18 January 2012

Flight 6

By: Alyssa Hyatt

Exactly one hundred and eighty-three seconds later, Skye Blue stumbled
out of the toilet cubicle, looking like a far cruder version of the
prissily-presented stewardess she had portrayed earlier in the day. With
only three minutes to paint her face, Miss Blue was forced to hastily
sacrifice finesse for volume. If she didn't look like a sex worker
before, she absolutely did now with those gaudy red lips and whorish
smoky eye shadow. At least the two remaining poppers on her latex dress
kept her covered enough that she wouldn't get arrested for indecent
exposure the moment she stepped off the plane. Barely.

"You're late, slut" spat Michelle, inspecting her husband up and down.
She lifted the hem of Skye's dress up and took a good look at the
shrivelled male equipment that once gave her so much  pleasure. "Guess
we should call you Miss Black-and-Blue from now on, don't you think?"
she giggled.

"Yes, Madam," croaked Skye.

"Yes, Madam," repeated Michelle, mocking her husbands' surgically-
induced sing-song voice. "Is that all you have to say for yourself? I
thought you'd grateful that I allowed part of my body to come into
contact with that pathetic little acorn of yours!"

"Yes, Madam, of course, Madam, I am most grateful that you were prepared
to endure the indignity of your foot having to come into contact with my
pathetic little acorn, Madam" blathered Skye, who was willing to say
just about anything to get this humiliating dressing-down to stop.

The smirk on Michelle's face grew ever-wider. "Don't mention it, sugar.
Any time. Seriously. Now, I think we've wasted enough time on your girly
gossiping. Get out there and tend to your passengers. NOW!"

With that, Michelle pushed the unsteady stewardess towards the curtain,
stamping on the back of her heels as she staggered out to keep Skye's
pace honest. On the other side, they were greeted by a rather non-
plussed Mr Hanson, who was nursing an almost empty glass of wine.

"Excuse me, pilot?" he began, looking straight past the bedraggled
flight attendant. "Can I complain about the terrible service on this
flight? My hostess went missing for over 45 minutes! Any longer, and I
would have had to have gone a few seconds without a top-up of my drink!"

"My sincerest apologies on behalf of Layover Airways, Mr Hanson,"
replied Michelle, "but it appears that our hostess sneaked off to
pleasure herself in the toilets." She raised Skye's dress once more to
reveal her bruised appendage. "As you can see, she really gave it a go!"
Skye's cheeks burned bright as the pair laughed at her tiny swollen
tiddler.

"So she did!" remarked Mr Hanson. "That's not the behaviour I expect
from one of your hostesses.  The brochure said they were fitted with
chastity devices to prevent this very thing happening!"

"You are correct, Mr Hanson, but what can I say? You must have turned on
the poor girl so much that she just HAD to run into the toilets and
break it off. I can only apologise and promise that we'll fit her with a
tighter, more uncomfortable model in the future." This caused Skye to
fidget slightly as Michelle continued. "But in the meantime, you have
the free reign to dish out any punishment you deem appropriate to our
hostess for her thoughtless behaviour."

Mr Hanson chuckled and then waved his hand dismissively, to the relief
of Skye. "Very kind of you to offer, but it's okay, really. Girls like
her can't help themselves when they're around me, you know."

Michelle was visibly disappointed. She cast Skye a sharp 'what are you
up to?' sort of look for a second, and then turned back to the passenger
and spoke, softly but pointedly. "So, Mr Hanson. Am I right in saying
you've developed a bit of a sweet spot for our dear hostess?"

Mr Hanson didn't seem to pick up on her tone. "You could say that, yes!
I tell you, Captain McLaren, I didn't think I could feel this way about
a shemale, but she's been great company on this flight. Extremely, ahem,
hospitable. Willing to go above and beyond the call of duty. In fact,
she mentioned a very interesting proposal to me earlier which I'm
thinking of taking her up on..."

"Did she now," remarked Michelle, coolly. "Please, do go on."

Oh crap! He was about to tell her all about their hotel rendezvous! She
would be sure to stick her oar in and ruin all those carefully-laid
plans! Skye's eyes darted around the cabin in a desperate search for
someone or something to intervene. As nothing was forthcoming, she had
to take emergency action. She flung herself theatrically onto Mr
Hanson's knees, stomach first, and poked her cute butt as high up in the
air as it would reach.

The brazen act stunned all three observers in equal measure, so the
floor was clear for Skye to explain her actions. "Oh, Sir, pardon me for
interrupting, but I absolutely must be punished for my transgressions!"

Michelle knew now for sure that her hubbie was up to something, but she
seemed placated enough by the fact she was making an idiot of herself.
So, she let it slide for now.

"Honestly, Miss Blue, I appreciate the offer, but I'm in the middle of a
conversation with the Captain. We can work out a punishment later. Now,
where we were?"

Skye stepped up her efforts. "No, Mr Hanson, I'm afraid I must insist!"
She pulled her skirt up around her waist, revealing her naked ass,
complete with obscene 'Cockpit' tattoo. The sight of that thing always
threatened to make Michelle corpse.

Mr Hanson still didn't seem convinced. "I don't think that will-"

Skye cut him off in mid-sentence. "You must punish me!" wailed the
flight attendant. She gave her own backside a swat as if to get to ball
rolling. "You must, you must!" She started spanking herself over and
over. "I've been a bad girl!" * THWACK! * "I'm a bad girl!" *THWACK *
"Bad girl!"

Mr Hanson was amused by the preposterous display occurring on his lap.
"Okay, okay. I can see you value excellent customer service, Miss Blue.
I appreciate that, being in this industry too. Therefore the only
honourable thing I can do is punish you."

"Plus," he added with a pervy glint in his eye, "I think you secretly
quite like it."

Michelle watched on with interest as Skye braced herself for the
spanking of her lifetime. But nothing could have braced her for the
sheer force with which the palm of his hand would slam down on her
wobbly bottom. "Oooh!" she moaned as her eyes watered from the impact.
Skye wanted to scream her lungs out, but didn't. Even now, after all the
hormones and cocks that had been injected into her, the silly, deluded
thing was trying to be a man.

A second spank rang round the cabin like a gunshot. "Oooooooooh," she
groaned. Then the strikes began raining down on her ass at a rate of one
per second. By the 25th blow, Skye's will had broken and she was flat-
out sobbing her eyes out. "This hurts me more than it hurts you!" he
shouted over the hostesses' cries.

The sight of her once-noble hubbie being put in her place by a superior
man made Michelle's pussy twinge a little. She decided now would be a
good time to retire the captain's quarters. "I'll leave you to get on
with it, then. But before I go, Mr Hanson, I'm pleased to inform you
that your duty free shopping is ready for collection"

Michelle handed a large brown bag to Mr Hanson and strolled back towards
the cockpit. Skye craned her neck back to see what items he had
purchased. She knew it wouldn't be good news either way. Layover's duty
free store did a roaring trade and every single item it stocked equalled
pain, misery and humiliation for poor old Miss Blue.

Skye wiped away the tears in her eyes and sneaked a peek - within
seconds her eyes began welling up again. Mr Hanson was brandishing the
nastiest, roughest looking leather paddle she had ever seen. It was
about half a metre long and was garnished with several spiteful-looking
nail heads, for that added sensation for the lady.

"Let's see...you were gone for 47 minutes...so how about 47 swats on
that cute little bubble-butt of yours and we'll call it even. Sound
fair, Miss Blue?"

What could she say to that? "Yes, Sir, you're too kind, Sir," she
sniffed.

"And remember to thank me after each blow, my dear. This is for your own
benefit."

"Yes, Sir."

And so it began. CRACK! Skye's macho pretence wilted under the pain of
the vicious paddle. She wailed and cried and blubbed like a new-born.
"Thank you, Sir" she whimpered, softly.

CRACK. Each strike felt like someone had piledriven a hornet's nest into
her ass cheeks. Still she managed to compose herself long enough to
thank her passenger for his kindness. By strike number 47, Skye's rosy-
red tush was so bruised and tormented you could barely make out the red-
raw handprint that Mr Hanson had left earlier. "Th-th-thank you Sir!"
she uttered for the final time through quivering lips.


Mr Hanson lifted Skye up by the armpits and dumped her ass-first onto
his lap, a motion which made her wince in pain for obvious reasons.
"You did great, girl," he praised, giving her a warm hug which she
gratefully received, sobbing into Mr Hanson's shoulder as she did so.

After Skye had let it all out, Mr Hanson further rewarded her with a
passionate kiss, his tongue rudely probing every last inch of her mouth
like it just didn't care. Pulling away, Mr Hanson adopted a more serious
tone. "Now how about that breakfast, sweetie? You were supposed to be
preparing that an hour ago"

Skye's eyes bulged out of her head cartoonishly as she suddenly
remembered the breakfast. "Oh, poo!"


-----------------------------------------

Skye minced back to the kitchen in her painful too-small heels and
opened the oven door. 'Oh, poo' didn't even begin to cover it. The
breakfast was burnt to a crisp! All that Skye could salvage from the
operation was the porridge, which was promptly re-heated but was long
past its prime.  No too ways about it: she was in big trouble.

She dumped the two bowls of congealed porridge onto her brand-new
service trolley (certainly, she hadn't seen it before) and wheeled it
out to her passengers. This trolley seemed to be shorter than her last
one - so low down that she was forced to bend at the waist and take
little faggoty steps to move it along. All the while, her braless tits
swung freely in front of her as she struggled to push the heavy trolley
out into the cabin.

When she re-appeared, she noticed that Mr Tarasov had awoken and the two
'gents' were now conversing boisterously in their normal seats. Skye
sheepishly placed the ruined porridge in front of the two moguls.

"What the hell is this?" complained Mr Hanson, prodding the slop with
his spoon. "Where's the rest of our breakfast?"

"Sorry, gentleman. I am afraid I've overcooked your breakfast."

It was way to early in the morning for Mr Tarasov to hear bullshit like
this. "How the FUCK did you do that, you worthless bitch?" he fumed.

"Go ahead. Tell him," prompted Mr Hanson, his arms crossed in
disapproval.

Skye looked off into the distance and made eye contact with Vlad, who
smirked and shook his head. So, telling the truth wasn't an option.
Regrettably, that left Skye with only Michelle's take on what had
happened to offer.

"I'm afraid I was too busy pleasuring myself in the toilets to tend to
the breakfast properly, Mr Tarasov. Please accept my deepest, most
heartfelt apologies."

The bad news caused Mr Tarasov's blood pressure to rise to unprecedented
levels. "You mean to say," he began, "that you thought it was more
important to jerk yourself off than prepare my breakfast."

"I'm so sorry, Sir..." offered Skye, her eyes cast downwards.

"Well then!" Mr Tarasov was in full-blown Basil Fawlty mode now. "Then I
guess that instead of having breakfast, I should jerk you off then,
being as that's obviously far more important! Get over here, you useless
cow!"

Skye apprehensively inched towards the raging Russian. He reached out
and grabbed her by the collar, ripping her dress clean off her feminized
body. At least one of the two remaining poppers snapped off - if not
both. For the second time in under an hour, Skye Blue was stark-naked in
front of an incensed Eastern European.

Mr Tarasov yanked the nude flight attendant into his lap and began
aggressively masturbating her with his coarse, fat right hand. "I was
really looking forward to those pancakes, you selfish bitch" he growled
as Skye writhed and groaned from his ministrations. Mr Hanson laughed,
pulled out his packed lunch and went back to reading his complementary
morning paper.

Skye was determined not to suffer the indignation of having this
disgusting ogre bring her to a climax, but once he began using his other
hand to snake across her ultra-sensitive breasts, it was a losing
battle. Skye's dicklet sent hot shemale cum arcing through the air as
Tarasov applied the vinegar strokes, her useless seed landing in the
middle of the unwanted bowl of cold porridge.

Tarasov pressed the palm of his hand into Skye's face and used it to
push her onto the floor. Next, he laid the bowl of cum-seasoned porridge
in front of her and began removing his right shoe and sock. The stench
of his foot immediately filled Skye's nostrils and made her want to
retch.

Tarasov dipped his manky foot into the porridge and began stirring it
round and round. Once he was sure the cum and porridge was nicely
blended, he lifted the oat-coated appendage to the level of Skye's
mouth. "I grew up in a part of Russia where people struggle to feed
their families, slut. I hate to see good food go to waste. Open wide!"

Skye opened wide, but to offer her protestations. Before any words came
out, the foot went in.

"Urrrrrrrggmmmm" groaned Skye as she sucked the pungent gunk from
Tarasov's foot. He didn't remove it until all the porridge had been
consumed, meaning Skye's tongue had to work especially hard to get
between his rancid toes. Once it was all gone, he immediately dunked it
back in and guided it back to her mouth. This cycle repeated several
times before Tarasov grew bored. Putting his footwear back on, he
instructed the hostess to finish the rest of the bowl by dipping her
boobs into the slop and licking them clean. This took her quite some
time, but eventually the bowl was spotless. Placated, Tarasov ruffled
her hair affectionately as Skye concentrated all her efforts into not
vomiting the revolting meal back up onto the floor. The knowledge that
she would probably have to lick that up as well helped her keep her meal
down.

At that moment, another figure walked into the room. "Was breakfast to
your satisfaction, gents?"

Mr Hanson peered over his paper and smiled. "Yes thank you, Captain
McCloud. I think Mr Tarasov especially enjoyed it!"

Randy spoke with amusement in his voice. "I see you're both already well
acquainted with my new girlfriend. Whatcha doin' down there on your
hands and knees, blossom?"

