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.