at the suddenness with which I was
being given pain.
“Oh! This hurts my hand so!” Tiffany said soon. As I wiggled
over her knees, wondering what to do, she asked the passengers what
they’d like to see me spanked with. A cacophony of horrific suggestions
were made, but Sylvia appeared with a hairbrush and Tiffany took that at
once because it was handiest. With increasing pain now I suffered a new
assault of blows, clinically delivered it seemed without any mercy,
though Tiffany did stroke my long blonde mane as she whacked my bottom,
constantly admonishing me to hold still.
I couldn’t decide whether to jump up and run or take my
medicine and be done with it. I didn’t want to run around the room
naked, did I, like I had with mommie’s guests? Yet the plump halves of
my bottom were practically blazing under Tiff’s onslaught. The brush
was hard and she did not hesitate to use it fully and completely,
striking every part of my fanny like it was some rug that needed the
dust beaten out of it. Yet it was quivering flesh, my flesh, connected
right to me, and I could feel every stinging blow most intensely.
Still, though, I wasn’t crying. I was still too shocked at my
sudden change of circumstances to do that. I’d been like some cherished
flower all through the flight, bottled up in the vase of my dress,
remaining immaculate even when the girls were pumping themselves with
cucumbers, their breath heated and their dells moistening most
indiscreetly. And then their bosoms had been shown off, while mine
remained safely concealed within my dress.
Now my lustrous wobbling hindcheeks clenched and unclenched
repeatedly, showing off every aspect of my person. My legs dangled
somewhere behind me, gangly and awkward, kicking uncontrollably. My
fists were balled and my head was bobbing up and down, eyes and mouth
agape with dismayed confusion.
“Hold still I’m not done yet you naughty girl,” Tiffany said as
I wriggled like a fish on her knees. My hands clenched and unclenched,
I gasped for air. I would have felt humiliated but I’d chosen to be
here, had let them undress me, had happily (if wonderingly) watched
their rude display in first class. I’d not asked for modesty to be
imposed when they’d taken off their panties, or taken out the men’s
cocks. And I’d wanted to masturbate right along with them when they
juiced up the cucumbers for the passengers. I’d even conducted a
furtive search in the kitchen for a cucumber of my own, though I found
none and nothing that would substitute.
Tiffany stopped and made me stand up. With burning cheeks I
got awkwardly to my feet and my hands flew immediately to my ass.
“That hurt!” I sulked, rubbing my hiney. My chest heaved as if
on the verge of tears, my bosoms rising and falling with my short, quick
breaths.
“Of course it did dear, it was supposed to,” Tiffany replied.
She stood, cast her head back and ran her hands through her hair with a
single, sweeping gesture, the very model of feminie confidence. Her
boobs were sticking out like melons and her cunt was wet but she acted
as if she’d just risen from her seat in a boardroom or a class at
college. Once more she drew all eyes to her, and I felt jealous. I
stood clutching my injured bottom, like some four-year-old, while she
boldly kept all the men both in play and under control at the same time,
their cocks stemming up lustily, their desire somehow still strictly
contained in her delicate hands.
“Is there anyone here who still hasn’t come yet?” She asked
bluntly. Many of the men had cum at least a little and were up again
for more, still valiantly holding back the main part of their loads.
They’d be slower to shoot the second time, which was what Tiffany
wanted, I guessed, slow attentive lovers rather than lusty stallions.
We were all tarts, after all, and they, sweet as they might be, were
paying passengers who expected services to be rendered. They didn’t
quite know what they could get away with, but you had to keep an eye out
for the one who might suddenly break loose and go wild. Even the
bouncer might not be able to stop him if he big enough, and desperate
enough. We were, after all, playing games here, putting on a little
show for their enjoyment. This was no “friends only” orgy where
everyone was automatically trusted.
“I want everyone to come at least once before we go any
further,” Tiffany said, sweet but firm, confirming my musings. She
strode among the men, inspecting them, exchanging silent glances with
their female “handlers.” “You may come again and again if you wish,
that doesn’t matter, but you must have had your first ejaculation by
now, a least a little, and real sperm too, not pre-cum.”
“This one hasn’t come at all yet Tiffany,” Amber said
sheepishly, turning her head away from the man for fear he might slap
her. He growled something at her but it was inaudible.