Instead of answering, Skye almost vomited over Mr Tarasov's shoes.


-----------------------------------------

Randy McCloud locked his hands around Skye's hourglass waist
possessively as he fielded questions from his boss and his business
partner.

"Oh yes, we've been dating for a while now," he explained. "Funny story,
really: we met in one of Heathrow's waiting lounges."

"How cute" grinned Mr Hanson. "A typical airline romance. Was it love at
first sight?"

"I think it was, yes. But she played hard to get for a while. You know
how girls are. She was being really bitchy about me. Talking about me
behind my back. But it was playground teasing really - I think she
wanted to get in my pants from the moment she saw me. Isn't that right,
sweets?"

"Yes, my darling" pouted Skye unenthusiastically.

"Well, I'm pleased for you, Randy. It was a bit of a shock when Ace
outed you as a homosexual, but I must say you've landed on your feet
with this one! I have to say, even as a heterosexual man, I'd happily
tap that ass!"

"Be my guest, gentlemen!" beamed Randy.

"You don't mind?" interjected Mr Tarasov.

"Of course not, no! I know full well my girl is in the sex trade
industry. I don't mind at all. In fact, it  turns me on a little. Even
though my wage could probably support us both, I hope to see her working
for Layover for many, many years to come. And I couldn't think of anyone
better to share her delights with than you two fine gents. In fact, I've
come down here on my break specifically to show you how to operate the
service trolley you ordered!"

"Ahh. I've been looking forward to this!" said Tarasov, clapping his
hands expectantly.

"Skye, be a doll and lay down on the top of the trolley stomach first,
so we can show our guests how this device works" commanded Skye's
'boyfriend'. Skye nervously clambered up onto the surface and looked
over at Randy with a uneasy expression on her face.

"Oooh, that looks sore, darling" remarked Randy on his girl's bruised
backside, giving it a playful slap that yielded a satisfying squeal.
"Now, what you do is pull this cord, and the back and side panels come
away so we can see underneath. Now, see that giant latch? Let's see what
happens when we pull it open."

The latch opened a trap door underneath Skye's prone body. It was just
big enough to let her comedy breasts flop through, leaving them dangling
freely underneath. He then opened a second, much smaller door which was
perfectly placed to let her teeny testicles drop through. Randy detached
the trap doors and cast them to one side and then set about winching a
giant handle on the side of the trolley. Skye looked around in panic as
she attempted to see what was happening. She felt it before she saw it -
a couple of metal vices were now locked around her tits and testes,
locking her firmly in place! Skye freaked out and began trying to lift
herself off the trolley, but it was no good!

"And there ends the demonstration. What we have here now is one bona
fide 'trolley dolly', just as you ordered!" smirked Randy.

The three men gathered round like vultures to survey their helpless
prey. Skye immediately started pleading for clemency, but her squeaks
only irritated Mr Tarasov further. The oligarch pulled the emergency
cord above his seat, causing several bright yellow ball gags to drop
down from a hatch in the ceiling. Skye took the hint and held her
tongue.

Hanson and the good Captain took a back seat as Tarasov inspected the
silent shemale from all angles. Her eyes tracked him nervously as he
groped her clamped breasts, fiddled with her backside and closely
examined her facial features. What was he going to do to her? Skye
closed her eyes and tried to imagine the scene a few days from now, when
she was alone with Mr Hanson in his hotel room so she could explain to
him exactly what was going on. Not long 'till freedom now. Let Mr
Tarasov do what he wanted with her body! When she was a man again - not
just any man, the best pilot on this green earth! - she'd repay his
actions in kind and then some! With Richard Hanson in tow, they'd bring
the once-mighty Imperial Airlines - and Mr Tarasov with it - to its
knees!


As it happened, it was Mr Hanson's rich voice that spoke first. "So, Mr
Tarasov. You've had an extensive look at the goods. Europa has met your
demands. I trust we have a deal?"

"Absolutely, comrade. This was better than I could have ever hoped for.
With this handshake, I declare the proposed merger between Europa and
Imperial official!"

"Wh-wait, what?" blurted Skye, forgetting the imminent threat of being
ball-gagged for a second.

Mr Hanson turned his attentions to the helpless hostess. "Oh, sorry my
dear. This must be quite bewildering to you. After all, this is really
big news. You should look out for it in the papers tomorrow, by the way.
Allow me to explain. Mr Tarasov and I have struck a deal to merge our
airlines. As part of the deal, Mr Tarasov has agreed to relinquish his
position on the board and retire from the industry. I will be the sole
chairman of the new Europa-Imperial Airlines company."

What? This was impossible! These were the two biggest airlines in the
world! They had been bitter rivals for longer than Skye had even been
alive. What on earth could have made a man as rich and powerful as Mr
Tarasov agree to such a deal?

"I suppose you're wondering what I offered Mr Tarasov to make him agree
to such a deal?" said Mr Hanson, reading Skye's mind. Ten million? A
hundred million? No, and no. When I proposed the deal, he asked for one
thing, and one thing only, and that's what I gave him. I was taken aback
by his request, I must admit. It was definitely a steep price. But I
decided it was more than worth it." He crouched down next to her and
whispered into her ear: "It was you, Ace!"

"WHAT? Rich? You know it's me? You have to help me! Rich! Rich! Help me!
They've...they've turned me into a bimbo! Come on, we're pals! Rich!
Rich!" Skye was now thrashing around wildly atop the trolley, but to no
avail - the vice grips were holding her firmly into place. Mr Tarasov
whistled for Vlad, who bombed over and fitted the ballgag into the
shrieking hostesses' mouth.

Now silenced, Skye had no option but to listen to the rest of Mr
Hanson's tale. "As you may have noticed, Mr Tarasov has a bit of a
temper on him. He doesn't forgive and forget when people slight him. And
he never forgot how you spoke to him at last year's afterparty. Do you
remember what it was you said to him?"

"You've got more chance of touching a touching a woman's tit than you
have of gaining my services" Mr Tarasov helped out, copping a load of
Skye's exposed hooters as he did so. "Sound familiar, Ace? Well, this
'fat bloated Ruskie' now owns you lock, stock and barrel!"

Back to Mr Hanson. "At first he wanted you dead, which I didn't have a
problem with. Oh, don't look at me like that, sweetheart, although you
are cute when you're angry. It's not that I didn't value our friendship,
it's just that I value being the airline industry's most powerful man a
hell of a lot more. And to be honest, your constant misogynistic PR
gaffs weren't doing much for our share price."

Skye seethed into her gag as the story continued.

"But then we planned it out properly and we realised your absence would
leave somewhat of a void. After all, having a celebrity pilot on our
books was excellent publicity, despite your occasional faux-pas'. So we
began looking down our list of pilots to see if there was a replacement
at hand that could fill your considerable shoes. Between the pair of us,
we could only come up with one name: Randy McCloud."

Skye bit into her gag. She knew where this was going. "But
unfortunately, a certain someone outed him as being gay a couple of
years ago. I know it shouldn't matter, but we still live in a very
homophobic world, as you perhaps can appreciate, Ace. We drafted Randy
into our scheme and asked if he was willing to 'go straight' for the
good of the company, but he was unwilling to do so. He said it would be
difficult to live a lie, and that was more than fair enough."

"But I did offer a counter-proposal" interjected Randy.

"Indeed he did. He suggested he'd be willing to marry a shemale. But
where do you find one of those who is both completely passable - to the
point that they could realistically attend social functions without
being 'read' - and trustworthy enough that she wouldn't ever divorce him
and go straight to the papers with the story? The answer was simple: we
needed to make our own"

"When they approached me with the proposal, I instantly fell in love
with it" interrupted Mr Tarasov. "It was far more delicious than simply
having you killed. Just imagine: the ultimate ladies' man, the James
Bond of the skies, reduced to a mere boy toy for his most hated rival.
Well, I guess you don't have to imagine it, do you, 'Skye Blue'? This is
your reality now!" All four men laughed long and loud as tears began
flowing down Skye's cheeks.

"But then we had to consider the paper trail" continued Mr Hanson. "You
can't just make someone 'disappear' - questions will be asked. So we
slowly sent out feelers to your wife. Randy here began showing her
videotaped proof of your adulterous liaisons. It didn't take long before
she was firmly on board with our plan. All the pieces were now in place.
Do you remember who it was that recommended your wife get a new plastic
surgeon?"

Skye couldn't reply, but didn't need to. It was Mr Hanson.

It was like they were lining up to put the boot in. Tarasov spoke next.
"We hold all the cards, Miss Blue. You think this fake passport of yours
would hold up to scrutiny? Cross our paths even once and we'll shop you
to the authorities. You'll be doing life in some unspeakable Russian
men's prison so fast it'll make your bimbo head spin. How well do you
think you'll do there, looking like that?"

Randy moved in close to deliver the final blow. He crouched down to
Skye's level and licked the tears from her cheeks. "All that's left now,
my dear, is for us to consummate our marriage. I've booked us into a
nice drive-through wedding chapel in Las Vegas. Michelle has kindly
donated her wedding dress for the occasion!"

Skye pictured the accursed dress in his head. Contrary to her wishes,
Ace had insisted on her wearing an outrageously fussy 'princess' style
dress with a ribbed corset design that crushed even her size 8 ribs.
Skye would barely be able to breath in that thing!

"And that kills too birds with one stone, Skye, because I see that your
uniform is in a state of, ahem, disrepair! So you'll simply have to wear
your wedding dress for the entire time you're out here! Oh, don't cry,
baby - you'll look absolutely stunning teetering down the Strip as a
blushing bride!"

"All the guys in Caesars Palace will be asking you to blow on their
dice!"  roared Mr Hanson to the approval of the room. "by the way, we're
still on for our date, right?"

Skye couldn't offer a response, so her fiancé stepped in. "Count on it!"
winked Randy.

"This calls for a toast. You too, Vlad, you're part of our inner circle
now" Vlad brought over four glasses of champagne and passed them on the
gents in the room. "Cheers!" The four clinked glasses as Skye dribbled
frantically through her gag.

"Sorry, how rude of us" spoke Mr Hanson after the four men had finished
drinking. "Do you have anything to say, Miss Blue?"

Vlad removed the gag, and indeed Miss Blue had plenty to say.

"You fucking bastards! You'll never get away with this! I'll get you
all! You fucking PRICKS! I'll kill you all! I'll cut off your cocks!
I'll..."

Skye's foul-mouthed tirade was suddenly cut off by Vlad inserting an o-
ring gag into her big mouth. "Looks like someone forgot about Layover's
strict 'demerit' system" giggled Randy. It was true - Skye had accrued
so many demerits in the space of half a minute that she may as well have
the words 'Miss Potty-Mouth tattooed onto her right breast.
Coincidentally, that was one of the possibilities Michelle would discuss
with the lads that night in the hotel bar.

"Well, to the victors go the spoils" declared Mr Hanson, as all four men
simultaneously unbuckled their belts. Mr Hanson had first crack. He
walked round to Miss Blue's gagged mouth and pulled out his erect penis.
"I was going to save this for later, but I just can't sit by while
everyone else samples the goods" he cackled. On that note, he slammed
his cock into her defenceless mouth and began face-fucking her as hard
as he could, using her ears as leverage.

Skye was still getting used to the sensation of Mr Hanson's balls
bouncing against her chin, when she felt something else press between
her abused ass cheeks. "Hmm. You told me she would be tighter than this"
bemoaned Mr Tarasov as he entered the shemale's back passage. In-between
views of Mr Hanson's pubic region, Skye caught the sight of Vlad
grinning the grin of a man who had just found out that he has a bigger
cock than his boss.

The trolley shunted back and forth under the exertions of both men as
Skye suffered the worst in-flight turbulence ever recorded. In-between
getting her brains fucked out, she felt the sensation of rope being tied
round her legs and arms and before she knew what was happening, all four
limbs were tied securely to opposing chair arms.

"Now, I know four into two holes doesn't go," explained Randy. "Which is
why I've left your hands free enough that you can give the two extra
guys a hand-job while they wait their turn."

How thoughtful. Vlad and Randy moved into position and both started
receiving hand-jobs as Skye rocked back and forth on her pedestal.
Hanson was first to cum - splurging his load all over Skye's shocked
face - and when Tarasov followed suit moments later, they all moved
clockwise and the process began over.

This went on for what seemed like hours. Perhaps it was. The last thing
Skye remembered was taking Vlad's load in her mouth as Michelle's
orgasmic screams rang out loud and clear over the tannoy. Finally, he
came for the last time down her throat, and the 'no-smoking' sign went
out as Vlad wiped his cock clean on her useless latex dress. Shortly
after that, she blacked-out.

-------------------------------------------

When Skye came too, she found it hard to see through the river of cum
and mascara that now covered her face, but she was with it enough to
know that her arms had been hogtied to her heels with her own
neckerchief, and that her original ballgag was now back in place.

"One hour until arrival" spoke Michelle over the announce system.
"Please prepare cabin crew for landing"

"Well, I'd better get back to assist Captain McLaren in the cockpit"
announced Randy. "But before I love you and leave you, Miss Blue, I've
got a present for you"

Great, thought Skye sarcastically.

"Now, I know this entire situation hasn't turned out great for you.
You're probably feeling quite bitter, feeling that it was unfair that
we've stolen your identity and left absolutely no trace of your former
self. Surely the famous pilot Ace McLaren deserves some kind of lasting
memorial to his greatness. Wouldn't you agree, Skye? One 'mmmph' for
yes, two for no"

"Mmmph"

"I thought you'd say that. That's why we've taken the liberty of, ahem,
re-appropriating the Award for Exceptional Services to Aviation trophy
you won last year. Behold!"

