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From: "David Shaw" <shaw_david@hotmail.com>
Subject: RP - "TRIKED, TRICKED, TROLLOPED" (M+/F: NON CON.)
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Please find attached tory submission,

Yours,

David.





"TRIKED, TRICKED, TROLLOPED" (M+/F: NON CON.)

By

David Shaw <shaw_david@hotmail.com>

(THIS STORY IS INTENDED FOR THE ENJOYMENT OF ADULTS ONLY)


	There are some lovely beaches down in the south west corner of
Western Australia. Long stretches of pristine sand dividing the Indian
Ocean from the dense forests of tall karri trees. Hundreds of
kilometres of unpolluted and mostly unpopulated coastline stretched
like a silver ribbon between rockbound headlands. Very nice - except
when your idiot of an husband has bogged down the family four wheel
drive on one of those deserted beaches. Believe me, there's no better
way of exploring the strengths of a relationship than sharing a shovel
on a scorching hot December day, especially when all your joint
efforts to dig large holes in fine sand are proving futile. Which was
one of the reasons why our marital relationship was sinking even
faster than the Suzuki. Not that any of it my fault.

	I hadn't wanted to drive way out of town and down some bush
track to go rock fishing. As far as I'm concerned fishing is an old
man's occupation. Jeff isn't even thirty yet, nor am I, so I thought
we could have found something more interesting to do on a Saturday
morning. Still, fishing was what he wanted to do and the only
alternative if he stayed indoors was having him watch cricket on the
TV - and compared to watching cricket, throwing a fishing line into
the sea is an epic adventure full of drama and excitement.

	So here we were bogged down before we'd even got to the
fishing spot and with no way of getting somebody to come out and help
us. The nearest sealed road was five kilometres away, five kilometres
of bare dirt trail bulldozed through the trees. No other signs of life
on the beach, not even a boat in sight anywhere and Jeff snarling at
me all the time just because I happened to be driving the bloody
vehicle when it sank down to the axles. He was the one who was telling
me where he wanted to go! The most annoying thing of all was my job -
I'm a nurse and I was rostered on for the evening shift in the local
hospital. A fine fool I was going to look if I couldn't even phone in
and let them know I couldn't make it.

	Then something entirely unexpected happened. I was walking
back from the treeline with an armful of old branches to push under
the back wheels when I heard an engine. At first I thought it was a
car and then I saw a small aircraft skimming along the shoreline so
low it was well below the tops of the karri trees. It was the
strangest looking thing I'd ever seen - not like a normal plane with a
wing on each side. Instead there was just one wing something like the
sail of a yacht, with red and white patterns on it. Hanging underneath
the wing was the rest of the plane, what there was of it.

	Have you ever been to a fairgound and had a ride in one of
those little plastic pods that hang down from the edge of a big wheel?
If you can imagine something like that, only smaller, with the pilot
sitting in it and and a windscreen down around his knees, you've got
the idea. The only other difference was a nose wheel at the front and
two more wheels at the back with pointy hoods over them. Yes, and the
engine of course. The plane was flying so low that I could easily see
it behind the pilot, with the prop right at the back of the pod,
pushing the strange little contraption along. I suppose it was
travelling about as fast as a car would on a normal road and as it
came level the pilot waved to us with one hand. The other one was
resting on a bar - like a trapeezee bar, I guess - which was the
bottom piece of a triangle which came to a point underneath the wing.
There were two more metal bars that I could also see, from the front
and back of the pod and also joined together underneath the wing. They
obviously carried the weight of the pod and somehow the pilot was
steering himself around with the bar he was holding.

	Anyway, whatever he was doing and however he was doing it, it
seemed like he was having a much more enjoyable morning than we were.
As soon as the plane was past us the engine revved up and the plane
climbed away at a steep angle until my eyes were watering from the
strong sunlight as I tried to watch it. The show seemed to be over,
although when I got back to the Suzuki Jeff was still scanning the sky
with his hands cupped around his eyes.

	"That must be what they call a microlight, or an ultralight.
Strange looking thing, like an overgrown hang glider. That's the way
they steer hang gliders, with a bar attached to the wing they push and
pull against. It moves the weight of the aircraft underneath in
relation to the centre of gravity."

	In case I haven't mentioned it yet, Jeff is a teacher, a high
school teacher... oh, you guessed, did you? If there were any teachers
on the Titanic they probably went down in an improvised class room
giving each other lectures on the way icebergs are formed. Anyway,
since he was only wearing thongs, I dropped the tangle of branches on
top of his bare feet as a means of self expression. He expressed
himself back to me and the plane was forgotten about as we bickered at
each other. Until we heard it again.

	I was a little surprised to see it coming back again from the
same direction as before and even lower and slower. It looked to me as
if it belonged in a Star Wars' movie, with its strange shape and the
way it was hanging in the wind like a mechanical hawk. I thought it
must be a hell of a way to fly, in a seat with nothing around but
empty air. Then the engine noise dropped off and I quickly changed my
mind about even thinking about wanting to try it - the wing had dipped
lower and it seemed the ultralight was going to crash. The wheels
wavered around unsteadily a metre or so above the hard packed sand
left by the ebbing tide, like a drunk trying to get his arse back onto
a bar stool. Then the ultralight settled down onto the sand with the
sudden deftness of a seagull dropping onto a morsel of food. Little
gusts of water sprayed out from underneath the wheels as the pod's
weight fell onto them. The wet sand seemed to slow their rotation down
very quickly, the plane slowing down to a walking speed about fifty
metres away from us and the pilot revving the engine to keep his
wheels turning until he was level with the Suzi. Then the high pitched
yammering of the engine stopped and the prop blades jerked to a halt.
The pilot carefully tilted the wing over, keeping control of it with
the steering bar he was holding until the wingtip nearest to us was
resting on the sand.

	Jeff and I were watching all this with surprise and interest.
We kept on watching as a tall and slender man in tight fitting blue
flying overalls unstrapped himself and climbed out of the pod. In fact
it was only his figure - or his lack of it - which showed him to be a
man because his head was completely covered with a wrap around motor
bike helmet that had a tinted glass vision panel in the front of it.
By God, I thought, I was right, not only does the plane look like
something out of Star Wars but the pilot dresses like Darth Vader.