“It’s okay,” Tiffany said, striding quickly over to the man,
reassuring him. “You should be glad you haven’t cum yet.” He was
young, with a thick, sturdy cock
“Well you told us not to,” the man retorted, though he’d
softened already under Tiffany’s skillful manipulation. Tiffany gazed
down admiringly at his cock.
“My, you’ve got a real workhorse here,” she said. She knelt
and touched him, handled him as if he were a prize cucumber on display.
Gently she licked his pee hole, then kissed it submissively. “Don’t you
want to give me a faceful of sperm?” she asked. “I’m rather bossy, you
know. And very demanding.” She nuzzled his cock with her nose. “My,
such marvelous self-control,” she said. She inhaled the masculine aroma
of his groin, the sweat of his tension and nervousness, the salty tang
of the pre-cum that coated his cockhead. “At least you should clean off
all this pre-cum if you’re not going to shoot today,” Tiffany advised
with catlike mischief in her eyes. And she licked it clean for him,
stroke by loving stroke, laving her tongue over and around the sweet
plum of his organ. I longed to do it for her, and I felt a rising
desire within me to have that faceful of sperm, to have it in my face or
wherever he wanted to stick it.
“Doesn’t anything make you cum?” Tiffany asked when his cock
was sparkling clean.
“What about you?” the man asked. “You haven’t cum yet.”
“Oh, well that’s company policy,” Tiffany said. “We’re
stewardesses. We’re responsible for your safety. We have to keep our
wits about us at all times, though we’re allowed to play with ourselves
a little bit. Would you like me to play with myself now?”
“No,” the man said gruffly. “I want you to bend over and I
want to fuck you.” Tiffany spread the man’s legs as wide as she could,
as if to castrate him. He let her, not objecting, letting her have
complete control. She pushed herself in close to him and, offering up
her breasts, said, “Put your dick right here, right between my tits, and
I’ll squeeze them together as hard as I can. And with my mouth I’ll
suck your cock so hard you’ll think its inside me.”
“No,” the man said. But the girls were already handing Tiffany
a bottle of baby oil. Slowly, licking her lips and telling him how much
she wanted to taste his sperm, she squirted the baby oil onto her
breasts. First the tip of each nipple, dripping down quickly to trail
down her tummy, then around each areole, then thickly along the insides
of her bosoms where they faced each other.
“Now let’s do your cock,” Tiffany said, and she coated him with
long, languid squirts from the bottle. “Oh, you’re so handsome I just
have to rub myself a little first,” Tiffany said, and with her other
hand she palmed her pussy even as she kept squirting the man. Sylvia
pried the man’s zipper halves wider apart and Tiffany filled the opening
with oil. The man had oil in his trousers now and all over his cock.
It glistened under the flickering flames of the dungeon as they licked
up toward the ceiling, keeping everything bathed in an eerie halflight,
where all was seen yet not completely so, it seemed, passing briefly
into shadow and out again, perpetually intriguing. From afar I watched
his cock and wished I could suck it, or grease my own breasts and let it
inseminate my mouth instead of Tiffany’s. “You’re very big,” she told
him frankly, though he was no larger than normal. “I don’t know if I’m
going to be able to take all of you in my mouth, but I’ll try.” She
wiped off his dickhead first with a hot wet cloth handed to her by one
of the girls. She squeezed his plum hard as she held the cloth over it,
clenching her teeth, looking briefly angry. The man flinched but
otherwise did nothing. “Alright then,” Tiffany said. “I guess I’ll
just have to give you the royal treatment, then.” Opening her mouth to
an exaggerated wideness she closed it over his plum. “Mmmm,” she said
at once, looking up at him as she sucked him greedily by his cockhead.
The man trembled. It was the first real sign of vulnerability I’d seen
in him. Suddenly I found myself rooting for him, hoping he would hold
out. But I realized Tiffany would never let go of him now ‘til he’d
shot.
Her gorgeous breasts closed over the gleaming member. With
stalwart stoicism the man watched as Tiffany began the ride that would
cost him his sperm. There’d be no “little ejaculation” with Tiffany, no
brief shot that escapes before a man can regain himself. She’d bring
him to a fever pitch and ride him with her titties until he unleashed
everything he had on her.