Randy wiped some of the cum away from Skye's eyes with a tissue, and she
looked in horror at the sight in front of her. They had remoulded her
cherished trophy into the biggest dildo she had ever seen! It was about
twice the girth of even Vlad's monstrous organ!

"Take a look at the inscribing on the side, Skye!" It read, simply: 'Ace
McLaren. The biggest prick on the planet'

"Do you like it, Skye?"

"Mmmph! Mmmph!"

"Two yeses.  I thought as much. Now, you're to wear this at all times,
Skye! Vlad, could you do the honours?"

Skye screamed as best she could through the gag as the entire nine-inch
gold-plated monster entered her ruined backside.

"Won't this set off the security alarms?" enquired Mr Hanson.

"Probably, yes. But don't worry - we have some pretty understanding
security check-in staff!"

The room boomed with mocking laughter as Vlad picked up the hog-tied
hostess and deposited her into one of the overhead lockers for safe
keeping. The door slammed shut and all she could do now was listen.

"Don't worry, we'll spray her down using one of the hoses they use to
clean the jet intakes, then she'll be good to go for the wedding"
assured Mr Hanson.

The talk continued, but Skye decided to zone out. Instead, she closed
her eyes and attempted to catch some much needed rest. She had a dream
to finish, and it was still an hour until landing.

And what a dream it was going to be! Michelle was totally going to get
fucked. No-one could stop him this time around. He was truly the lord of
the skies. He was Ace.

END OF STORY.

Flight 5

By: Alyssa Hyatt

Skye Blue got the private time she desired with Mr Hanson much quicker
than she had expected, because after the stimulation of Miss Blue's lewd
lapdance,  Mr Tarasov decided he needed to rest his ticker with a quick
nap. Originally he had wanted to hang on to Skye's services while he
slept, pointing out quite rightly that her bazongas would make excellent
pillows, but after some tough negotiations between the two businessmen
Tarasov finally agreed to hand her over to Mr Hanson for the next few
hours in exchange for a small thatched cottage in the French Riviera.
All of which leads us to the night time portion of the flight.

Although the lights were out and the window shutters drawn, the plane
was not a quiet place to be as it flew over a sleeping Greenland.
Granted, Vlad was as quiet as a mouse - a 6"7, fuming mouse - but
further up the cabin, there were several noises that could be heard even
over the roar of the plane's engines. One was Tarasov's thunderous
snoring. The other was the sound of Skye and Mr Hanson giggling like a
pair of lovestruck teenagers as they greedily caressed and groped each
other in a specially-designed luxury seat situated at the front of the
cabin. A ceiling-mounted camera tracked the playmates' movements
closely.

The trolley dolly's conflicted behaviour made the couple's heavy petting
session a terrific spectator's sport. Certainly, the pilots thought so;
Skye's estranged wife spent more time watching her hubbie's humiliation
on a specially erected screen in the cockpit than she did concentrating
on the sky ahead.

For the majority of the pair's 'courtship' routine, Skye assumed the
role of damsel in distress; frantically trying to bat away her suitor's
busy hands as they explored every inch of her feminine charms. "Oh, Sir,
I just want to cuddle and talk!," the lusty ladyboy would whine,
pulling
the skirt of her dress back down over her plump rump to preserve what
little modesty she could possibly have in her outrageous fantasy
uniform. Her words did no good. All boobs and ass, it was impossible to
take Skye's protestations seriously. Even as she pouted and wagged her
finger as a warning, she looked more like a Carry On girl secretly
gagging for it than a chaste woman deserving of gentlemanly respect. No
wonder male attention and harassment followed the surgically
reconstructed shemale wherever she minced.

But occasionally, Mr Hanson's hands or lips would hit the right buttons,
and Skye's new body would betray her old mind. Although she hadn't
quite
accepted it in her head yet, the oestrogen coursing round her ruined
body had made her totally boy crazy, so all it took was a well-timed
fondle from Mr Hanson's strong, authoritative hands to plunge her into a
deep, insatiable heat. And so inevitably, what Skye had originally
intended to be a candid sit-down chat quickly spiralled out of her
control, escalating into something quite different. Something that began
with a snog and culminated in her bringing off her former partner-in-
crime with an wanton tittyfuck.

It was a wonder that the plane didn't dive into a talespin while Miss
Blue performed the dirty deed. Back in the pilot's bay, Michelle was
masturbating furiously as she watched her spouse's homosexual
debasement, climaxing just as the esteemed Mr Hanson splurged his
virile, powerful manseed down the shocked hostesses' heaving cleavage.
Michelle's orgasmic scream woke a slumbering couple in Godthab.

After the heat of the moment had died, Skye was forced to face up to the
perverse act she'd performed on her pal during the throes of passion. A
single tear slide down her cheek as she felt the trail of hot, salty
cum
trickle through her red raw funbags and slowly dribble towards her belly
button. Looking Richard in the eye and telling him the truth would now
be that tiny bit harder when they touched down in Vegas. Skye (and by
extension, Ace) wasn't just a cocksucker in Mr Hanson's eyes any more;
she was a source of free tittyfucks, too. And worse might be yet to come
if she wasn't able to pique Richard's curiosity now and convince him to
'save' her derrière for a later date.   She couldn't, wouldn't let that
happen.



The good news for Skye: her aching boobs' sacrifice seemed to have paid
off. Now he'd relieved himself of his load, Mr Hanson seemed relaxed and
far more open to talking, so Skye sensed it was time to strike. The
dutiful attendant did her best to ignore the sticky, spunky mess
congealing inside  her satin bra and offered to oil the wheels of
conversation further with a sensual body massage. Mr Hanson was
predictably keen. As she unbuttoned his shirt and tie and leaned over
him to rub his chest, she caught a look of herself in the reflection of
his wine glass. Ugh! If there was an inch of her neck and tits that
weren't covered in love bites, she couldn't see it. It made her all the
more determined to get this discussion right - this was her ticket out
of this depravity!

After ten minutes or so, when she was finally convinced that her
'audience' had gone back to focusing on flying the god damn plane, Skye
decided to put her cunning plan into motion. She curled up in a pacified
Mr Hanson's lap and, with her hand still tucked inside his shirt, began
the small talk.

"So tell me, handsome," she cooed, rubbing his abs softly with her
delicate hands. "How long are you in Vegas?"

The massage had been so effective that Mr Hanson could barely muster the
strength to answer at first. "About three or four days, honey," he
finally replied. "I've got a conference to present".

"Ooooh, that sounds very important," lisped Skye, running her hand
lightly over Mr Hanson's pecs. This was home field advantage for Skye
now. As his former confidant, she knew exactly what Richard liked in a
woman. Step one: flattery. "You must be a very successful man!"

"Only the most successful man in the entire aviation industry,
sweetheart" replied Mr Hanson boastfully, opening his legs subtly as if
to emphasis the size of his cock as he spoke. Skye unconsciously gawped
at the throbbing package for a few seconds, but regained her bearings in
time to let him finish his sentence. "It's a shame that you won't be
able to stay for it..."

"Oh, I don't know about that, Sir," Skye responded, looking up at him
and batting her eyelashes with misplaced innocence. "I'm actually
staying in Vegas for a few days myself"

This was true. The return flight wasn't until Thursday, because Michelle
wanted to spend a few days  living it up in Las Vegas with Randy, who
was now apparently her best friend. This meant Skye was forced to stay
over too, because heaven forbid she get a day or two's respite from her
wickedly cruel wife. The only difference was that while the pilots lived
the high life in Ceasar's Palace, Miss Blue would have to make do with
a
bed in a dirt-cheap hostel, where only the sleaziest of punters would
dare stay.

"Just one of the perks of the job I guess," he flippantly replied, the
growing bulge in his expensive suit indicating that his mind was
thinking of the possibilities that could arise from the conversation.
"So what are your plans in Vegas, girl? Going to take in some sights?
Some shows? Some shopping?"

Skye squeaked out a girlish giggle that irritated both parties equally.
"Oh no Sir, my meagre hostess wages mean that I can't afford to do fancy
things like that! I'll probably just stay in my hostel. But I guess..."
She paused for effect and then clung to his Adonis-like body tightly.
"...I guess it would be nice to have some male company though. I get so
scared when I'm on my own!"

Step two: appear vulnerable. Mr Hanson took the bait hook, line, sinker.
"Doll," he began, wrapping his arm around her shoulder in such a way
that his hand landed on her erect nipple, "if you'd fancy a taste of the
good life, perhaps you'd like to be my date for the afterparty at the
Ghost Bar."

"Oh darling, I'd be honoured," simpered Skye theatrically, cradling Mr
Hanson's rugged chin with her hand and planting a kiss on his cheek,
adding yet another lipstick mark to his face's ample collection.
"But....oh, but I don't have anything posh to wear...this uniform is the
only thing I'm allowed to pack when I'm away on business!". Another
truth, and one that threatened to make the shemale's stay in the hostel
very, well, hostile.

"Silly girl," Mr Hanson chided, "I'd be happy to take you shopping and
help you pick out a stunning little number for you to squeeze that
figure into. Maybe as repayment, you could model it for me in my hotel
room later. That is...unless you already have a boyfriend?"

The amount of time it took Skye to answer such a seemingly
straightforward question caused her to blush a brilliant red. "Shit,"
thought Skye, remembering her earlier experience in the waiting lounge.
"Is Randy really my boyfriend now? I have a boyfriend?? Oh, god!"

Mr Hanson read the girlyboy's embarrassment and laughed it off."Don't
worry, sweetcheeks - what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas! I can tell
from the way your tits are stiffening that you're dying for me to do
that sweet little ass of yours!"

That wasn't quite the case, but Skye decided to run with it anyway. "Oh
yes, Sir, I'd like nothing more than for you to cram that delicious cock
of yours up my backside," she swooned. "It would be an honour to
pleasure such an important, dashing businessman as yourself in any way I
can". Step three: be really fucking horny. "But...it would be such an
honour that I wonder if here, on this noisy old plane, would be the
right place to do it". Her blue eyes flashed with devious intent.
"Wouldn't you...rather save me for later?"

Mr Hanson seemed unsure.

She licked her lips suggestively. "I'll let you do anything to me.
Anything."

If Mr Hanson's trouser luggage had swelled any larger, he would have had
to put it in the hold. "I think we have a deal, Miss Blue. Nice doing
business with you."

Sky's eyes watered with tears of relief. "Oh, I can't wait for our
rendez-vous, Sir!"

"Nor I, baby, nor I. Now, why don't you see how my breakfast is coming
along? And for god's sake, clean yourself up before doing so, lady. You
stink of spunk."

The crimson-cheeked cutie could only reply with her signature salute and
the words: "Yes, Sir, right away, Sir!

-------------------------

Miss Skye Blue had a spring in her step as she made her way to the
toilet cubicle, and for once it wasn't caused by her anal implant. Her
plan was working perfectly!

By this time next week, there would be no more  cocksucking, no more
'Yes, Sir," no more painful anal sex, no more skimpy, borderline illegal
'uniforms', no more crappy little flat decorated like a plane cabin,
and
best of all, no more Michelle. Skye painted a very exotic picture of the
rest of her summer - tits removed, blonde hair shorn and recoloured,
tattoo lasered off, and best of all, penis uncaged and ready to once
again wreck havoc on the good young women of London. Before all that
though, the drudgery of removing the cum stains from her bra. She pulled
off a length of toilet roll and began dabbing at her colossal baps. Why
did Michelle's boyfriend have to make them so big? This was going to
take ages! Thank god they'll be gone by Friday!

Skye was still lost in her silly masculine fantasy world when she heard
a knock on the cubicle door. "Just a moment, Sir!," she shrilled, secure
in the knowledge that the door was tightly locked. Then she heard an
almighty thud which nearly knocked her off her teetering heels.

What she saw next was easily the most frightening thing she had ever
seen, and you have to remember that the past few months of her life had
not passed without incident. The door had been kicked off its hinges,
and standing on the other side, cradling the biggest erection Skye had
ever seen, was Vlad. And he looked pissed. Very pissed, in fact.

"S-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-sir!!!!" spluttered the tamed t-girl, her
heart beating so hard it nearly burst out of her busty chest. "H-h-h-h-
h-h-ow may I be of servi-"

Her ineffectual platitudes were cut off by Vlad's huge right hand, which
clocked her round her bimbo-blonde head with a slap so forceful it
caused the plane to yaw. Now shivering on the floor, she looked up as he
dropped his tracksuit bottoms to the floor, revealing the terror which
lied underneath. Forget 'budgie-smugglers' - Vlad's briefs were packing
an full-grown ostrich! The sheer size and girth caused Skye to cover her
o-shaped mouth with her hand in an unmistakably feminine gesture.

Vlad reached down and pulled the stewardess up to her feet by the collar
of her dress. "I finish what you started" grunted Vlad in his basic
English vocabulary. Nonetheless, the message was well understood. He
tightened his grip on the dress and literally yanked it off her body
with a powerful tug, causing dislodged popper buttons to scatter around
the cubicle. Now clad only in her bra and panties, the stunned hostess
found herself fanning her hands up and down her body in a vain attempt
to cover her acres of exposed lady flesh from the gaze of Vlad's hungry
eyes.

Vlad tossed off his shirt and grabbed the howling hostess by her hair.
"You remove pants now" he bellowed, before thrusting her face into his
crotch with such force that his pulsating member nearly took her eye
out. Professional stewardess/call girl that she was, Skye soon figured
out what her customer was asking of her, and clamped one leg of his
foul-smelling briefs between her teeth and began tugging.