	Before he even touched the helmet the pilot took something out
of the pod that looked like a giant corkscrew, walked along the wing
to the down-tipped end and drove the corkscrew into the sand before
tying a lanyard at the top of the corkscrew to the wing tip. The
intention was clearly to prevent the wing being blown around. At close
range my first impression of it being like a yacht's sail also seemed
right. The whole thing was just a collection of metal battens wrapped
around with coloured fabric. It seemed incredible anybody would trust
their life to such a flimsy support. Still, it wasn't my worry, though
as the pilot finally removed his helmet I watched with interest to see
what sort of a madman he was. A pity there was no chance of him being
Harrison Ford.

	It was another surprise to see that he was pretty old. In his
forties for sure, though very well preserved, with a lot of dark hair
turning grey at the temples, a sharp angled face with a wide smile
that showed off excellent teeth and crisp blue eyes with crinkles of
smile lines around them. Behind the good looks there was confidence as
well, self confidence and self assurance. If I'd seen this guy in
hospital whites I'd have tagged him straight away not only as a doctor
but as a highly skilled consultant. Success smells on some men like
aftershave, an enticing aroma which never fades away. And as we were
looking at him he was looking at us: at Jeff, briefly, then at me, for
a longer time.

	"Hi, I'm Brett Reynolds." A nice voice, sharp but well
controlled.

	Jeff introduced us: "Jeff Pearson, and this is my wife Sandra.
You've caught us at an awkward moment. We've got bogged down and can't
seem to get out of it."

	"Yeah, I could see you were in strife. I guess I can't give
you a tow but I thought you might want some messages passed on. I
couldn't see any antennas on your wagon and I guess you'd be well out
of mobile phone coverage."

	"That's right. We tried to use the mobile but it was a waste
of time."

	The pilot was still looking at both of us but I knew that most
of his attention was on me. Not that I could really blame him for that
because I wasn't wearing anything underneath my sweat soaked tee-shirt
and my shorts were cut about as short as they could be. In fact I felt
quite flattered that I could get a guy like that taking a lot of
second looks.

	"Is there anybody around here who could help you out?" Brett
asked.

	"Eddie Turner would come out," I said.

	"Yeah, Eddy would be great." Jeff turned to the pilot to
explain. "Eddie Turner is a mate of mine, got a Land Cruiser with a
winch on it. He'd come and pull us out if we could let him know where
we are. He lives quite a way down the road though, in Kilkenny Ponds.
Must be about fifty or sixty k's from here."

	Brett smiled widely, showing off his teeth even more: "It's
rather less. It's forty seven point two kilometres from here. Or at
least it is to the Kilkenny airstrip as the crow flies. I suppose it
must be another five or six k's into the town itself. I've got it
nailed down on the GPS because I flew out from there this morning. My
car's still there."

	"Oh." Jeff smiled a little himself, clearly as relieved as I
was at the prospect of being saved a lot of walking and a lot of
trouble. "Maybe you could phone through to Eddie when you get back?"

	"No problem. It's a lovely day for a flight and I doesn't
matter to me which direction I fly in. I can go back to Kilkenny Ponds
now and call in from the strip. With the wind blowing the direction it
is I should be there in about half an hour. What's your mate's phone
number?"

	Jeff told him and Brett wrote it down on the back of his hand.

	 "Could you do us another favor and phone the local hospital
as well? Let them know that Sandra won't be able to come in for her
shift tonight."

	Brett nodded and seemed concerned: "You're a nurse, Sandra?"

	"Yes."

	"Can't have the hospital short of nurses - you never know when
there might be an emergency. Why don't I give you a lift back to
Kilkenny Ponds in the trike and then drive you into town?"

	I didn't quite realise what he meant by a trike until he
nodded towards the ultralight and my stomach flipped over like a
tossed pancake: "Me! Go up in that thing!"

	My obvious fear made him shake his head in rueful amusement.
"Sandra, it's not like bungy jumping off Sydney Harbour Bridge - it's
fun, and safe. I'm a licenced and insured pilot and my passengers are
all insured as well. I've got a spare helmet and a spare set of
overalls on board, though you'll hardly need them in this hot weather.
Believe me, you'd be safer on board a trike than you would be on a
747." His eyes crinkled up in another sudden smile. "And I should
know, I fly 747's for QANTAS for a living."

	It was an exciting idea and and an attractive one in many
ways, provided I didn't find myself gripped in total panic once we
were off the ground. Rather stunned, I walked over the ultralight and
had a second look. It was true, there were two seats in it, one behind
the other, but that was about all you could say there was. It was only
at the front of the pod that the top of the plastic windscreen came up
to about waist level. On either side of the front seat the bodywork
was hardly ankle high, and barely much more than that around the back
one. I imagined myself looking straight down from one of them,
straight down into a drop of hundreds of metres and my intestines
wriggled around like a nest of angry snakes.

	"It's just like riding a motorbike, only with a better view
and without all the road hazards," Brett said soothingly. "Why don't
we go up for just five minutes and if you don't like it I'll bring you
straight back down again."

	"How would I tell you with all the noise?"

	He held up a cable that hung from his helmet, showing me a
plug at the end of it: "The helmets have earphones and a mike built
into them. We can talk to each other as easily as we are doing now.
Believe me, you'll never want to come down once you've tried it."

	Then he sort of looked sideways, to where Jeff was standing a
few paces away, and lowered his voice a little: "Or would you rather
spend the rest of the day stuck here?"

	I didn't think Jeff heard that. Or if he did I'm sure he
didn't hear the insinuation in it that I did, a hint of surprise that
somebody like me was wasting her time in this sort of situation. Or
maybe I was hearing things which weren't really there. While I was
standing undecided Brett reached underneath the back seat and took out
a helmet, then a neatly folded set of overalls like the ones he was
wearing.

	"I can adjust the headband on the helmet for you, Sandra -
there's not much I can do about the flight suit but. Normally, you'd
need at least a jacket to keep the wind off but not now. A day like
today, the only cool way to enjoy yourself is flying."

	Jeff came over and looked at the helmet and overalls I was
holding: "You're surely not going to try this, are you, Sandra? You'd
be scared stiff."

	If he'd wanted to stop me flying then it was the worst
possible thing he could have said. Of course he doesn't really think
of me as a frail woman - he often says that he'd faint if he had to
deal with some of the bloodier situations that come along in my job.
It was simply a typical case of a male opening his heart and his mouth
without remembering to put his brain somewhere in the loop between
them. And he knew it as soon as I did, hastily trying to back up
without totally backing down.
	"I mean I'd be frightened myself, to go up in one of these
things. Anybody would be, to fly around hanging underneath a few
strips of aluminium and fabric. And the hospital can certainly get by
without you for one day."

