Lunch With Mother

By: Bea

I had seen her car pull in to the driveway, so wasn't surprised to hear her
knock at the door.
"C'mon in,"  I yelled  "The door's open."
I was positioned, sitting in the kitchen breakfast nook, the sun shining in the
window behind me - just as I'd planned it.  She came in, elegant as ever in a
two-piece tailored suit, gray, white blouse, scarlet scarf tucked discreetly
under the jacket lapels.  Not wearing her glasses, I was glad to see.

"Looking good Mother"  I said  "Coffee's on.  Grab a cup and come sit beside
me."
"Too lazy to get up and pour your old Mother a coffee?"  She grumbled, but
pleasantly enough, walking over to the machine and pouring.  As she walked back
towards me, she peered into the sun at my back.
"If you can't see, Mother, I'll move..."  I offered.

My Mother is a classy lady - but has one blind spot of gigantic proportion - she
won't admit that she can't see worth a damn without her glasses. She has
problems with contacts, but refuses to wear her framed glasses unless it's
absolutely necessary - and sometimes not even then!

"No, no, no."  she said  "I can see fine.  Now what's the reason you want me
here?"
"Do I have to have a reason?"  I asked blandly.
"Guess not"  she answered, smiling  "It's just unusual for you to want to
see me on a work day.  Are you sick?"
"Of course  not, Mother"  I answered in turn.  "Just need to talk to you."
"Don't tell me you want some advice?"  She asked  "That'll be something new.  Or
are you and Jill having some problems?"

It was the opening I needed, but I still paused.  "No.." I said slowly, drawing
it out. "But something has come up."
"This sounds juicy"  she gushed  "But let me have a cigarette before you start. 
Want one?
I hadn't had a cigarette in a long time, but craved tobacco all of a sudden.
"Why not?"  I said, and took one  "I don't have a light"  I said.
"Oh, that's easy"  she said  "Here, let me"  and held her lighter out, the flame
rising.
And all of a sudden, I realized my error.
"Oh, light your own, then give me your lighter"  I said, calmly enough.
She looked puzzled, but did as I suggested.  Very carefully, I lit the first of
my afternoon's cigarettes, putting the lighter on the table between us.

Both of us took long, contemplative draws of tobacco.  She took a sip of
her coffee.
"Well?"  She asked.
"I'm in a little trouble with Jill."  I said.
"Anything I can do?"  She asked
"Not really"  I replied, then took a sip of my own coffee.
"Well... maybe."  I amended, realizing that I had to start somewhere. "She wants
me to be her wife"  I said, quietly and quickly.
Mother sat up quickly in her chair. "Did I hear you right?  She wants you to be
her what?"
I blushed a little.  "Afraid you heard correctly Mother.  She's had bees in her
bonnet about this for some time now ..."
"I did hear you right?  You said 'wife'?"  She said then, seeing my little nod
of acceptance, "But you're her husband, for God's sake!  What in the hell is
this all about?  She wants you to get a sex change?  Is that what this lunch is
for?  Get my reaction?"

Mother doesn't swear, nor repeat herself.  In a few seconds she had done both. 
I couldn't help grinning a little.  She caught my change of expression.
"Oh goodness!"  She exclaimed  "Having a little fun at poor old mother's
expense?"
"No.. not really"  I interjected  "I wasn't kidding."
"Would you be so kind as to fill me in then?  What's led to this .. status ..
change you two seem to be considering?"

I took a deep breath.  "It all started last Halloween.  We had been invited to a
big party with Jill's group but had decided not to go until a few days before. 
When we started looking around for costumes, all the good ones were gone.."
Mother exhaled some smoke  ".. And she suggested that you both cross dress,
right?"
"To be honest, it was my idea"  I admitted.
Mother shook her head.  "Keep going.  What did you wear?"
My mouth was dry.  "A black dress of hers."
"That ugly long thing she wore at my birthday party?"
"No.  It's a sort of evening dress.."
"Oh.  The strapless one with the chiffon overblouse and skirt?"
I nodded.
"What did you wear underneath?"  She asked suspiciously.
I grimaced.  Said nothing.
"You wore full lingerie, didn't you?"  She sighed.
I nodded.