The ordeal took several minutes, but eventually she completed the
humiliating task and successfully undressed her man. Skye looked up with
some trepidation at the now-exposed throbbing member in front of her,
and turned quite pale! It was even bigger - and wider - in the flesh!
Surely there was no way that thing was ever going to fit inside her!

Vlad begged to differ. He pinned Skye to the wall with one hand and used
the other to unlatch what, Skye supposed, would on a normal flight be a
nappy-changing station. On Layover Airways however it was served quite
a
different purpose, as indicated by the silhouette sign depicting a
gentleman and a lady doing it doggy style.

Vlad manhandled Skye onto the ledge until she was lying flat on her
back, almost as if she too was about to have her nappy changed. Vlad
stopped for a second to chuckle at the crude 'Arrivals' motif stitched
on the back of Skye's provocative panties (some jokes break the language
barrier, apparently), before setting to work, aggressively tugging off
Skye's underwear as if she was a rag doll.  Once he was done, Skye was
left to lay there alone for a second, naked but for her high heels and
the pillbox hat still tied to her head,  her legs still sticking
straight up in the air.

She heard rustling sounds in the background, and eventually her
curiosity got the best of her. Peeking a look through her giant boobs,
she caught sight of Vlad stuffing her bra and knickers down the toilet
bowl. No! One flush later and they disappeared, fluttering down to earth
where they'd make an Inuit farmer very happy in the morning. "Oh....oh,
poo!" whined Skye aloud. That was her only pair! As if things weren't
bad enough before, now she'd have to spend the next few days in Vegas
with no underwear, with only an obscene latex microdress with heaven
knows how many poppers missing to cover herself with!

But Skye had more pressing matters to deal with, such as Vlad lifting
her up against the wall and pressing his inhuman cock between her ass
cheeks. Now, Miss Blue's poor bum had taken more than its share of male
organs in recent weeks, but nothing like this. The scream as Vlad
impaled her, unlubed, on his member was blood-curdling. It was a good
job this area of the plane was soundproofed.

Vlad didn't care much for the noise his cumdump was making however, so
he rooted around on the floor until he found his soiled boxers, and
ceremoniously crammed them into the stewardesses' moaning mouth. The
taste was predictably foul but that was the least of her worries. At
least she now something to bite on and he pounded her hard, her
unfettered breasts wobbling furiously between them as he fucked the
living daylights out of her.

As much as he was enjoying his revenge, Vlad's main priority was to
shoot his load and leave, so it didn't take long for him to grow
dissatisfied with his level of penetration. As an industrious Eastern
European type, Vlad decided to do something about it. He walked the
skewered stewardess over to the changing station and slammed her down on
the ledge with such velocity that her head bounced off of it. Now he
had
her where he wanted her, Vlad took it upon himself to grab Miss Skye's
shapely legs and wrench them so far back that her feet were practically
behind her dazed head. The change of position was a complete success -
with this new angle of entry, Vlad was able to go balls deep into Skye's
abused back passage. The flight attendant was beyond being hysterical
as
he lanced in and out of her without mercy - it felt as though if he was
in any deeper, the head of his cock would pop out of her mouth.

Vlad was much happier with this new arrangement, but he didn't
appreciate the amount of froth the drooling girlyboy was getting over
his best pair of pants. So he pulled them out, nearly taking a couple of
teeth with them as he did so, and looked around for something else to
gag her with. There was nothing else immediately to hand, though. Except
for one thing. One tiny, insignificant little thing.

After thinking over his options, Vlad reached between Skye's legs and in
a single motion crushed her metal chastity device in his first, freeing
her long-suffering cockette. To her shame, it immediately seized the
opportunity to sprout a miniature erection. Thanks to the unnatural
angle Skye's tortured body was bent at, Vlad was able to guide Skye's
little penis into her mouth, where she sucked on it like a pacifier for
the rest of the ordeal. Moments later, Vlad erupted like a volcano deep
inside her anal cavity, biting down hard on Skye's right breast as he
came. The pair just lay there for a few moments afterwards, panting and
sweating (and in the lady's case, whimpering, as Skye felt the unwanted
spunk deposit swirl around inside her bowels).

Vlad didn't say goodbye to his conquest before he left, but he did offer
a parting shot, slapping her round the face with his semi-erect cock.
It
was, if anything, even harder than the slap he delivered with his hand.
The impact caused Skye to pass out for an unspecified amount of time. By
the time she came around, Vlad has long since departed.

---------------------------------------------

Skye had no idea how long she had been lying face down on the cold
toilet cubicle floor, but the fact that one of her customers was
impatiently buzzing for attention via her anal vibrator suggested that
it had been minutes rather than seconds. "Ooooh...ooooh, pooooooo," she
moaned, blearily. She was in big trouble.

It took a few minutes longer for the well-fucked stewardess to scramble
her way gingerly to her feet. She could barely stand without the support
of the walls around her, and her awkward gait made it look like she'd
just been fisted by Big Foot. She was just about to reach down for her
tattered uniform, when a stirring sensation south of the border reminded
her: her cock was free of its cage!

It had been 216 hours since Skye had been allowed to cum, not that she
was counting or anything. Her anal vibrator went off once again, causing
her teeny peeny to twitch. "I'm already in trouble," reasoned Skye to
herself as a naughty thought crept into her head. "What difference does
it make if I take a few seconds for myself?"

She attempted to reach around her boobs, but they were so comically
oversized that she couldn't quite get a good enough grip on her penis,
so she instead reached between them and started tugging away. Ahh, just
like old times. For the special occasion, Skye resurrected her current
favourite fantasy - that of herself, as her former entity of Ace,
fucking the smugness clean out of his treacherous wife.


Skye pictured the scene in her head. Exterior: Ace and Michelle's
expansive marital home, in happier times. The camera pans out. A fire
engine red Ferrari California roars into the driveway at 60 mph,
stopping on a dime. It is a rugged, handsome machine, but even it pales
in comparison to the extraordinary male specimen that steps out of it.
Camera zooms in. It's none other than celebrity pilot, Ace McLaren! A
man's man, yes, but he takes care of himself, too. He stops for a second
to appreciate the summer breeze, stroking his designer stubble
thoughtfully as he does so. Catching a glimpse of himself in the car's
reflection, he takes the opportunity to flex his muscles vainly, as if
to check that his 'guns' are still measuring up to his incredibly high
standards. He's pleased to discover that they do. It is incredible to
think that they make pilot uniforms capable of containing them, really.
Enough preening, it is unbecoming of a macho man. It's time to say hi to
the wife.

Ace struts through the front door with the trademark swagger that makes
him so irresistible to women.  "Honey, I'm home!" he declares. No
response.

"Honey?" he tries again. Still nothing. Ace shrugs his broad, broad
shoulders and continues the search by entering the master bedroom.

"Ahh, there you are, Michelle..." he booms upon entering the room. Cut
to the master bed. There indeed lies Ace's beautiful raven-haired wife,
although not entirely peacefully. Each of her limbs is tied harshly to a
corresponding bedpost, leaving her spread-eagled and vulnerable. She
looks up at him through pleading, tear-sodden eyes, but the big fire-
engine red ballgag in her mouth mutes her protests, save for a few
drooly mumbles.

"...I'd almost forget where I'd left you. You evil, conniving,
treacherous BITCH."

Ace wastes no time undoing his flies and flopping out his magnificent
cock. It is as huge and mouth-watering as it once was in real-life,
before the hormones left it a shrivelled husk of its former self.
Michelle's grunts grow louder and more frantic through her gag as the
beast approachs, but there was no BING-BONG or reading light to save her
now. She was finally going to get what was coming to her.

Without wasting a single extra second more, Ace rammed his big fat cock
straight into his wife's defenceless pussy, causing her to writhe in
agony. "MMMMPPH! HRRRRFFF!," she dribbled through her gag. Music to
Ace's ears. It was impossible not to be impressed with the majesty of
this man as he glided in and out of his disgraced and defeated wife's
most private orifice freely and as he pleased. What an alpha male! What
a powerful, masculine role model for any young man!

Back in reality, the sight was considerably less impressive; a big-
jugged shemale, naked but for her air hostess cap, neckerchief and
heels, breathing heavily through a knot of curly platinum blonde hair as
she gripped her tiny, emaciated pecker between her thumb and forefinger
and attempted to delicately diddle her way to a pathetic orgasm. Skye
was determined not to let real life get in the way of her fun though.
She panted and gasped as her long-overdue splurt edged ever nearer;
"Fuck you, Michelle...fuck you, fuck you fuck you, fuck you right in
the..."

A quiet cough froze Skye Blue's painted fingers in their tracks.

Skye stood perfectly still for almost a minute, her hand still gripped
onto what she laughably called her penis. Eventually, she reached over
to her face with her one free hand, and swept her fringe out of her
eyes. She instantly wished she had never bothered.

There, drumming on  the broken cubicle door with her fingers, stood a
very agitated-looking Michelle. Her eyes narrowed as she calmly
addressed the miserable sight in front of her.

"Skye," she began, "do you have ANY idea how many demerits this is
worth?"


-----------------------------------------------------------------

Skye Blue had every idea how many demerits her behaviour was worth. This
explained why she was reduced to a blubbering wreck, begging for
forgiveness at Michelle's feet. If clemency was on Michelle's mind
though, she was doing a good job of hiding it.

"Can you think of ONE good reason, Skye, that I should let you keep that
dismal little nub of a penis of yours?"

In the context of this conversation at least, Skye couldn't think of
one.

"It's disgusting. Revolting. We can't have an air hostess running around
the plane tugging at herself like she's a monkey, can we? And the thing
that really gets my goat is that you have the audacity to fantasise
about ME while you're doing it. Sick! Get it into your head, missy; you
had your chance with women, and blew it spectacularly. It's men and men
only for you from now on! Have I made it clear enough for you?"

"Yes, madam," replied Skye, her lip trembling. "Thank you, madam."

"Honest to god, I knew I should have had that joke of a pecker lopped
off. My partner keeps asking me when he'll get to chop it off and
replace it with a nice fuckable pussy. If it were up to me, that little
prick would be long gone, so there would be absolutely no chance of it
ever bothering a lady ever again. But do you know why I have let you
keep it?"

Skye seriously had no idea why.

"Because Randy asked me if he could keep it. You know; your new
boyfriend!"

Michelle's words chilled Skye to the bone. Oh god, they were actually
going to carry on this charade! Michelle wanted her to become the
girlfriend of her own worst enemy and professional rival! Skye clung to
the thought that her 'date' with Mr Hanson would pre-empt any potential
romantic liaisons with Randy; in fact, he might even get the sack, after
it was proven beyond doubt that he was in cahoots with this
unacceptable
debasement of the airline industry's golden boy! A silly smile crept
onto Skye's visage as she considered this outcome. A smile that Michelle
delighted in wiping off the stewardess' face.

"So in a way, Skye, that little thing belongs to Randy really, not
yourself. In fact, we should make that clear, since you seem to be too
much of an airhead to properly grasp the concept."

Michelle stormed out of the cubicle and returned with a leather luggage
tag bearing the words 'Property of Mr R. McCloud'. She swatted the
attendant's hand away and tied the tag a little too tightly around the
base of her cock, a tiny padlock locking it in place. The key followed
Miss Blue's lingerie down the toilet bowl. Once in place, the tag hung
down from her little erection, scraping and rubbing irritably against
her useless balls.

"Now that's settled, I think it's time you said thank you to your man,
don't you, sissy?" Michelle whipped out a smartphone from her trouser
pocket and began filming the shemale. "Oh, don't look so concerned, Skye
- it's on flight safe mode! Now, why don't you show your boyfriend how
honoured and grateful you are that he allows you to have a little penis,
by wanking yourself off over thoughts of being with him!"

Skye was too horny to refuse. Ad-libbing to the camera, Skye waxed
lyrical to the camera about how wonderful her new man was while posing
in a range of sexually provocative positions.

"Oh, Randy, how I long for your touch!"

"Can't you see how hot your shemale is for you, babe?"

"I long for the day you take me in your arms and show me who really
wears the pants around here."

"I could never hope to be half the man or half the pilot you are, you
gorgeous, gorgeous man! I'm so grateful my wife realised this and turned
me into a form more pleasing for you!"

And on. And on and on. Disconcertingly, Skye found herself half-
believing her words - it seemed that the more she verbally disgraced
herself, the harder her (if it was indeed still hers) cock became. Skye
would worry about this development later, when she was a man again.
Right now, all she could concentrate on was the long-awaited climax that
was coming in 5...4...3...2...oh god, oh god oh....OOOOOOOOOOF!

A loud crack reverberated around the recycled cubicle air. Michelle had
just punted Skye, full force, in her teeny testicles with her steel-
capped shoe.

"Sorry, darling, time's up," she explained coldly. "I don't have all day
to watch you play with your little toy, do I? Now scrape yourself up
off
the floor and stop that crying. You've got three minutes to get dressed
and put your make-up back on. I'll be expecting you out here, ready to
serve your passengers then."

She took a few more steps before stopping to add, "Oh, and don't worry
about your uniform. You can easily pay for a replacement through
overtime."

Flight 4

By: Alyssa Hyatt

 By the time the seatbelt light finally went out, Flight Attendant Skye
Blue had been reduced to a panting, breathy mess of boobs and curls.
Straddled in Mr Tarasov's lap, she was practically humping her chastised
crotch against his right leg, her bruised and slobber-covered tits
swinging freely between the pair of them as she thrusted back and forth.
She moaned and groaned and sighed in that adorable high-pitched squeak of
hers as she attempted to bring herself off, but the steel cage just
wouldn't allow it.