	It was too late though, my temper was up. "I'm not going to
miss a shift if I can help it. Anyway, I'll probably never have
another chance to do something like this and I want to give it a go,
just to see what it's like."

	"Aww, come on, Sandra, people crash in these things. It
happens all the time."

	"People crash in cars as well and that happens all the time."

	He was genuinely concerned about me, not simply trying to
carry on the squabble we'd had before, I knew that. But I wasn't going
to let him stop me now that I'd made my mind up. After all it had been
pretty much of a wasted day so far and here was a chance to do
something I could talk about for weeks afterwards, something exciting.
It would have been hard to live myself if I'd turned it down. The only
real question, the one I was being very careful not to ask myself, was
whether I was as excited by Brett Reynold's obvious interest in me as
I was at the idea of flying in his plane.

	Adjusting the helmet was no problem: trying to get into the
flying suit was. It was cut for a man's body, a big man, and I'm a
short girl, yet the seams around my hips almost reached breaking
strain; I had to go behind the wagon and take off my shorts before I
could wriggle into the suit. The real problem was in front though. As
much as I tugged at the zip, I couldn't get it up past my breasts.
Like my hips, they've always been too large for easy packaging.
Eventually I had to go back to the men with everything hanging out
over the zip and only the damp material of the Taiwanese tee-shirt
between me and them. Not only that, but carrying my shorts in my hand
as well.

	Brett's mouth twitched a fraction before he looked away at the
horizon as I held the sides of the overalls together while Jeff pulled
the zipper together with brute strength. It was a minor demonstration
of gentlemanly modesty which ended as soon as Jeff wasn't looking at
him, because Brett's eyes immediately fastened on my squashed tits
with frank interest. Like Sylvester eyeing Granma's canary, I thought,
and hoping to find a way into the cage. If that was really what he
hoping for he was in for a disappointment.

	I watched in surprise as Brett knelt down behind one of the
back wheels. There were three protruding metal legs that attached the
wheel to the pod and in between them was a piece of metal about as
long as my arm curved into a 'C' shape. It was apparently held onto
the top leg by a clamp at each end, which he undid. Then he stood up
and reclamped the 'C' onto one of the support arms on the side of the
control bar before doing the same thing on the other side of the
ultralight. I asked him what he was doing.

	"You'll have to sit in the front seat, Sandra, to keep the
weight distribution right. The control bar will be in front of you but
I'll have my hands on these extensions from the back seat to do the
piloting. That's what I like about these ultralights, everything is as
simple as it can be. A control bar and a foot throttle and that's
about it."

	He bowed like a courtier and stretched out his hand towards
the pod: "My lady, your sky carriage awaits."

	After all the trouble he'd gone to I couldn't refuse to give
it a try however nervous I felt. I wasn't anymore nervous than Jeff
though, who watched Brett strapping me into the front seat with a kind
of desperate look on his face as if I was going up in a space shuttle.
Mind you, I don't think I would have felt much different myself if I
had been about to blast off. It was hard to believe that I was really
going to go up into the sky in this thing. Brett held the helmet over
my head and quietly talked to me as I smoothed my hair back.

	"As soon as this is on, I'll plug in the intercom cable and
switch it on. All you'll hear is static until I plug in as well. Nod
your head if you're OK and then I'll untie the wing tip and straighten
the wings. When the bar is horizontal in front of you just hold it
steady while I get in the back. All clear?"

	"Yes, I think so."

	"Fine. I've pinned the front throttle so it can't be worked.
The only thing you have to worry about are the bars underneath your
feet - they're for steering the nosewheel, so don't press on them when
we're taking off and landing. The rest of the time you can waggle them
around as much as you like. OK?"

	I nodded, and again after the helmet was on. It looked bulky
but it was surprisingly light. I'd never worn one before, never even
been on on a motorbike because I thought they were dangerous. No
wonder I held onto the control bar nervously when it settled over in
front of me. I could feel my hands trembling on the rubber handgrips
and then realised it wsn't just me that was twitching but the wing as
well, shivering and bobbing at the wind's touch. I saw Brett speak to
Jeff, and afterwards Jeff took off his own shirt and walked down the
beach with it, off to one side on the soft sand. I wondered why. Then
Brett came back with the corkscrew securing pin hanging by its lanyard
from his wrist. He knelt down by the front of the pod, grinned up at
me, put his hands on my knees and spread them wide apart.

	I gasped in surprise, the noise muffled inside the helmet, and
then realised he was bending forward to stow the pin away underneath
my seat. Which was a totally innocent thing to do I guessed, but what
wasn't so innocent was where his knuckles brushed against me as he
slipped the lanyard off his wrist. But again, it something that was
over and done with before I had a chance to even let go of the control
bar. It might even have been a genuine accident, but I didn't think
so. It was a clear message, as if I already needed one, about what Mr
Brett Reynolds would like to do with Mrs Sandra Pearson if given even
half a chance. Well, there was one thing about it, at least I was a
lot safer from his advances in his plane than I would have been in his
car. Uh!

	I felt the pod settle down as he got into the back seat. The
back ledge would probably be a better way of describing it, higher
than the front seat and so close to it that Brett's legs were
stretched out on either side of me with my elbows brushing against his
knees. Never again, I thought, would I complain about the economy
class seats in jet planes.

	A moment later the engine started and everything began
vibrating, as though I was sitting in a massage chair. That wasn't bad
but even with the helmet on the engine noise was uncomfortably high. A
hundred metres along the beach Jeff was standing still, holding his
shirt up above his head. I realised that it was an indication of which
way the wind was blowing.

	My headphones clicked and I heard Brett's voice very clearly:
"OK, Sandra, I've got the control bar now. You'll probably want to
hold onto the sides of your seat to begin with. This damp sand will
hold us back a little but we've got eighty horsepower pushing us and
we'll soon reach flying speed. We'll take off about where Jeff is now.
Is everything OK with you?"

	I clutched the handgrips on either side of the seat and tried
to swallow a lump of solid air down my dried out throat: "Yes, I'm
fine."

	"Good girl. Feet off the pedal bars and hands off the control
bar for a moment or two. Apart from that relax and enjoy the
views...."

	The engine roared even louder, the ultralight began moving, I
held onto the arm grips with a death grip, we were moving faster, much
faster, a small wave was breaking along the beach, toppling over into
white water, Jeff was getting closer and closer, the vibration was
getting worse - oh fuck, I must be mad to be here!