With catlike grace Tiffany began to bob up and down. She held
her breasts pressed tightly together over the man’s organ. With her
mouth she kept a deadly grip on his crown. Her dress hiked up in back,
showing first a little of her bottom, then all of it. She was
deliciously round in back with sweetly parted cheeks that moved as she
moved. I watched with amazed eyes as Sylvia, perhaps inspired for the
first time, stroked Tiffany’s ass and then knelt directly behind her.
With a smile at Amber she took the bottle of baby oil and, at a jerk of
surprise from Tiffany, inserted the tip right into Tiffany’s asshole.
With a firm squeeze on the bottle, her other hand still softly caressing
Tiffany’s behind, Sylvia shot baby oil right up Tiffany’s rectum.
Tiffany seemed to want to turn her head around to see what was going on,
but she resisted the temptation, keeping the customer’s plum firmly
planted in her mouth. Beverly, by now guessing what the girls had in
mind, went to a table and selected a large black dildo. She took it
over to them and Sylvia stood and Amber helped her buckle it on.
Tiffany, meanwhile, was beginning to look desperate, for the man had not
cum yet and if he didn’t right away she was going to get a big nigger
cock right up her porcelain ass. Together the girls hosed down the big
member with baby oil, exchanging knowing glances, delighted at
themselves for even getting this far. Secretly I wished to see it
happen. She had spanked me and she deserved to be buggered, I thought.
Let her see how she liked that!
“Please, sir!” I cried at the stalwart with sudden glee. “Hold
on as long as you can! Don’t give up now!” Tiffany attempted to turn
her head toward me, as if to scold me, but the need to hang on to the
man’s cock held her in place.
Sylvia knelt down behind Tiffany. “Remember when I was a
newbie?” She asked gently. She was caressing Tiff’s behind again but
her fingers looked as if they were about to commit some offense,
lingering over the skin, touching it. A shoplifter’s fingers. “Do you
remember what you stuck up my bottom, hmmm? How I wailed for you to
take it out? How you said I needed to be stretched, opened, if I could
ever properly accommodate the customers? Yet all the while little did
we know that Miss Delicacy herself had a cherry ass, just like mine
was. And she’s never had it stretched at all, have you?”
It was amazing to watch Sylvia. She was the most sweet,
innocent girl, a schoolgirl really, in a black flight jacket that would
have fit a junior high school girl properly. She was older, which meant
the jacket was “nicely fitted,” as Elizabeth might say, meaning it was
two sizes too small. But a woman’s jacket would have been too big for
her, she was so young still, barely a year older than me. And she was
more diminutive than I was, though with girlishly skinny legs and a bust
the size of statue in Milan. This darling little girl had suddenly
transformed herself into a kind of living Vampire now, with a big cock
belted on that she intended to impale her mistress’ bottom on.
Beverly placed her hands firmly on Tiffany’s shoulders, letting
them rise and fall with the girl’s movements but not allowing her to get
up. Behind, Amber and another girl helped part Tiffany’s ass. Sylvia,
settled in place behind her victim, nudged the young woman’s rosette
with the dildo’s head.
“No!” Tiffany cried suddenly, her head flying up, liberating
the man’s cock. Sylvia seemed startled, lost her poise. The
strapped-on phallus waggled menacingly just beyond Tiffany’s nether
portal, nuzzling it but not intruding.
“Yes, dear, it is time, suck the cock dear, he deserves it,”
Beverly said in small, whispered phrases, stroking Tiffany’s lovely
golden hair. The man would get his fuck after all, though it would be
more obscene than he ever could have hoped, a beautiful lass fucking his
lovely while other lovelies looked on. They would all help her lose her
nether virginity, this strutting young blonde who’d been so high and
mighty, so organized, so disciplined. They would pry that little anal
ring of hers right open and give her something up her colon that would
really discipline her!