In contrast, Tarasov was the picture of tranquillity - and as well he
might be, seeing as he'd came in his boxers twice already thanks to Skye's
skilled handiwork. His right hand was firmly clenched around Skye's
tattooed left buttock, but that embrace aside he was all but ignoring the
licentious display in front of him. With earphones in place he relaxed
back in his comfy chair, sipped what remained of his champagne and
continued to engross himself in the TV set in front of him. Held tightly
in his left hand, the key to the prison that was holding Skye's maleness
hostage.

Frustrated, Skye took time out between humps to glance over her shoulder
to see what was stealing her bloated beau's attention. She recognised what
the mini-screen built into the seat in front of them was playing instantly
- it one of Layover TV's most popular shows. It consisted of footage from
a previous flight, in which Skye Blue was gangbanged senseless by several
burly 'gentlemen'. Their faces were pixellated out to protect their
identities, but Skye, as a former fan in her male days, recognised them as
an NFL team on their way back from an exhibition game in London. A wave of
dread shot through her womanly body as she relived the ordeal. Tarasov had
an altogether different reaction to the footage. His thick member hardened
for the third time around Skye's delicate fingers (which were still
entrenched in the depths of his flies), and she dutifully took the cue to
begin pumping it up and down, in rhythm with her rocking hips.

Such excellent care Miss Blue takes to ensure the needs of her passengers
are met! But the sexually-charged stewardess' hospitality wasn't down to
professionalism, or from fear of the cameras that were concealed in the
air conditioning units. Her lust was genuine - a by-product of her cock
being locked in its cage for days on end. Although Skye now had the
chassis of a goddess, the engine driving it was still very much male and
every touch on her nubile body threatened to push her over the edge. So
crazed was she in this constant state of semi-arousal that the gluttonous
gargoyle in front of her may as well have been Scarlett Johansson, the way
she caressed his distended body with her free hand and peppered his cheeks
with passionate, desperate kisses.

After a fashion, his cock erupted yet again in his trousers under the
pressure of Skye's manicured ministrations and apparently the third time
was a charm, as Tarasov suddenly unclipped the seatbelt resting just above
Skye's booty, sending the horny hostess tumbling backwards to the floor.

The impact cooled Miss Blue's jets just enough to knock some sense into
her. The sudden realisation of what she - Ace! The playboy of the skies! -
had just done to another man made her want to reach for the nearest
sickbag, but instead without missing a beat, she licked her fingers clean,
straightened the pillbox hat sitting atop her crown and quietly began
cleaning up the mess she had made in Sir's trousers, a task which required
both hands and her mouth. Showing hesitation of any kind was an instant
demerit.

Nonetheless, Skye's demeanour had changed now. She was now silent and
sullen as she licked Sir's privates clean of three loads' worth of spilt
semen, shame and sexual frustration scrunching up her pretty face in equal
measure. Mr Tarasov couldn't have cared less about his hostesses'
enthusiasm for her job though, as his attention had already been diverted
by the presence of Mr Hanson, who had taken up a vacant seat next to the
pair.

For the first time ever, Skye was grateful that the surgeon's extensive
facial surgery regime had left her so unrecognisable that even at close
proximity, her former drinking buddy couldn't recognise her. That also
meant she'd have a hell of a time convincing him of her true identity if
and when they finally got some time alone away from the intrusive cameras,
but right this second, while she had another man's testicles in her mouth,
that could be considered a blessing. After the men reacquainted themselves
with meaningless pleasantries, Mr Hanson got down to brass tacks. Skye
listened in from in-between Mr Tarasov's legs.

"Sorry to interrupt during such a tender moment, Mikhail," began Mr
Hanson, "but I presume you've had enough time to think over our offer?"

"Yes, I certainly have. And everything seems to be in order, my friend.
But I must confess, when you first approached me with this proposal, I
thought to myself: 'no way'."

"You swore and hung up on me as I recall!" laughed Mr Hanson. Mr Tarasov
chuckled in kind, the vibrations causing a sea spray of cum to splatter on
Skye's chin.

"But then I chewed it over some more. As you know, Richard, I am not a
young man like yourself. And in light of my anger management issues, and
the heart problems that have come of it, I came to the unfortunate
conclusion that maybe it would be for the best that I re-consider your
offer." He lightened. "And I'd better do it quick, because I think this
little cocksucker down here is trying to finish me off!"

"Indeed! Look at those lips of hers; I bet she could suck the paintwork
off the outside of this plane," Mr Hanson quipped, to the Russian's
approval. 'Hey, you stole that line from me!' pouted Skye miserably. When
Ace coined that zinger several years ago within earshot of a female Europa
board member, he would never have dreamt that one day it would be turned
around and used on him. She was the cocksucker now.

Skye lowered her blushing eyes as she comprehended this fact and continued
to clean the pole in front of her with her tongue in impotent fury as the
talks continued. 'What business proposal is this, anyway?' she wondered to
herself between loud slurps.

Tarasov continued his speech. "But another thing I am not, Richard, is a
fool. I knew what you were trying to do, but I promised myself that it'd
cost you. Of course, we're still playing the percentage game with a few
minor details, but now you've agreed to and acted upon my main condition,
I think the rest of the deal can be considered a formality."

"Then that means," said Mr Hanson triumphantly, "that we can go ahead as
planned and announce at this year's Airline Leaders Summit that Europa and
Imperial, the world's two biggest commercial airlines, are to merge!"

Luckless Lady Blue was unfortunate enough to have a mouth full of dried
cum when the bombshell hit. The revelation caused her to splutter her load
back over Mr Tarasov's crotch, a move which did not best please the
airline mogul. Suddenly enraged, he reached out and hauled her to her feet
with a shriek by grabbing her blonde hair with his powerful claw.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, bitch?," spat Tarasov at the
trembling stewardess, his angered face now as red as his vodka-tinted
nose. Frightened for her life, Skye could give no answer more intelligible
than a series of stuttered apologies. "Maybe I should pull out those
pretty teeth of yours, slut," he pondered, manhandling Skye's feminized
jawline with his coarse fingers. "Perhaps then you'd be able to suck a
man's cock without fucking up, no?"

Mr Hanson laughed heartedly at his business partner's over-reaction and
moved to diffuse the situation. "Mikhail, you get so worked up over the
little things when you've been drinking. Are you going to be like this
during our negotiations later?" Tarasov replied with a non-committal
grunt. "You can't blame the girl for being excited - after all, you forget
she works in our industry too. It's not every day that a common cabin crew
member gets to hob-nob with the movers and shakers at the top of the food
chain, is it?"

Given Tarasov's notoriously tempestuous nature, and the way Ace's last
meeting with him had gone a year ago, Skye recognised this was probably
not the best time to point out that actually she was the guest of honour
at last year's summit. "I suppose you're right," growled Tarasov, without
actually acknowledging that he was wrong, and as a way of saying sorry he
completed Skye's task for her by wrenching her head into his lap and
moping up the residual jizz from around his member with her platinum
tresses.

"Go get us a refill you worthless slut, our glasses are empty" roared
Tarasov, sploshing the remains of his champagne in the stewardesses' face.
"Yes, Sir," whimpered Skye submissively, finishing up her duties by
placing Sir's still-throbbing penis back into its boxers, planting a
loving kiss goodbye on its head as she did so.

Ace used to insist that Michelle do the same to him when they were an item
even though she hated it dearly, so she considered it poetic to make the
same gesture Skye's calling card now that she was the one who spent her
time on their knees. The mock captain's salute that accompanied it was
merely company policy. Job done, Miss Blue excused herself and minced back
to the kitchen area as fast as her tall, tall heels would allow.

-------------------------------------------------------------


Skye uncorked the unbelievably expensive bottle of red wine and placed it
carefully on her drinks tray, where it sat alongside a couple of bottles
of beer, an ice bucket and some glasses. The tray wobbled ominously as the
plane hit a spot of turbulence. Skye gulped. This was a ticking time bomb
of demerits just waiting to happen.

Skye figured she could afford a few moments to herself, so she took the
opportunity to tidy up her appearance. She eased her poor, aching baps
back into their bra cups and unwedgied her knickers from her arse crack.
She was just about to wash the spunk out of her hair when a powerful
sensation from deep within her backside caused her knees to buckle.

"Ooooooooooh," she mewled, grabbing hold of the taps for balance. One of
the passengers had pressed the stewardess button on their control panel,
causing the electric sensor implanted inside Skye's tush to rumble. They
were giving her the hurry up call. "Coming, Sir!" she gasped. If the cage
around her semi-erect penis had just been a tiny bit looser, then she most
definitely would have been.

Realising she had no time to waste, she scooped up the drinks tray and
sashayed out to greet her guests before they could jab at the button
again. She underestimated their impatience. "Oooooooooh, pooooooooooo" she
cried as the intruder in her anal passage vibrated wildly. Another three
steps forward and it throbbed again. Skye bit her lip and concentrated her
entire being on keeping the tray upright above her head while her girlish
body shuddered with sensation. Against all odds, she succeeded. At this
point her nipples were almost bursting out through the latex of her
uniform. Any more turned on and she would have been able to rest the tray
on them.

Skye was just a few strides away from her destination when Mr Tarasov,
still red with rage over the earlier incident, locked eyes with his
quivering prey. She flashed a warm smile in his direction as a peace
offering, but it was to no avail.  His fat finger stabbed down hard on the
stewardess button. This time the wave of pleasure caught her in mid-stride
and in the ensuring panic to keep the assorted bottles on her tray upright
the ice bucket tipped over, spilling most of its freezing wares straight
down the crevice of her cleavage!

Somehow, Skye managed to compose herself against the stinging sensation of
the pile of ice bouncing away between her lady lumps, and survived long
enough to place the tray safely on the table between the gentlemen, an act
which earned her ironic applause from her lecherous guests. She began to
pick the lumps of frozen water from her breasts, but Mr Hanson's strong
hand slapped hers away and his ordered for her to kneel in front of them.

"Such slow service on this airline," grumbled Mr Tarasov as he greedily
pawed around in Skye's pillows for some ice to add to his drink.

"Well, it's only a small private flight, Mikhail," reasoned Mr Hanson,
"it's not right to judge them by our high standards." He rummaged around
in Skye's busty ice bucket, causing her to let out an involuntary moan,
but withdrew no ice. "Erm...excuse me, miss? The ice cubes are a little on
the large side for my liking....could you grind them up for me?"

It took Skye a couple of seconds to comprehend what was being asked of
her. She choked back a tear,  placed her hands on the sides of her breasts
and smooshed them together in big, circular motions,  pounding them until
all that remained between them was crushed ice. When she had finished
making slush with her puppies, she was forced to press her breasts
together with her hands to stop the smaller ice shards from slipping down
her cleavage, which made them appear even larger than their already
outrageous 38E dimensions.

"I thought you English liked your beer warm?" questioned Tarasov, his mood
improved  thanks to Skye's titillating display.  Mr Hanson simply smirked
and scooped around deep within Skye's tits for a handful of ice. The stuff
at the bottom always tasted the best.

Skye was forced to hold this humiliating pose for what seemed like forever
as her two guests casually discussed what their plan would be later
tonight in Las Vegas. Over the course of the conversation, Ace's virile
exploits the previous year were discussed in graphic detail and both men
agreed that it was a shame that he'd left their industry so suddenly. "His
wife told me he'd gone to Asia to 'find himself', but wouldn't go into
more detail than that," Hanson explained. "Seen it happen many times
before, some pilots just can't hack the pressure."

"I guess his cavalier act was just a front!" smirked Tarasov with an
annoying sense of self-satisfaction.

"Perhaps, but it is a pity all the same. I know you had your run-ins with
him, but he was great company on these business trips!"

I didn't care for the way he spoke to me at last year's party, but I can't
take that away from him, at least," begrudged Tarasov. "Who could forget
the time he jumped up on that podium at the Glitter Gulch and convinced
two strippers to suck him off at once?"

"The stuff of legend," Hanson concurred, scooping up the remaining few
shards of ice that hadn't yet melted and dripped down Miss Blue's bosom.
"I propose a toast to Ace McLaren, a real man's man - wherever he may be."

Skye heard the glasses chink but the endless mental torture had left her
too weak to lift her heavy eyelash implants up to look. She tried instead
to think positive: at least her former persona was still in Mr Hanson's
good books despite his sudden departure. That boded well for their future
meeting, if only she could set it up. Once Richard had helped her escape
this nightmare, he'd surely use his power and stroke to keep this entire
feminine fiasco covered from the press, and Michelle and her surgeon would
likely end up doing time in some hellish foreign prison. Although the body
hair would never grow back, a few corrective surgeries and treatments and
it'd be like Skye Blue never existed.


The sound of whispered Russian snapped the stewardess out of her silly
fantasy. Her blue eyes flashed up to see Mr Tarasov discussing something
with Vlad, his brick shithouse bodyguard. Ulp. She'd nearly forgotten
about him. Nearly.

"Hostess," snapped Tarasov, dragging her back to her feet by her hair. "My
bodyguard has indicated that he would like a drink. I don't normally like
my employees drinking on the job, but this is a longer than usual flight,
so I think I shall allow it this once. Bring him a beer."

Skye Blue showed the kind of hesitancy that would later result in her
performance evaluation chart being covered in demerit-red pen. She wanted
no truck with this 6"7 bruiser. While the two suits looked upon her with
decadent lust, the look in this guy's eyes suggested something else. Hate.
Disdain. This was a guy who probably beat up on gay people for laughs, and
in her current ensemble, with her bulging tits, man-pleasing curves and
cocklicking lips, there was no-one gayer on planet Earth than Miss Skye
Blue, shemale stewardess at your service.