She took a pull at her cigarette, then stubbed it in the ashtray.  I had done
the same, making a point to shred the dog-end into tiny pieces of paper, before
letting it rest there. She leant back in her chair, peering at me, the sun in
her eyes.
"You know, there is something different about.."
This was an area I didn't want investigated right then.
"I wore high heels too"  I blurted.
She tilted her head to one side.
"Well, that would stand to reason, I'd think.  Makeup and jewelry?  Nails
polished?  Perfume?  What did you do for hair?  Your hair seems to be a bit
longer, but surely it wasn't enough.."
I had been nodding to affirm her questions as she worked her way through
them.
"Wig."  I interjected.
"Didn't you have a problem with the shoes?"  She asked.
I blushed again.  "I practiced at home for a day or two before the party."
"Ooh la la"  she snorted  "That must've been be cute for Jill. Having her
husband flit around in high heels for a day or so.  Did you rehearse wearing the
dress too?"
"Oh please Mother.  Of course not"  I protested.
She shook her head in wonderment.  "Don't tell me.  You went to the party, and
were the belle of the ball.  Get danced by all the boys?"
"No!"  I said forcefully.  "I danced with women only.  In fact, most of the
time, Jill danced with me."
She looked puzzled, then thought of another question.
"How many times did you lead when you were dancing?"
I hung my head, and she caught on immediately.
"You practiced taking the ladies part too, didn't you?"
My silence was answer enough.
"Go on."  She commanded gently.  "C'mon.  Tell me more about that night.
What happened?"
My face went on fire, but I started again. "Once I was dressed, she started
treating me like the girl.  It was kinda fun. She'd compliment me, pat me on the
backside, put her arm around me."
"Did the clothes turn you on?" Mother asked.
"No!"  I said quickly, then  "Well.. kinda.  Felt kinda sexy, swirling
around me, her touching me .. and all that stuff.."

"Who drove?"  She asked
"She did.  But she's been doing just about all the driving for a while now."
"Get you drunk?"
"A little."  I admitted.
"At the party.  Did she treat you like the girl in front of her friends?"
I blushed again, really red.
"What'd she do?"
I hung my head.
"C'mon.  Can't be much worse.  Tell me.  C'mon."
"Had me sit on her lap."
She grinned  "Why do I have the feeling that everyone got the impression that
you were enjoying it?  You were, weren't you?"

She was just looking at me now.  No scorn, or anything like I had anticipated. 
Curiosity more than anything else.
"Where did she make love to you?"  She broke into my thoughts.
I remembered Jill's hands, demanding hands, under my dress caressing my thighs,
my swirling head as I was forced onto my back, my dress being pushed up, and my
panties being pulled down.
"In the car."  I said
"Want more coffee?"  She asked, getting up.
"Thanks"  I said gratefully.  "I'm dry."
She poured the coffees, and helped herself to a cookie from the box on the
counter.  Brought my cup to the table, and settled back in her chair.

"O.K.  You seemed to have become Jill's 'Juliette' for a night - or did you
start being "girlish"  the next day as well?"
"Honest, Mother - no!  I was back to normal the next day.  I was kind of
embarrassed for sure, but the subject didn't come up for about a month after
that."
"What brought it on?"  She asked  "Another party?"
"No.  She just turned to me at the dinner table one night and said.."
"I want you to be my wife?"  Mother asked wryly.
"Just about."  I admitted.
"What did you say to that?"
"I just laughed.  It seemed so silly..."
"So what did she do then?"
"She left the room, and came back with one of her dresses.."
Mother said.  "One of her..?"
"Dresses.  Yes.  Said she was going to fight me, and after she had beaten me,
she was going to make me wear it.  I asked her what the hell was on her mind. 
She told me that she was fed up being the wife, and she felt it was my turn to
be the one that took care of the house, and made myself.. pretty...for her."

Mother laughed  "I felt that way with your father a couple of times.. But go on.
 What happened?  Surely she didn't beat you?"
"No.  She didn't beat me.  She started wrestling with me, and it was really
quite easy to beat her."
"Did she take it badly that you won?"  Mother asked.
"Actually, she just laughed, and said she'd be back."
"She kept coming back.  Didn't she?"
"Yes"  I said
"And she ended up beating you?"  She asked, amazed.
"No"  I answered  "She's never beaten me."

Mother shook her head.  "I don't understand"  she said  "What's the problem?"
"She started doing exercises, body building, that kind of thing."
"Well, you could do that too, couldn't you?"
I grimaced.  "Well, I did.  For a little while.  But it seems so ...silly."
"Fighting for your position as male in the house?"
Ruefully, I nodded my acceptance of what she was implying.