	Suddenly the vibration stopped, the engine seemed a lot
further away and I was looking down at Jeff's upturned face. Then the
control bar was pushed away from me and the nose of the pod lifted up
towards the sky as if it were a rearing horse. I couldn't help myself
from looking down, to see the sea suddenly growing wider with the
breaking waves along the edge of it like crinkled up tearings of white
tissue paper.

	"How are you feeling, Sandra?"

	"Alright - I think." 

	"OK, we'll level out now, and fly straight on for a few
minutes while you get used to things."

	Getting used to so many conflicting feelings was going to take
longer than that. In one sense I felt totally exposed, with only the
finger thick vertical support bar in front of me and the wind drumming
against my overalls, yet behind the helmet's faceplate there was a
peaceful little world where I could talk to Brett without any effort
at all. The wind seemed to be blowing away the noise of the engine as
well, making a combined background noise which wasn't really
bothersome at all. I suppose it would have been a miserable experience
on a cold day without thick clothing, but it had been a scorching
forty degrees down on the beach and the blast of moving air was as
wonderfully cooling as Brett had promised it would be.

	In another sense I was totally confined, by the straps, and by
the control bar pressed close against my chest. In another way - a
breath takingly marvellous way - I'd never felt so free in all my
life. Who hasn't been a kid dreaming of finding a way of flying like a
bird? Not being shot through the sky miles high watching old movies,
but real flying, down around the tree tops and hurdling over hilltops
with giant's steps, being able to lift your eyes up to the distant
horizons or down to something so close you feel you can reach out and
touch it. Of course we've all felt like that, and most of us have
grown up and forgotten the dream. And now, suddenly and without
expecting it, I was living it for real.

	Out on my right were kilometres and kilometres of trees, and
an occasional movement of something brightly coloured scuttling
underneath them. I was catching glimpses of the coastal highway
between the tall trunks, or at least of the cars driving down it. On
the left I could now see through the top of the sea, to dark patches
with green stains behind them. It was puzzling until I realised that
the dark patches were rocks just under the water with patches of
seaweed growing where they were protected from the waves by the rocks.
It seemed so strange that an area I thought I knew quite well looked
so different from up here.

	"How do you feel now, Sandra?"

	"Pretty good." I was surprised how calm I sounded.

	"Not frightened?"

	I thought about how to answer: "Yes, but I'm too busy looking
around to think much about it."

	His chuckle came through the earphones: "Good answer. OK,
we'll turn around now and fly back over your husband. Give him a wave
to let him know you're OK and then we'll head for Kilkenny Ponds."

	The turn was indeed frightening, at first, with the wing
dipping over and the pod skidding around. Then I forgot about it as we
dived back over the Suzuki and Jeff and I exchanged waves. Then
another turn, but not so stomach churning now I had some idea of what
to expect.

	Brett started singing over the intercom: "Jingle bells, jingle
bells, jingle all the way, oh, what fun it is to ride in a one horse
open sleigh... OK, Sandra, we'll go up higher now and follow the coast
for a while. There's something on the other side of the next headland
I saw just before I landed that might interest you."

	When we went over the headland I looked down the sheer drop of
a cliff face to where the sea was continually slapping against the
land, and felt only curiousity at the odd feeling of looking down at
birds flying, the stiff winged gulls whirling and turning along the
cliff as if they were scraps of paper caught inside a small hurricane.
Somehow it seemed that the height wasn't bothering me, which was the
last thing I'd expected.

	"There you are, Sandra, down on the right. That's something
you don't see ever day, not even up here."

	We were passing over the headland on the other side and where
Brett was telling me to look was down in a corner of the sea between
the cliffs and the beach. Something was moving in the shallow water, a
shimmering cloud continually changing shape and flickering with sudden
sparkles. Running in and out of the cloud were dark lean shapes which
seemed to cut passages through it by their mere presence, the tiny
individual slivers of silver which made up the cloud constantly
closing ranks again behind the intruders as they moved on.

	"What's happening, Brett?"

	"It's sharks feeding off a school of sardines. Is school the
right word for sardines? Or should it be a can of sardines?"

	I laughed and he laughed with me.

	"Hey, Sandra, check out that boat ahead."

	There was a high topped cabin cruiser anchored off the beach,
a kilometre or so ahead. I thought how odd it was that the crew should
be so close to a bunch of sharks in a feeding frenzy and not even know
about it, while we could see so much more merely by being a couple of
hundred metres higher up. As it turned out, I soon saw more than I'd
expected, because Brent put us into other turn over the boat, and kept
on turning, so the left wingtip seemed to be pointing straight down at
deck while the boat looked as if it were slowly rotating underneath
us. It was an expensive looking boat and a couple were lounging on
sunchairs at the back. They looked expensive too, in their own ways,
he with his big pot belly, her with her blonde hair and good figure.
It was easy to see these things because neither of them had a stitch
on. Not that it seemed to bother them. The man casually waved his hand
to us without moving from his seat.

	"I told you there was something interesting here," Brett said.
"She's nice but I'll bet she doesn't look as half as good as you would
stretched in the raw."

	I decided not to respond to that remark. I saw the woman stand
up and look up at us, a glass in one hand, the other one also waving.

	"Oh, dear, she's drooping a bit now. What about the guy, what
do you think about him?" Brett laughed: "A real hunk, hey?..."

	"He hasn't got anything I haven't seen lots of times before."

	The man reached out his hand towards the woman's bottom and
began stroking it.

	"Yeah," Brett continued: "I think the lady with the natural
blonde hair could say the same thing. I suppose we'd better leave them
in peace now." The control bar flicked over to one side to bring us
out of the turn and the boat was whirled away out of my vision.

	"OK, Sandra we'll go along the beach for a couple more
kilometres, climb a bit, then turn right. We'll be going along a
valley with a lot of cleared land that's used for grazing cattle. I
wouldn't want to be low over the forest if the engine suddenly quit
for any reason. Even a trike needs a little bit of space to land in."

	Trike - he'd used that word before. I supposed it was because
of the three wheels underneath the pod. Again I could see more rocks,
some of them sticking up out of the sea in streaks of white water, and
then a small figure on a blue and white motorbike driving along the
beach. The trike's nose twitched up and as we passed over the
motorbike it was dwindling away in size as we climbed higher. So many
times I'd heard bike riders talking about the wonderful feeling of the
wind in their faces as they rode their machines and now I understood
what they were talking about, but in a way that no earthbound rider
could ever understand. Compared to a trike, a Harley-Davidson as a
freedom machine was just a very efficient device for turning fuel into
noise.