Nonetheless, since a Layover Airways hostess cannot refuse a customer's
request under any circumstances, her resistance was futile. Aware that her
two tormentors in the cockpit were likely spending more time evaluating
her performance than keeping an eye on the sky ahead, she sucked up all
the courage her petite little body could muster and flounced over to the
man-beast with a bottle of beer and a glass. All the while he stared
through her with eyes that were even colder than her ice-ravaged boobies.
He snatched the glass from her hands when she arrived and motioned for her
to pour. Beads of sweat dripped down her forehead as she tipped the drink
into his glass. If she spilled even a drop, she knew she'd be as good as
dead. The head of the beer was almost kissing the rim of the glass when
disaster struck.

She remembered hearing some whispering and giggling behind her. The next
few seconds were a blur. The sensor in her butt jolted, causing her to tip
the contents of the bottle all over Vlad's groin. Suffice it to say, Vlad
did not take this slip with good grace. After hurling a string of Russian
obscenities at the luckless Miss Blue (who to her credit was already
frantically attempting to pat his crotch dry with a napkin), he leapt to
his feet, grabbed her by her neckerchief and pinned her to one of the
windows as the threats continued.

Just as Skye was seriously considering defecating into her satin panties,
Mr Tarasov stepped in and broke up the moment with a single click of his
nicotine-stained fingers. "Vlad! I paid good money for that whore, put her
down right now!"

The change in the atmosphere was so sudden, it surprised Skye that the
oxygen masks didn't automatically deploy. Vlad reluctantly released his
grip on the flight attendant and muttered  something apologetic-sounding
to his boss in almost inaudible Russian. As Tarasov continued berating his
bodyguard in his native tongue, it dawned on Skye that she wasn't the only
one on this flight who was at the mercy of this revolting little man. Vlad
was a paid employee of Tarasov's and likely counted on his monthly
paycheck to feed his wife and children. That meant whatever he says goes,
for him as well as her. Skye briefly felt a sense of kinship with the
brawny ape, which ended when he flashed her a hostile glance in the middle
of his dressing down.

Tarasov repeated the final line of his tirade in English, so the message
was clear to Skye, too. "If you touch her again without permission, you're
fired," he boomed. "Now sit." Vlad did so. Next Tarasov turned his
attention to the shemale.

"You clumsy bitch," he barked. "This is the second time already that
you've disturbed my flight with your incompetence. You're all tits and no
brains aren't you, you fucking airhead?"

"Yes Sir!"

"Yes Sir what?"

"Yes Sir, I'm an airhead who is all tits and no brains, Sir!" parroted
Skye, blushing furiously.

"Yes, you are. A stupid fucking bimbo." Tarasov seemed to calm now that
they had come to an understanding on Skye's mental capability. "But
perhaps we can overlook that seeing as you're as obedient as you are dumb.
Now, clean up the mess you made." Skye reached for the tissues but Tarasov
grabbed her hand and wrenched it behind her back until she let go. "Not
with that, airhead" he whispered sinisterly into her ear. "Here's how
you're going to do it..." She gasped as he explained his masterplan to
her. "Ooooh, poooooo!"

"Is there a problem, bimbo?"

"N-no, Sir!"

"That's a good bimbo."

Within seconds, the plan was put into action. Vlad was forced to sit down
in his seat, motionless except for his grinding teeth, as Skye hovered
over him, her back facing his front. She lifted her dress up, exposing her
naughty nothings, and on Tarasov's command, began Operation: Clean Up by
grinding her ass like a lapdancer into Vlad's pelvic region.

Although the technique was mildly successful at mopping up the suds of
beer around Vlad's groin mess, it was patently obvious that Tarasov had
set this mock-lapdance up to embarrass the subjugated pair for his own
perverted kicks. Just to eliminate any doubt, soon both Tarasov and Hanson
gathered round, filming the lewd display on their mobile phones while
whooping and hollering orders at the sexpot stewardess.

"Rub your tits!"

"Wiggle that ass!"

"Lick those lips!"

Skye almost tied herself in knots trying to keep pace with the demands
that were raining down on her. At the same time she could  feel the heat
of Vlad's rage radiating into her back, but she didn't dare stop following
her orders. Suddenly, Skye felt something. Something that Skye would never
have imagined she would feel under these circumstances. Seemingly her
gyrations had done the trick - Vlad had grown an erection, and it was
trying to drill its way through her knickers!

After a moment's shock and revulsion, a bulb went off above Skye's head,
and it didn't belong to the reading light. It was her mood that had
changed now, for the sunnier. After administering a final jiggle for good
measure, she lifted her shapely buttocks from his loins and spun round to
look at her prey with a devious smile. He was sat perfectly still,drenched
in sweat, his hands burrowed deeply into the armrests. In the middle of
his damp crotch, the most magnificent tent you could ever hope to see in a
man's pants. Tarasov and Hanson whooped in laughter when they saw it and
shared a very unbusinessman-like high five. Their homophobic bodyguard had
just been given the biggest boner of his life, by a shemale no less! This
fact amused them greatly.

It amused Skye too, but her thoughts were primarily fixed on revenge. Not
since sprouting a pair of boobies had she ever been allowed to get the
better of someone, but at this moment Miss Blue realised the power a sexy
lady - even a ladyboy - was capable of holding over a bigger, stronger
man. She couldn't take her revenge on him for his earlier attack
physically, she mused to herself, so she would do it by humiliating him
and making him feel a little of what she had to go through every day. If
she had to give this bastard a lapdance, then she was going to give him
the best fucking lapdance he'd ever had, so he'd spent the rest of his
life doubting his sexuality.

With the camera phones rolling expectantly, the show began. Commands no
longer needed to be whooped from the audience, this girl was taking
charge. Skye kicked things off with a cheeky wink and a blown kiss as she
slowly unbuttoned the poppers on her dress, letting it fall to the floor
in a heap at her feet. Now clad in her satin underwear, she pranced over
him and and knelt between his legs, sensually rubbing the length of his
legs up and down with her delicate hands as his huge cock twitched in-
between. She looked up at him with a wickedly sinful grin and licked her
lips as she traced the head of his penis teasingly through his trousers
with the tip of her nail extension. He swallowed with some difficulty.

The truculence had faded from Vlad's scarred face. What replaced it was
almost pitiful as he whimpered to himself and tried desperately to avoid
looking at the lustrous sex show occurring between his legs. Skye could
tell that he was trying to think of something, anything, which could
deflate his organ and restore his prized heterosexuality. Skye wasn't
going to let that happen. Not while she could still feel the chaffing of
the neckerchief round her throat from the earlier assault.

"Oooh, I think you like that, don't you baby?" she cooed, while massaging
his erection between her mammoth jugs. "I think you prefer a shemale's
touch to a woman's, don't you, my big, bad gay boy?" His face said no, his
glands screamed yes.

The airline bigwigs were totally on board with what Skye was trying to do.
They yelled encouragement from the sidelines as Miss Blue continued her
lewd act. She had never given a lap dance before in her life (and never
imagined she would!), but as Ace she had received hundreds so considered
herself something of an expert on the matter. She used this wisdom to put
on a truly ball-busting display. For her next trick, she slithered up off
the floor and positioned herself squarely in his lap, her knees resting on
his hips.

From this position, Skye's breasts were level with Vlad's face and she
made sure he got an eyeful as she rode him up and down like a cowgirl.
Thanks to her extensive experience in bed (from both sides of the gender
divide), she was able to sense when he was near to cumming from his body
language alone. When his body began to stiffen, she slowed down her
gyrations just enough to keep the wolves from the door, amusing herself
during the downtime by smothering his face with her cleavage.

Once this had run its course, Skye flipped herself over and began rubbing
her pantied ass up and down his body, not unlike the way she did during
Operation: Clean Up, but this time with more vigour, enthusiasm and sass.
As the vinegar strokes approached, she stopped dead in her tracks and laid
back on her client's body, rubbing her tits suggestively right in his line
of sight as he physically shook with sexual desire. She reached behind
with  her left arm and cupped the back of Vlad's head, allowing her to
pull herself up to within earshot. "I bet your wife has never treated you
like this, huh stud?," she purred into his cauliflower ear. He bit his lip
and gave no response.

"C'mon honey, be honest with me and I might finish you off." She clenched
her ass cheeks around his dick once more, so the question wouldn't get
lost in translation. It sucked the oxygen from his lungs. "So tell me, do
I turn you on more than your wife back home does, mmm?"

"Da," he answered mournfully between gasps.

"That's what I thought, gay boy!" she replied with a smirk, a hint of
victory colouring her deceptively sweet voice. With that, she went back to
work, grinding her surgically-augmented ass into his crotch a few more
times for good measure, before strutting off him triumphantly just as he
was on the verge of release, leaving him with balls bluer even than Miss
Blue's uniform. The show was over. The beer had long since dried but there
was a wet spot in Vlad's groin region all the same. She received her
second round of applause of the flight, but this time it was genuine.

As she curtseyed to show her gratitude, she found her eyes gravitating
automatically towards the businessmen's crotches. Ugh! Now why did she
keep doing that? Still, the unmistakeable bulges in their trousers told
her that she was back in her passenger's good books, which was a nice
side-benefit from her revenge-dance. Although not a hard and fast rule,
happy passengers tended to mean less beatings.

Plus, she needed to start buttering up Mr Hanson now if she was ever to
convince him that he wanted to spend some, ahem, 'private time' with her
outside of the airport, so she could explain the situation to him. She
decided to kick things up a notch. She eyed him wantonly as she shimmied
back into her dress, even going as far as to blow him a kiss, and was
pleased to see the gesture returned. The male mind locked inside her hated
that she was forced to use these feminine wiles to seduce her former best
friend, but she knew it was her only chance to reclaim her lost
masculinity.

As she was buttoning the poppers on her uniform, the handsome executive
approached, causing her to get flustered and muddle up her buttons. He
placed his hand on her curvaceous behind and motioned for her to join him
at his seat. She gushingly accepted the invite, with a little more
genuineness than she was comfortable with. Never mind, the plan was
working perfectly. Within a week her body would be free of these
bothersome female hormones.

As she was led away she glanced back at Vlad, who still hadn't moved from
his chair, seemingly apoplectic with rage and sexual frustration. She shot
him a smug look that said 'don't fuck with me, I'm queen bee around here'
and flipped him a very unladylike hand gesture that she did well to hide
from the roving cameras that connected the cabin to the cockpit.

The best thing about winding up that big lug, Skye thought to herself as
she poured Mr Hanson a glass of wine and snuggled up to his chest, was
that there was no way it could possibly backfire on her.

Flight 3

By Alyssa Hyatt

 Skye Blue knew very well that littering was an instant demerit. The last
(and only) time she got caught, her penance was to spend her next day
off rooting around Victoria Park's many rubbish bins for a single used
condom that had been planted by Michelle's boyfriend earlier in the day.
The prize waiting inside? Her front door key. It turned out to be a late
night for the bedraggled flight attendant, even with all the male
passers-by who volunteered their help.

But right at this moment, a possible repeat of that mortifying
experience barely registered in Skye's tiny bimbo mind. She was too
shook up by the sight of her wife standing before her, in full regal
pilot regalia, to think of anything else. Or to address Michelle in a
manner befitting her lowly station as an air hostess, it seemed.

"M-Michelle!" she stammered. "W-what the fuck are you doing here?"
Instantly realising her mistake, she clamped her manicured hands over
her mouth the second the question mark left her collagen-enhanced lips.

Michelle's face turned to stone. Before Skye could squeak out a pathetic
apology, Michelle shot her arm into the depths of her husband's bra and
twisted her right nipple as far as it would possibly turn, causing Skye
to shriek in agony and dance a hilarious little jig on the spot. The
other Layover hostesses burst into fits of laughter from the other side
of the room.

"You will address me," spat Michelle behind gritted teeth, "with the
proper respect." She twisted Skye's nipple just a few degrees more,
causing the dance to quicken. "Do you understand what I am telling you,
airhead?"

"Aargh - yes, Madam, I understand," she wailed. "Please forgive my
stupidity Madam, for I am just a dumb trolley dolly - no good for
anything other than looking pretty and pouring cups of coffee!"


"Don't forget cocksucking" Michelle added spitefully, tweaking the
nipple with such force that it caused Skye's other tit to pop out of its
satin encasing. Cue more giggling for Skye's Layover sisters. Finally,
she released her deathgrip on the teat and soaked in her husband's
humiliation with regalement as Skye frantically blew on her red raw
udder in an attempt to stem the pain. The extreme hormonal regime had
made those big ol' tits of hers incredibly sensitive, Michelle observed
to herself.

"I trust now we've heard enough insolence from you?" asked Michelle,
although the intonation suggested it was no question. In-between sobs,
Skye indicated that they had. Michelle gave her sissified spouse a
moment's peace to stuff her funbags back in their playpen, before
getting to the meat of the matter.

"Look at me, Skye," commanded Michelle. She obeyed. Although Skye
towered over her wife by almost seven inches in her heels, she felt so
tiny in comparison. "You seem surprised to see me in a pilot's uniform,
my dear. But you really shouldn't be. You do remember our first date, do
you not?" Michelle bit her lip as a brief flash of hurt shot through
her, before continuing: "And how you lied to me to get me in bed with
you?" Skye's baby blue eyes fell to the floor in shame as she took a
trip down memory lane.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ace had met his future wife as a passenger on an Imperial Airlines
flight between London and Miami several years ago. Michelle was looking
after the first class compartment of the cabin at the time. As an
aspiring pilot, it wasn't her first choice of career, but scholarships
were expensive so she'd resigned herself to a few year's graft in an
undesirable profession to pay for it. She figured getting a job as a
flight attendant would be as wise a choice as any, because it would
allow her to sample for herself what the long hours and time away from
family would be like. Plus, it presented invaluable networking
opportunities.