"So she's getting muscles.  But if she's never beat you, what's the problem?  I
keep saying that, don't I?"
"She just kept coming on."  I said helplessly.  "She was getting stronger and
stronger - and so confident!   Every week it was getting harder and harder to
beat her.  Then she offered me a compromise."
"Eh?  Bet it was a doozy"
"Well.  She said if I started to 'help' with the housework, she would stop
fighting me."
"That's all?  She wanted you to do your fair share of the housework?"
I gritted my teeth.  "All of the housework, and.."  I paused.
"And?"  Mother asked.
"Wear an apron while I was doing it."
"Which would be pretty well all the time you were at home, right?  What'd
you say to that?"
"O.K." I admitted, shamefaced.

"Well"  Mother laughed.  "Sounds to me, like you deserve to be bossed
around.  Imagine.  Getting bullied into wearing a girl's apron, and doing
the woman's work in the house.  Hand wash her undies do you?  Give them a
light touch with an iron.."
Her mouth literally fell open as she saw that she had described one of my
chores.  Then, with a speculative look in her eyes, she got up and walked
to the kitchen cupboard.  She returned with my yellow apron in her hand.
"Mm..Mm. Lots of pretty ones in there.  All yours, I assume?"
She put it down on the chair next to her.
"So when did you start wearing the pretty aprons, and being the housewife?"
"About two months ago."  I replied.
"You wait this long to tell me.  Why now?"
"Well.  Something else happened."

"Why did I have the feeling that there was more to come?"  She asked brightly.
"Because there is."  I said.
I lit another cigarette, not really caring now what she saw, but she
noticed nothing.
"Two weeks ago, she invited the president and secretary of her women's club
around for drinks after dinner.  She had bought a special apron, and a cap, for
me to wear when I was serving the drinks."
"Showing off her new maid, eh?"
I nodded.  "I told her I wasn't going to do it"
"Stamped your pretty little feet and everything.  Did you cry?"
"Oh, c'mon Mother"  I said.
"But you wore the apron and cap, didn't you?"
"No Mother"  I said despondently.  "Well  - at least not that one. And I didn't
wear the maid's cap either."

"You obviously are scared out of your mind by this woman.  How did you
'convince' her that you weren't going to do what she told you? "
"By doing something else"  I said.
Mother said nothing.
"She told me that if I forced her into fighting me that night, she'd definitely
put me in a dress and makeup, as well as the apron.  Not only that, she'd put me
over her knee and spank me in front of the other women, - and one of them works
at my office."
"It didn't dawn on you that you might have won?"  Mother asked.

I thought of the months of seeing Jill develop in strength and confidence, while
I became less and less secure in my masculinity.  I thought of how I had, more
and more, taken the submissive role in our lovemaking, while she had increased
the pressure on me by providing frillier and flouncier aprons for me to wear.  I
shook my head.  "Not really, Mummy"
"So what did you have to do?"
"Start wearing lingerie"
"That night?"
"Yes"
"Bra? Panties?"
"Yes. And a camisole .. And garter belt.. And nylons."

My mind flashed back to that night, the watershed of my masculine role in our
marriage.  The confident look in Jill's eyes as she produced the lingerie she
wanted me to wear in place of the apron. Light blue satin, beige lace trim.  The
full skirted dress that I'd have to put on if I argued more with her - under the
aforementioned apron, and over the lingerie in her hands.

I remembered my total capitulation at that time, undressing in front of her,
then standing there as she fastened the bra strap at my back, and standing
shivering helplessly once I was totally ensconced in my new clothes.  Her making
me stand there until I agreed that, from then on, I'd wear underwear of that
nature around the house all the time, and 'my' aprons when no-one was there.  I
had also no intention of telling Mother how she had then intimidated me into
voluntarily draping myself over her knee for a 'symbolic' acceptance of my new
role, of my feminine squeals as she spanked me lightly, and of my little leg
kicks that she 'requested' I make.

Worse was to follow.  Finally being allowed to put my pants and shirt back on
and the gradual return of some complacency because I'd at least delayed the
dreadful moment of my introduction to her friends in my new image.
How even that bubble was burst.
"Never realized how sheer your shirts were"  Jill said brightly.
"Eh?"  I said, preoccupied with making sure that all the drinks, mixes, etc were
available.
"Your shirt.  It's sheerer than I'd have thought.  Almost like a woman's blouse"
I still didn't understand, and looked at her in bewilderment.
"I can see your pretty undies.. Well at least the straps and lace trim.."