	"Sandra, Eddie, says he'll be on his way in about ten
minutes."

	"What? What did you say, Brett?" I'd been staring down at the
coastal highway and a queue of cars held up behind a slow moving
semi-trailer.

	"Well, to tell the truth I have my mobile phone with me when I
fly, plugged into the radio communications circuit. There was no point
in trying it down on the beach, it wouldn't have worked any better
than yours did. But we're fifteen kilometres closer to Kelkenny Ponds
now and mobiles use line-of-sight waves, so the higher up you are the
more range they have. I got through to Eddie first try and told him
exactly where your husband is stuck."

	"I didn't hear anything," I said. This all sounded pretty
suspicious to me.

	"No, I thought it would simplify matters if I cut you out of
the circuit. Anyway, he said to tell you that he'd phone the hospital
and let them know you wouldn't be coming in today - oh, yeah, and he
said he'd make sure he set his VCR up to tape 'Red Dwarf' for Jeff in
case they were late back."

	I turned all this over in my mind. One thing was sure, Brett
must indeed have talked to Eddie to know that 'Red Dwarf' was Jeff's
favourite TV comedy programme. It certainly hadn't been mentioned on
the beach. On the other hand: "Why would Eddie tell the hospital that
I'm not coming to work today? We're going to Kilkenny Ponds, aren't
we?"

	"Oh, eventually, yes. In the meanwhile though I thought I'd
spend some time feeling your tits. As fair payment for the ride, you
might say."

	"What!"

	"What!" he mimicked me. "Well, what you do first is to put
your hands up on the control bar. Then I'll put my right hand around
underneath your right arm and grab your right tit."

	"No way!"

	"OK, Sandra, have it your way."

	The next second the wing tipped over onto one side and the pod
went into a horrifying spiral which convulsed my hands into clutching
claws on the seat handles as I screamed in terror. It was far, far
worse than being on a roller coaster. Finally, at long last, Brett
stopped throwing the plane around.

	"Now, Sandra, before I ask you again, I'd like you to look up
to where the support bars are attached to the wing. You see that bolt
there? That's called the Jesus bolt, because that's what both of us
will be screaming if it breaks and we drop off the wing. Now, which
would you rather have, some more strain imposed on the Jesus bolt, or
my fingers around your nipples?"

	It was not a decision I had to spend a lot of time making: "I
don't want the bolt to break." I said breathlessly.

	"Fine. Then put your hands on the control bar and sit quietly
like a good girl."

	I did as he wanted. Immediately his hand slipped around my
body and touched the side of my right breast. It seemed to be as far
as he could reach and it served him right - let him be as sick as a
dog with frustration. I looked down at the pattern of fields and dirt
roads below and practised what I was going to say to the two timing
shit once we were safely back on the ground.

	"You know, you're the first girl I've had in that front seat
who's got boobs so big I can't reach them properly from the back."
Brett sounded proud of the fact. "I knew you were something special
when I saw you from the air for the first time. I've just got to get
my hands on them properly."

	"Brett, I'm a married woman," I protested.

	"That's OK, I'm not going to steal you from your husband, I'm
just going to borrow you for a bit, like a library book. What the
hell, you must have acquired a few dirty finger marks on your virgin
white pages already."

	"You're a real bastard, aren't you?"

	"I'm sorry, Sandra, but this thing is bigger than both of us.
Your things are, anyway. OK, what I'm going to have to do is to
unfasten my harness and lean forward so I can really get a grip on
you. It's no fun unless I do it with both hands, so you'll have to fly
the trike. No matter what happens, you hold the control bar level and
everything will be fine. Of course if you fuck it up I'm liable to
fall out."

	I was as mad as hell at his insolence: "Well, fall out then,
you prick, and get yourself killed."

	I could hear him chuckling through the background hiss of the
headphones: "Sandra, have you really thought about that? I mean, if I
do fall out, you're going to have seventy eight kilos of desperate man
holding onto your tits like they've been held before. And even if you
eventually shake me off it still leaves you up here on your own. How
do you think you'd go at your first solo landing?"

	"Oh shit!"

	"Come on, Sandra, a nurse shouldn't talk like that, a nurse
should be caring and gentle towards those in need, and I need you. But
before we start I want you to unzip the front of your overalls and
then pull up that tee-shirt so I've got plenty of bare skin to play
with. I know you're not wearing anything else, I could see that on the
beach. I don't know how I managed not to get stiff just looking at you
then."

	"Brett..." It was a forlorn wail of protest.

	"Twenty seconds to get ready for me, Sandra. Otherwise we'll
give the Jesus bolt another strain test."

	"God!"

	"No, Jesus. Come on, let me see you doing something - or
better still, undoing something."

	I took my hands away from the sides of the seat and tugged at
the zip until it was down around my waist. Then I struggled to free
myself from the tight folds of the flying suit until I was back where
I'd started from, with both of my tits hanging out and pressed
together by the narrow opening of the garment.

	"Come on, Sandra, what are you playing around at? You've got
an impatient man back here!"

	"Shut up! I'm being as quick as I can..."

	The tee-shirt was a tight fit as well, and as I clawed it up
inch by inch the loose folds collecting up underneath my throat
started fluttering wildly in the wind. We were passing over a farm
house, a tractor moving between the sheds like a picture on toybox. I
hadn't realised how much higher we'd gone up since leaving the beach.
It was cooler, too, even cold. When I lifted the last fold of my shirt
up over my nipples the wind chilled them into a firming response.
Brett was going to enjoy finding out about that!

	"Sandra, surely you're ready by now? Or do I have to shake you
up again?"

	"I'm ready, you whinging bastard!"

	"Both of them hanging out and bare?"

	"Yes," I confessed.

	He chortled with delight: "Don't worry if they're getting
cold, I'll soon warm them up for you. Now, put your hands on the
control bar and do your best to keep the wings level with the horizon.
Don't worry, it's easy to do."

	Maybe it was for him but I couldn't imagine it being easy for
me. Yet when I held the bar nothing much seemed to happen, except we
began wobbling more than before. I wondered if Brett was still holding
onto the extensions. Then I suddenly found out for a fact that his
hands weren't on the control bar because they were slipping around my
arms. And this time they didn't stop until his fingers were cupping
both of my breasts and making my nipples respond as if they'd been
touched with live wires from a battery. For the first time in my life
though I was being felt by a strange pair of hands and hardly noticing
them beyond an involuntary bodily response. What was taking up the
really major part of my attention was stopping the trike from toppling
out of the sky. My eyes were flicking from right to left and back
again as I checked each wingtip, desperately trying to keep them
balanced against the horizon. In comparison to the difficulty of doing
that having Brett playing with my tits was just an annoying
distraction.