But on this particular flight, Michelle was wishing she'd taken her
mother's advice and became a vet. The cabin was stuffy, her bright red
stewardess' uniform tight, chaffing and restrictive, and her feet worn
out from endlessly pivoting up and down the aisle dealing with every
last obnoxious request from some of the rudest men she'd ever
encountered in her life. And the worst of the bunch was a young man sat
right at the front of the section. Michelle had just about managed to
forget about him when his help light flashed on for the umpteenth time.
She sighed, put down the rubbish bag she was empting, and went to attend
to his needs. "It's a good job he's cute," she thought to herself. "Or
else I'd have to throttle him."

"Hey doll, what kept ya?" slurred the man upon her arrival. "I dropped
my bag of peanuts. Could you pick it up for me, kitten?" Michelle looked
across to see said bag lying peacefully in the centre aisle, perhaps no
more than eight feet away from the gentleman's seat. She exhaled
irritably at this needless intrusion into her working day but managed to
retain her sunny disposition. "No problem, Sir."

She bent over as far as her tight skirt would allow, and that's when the
man's masterplan came together. He delivered a sharp pinch right on the
hostesses' rear end, causing her to yelp in pain. She turned round
sharply to admonish the grinning chauvinist, who was showing little
remorse for his crime. "Sir,," she spoke calmly but firmly, "the Cabin
Crew aren't your personal playthings. We're here to assist the pilot and
ensure the safety of the passengers, and your unnecessary distractions
are prevent-"

"Oh hush, sweetheart. Believe me, this plane will get to its destination
regardless of whether you rush around like chambermaid on crack, or
spend the rest of the flight powdering your nose in the toilet" He
paused to sip his beer, before slipping in not so subtly: "Believe me,
I'm a pilot myself."

She was busy re-assessing her decision not to throttle him when the
final sentence pricked her ears up. "You're a pilot, Sir?"

"Only the best in the world, honey. I fly for Europa Airways."

Europa Airways! They were the biggest commercial airline in the world.
Not even Imperial Airlines, with all their wealthy Russian benefactors,
could compete with Europa. Only the very best pilots could hope to find
gainful employment with them. Michelle saw networking potential.
"I...I'm hoping to be a pilot one day, Sir. Once I've saved up enough
money..."

He smirked inwardly at the thought of it, but his outward demeanour gave
her a little more hope. "You're a bit too pretty to be a pilot, aren't
you?" he asked, his seductive brown eyes gleaming. Her face turned as
red as her blazer.

"But I see potential in you, sweet tush. Europa could do with an up-and-
comer like you in their ranks." Ever the master orator, he paused for
dramatic effect and pretended to mull something that was on the tip of
his tongue. "Now I think about it, they do give out bursaries for
talented youngsters. It won't be as easy as me clicking my fingers, but
I might be able to pull some strings."

'He'd do that for me?', thought Michelle. Perhaps this guy wasn't such a
jerk after all. "That's really kind of you to offer, Sir, but..."

"You can call me 'Ace', dollface. Why don't you come into my, ahem,
'office' and we'll discuss your prospects in more detail?" he suggested,
pulling her down forcefully into his lap and closing the curtains to
block out the prying eyes of the elderly couple across the gangway.
Michelle swivelled round to face him, her legs straddling his. It was
hard to miss the bulge in his trousers - you could probably see it from
the ground.

 Ace reached behind his new-found playmate and pulled out her hair clip,
causing her long mane of jet-black hair to tumble down her back. Then,
his strong arms began to gruffly explore her curves. Michelle hesitated
for a second, but offered no resistance. She wasn't that kind of girl
normally, but she really needed that bursary and ehhh, he WAS kind of
cute. He expertly unhooked her bra with a single flick of his hand and
from there, the negotiations began.

A harsh slap to the cheek brought Skye back to the present day. "But the
bursary never came, did it, 'Ace'? Against all the odds I fell in love
with you, thinking I was your one and only and that you wanted to help
me out - but you didn't have any intention of doing that, did you? No, I
found out much too late that you were too much of a misogynistic pig to
ever allow your wife to get above her station in life."

Michelle slapped her husband again, before any excuses could dribble out
of her ruby red mouth. "When we married, it was like you thought you
owned me. You halted my pilot training, ordered me not to cut my hair
and banned me from wearing anything other than skirts or dresses. Even
in Winter! Well!" Her voice was hoarse now with pure hatred. "Look who
wears the trousers in our relationship now!"

Embarrassed by the reminder, Skye instinctively fiddled with the hem of
her latex mini-dress. There was no doubt who was the power-dresser of
the couple now. If clothes maketh the man then they also maketh the
woman, and the woman Ace McLaren had become was straight out of a cheap
porn flick.

A third slap rang out, leaving Skye on the verge of tears. "But I'm sure
you secretly wanted me to continue on with my training, didn't you, dear
hubbie? You just never got round to pulling those strings in-between
pulling on all those sluts' g-strings. That's why I took the liberty of
restarting my course with the money you had saved in that off-shore
account. You know, the one that you never got round to telling me
about."

Skye's eyes expanded as wide as saucers. "Oh...oh, poo!" she uttered in
total panic. Shit! Michelle found out about that? That was his
contingency plan! As soon as this demented woman got bored of ruining
his life and allowed him to be a man again, he intended to rush straight
to his guys and withdraw the several thousands of pounds he had saved.
Not a fortune compared to what he once was worth, but enough to get him
back on his feet again. But now he was completely broke! As poor as a
church mouse! He wouldn't even have enough to buy a pair of trousers!

"Now I think about it, you didn't get round to a lot of things, did you,
Miss Blue? Perhaps I won't get round to removing these," teased
Michelle, slapping the underside of Skye's udders with such ferocity
that they sprung out of their confines once more and struck the
stewardess on her dimpled chin. Michelle was merely playing with her
food here. She had no intention of letting Skye go back to her former
life. After a decade or so after she'd outlived her shelf life as a sky
high prostitute, she'd decided she would probably sell Skye off to Pam,
or someone. Whoever had the most sadistic plan going forward. Perhaps
she'd hold interviews. Ace had made a lot of enemies in his short time
on Earth, so it was going to be a seriously competitive bracket of
entrants.

But as wet as all this tormenting was making her, Michelle realised that
it was important to keep that tiny carrot affixed to the end of that
enormous stick if she was to keep her servant girl onside, so she
changed the subject. "Oh, by the way dear, do you like my new haircut?"

She removed her pilot's cap, revealing her new short pixie hair cut.
Just a few months ago, Ace would have had her over his knee for daring
to have such an unfeminine 'do, but now she was willing to tell this
crazy bitch whatever she wanted to hear, just to avoid further
punishment. "It's very beautiful, Madam. I love it!" she lied.

"Hmpf. I was going more for handsome, but that'll do." She pulled out a
packet of peanuts that had apparently been resting in her hat and
dropped them symbolically in front of her. She gave Skye a nasty leer.
"Pick them up, kitten."

Neither the symmetry nor the poignancy of the moment was not lost on
Skye. She gulped and then bent down at the waist, once more exposing her
panties to the world. The tip of her inch long nails had just about
brushed past the packet when she heard an ear-shattering CRACK, followed
by a searing pain on her bubble butt. The force of the blow was enough
to rocket her forwards, her bulbous breasts breaking her fall like
airbags.


Tears trickled down Skye's beautifully re-sculpted face as she gingerly
picked herself back up to her feet. Although she could feel her wife
burning a hole in the back of her head with her gaze, she was reluctant
to turn around and let her see that she'd been crying. There was still
some residue male pride in that oestrogen-ravaged body of hers.
Eventually however, Michelle grew tired of waiting for her toy to
compose herself and pushed the issue. "What do you say, Skye?"

"Th-thank you for punishing me, Madam."

"Oh, it wasn't me, blossom. Meet my co-pilot, who'll be mentoring me on
my first flight. I believe you've already met."

Skye turned round apprehensively and the sight that greeted her gave her
the third (or was it fourth?) heart attack of the day - and it was only
half past nine! There standing next to her estranged wife, wielding a
riding crop was her former arch-nemesis, an insufferably camp man named
Randy McCloud. He worked for Imperial Airlines, and truth be told, was
probably a better pilot than Ace ever was, but Ace used to pull his
political weight to keep Randy's reputation in check. The airline
industry was still a pretty homophobic one at the top and Ace knew how
to turn that to his advantage. Seven consecutive 'Pilot Of The Year'
awards were testament to that.

 "Well, don't just stand there staring hungrily at his crotch, Skye. Dip
your wings in deference to the the 2011 Pilot Of The Year!"

And with that, the blonde performed a soul-crushing curtsey, and the
last Y chromosome turned off the lights.

---------------------------------------------

As a rare treat, Randy and Michelle allowed Skye to stay in the cockpit
during the pre-flight preparations - a real honour for a lowly bimbo
stewardess such as herself! The only concession was that Skye had to
make herself useful whilst the pilots talked through their grown-up
stuff, and Michelle had just the job for her. As Randy ran through the
take-off protocol one last time, Skye found herself on her knees in the
space underneath the flight deck, enthusiastically slurping and sucking
away at her former professional rival's dick like it was a chocolate-
coated banana.

"It's good to see you two getting on so well, Randy" remarked Michelle.
" Ace used to bitch and moan about you all the time when he got home
from work, but it seems he had a soft spot for you all along."

"Well, 'Chelle, hun, you know what they say: girls will gossip"

"Ha ha! That they do. I guess my macho husband was always a bit of a
sissy deep down! Good job I was around to help you unlock your girlish
potential really, wasn't it Ace?

"Yrrrth Mrrrdrrrm. Thrrrnk yrrr frrr  trrrrning mrrr intrrr r
srssy!"

With practice, Skye had become a skilled cocksucker, but she had yet to
master the ability to speak coherently whilst an erect penis was
thrusting into her mouth like a piston. Nonetheless, the rest of her
performance was to Randy's satisfaction. Her blow job technique was
flawless. In-between slurps, she'd expertly run her tongue up and down
his shaft, keeping him on the brink of orgasm, just as she'd been
trained. Ace had always been a quick learner, and it was a trait that
continued to serve him well in his new life. Skye was as skilled a sex
worker as Ace had been an aviator.

Randy let out a satisfied grunt. "Oh, she IS good, Chelle. You were
right about that! As an admirer of the male form, I can't say Ace's new
look is entirely to my liking, but this new attitude of hers is a
definite upgrade!"

"Did you hear that, Skye? The nice man paid you a compliment. Show your
gratitude!"

"Thrrnk yrrr, Mrrr  MrrrrClrrrd"

Michelle watched in silent satisfaction for a moment as Skye's blonde
tresses bobbed up and down violently between Randy's legs. Such an eager
BJ Queen! She was sucking off that thing like her life depended on it.
Perhaps she thought it did. The sight of her husband's oral desecration
was capped, literally, by the oversized pilot's hat that constantly
slipped down past Skye's eyes as she licked and sucked on Randy's flight
instrument. It made her look like a silly little girl who was playing at
being a pilot.

"Oh god, she's VERY good, Michelle," Randy panted. "With a mouth like
that, are you sure she's single?"

"Heh. Well, she was married once, but that pretty mouth of hers got her
into a spot of bother. Why do you ask, are you interested? Maybe I can
set you two up. I think it's about time Skye went steady."

" Wrrrrrrt?"


Randy ignored Skye's contribution to the conversation. "Well, shemales
aren't usually my bag, but I could do with a beard, especially with all
these public appearances I'm going to have to make now I'm the number
one pilot in the world." He stopped to let out a gratified moan. "Plus,
I could get used to having blow jobs like this on tap! What do you say
we head out to Soho next Friday, Skye? I think we have a spare Imperial
Airlines uniform that's just your size"

"Buuhhht..."

"She'd be delighted, I'm sure," interjected Michelle on Skye's behalf.
"Isn't this exciting, Skye? You have a new boyfriend! Perhaps there will
even be wedding bells in the air if you play your cards right"

"Imagine Ace as a blushing bride!" laughed Randy. "Mincing down the
aisle as she prepares to become Mrs Randy McCloud!"

"How humiliating would that be," pondered Michelle out loud. "To be
forced to love, honour and obey your worst enemy!"

This had gone far enough! Skye loosened her lips from around Randy's
member and worked up the courage to tell her two tormentors than in no
uncertain terms, that she didn't want to go on a date with him. But what
terrible timing! She got as far as "I do-" before a thick sea of hot
spunk spurted down the back of her throat, leaving her gagging on the
floor.

"She said 'I do' already!" Michelle howled with amusement. "Control your
ovaries, woman! You're not at the altar yet!"


-----------------------------------------------------

Finally, the passengers were aboard and the flight was scheduled to
take-off. Skye Blue couldn't help but note that the build-up to this
flight had been quite unusual, though. Normally it was her job as the
perky air hostess to greet the passengers as they entered the plane, but
for reasons unknown to her Randy was currently fulfilling this duty
while she remained in the cockpit, diligently cleaning Madam's shoes
with her tongue as she read her morning paper. Skye's new-found woman's
intuition told her that the reason behind the change in routine almost
undoubtedly spelled bad news for her. Her intuition also told her not to
raise the subject with Madam.