With awe in my eyes I drew toward the proceedings, as Beverly
parted the lips of Tiffany’s mouth, restored the still unbroken cock to
her. Meekly now, it seemed, Tiffany gulped in the cock. She was no
longer trying to force the man to cum. She was more worried about her
tight little ass. Behind, Tiffany’s fanny was yanked apart once more,
this time for good. The girls would not let go of it this time, no
matter what Tiffany yelled. With whimpering sounds Tiffany kept up her
sucking, waiting, her cheeks flexing and tensing in the girls’ hands as
Amber helped Sylvia guide the phallus to its target. The crowd drew
forward, everyone, passengers and stews. There was a hushed silence.
“Oommphhh!” Tiffany yelped suddenly. Her mouth, still closed
over the cockhead, muffled her cry. Her eyes turned frantic as the big
dildo nosed its way uncomfortably into her rectum. Then another cry
from Tiffany, her lips parting this time, almost losing the big penis in
front of her, while behind there would be no losing what entered her
now.
Tiffany continued to bounce up and down bravely, squeezing the
man’s penis with her breasts, sluicing them between her bunched, oiled
bosoms. Behind Sylvia’s dildo made its inexorable entry, helped along
by Tiffany’s courageous bucking. The girls stroked Tiffany, whispering
words of encouragement, tickled her tummy and her titties, invaded her
cunt with their fingertips.
Softly Tiffany began crying, her tears running down the man’s
penis, as behind the itching, burning fake cock forced itself deeper
into her. Tiffany bounced faster, whether to attempt to dislodge it or
finish herself I couldn’t tell. With patience and grace Sylvia worked
it up her, bucking her own hips to get it up, not rushing her mistress.
She bent forward and kissed Tiffany’s back once, twice, again. The
girls pulled Tiff’s asscheeks harder apart. Some stews, aroused by the
sight, popped the penises of the men nearest them and began sucking,
whether the man wanted to cum again or not. Several rubbed themselves
too. I watched, burning now with desire, and helplessly I began rubbing
my own clitty.
“Oh! No! Please,” I cried, but I could not stop myself. I
reeled back on my heels, almost losing my balance, swayed right once,
left. Then I collapsed to my knees and, spreading my legs as far as I
could, I abandoned myself to sexual pleasure.
A little later I was still on my knees, shivering, as Tiffany
once again stalked before us. She was haughty, proud, but her makeup
was smeared a bit with tears and her gait was ungainly. She’d had a
hard ride, and she had a very sore bottom. Fleetingly her fingers would
dart back to her buttcrack, touch it lightly, as if a touch could repair
the widening she’d received. But she was still in charge, still our
mistress, and no damage had been done to anything but her pride. Her
anal ring would need many stretchings before it was actually physically
wider, more distended, but it would never be quite so precious again, so
untouched, so perfectly innocent and naive. Now Tiffany knew what it
felt like to have her little hole opened and something jammed up it.
Her secret, her anal virginity, which she’d held so close all these
months while acting the part of the totally experienced dome, had been
stripped from her forever.
“You have all been very naughty,” Tiffany intoned, gathering
her thoughts. She picked up a riding crop and was aimlessly whacking
her thigh with it. “You girls know you’re not supposed to come. You
know that. Oh, if you come while you’re sawing away on the cucumbers,
and its really an accident, Elizabeth will overlook it. But not in the
dungeon. Not where the passengers might really get out of control and
tie us up to this shit or something!” She made a wide, sweeping gesture
with her hand, taking all in all the awful instruments that were on
display in the room.
“But you especially have been naughty,” she said, turning
suddenly to me. “Because you didn’t cry when I spanked you and
because...well, you’re supposed to have your very first airborne orgasm
on this flight. And I’m supposed to give it to you. For the
entertainment of our paying customers. But now you’ve already had an
orgasm.”
“I can have more,” I offered, helpfully cupping my pussy with
my hand. With my other I tweaked the nipple on my left breast.
“What about the condom film?” a man called out.
“Just for your enjoyment,” Tiffany replied. “And for your
instruction should you wish to fuck any of the women...passengers.” The
women had both found someone with a stiff cock during Tiffany’s ordeal
and rode him to victory, without any condom, which was again a violation
of Elizabeth’s rules.
Tiffany dragged me up by the hair and, turning me slightly,
gazed for a moment at my bottom, as if seeing it anew. “Yes,” she
said. “You will do very nicely.” And then she gave me such a hard slap
on my tushy that, whether from nervousness or pain, I leapt up and let
out a tribal howl.
30
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