	"Aaah, that's nice... I never know which is best, flying, or
getting a grip on a new pair of tits for the first time. When you can
do both together that's magic. And when they're nice juicy water
melons like yours, Sandra, that's a real bonus."

	"Shut up, I'm trying to drive this thing!"

	"Better do a good job then, sweetie, because if we pile in now
in this position the accident investigation guys won't need any black
box to know what happened. They'll put it on my tombstone - 'He went
up in a cockpit and came down in a titpit'."

	I couldn't prevent myself from giggling at that crack, which
stopped abruptly as we hit an air pocket or something and the trike
shook as though it had hit a pot hole in the sky. I squealed the
horizon dipped and began to slide around us.

	"Don't worry," Brett told me calmly. "Push the bar forward -
forward!" He emphasised the command by jerking my nipples away from
me. It was quite painful but that was the least of my worries as I
pressed as hard as I could against the bar. Things seemed to change,
not that I was quite sure how, but we were still turning.

	"Tilt the bar up to the right," Brett ordered, emphasising the
command by scrunching my right tit in his hand as hard as he could. I
gasped and did as he wanted, until we were flying properly. Somehow
we'd turned completely around again though, because the sea was in
front of us now.

	"Pilot teaching by means of sensory input - works wonders,
every time. Hey, Sandra, you've starting some heavy breathing. It's
about time you showed some reaction after all the effort I've put into
getting you nicely excited."

	"I'm frightened, not excited!"

	"Like hell. I told you you'd look better than that bint on the
boat when you were stripped off and now you're wondering when it's
going to happen. What you'd like is for me to land as soon as I can
and then give you a good general purpose fucking - with another
afterwards for luck."

	He spread his fingers out as wide as he could and sank them
into my soft flesh as I swallowed air again as I had at the beginning
of the flight. I'd done it then because I'd suddenly found myself
involved in something I knew I was going to go through with and now I
felt the same way again. If we landed in a remote place and Brett kept
pressuring me in the same places as he was now there was only going to
be one outcome, because he was right, I was getting as eager to be
laid as he was. Then he started crooning again, a romantic little
seasonal number:

	"Rudolph the red titted reindeer, with your nips so tight,
won't you pull my sleigh tonight?"

	I called him a cunt.

	"You're lucky, Sandra, I've had a vasectomy, so we can do it
the old fashioned way, with me riding you bareback. You girls really
need it pumped into you before you get that final zing out of it,
right? God, as soon as I landed on the beach and saw you I knew it was
going to be my lucky day - one look and I knew you were absolutely
ripe for rooting. So we'd better get on with it."

	His hands came off me: "OK, I've got the bar. We're seven
kilometres from a nice little spot for a bit of quiet nookie out in
the open air, so let's wend, Pancho!"

	"Pancho - what does that mean?"

	"Before your time, Sandra, before your time."

	The trike turned around tightly, back towards the hills. Brett
kept talking. "There used to be a fire lookout tower up on that ridge
ahead. It's been taken down now but the Forestry Commission made an
airstrip a few hundred metres down on the opposite slope. Just enough
for a little biplane to land and change the firespotters over every
two weeks or so. It was never worth the cost of putting in a road. So
we use it now."

	"What do you mean by 'we'?"

	"Trike flyers. We're the only ones who can get in there now,
unless you walk, and not many people do that. It's a beautiful spot
for some open air fucking."

	His assumption that I was putty in his hands to do whatever he
liked with made me grate my teeth in anger. I was torn between wanting
to put scratch marks on his back or across those smiling eyes of his.

	"You know something, Sandra, sometimes I teach people how to
fly trikes. And one thing I have to show them is how difficult it is
to fly on instruments alone and why they should stay clear of clouds.
To do that I have a hood which fits over a flying helmet. It covers
their eyes but it's cut away underneath so they can still breathe and
look down at the instrument panel. I think that's a good idea, don't
you?"

	I couldn't understand what he was talking about: "What are you
asking me for? I don't know anything about flying."

	"OK then, I'll tell you something entirely different. When
they were training hunting falcons back in medieval days, they always
used to tame a falcon when it landed by putting a hood over its head.
I think you might be tempted to use your claws on me when we land so I
think I'll tame you with the same technique, by putting my blind
flying hood over your helmet. What a piece of good luck I just happen
to have it handy."

	The sarcastic bastard was really enjoying himself.

	"Hold onto the control bar again, Sandra, and listen for any
orders I give you."

	I put my hands back onto the rubber grips. A second later a
piece of black fabric was pulled down around the helmet, then a cord
around the bottom of it jerked tightly underneath the helmnet and
around my neck. It all happened very quickly. As Brett had said, a
large rectangular piece was cut out at the bottom of the hood but to
see anything I had to literally look down my nose - or past it anyway.

	"OK, Sandra, I've got the control bar again now. Incidentally,
that cord is tied up behind your head now, and you wouldn't find it a
very easy knot to undo. Nor can you undo the helmet straps underneath
your chin while the bag's on. You've heard of the man in the iron
mask?  Well, you're going to be the lady in the plastic helmet until I
let you out of it. Which will be after I've had the pleasure of your
company."

	He sounded about as happy as a man could be. Which, under the
circumstances, was probably justified. A nice day flying around, see a
sheila you fancy, swoop down, pick her up, squeeze her teats, make her
helpless and then spend a happy afternoon giving the stupid bitch the
thorough shafing she deserves for her trusting stupidity. I wondered
if he was as inventive a lover as he was a liar and a flier.

	The trike began turning and turning, presumably over the place
where he intended to land. With my head craned back as far as I could
get it I could just manage to look straight down into a frustratingly
narrow field of vision. There were the slopes of the ridge, littered
with large stones, then some trees close together, an open expanse of
grass, a kind of large wooden framework which must have been the base
of the firewatching tower. What looked like a sheet of canvas had been
tied between the stunted wooden legs to cover the ground between them.

	I saw something else as well, small differently colored scraps
of material fluttering gently from the sides of the four legs, like
bunting outside a used car lot. The difference was that I was sure
this bunting was exclusively composed of girls' panties. Not bunting,
but little flags of triumph, two or three tied to each leg.