Neither party said a word until it was nearly time for Skye to head out
into the cabin and deliver the safety instructions to the passengers.
Michelle fumbled around in her handbag and fished out an item from
within, an action which naturally piqued the interest of her put-upon
slavegirl.

"Now, Skye, the reason you're in here is because today's clients are
very important people, and we want to give a professional first
impression. I mean, we know how insatiable you can be when you're in the
company of a gentleman, sweetheart - we've all seen the camera footage!
We want them to be able to at least get into their seats before you
attempt to jump on their cocks!"

Skye responded with a sullen pout. She was instructed to act like a boy-
crazy hussy at all times when around her passengers, or else she'd be
hit with a veritable hailstorm of demerits. She just couldn't win. "Now,
Miss Blue, look up at me."

She obeyed, and before she could blink, Michelle reached out and dabbed
something onto both of her contact lens with the tip of her finger. To
her horror, Skye realised she was blind! She began to thrash around in
panic, but a slap to the face soon settled her down again. "Oh, don't be
so flighty, Miss Blue. It's only while you give the safety
demonstration, then I'll remove them. The safety instructions are a
vital part of the flight, don't you know, and I don't want you getting
distracted by all those trouser bulges on display. You used to tell me
you could do my job blindfolded, well here's your chance, hot shot!"

Skye had no response to that, because the time for talk was over.
Michelle hauled the screaming flight attendant to her feet by her hair,
and then guided her towards the service curtain by pinching her rump
until she was across the threshold.

Returning to her seat, Michelle mimed the pinching action to Randy with
her fingers and said matter-of-factly, "You know, I quite enjoyed that.
I can see why men do it so often."

-------------------------------------------------------

Miss Skye Blue stood nervously at the front of the plane's central
aisle, acutely aware that all eyes in the cabin were affixed firmly on
her shapely body. But were there one pair of eyes, or a hundred? Thanks
to whatever it was that was gunking up her bright blue contacts, it was
impossible to tell. She stood attentively with her hands crossed in
front of her, with a big vacant smile on her face which belied the fear
she was feeling in the pit of her stomach. Her tight, tight latex mini-
dress left almost nothing to the imagination. Dressed as she was, she
was being literally thrown to the wolves. She didn't know how many
wolves there were, but with her long, long legs and heaving bosom on
display, she knew that they'd be hungry. Ravenous, even.

After a few moments, Michelle's familiar voice rang out over the PA
system. "Good morning, gentlemen, and welcome to this non-stop Layover
Airways flight from London Heathrow to Las Vegas McCarran International
Airport. At this time allow us to introduce to you your in-flight
entertainment unit, Miss Skye Blue"

Clapping. Even a wolf-whistle. Skye dipped her wings in appreciation.
The spiel continues.

"Miss Blue will be attending to your EVERY need during the flight. There
is no request too vanilla and no request too depraved, so please feel
free to ask! Now, each of you have been issued with a remote control -
should you require Miss Blue's services, please feel free to press the
red button in the middle of the remote. That will send an electric jolt
to a receiver that has been surgically transplanted in her backside"

OUCH! OUCH! OUCH! They always test it out during that part of the
speech! At least Skye now knew how many passengers were aboard - three.

"Each passenger has also been issued with a key that will unlock your
stewardesses' chastity belt - but we must advise you that we'll be
counting them up again at the end of the flight, so don't lose them!
Now, in the case of an emergency, your nearest exits are here and
here..."

Skye performed the classic sweeping hand gesture, indicating where they
were. ."..and in the case of a sexual emergency, your stewardesses'
entrance holes are here and here."

After she'd finished pointing out the location of her orifices to the
men in attendance, Skye rooted around blindly on the floor for her next
prop - a ballgag dressed up to look like an airline seatbelt. Michelle's
voice continued on calmly and professionally. "Fasten your stewardesses'
mouth gag by clipping the buckle and pulling until snug. If you need a
condom, simply pull on the safety lever in front of you and an emergency
pack will drop down from the panel above your head. Please remember to
affix your own condom before attempting to fit anybody else's."

It continued: "Any electrical items inserted inside your stewardesses'
bottom should be switched off for take-off and landing. Thank you for
flying Layover Airways, and we trust you'll all have a very, very
satisfying flight." With the ordeal over and done with, Skye scampered
back behind the curtain to have her sight restored and to refresh her
make-up one last time before take-off.

------------------------------------------------------

When Flight Attendant Miss Skye Blue re-emerged from the curtain, she
was the very definition of sex on legs. She was on company time now, and
her job description was to walk, talk, suck and fuck like her client's
wet dream come true. Holding a tray of complimentary champagne glasses
high above her head with her left hand, she planted her other hand on
her right hip and pranced through the cabin, rolling her hips in an
exaggeratedly sexual manner as she moved.


Every single flounce, every single flick of her hair, every single
movement of her body was designed to advertise her sexual promiscuity to
any and all men in the nearby vicinity. A neutral observer would have
never guessed in a million years that behind Skye Blue's saucy veneer
lay a red-blooded, heterosexual male.


It embarrassed Skye to her core to have to act like such a wanton slut,
but she didn't have a choice in the matter if she ever harboured hope of
regaining her lost status as an alpha male. The numerous surveillance
cameras around the cabin were providing a direct feed to the pilots in
the cockpit and Michelle had made the situation quite clear: if she ever
suspected that Skye Blue had been anything less than a compliant,
pleasing bitch to her passengers, then Skye could kiss goodbye to what
remained of her male genitalia for ever!

Skye was so busy perfecting her catwalk model strut whilst balancing the
teetering tray of glasses that she neglected to look directly at her
passengers until she was less than two metres away. Scanning the seats
quickly with her baby blue bambi eyes, she noted  that she didn't
recognise the two men to her left, but when her fluttery eyes swept
right towards the third and final gentleman, she almost spilled the
champagne down her cleavage in shock! There, sitting in front of her,
undressing her latex-clad hourglass figure with his trademark sleazy
salesman leer, was Richard Hanson, Europa Airways chairman - and Ace
McLaren's former best friend! Oh, poo!

Miss Blue's pretty little head swam with conflicting emotions as she
tried to take in the enormity of this situation. Her first thoughts were
of salvation. Richard wasn't just Ace's closest friend, he was one of
the richest and most influential men in the entire world - if anyone
could get him out of this emasculating bind, it was Rich. Oh, how could
Michelle be this stupid? Skye made a promise to herself: once this mess
was sorted out and she'd got those titanic tits removed from her chest,
she'd fuck that bitch over, both figuratively and literally. After he'd
sued her arse off, Michelle would need to spend eight hours every night
fucking strangers under a streetlamp just to keep up with the interest
repayments! Skye's locked-up cockette twitched in its prison at the very
thought of it.

But her moment of triumph evaporated when she suddenly remembered that
she still was under the gaze of the cameras. Explaining to him how it
came to be that she was working as a ladyboy prostitute would be a
delicate operation and she needed time to not only get her point across
but also convince him he was telling the truth. In short, she needed to
make him like her so much that he would agree to meet her away from the
work place. But in this body, there was only one service she had to
offer that he'd be interested in. And that's when the reality of the
situation hit home - shit! He was going to want to have sex with her -
and she wouldn't be able to say no!


"Hey, sweetheart. Earth to Toots, Earth to Toots," snapped Rich,
clicking his fingers irritably in front of Skye's spaced-out face.
"Sorry...Sir," came the meek reply. "I was just thinking about...umm..."

"What I'm packing downstairs, I bet," he sneered, indicating at his
crotch - which was visibly in the upright position. "Well, don't get
flustered, babe - you'll meet him soon enough, and he'll 'fly' you
straight to heaven!" He laughed at his own joke. Rich had clearly still
not taken Ace's advice to drop the cheesy chat-up lines, but on the
other hand, Ace didn't take Rich's advice to never marry, so it worked
out even in the end.


Most girls would have thrown their drink over him and left, but Skye
Blue wasn't most girls. She laughed affectedly at his awful joke,
touching her bosom lightly with her limp hand, and complimented Sir on
his wit.

"My name's Richard, but you can call me Mr Hanson. And this" he motioned
towards the rotund gentleman sitting to Skye's left, "is Mr Tarasov, the
chairman of Imperial Airlines. He flew in from Moscow this morning so he
must be feeling pretty low on energy. Why don't you strut over there and
show him some sugar while I go over these documents?"

"As you wish, Mr Hanson, Sir" complied Skye, relieved to have earned a
temporary reprieve from sexually servicing her closest friend. She bent
down to pour him a glass of champagne and then, without warning, he
grabbed her by the scoop neck of her dress, pulled her in close and
French kissed her! "I'll be back for you later, hotstuff," he promised,
before dismissing her with a wave of his hand and a condescending pat on
her butt.

A red-faced Miss Blue thanked Mr Hanson for his attentions and minced
across to greet and attend to the needs of her other guest, Mr Tarasov.
Perhaps he just wanted a cuddle and a chat? Judging by the way he was
looking at her, and the way he was rubbing his crotch through his
trousers, Skye suspected not. Brrr. Even by her standards, satisfying
this slob was going to be a unenviable task.


The Russian oligarch might have been rich but he was not an aspiration
figure. His portly frame threatened to overspill not only from his
business suit but also from the generous dimensions of his luxurious
seat, while his receding hairline and general poor hygiene made him look
much older than his years. Such a contrast to Mr Hanson, whose virile
blond locks, athletic body and toned buttocks made Skye shudder
with....oh god, what were these hormones doing to her?

Skye placed the champagne bottle into a holder next to Mr Tarasov's seat
and introduced herself to him, dipping her wings in subservience as she
did so. Tarasov returned the gesture (sans curtsey, of course) and
proceeded to bore her to tears for the next few minutes with boastful
tales of his wealth and importance. Miss Blue, ever the professional,
was attentive and alert and hung on his every word. It was quite the
contrast from the last time they met, at last year's Airline Leaders'
Summit, when Mr Tarasov approached the daring young pilot everyone
called Ace at the after party with an offer of work, only to be  met
with a torrent of abuse.

"How dare you offer me work, you disgusting, bloated Ruskie" Ace boomed,
loud enough to be heard over the music. "Imperial is what, the second
largest airline in the world? To me, that just means they're the largest
loser. Your tinpot outfit couldn't afford me even if they sold marketing
space on your belly, you fat fuck. You've got more chance of touching a
woman's tit than you have of gaining my services"

As Skye held that thought, Mr Tarasov's clammy fingers seized the
initiative and grabbed hold of her right hooter. "Honk, honk!" he
laughed in that thick Russian accent of his. "I tell you, comrade
Hanson, I wasn't sure about this idea of yours to hire a shemale
hostess, but this he-she is really something."

"You should learn to trust my judgement better, Mr Tarasov," peering
over his papers. "After all, we're going to be business partners soon.
Plus, if you really want to see what she can do, you should check out
some of the instructional videos on your personal TV set."

"Hahaha! I might just do that!" he roared and turned his attentions back
to his ladyboy servant, but Skye's eyes had wavered to the enormous 6"7
young man  who was sat on his own at the back of the cabin in tracksuit
bottoms and a Tapout! T-shirt. He looked up over the MMA magazine he was
idly flicking through, noticed Skye gawking at him and flashed her a
disdainful look. When Mr Tarasov explained that Vlad was just his
personal bodyguard and that she should not concern herself with him,
Skye's relief was palpable. He looked like he could have ripped her in
half!

Michelle's voice rang out over the tannoy. "Cabin crew, two minutes
until take-off." Miss Blue turned to take her seat, but Tarasov grabbed
her wrist tightly, causing her to yelp in that high-pitched womanly
voice of hers. "Why don't you stay here, princess?" he offered in a tone
which suggested refusal was not an option. Nonetheless, safety
procedures meant Skye had to fight her corner. "I apologise Sir, but I
must return to my designated-"

Her sentence was interrupted by a sudden, violent and as it transpired
quite deliberate jolt as the plane braked suddenly, causing Skye, ever-
vulnerable because of her skyscraper heels, to fly directly into the
path of Mr Tarasov's lap. When she landed, his bear-like hands wrapped
themselves around her, making escape impossible.

Skye squirmed and wiggled and jiggled for a brief few moments in an
attempt to escape her rotund suitor's clutches, but she soon resigned
herself to her fate. Her attention switched to whatever it was she was
sitting on that was poking sharply into her buttocks. "Please fasten
your seatbelt Sir, I think I may be sitting on the buckle!" offered
Skye, before realising that the brute was holding either side of the
seatbelt in his hands. That was no buckle!

Tarasov clipped the belt over the combined waists of himself and his
blushing playmate as the plane began its taxi, and by the time the craft
was in the air, Tarasov was making full use of his in-flight
entertainment unit, biting and kissing Skye's ears and neck aggressively
while kneading the stewardesses' breasts roughly like they were lumps of
dough. Skye responded as per the Layover Airways employee handbook
dictated; by panting and moaning like a bitch in heat. By the time they
reached altitude, however, Skye was horrified to discover that her
nipples were as hard as bullets and that her moans were no longer
voluntary.

"Well, we're on our way, then" said Mr Hanson, raising his champagne
glass. "This calls for a celebration."

"Couldn't agree more, my friend," replied Tarasov, discarding the
ravaged flight attendant for a second to return the gesture.

And then he tipped the entire glass down Skye's décolletage, popped open
the top few buttons of her dress and began to savagely lick and suck on
her champagne-coated cans. Skye could feel her right hand being forced
down Mr Tarasov's trousers as her left grabbed hold of the handle on the
overhead locker above her for balance. It was going to be a long flight.