	"Can you see our windmarkers, Sandra? You're not the first
flying fuck up here, not by a long way."

	"You're the most arrogant man I've ever met!"

	"Yes, but am I the most arrogant man ever to fuck you?"

	"You haven't done it yet."

	"Well, Sandra, I hoisted up most of those panties myself, and
yours are definitely going to be the next pair."

	"And did you have to blindfold the other girls too?"

	He laughed: "Every one a blind date, Sandra, everyone. Until
it was time for them to suck my cock. Then I let them see what they
were doing."

	I would have given my life's savings for a chance to get some
of my own back on the bastard. Even just to scream abuse at him, but
it didn't seem like a good idea while he was landing the trike. Nor
did it seem a good idea to have my head twisted over to one side as
the grass came nearer and nearer. Better to sit upright and straight
in case it was a hard impact. Staring into the black depths of the
material over my face plate, I waited for the thump. There was one,
hardly noticeable, then the same vibration from the wheels as had
happened when we were running along the beach. Guilty, my feet came
off the foot bars, where I'd been resting them without remembering
Brett's instructions to keep clear of them as we landed.

	Then the vibration ended and the engine stopped. No more wind
blowing past, only the chilled skin on my breasts as a reminder of it
and the hot sun warming them already. The pod creaked as Brett got
out.

	"Hold the control bar, Sandra."

	This time, after he'd taken the wing tip ground pin out from
under my seat, he put his hand right up between the legs of the flying
overalls and rubbed me slowly. I think what he enjoyed most about it
was that I made no protest, no effort to stop him. The truth was that
I was unable to make up my mind what to do. I hadn't resisted Brett in
the air because I'd been afraid of us crashing. I couldn't do much to
stop him now, even if I wanted to, not being almost totally blind.
Even if the mask and the helmet were taken off, I'd still be on my own
with him way out here in the bush. But the first thing to do was to
try to persuade him to undo the mask, no matter what I had to do for
him afterwards.

	"Please, Brett, let me take this helmet off. It's like having
my head in a bucket with it on."

	"Later, Sandra, later. When I feel like it I'll let you give
me a blow job. Tilt the bar now and hold it while I secure the wing
tip. Gently, gently, that's far enough."

	His shadow across my legs moved away as he went to secure the
wing. Now I could feel that was a breeze blowing up here in the hills,
a hot gentle breeze fluttering around the open flying suit and the tee
shirt drawn up tight around my throat, almost as tight as my throat
was inside. It would have been wonderful to have felt it on my flushed
face. Something hit the ground, probably Brett's helmet. He'd wasted
no time in taking his off, I noted angrily.

	"Put your hands down by the sides of your seat, Sandra. I want
to take a good long look at the scenery."

	He was standing next to the trike. He had to be for me to hear
him through the helmet - anyway, I could see his shadow falling across
my knees again. God, he must be loving this! I imagined myself as he
was seeing me, helpless and undone, my big boobs scrunched up and
hanging out like ripe fruit in the sunlight, ready for the picking.
Brett's shadow blotted out everything else as he bent lower and I was
surprised when his hands went down to unfasten my seat straps, rather
than further up or lower down. It occurred to me that perhaps he
wouldn't risk a struggle anywhere near his precious plane. He helped
me out of the pod anyway, then led me away by the hand as I stumbled
along behind him, trying to keep my eyes on my feet as we stepped
through the rough grass. Spears of it stabbed through my beach sandals
and made me gasp in pain. One thing was certain, I wouldn't be running
away, even if there was anywhere to run to.

	"Almost there, now, Sandra. A few more steps."

	A few steps it was, into the shade that I felt more than saw
on the ground. No dapples in it, no flecks, but a total shield from
the sun. We weren't underneath a tree, so we must be below the canvas
sheet I'd seen flying overhead in the trike. The wind was still
fluttering over my boobs though, so it wasn't like a tent, there were
no canvas walls. We were still in the open air, standing in the
remains of the old fire watching tower. The ruins decorated with all
those intimate feminine articles presumably left behind by other
visiting trike fliers. My knees began trembling.

	"OK, Sandra, shake them for me."

	"What?"

	"Put your hands up underneath your tits and shake them up and
down for me."

	I tried to summon up my remained of my self respect. "And what
if I don't?"

	Even with the thick plastic dome over my head I heard his
chuckle: "Then the helmet will have to stay on, until you decide to do
what you're told."

	It was the obvious response, an easy and effective one. He
knew how much I wanted to take it off. I sighed and did as he wanted,
gently juggling myself for his benefit. Brett had won at every deal in
the gane and now he was starting to claim his winnings. And he was
probably sighing too, if he really thought I was as fuckable as he
kept on saying I was.

	"Now that's a job I wouldn't mind helping you with."

	Yes, he did sigh, with satisfaction, as he put his hands back
on top of my nipples and plucked them into hardened points. It was
skilfully done work which had me holding them up to him for the
treatment to continue. He obliged with his tongue, his lips and his
teeth. A very odd experience, not to be able to see but to be seen, to
be almost blind and yet to be right out in the open air. I wondered if
there were any bush walkers in the area with binoculars held to their
eyes as they watched the performance. Especially when Brett suckled me
so fiercely that I had to hold onto his shoulders to stop from
overbalancing.

	"You bastard, Brett, you bastard..."

	"I think it's time we stripped you off some more, Sandra."

	I felt his hand tugging unzipping the front of the flying
suit, all the way down to the bottom. He was moving around me, behind
me I thought, then knew I was right as he tugged at the collar of the
suit and pulled it down along my arms and off over my hands. The suit
fell down, leaving me with the tee-shirt still hauled up over the tops
of my breasts and my panties. I felt their waistband pulled back
behind me and then I yelped as he twanged the elastic against my
spine.

	"Beautifully posed, Sandra, beautifully posed. Just one slight
adjustment and you'll look perfect."

	One fast tug and the panties were down where the flying suit
was, below my knees, with Brett laughing aloud at my instinctive and
totally useless attempt to grab them as they were plucked away.

	"Brett!"

	"Christ, Sandra, you're built like a brick shithouse. Love
those legs, you must be a bloodstirring sight in a miniskirt. Now
let's see if your cunt feels as good as your tits do."

	I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe that I out in the
middle of the bush, naked between the pulled up shirt and my knees,
with a hand creeping up between my legs, another on my right nipple
and a mouth over the left one. And what did I do about it? What I did
about it was to grip Brett's shoulders again to keep my balance while
I stood there like a knocked kneed cowgirl so the exploring fingers
could have all the room they needed. Oh, and as a final touch of
encouragement, he must have been able to hear my grunts of
satisfaction coming from beneath the helmet. Even to my own ears I
sounded like a pig snuffling through garbage. Brett snorted too, he
snorted with laughter when he stopped sucking my nipple because he
knew I was shivering with eagerness for everything and anything he
wanted to do with me.

	"OK, Sandra, take two steps forward and put your hands out in
front of you." His voice was brisk and urgent.

	"There's a table there, a wooden one we found here. On top of
it there's a mattress. Don't worry about it slipping, it's tied to the
table. Turn around and sit on the end of the mattress, then lie down
on your back and spread your knees out to show off your cunt."

	"You're a real charmer, Brett, aren't you?"

	"Right now, I'm not interested in massaging your ego, Sandra
just the rest of you. Get your arse on that table and spread them,
because I'm coming for you, ready or not."

	I did as he wanted. The edge of the table appeared underneath
my chin as I shuffled forward, and the mattress as well. It seemed low
enough for me to able to lift myself up on it without much difficulty.
It was also thin, and old, and dirty, and sticky. None of which was
surprising considering what it was used for. Yet although I'd reached
the stage where I needed to have the same thing done to me, it was
still a humiliation to be sitting there with my clothing twisted up
around my legs, as though I was sitting on a toilet bowl.

	"On your back, Sandra."

	There was no point in trying to argue. I leaned back on the
tacky mattress cover, to find that the helmet supported my head quite
comfortably. Through the gap underneath the hood I peered down my
body, but my tits blocked out almost all the view, except for an
occasional glimpse of movement at the end of the table. Then I saw his
dark hair for a second as he lowered himself between my legs. His
hands spread my knees even wider apart than they already were.

	"A man is no man if with his tongue he cannot win himself a
woman. Let's see if Shakespeare was right."

	I don't know what Shakespeare did with his girls but Brett
quickly turned out to be the most enthusiastic cunt licking boy I've
ever had an encounter of the best type with. The only real trouble was
that the helmet was on the wrong person - I could hardly find the
breath to encourage him underneath it, and he must have needed it
badly as I pinned his ears back with my thighs. Big, big licks, with
an occasional halt while he took off my sandals, the flying suit, and
then my panties, leaving me seething with impatience for him to start
again. Another pause, then as he used his fingers to make sure I was
properly on the boil after being the well nibbled entree.

	"I've got you where I want you now, you big titted bitch,"
Brett gloated as he worked me, the table creaking underneath my spine.
I wondered if I was the heaviest girl that had ever been laid on top
of it and whether it was going to collapse when Brett started fucking
me.

	"Now I think we'll take that helmet off so I can watch your
face while I'm sticking my cock into this mincing machine yours." His
fingers were doing the mincing, churning around inside my clamping
muscles as I began to go crazy. "But we have to go by the rules here,
so there's one little job left to do."

	He seemed to more self control than I did. Probably because he
was older. I didn't care what rules he was talking about. Not until I
felt a tingle from a thin length of metal over my stomach.

	"Before you ask, sweetie, I'll explain what I'm doing. There's
a length of fine chain looped around the table top with a small
padlock securing it. I've undone the padlock and now I'm going to
refasten the chain again, around the table and around your middle.
There's no way you'd ever got hips or tits like yours past it, so
you'll stay on top of the table until I undo the padlock. But I will
leave it slack enough so you can turn over, or crawl up to the end of
the table to give me a blow job."

	His entire hand seemed to be inside me now.

	"I think they're satisfactory arrangements, don't you, miss
big tits? Because there's no way you're ever getting off this table
until I decide to let you off it."

	"God, yes, anything you want, Brett, anything you want."

	He didn't answer. I tried to look around and saw nothing,
though I heard movement. I guessed that Brett was taking off his
flying suit. Afterwards he put his fingers underneath my neck and
undid the knot behind the hood. It seemed to take a long time before
it came loose. It seemed to take even longer for him to snap open the
chin strap and to ease the helmet off. The light was dazzling and the
rough material of the mattress was scratchy against against the back
of my head. Above me the canvas was flapping gently.

	"Well, hello, Nurse Pearson."

	I screamed in shock as hands grabbed my wrists and elbows.
There were men, naked men, all around the table. But the only one I
had eyes for was the one between my held out legs, the swarthy man
with black hair all over his body who was carefully sheathing his cock
inside me as if he was slipping into a hot bath.

	"Doctor Gottlieb," I whimpered. Only the most detestable
medical man I'd ever met, the one with the ugly cow of a wife who was
always trying to make up for his miserable marriage by trying to chat
up the nurses. I despised the ugly creep and now he was fucking me in
front of an audience!

	"And the doctor is in!" He jammed everything he had into me
and I gasped. The bastard had more to him than I'd ever expected, but
when it came to bastards..."Brett!"

	He was at the end of the table, looking down and laughing.
"Don't worry, Sandra, I'm next. But when I called all the guys up on
the radio and told them I was going up to the tower with a red hot
nurse one of my mates said he had a passenger who was a doctor at the
Kilkenny hospital. We thought it might be a good gag to have you meet
like this - the Doc was all for it, especially when he found out who
you were. Of course I didn't let you see all the parked up trikes when
we landed but you'll get to meet all the guys pretty soon. You're our
Christmas box."

	Two of the guys had already grabbed hold of my tits, as a
convenient way of encouraging me to rub their cocks for them. Two more
of them were holding my legs as Gottlieb ploughed away between them
and I writhed away under his increasing weight as he spread himself on
top of me. Never, never, never would he allow me to forget this and
all the other things he was to going to see. And they'd all been
standing there with their hands over their mouths, nearly bursting
with laughter as I'd shaken my tits for Brett and let him strip and
lick me. If it had been him! I burned in anger, and in fear at the
thought of Jeff finding out about this.

	"Brett, you fucking bastard!"

	"Sorry, Sandra, but that's not really my name. I'm really
Monthy Python, the pilot with the big cock, and this is my flying
circus...."

	He had a can of coke in his hand, he held it up. "Can't drink
when I'm flying, but a Christmas toast everyone. Here's to a happy
time stuffing our Christmas turkey..." The men guys cheered and wooped
in encouragement. "And God bless us all, everyone." Brett leaned
forward, watching what Gottlieb was doing a sardonic smile on his face
"....including Tiny Tim!"

THE END (for now... but if you'd like to improve your own sex life,
visit www.f-e-mail.com)



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