Horrified, I ran to the nearest mirror.  I tried to convince myself that they
weren't that obvious, but one little twist of my body changed the light a little
and my lingerie was immediately visible.  It was patently obvious that I was
wearing a bra and camisole.
"Please Jill.  Please don't make me do this.  Paula will make my life a misery"
"Oooh.. That's right, you gave her a bad performance review last time didn't
you.  Bet you won't, ever again.. Will you?
"But I can't let her see these straps"  I pleaded.

She picked up the dress and held it against me.  "Don't think this is so thin" 
she mused  "Probably wouldn't notice them if you were wearing this...?
"Please " I repeated helplessly.
She gave me a moments hope  "Well.. I'm not going to let you off with your
promise, but I have an idea.  Hold on a moment"  and left the room.  She came
back with a pink angora sweater in her hand.  "They'd never see your undies if
you wore this"

She shook her head at my horror stricken face.  "Nothing pleases you, eh? Well 
you'll have to take your chances.. Wait a minute .. Bet one of your aprons would
do it.."  And picked up the pink one I'd had the original problem with.

I really didn't have much choice.  She finally let me choose my own apron that I
would wear that night.  It was feminine, true, but nowhere near the pink one in
that regards.
 "So you didn't have to wear an apron that night?"  Mother interrupted my
reverie.

In fits and starts, I explained what had actually happened - at least most of
it.
She laughed.  "Looks like she had you coming and going, eh?  You wear the
lingerie to get out of wearing an apron - then wear an apron to hide the
lingerie.  Did the girls notice?"
"No... Well, yes.. I think so.  Paula, the one that works at my office,
she made some snide comments the next day."

"But Jill didn't want you to wear sexy underwear all the time, surely?"
"No.  She promised that I'd just have to wear it at home.. But she started
working on me to.."
"Do just that?"  She asked, then added incredulously  "You're not, surely,
wearing lingerie just now?"
I didn't answer her directly.  "She made me wear it to the office, my last
week there.. And Paula kept snapping my bra strap when nobody was looking."
"What do you mean - 'last week there?  You left your job?"
"I'm at home all the time now."  I said simply.

Mother shook her head.  "I just can't get over it. My son, the housewife
- and you're wearing lingerie just now!  Talking to me!"  She reached in her bag
and put on her glasses.
The first thing she saw was the cigarette end I had just stubbed in the ashtray.
 She picked it up.
"Some kind of coral lip rouge?"
"Estee Lauder Coral"  I admitted.
She lifted her gaze to my face.  "Nice makeup.  Doesn't want you plastering it
on, eh?"
"No"  I answered, head down now.
"Oh sit up!"  She said firmly.  She then leaned across the table and spread my
arms a little.
"Looks like a shirt - but it's a blouse - right?"
She looked at my waist.  "Well.. It's only to be expected I guess.  Would you
stand up for mummy dear -- and let me see the pretty skirt you're wearing?"

I stood up and came around the table, my tight skirt and high heels making me
mince very effeminately.  Mother grinned.
"Looks like she's done quite a number on you dear .. "

"I call her Margaret now."  Jill said, sweeping into the room.  "I really didn't
have the time to do all the little .. you know.. things.. you know.."
"That a Mother teaches her daughter?"  Mother offered
"Exactly!"   Jill beamed.  "Hit the nail right on the head.  That's why I
wanted to have you over here, and what I wanted to ask you right away, but
the silly girl here wanted to sort of break it to you - as if you'd care!
You don't mind.  Do you?"

"Of course not"  Mother said brightly.  "I've always wanted a daughter. C'mon
Margaret, let's get something done with that hair of yours."
Pointedly, Jill addressed me  "Think you can put that apron on now, Margaret  -
and maybe make up a little snack for me before your Mother gets started with
you?"
"Yes ma'am"  I said, slipping it on while she spoke - and dropping my prettiest
curtsey.

Delegation Of Authority

By: Bea

I think I enjoyed my very first feelings of masculinity after Edna my wife was
killed in the accident.  Please don’t misunderstand.  I was devoted to her and
grieved terribly.  But, after my attorney discovered a loophole in the
prenuptial agreement that she’d had me sign, I stood up to Doris, my mother in
law for the first time – and though I trembled with fear the whole time, walked
away leaving a woman petrified with amazement and took charge of my own affairs
for the very first time in my life having been under the influence of women
since day one.  First my mother, then Edna – but when Doris stepped in, with the
obvious intention of taking me over, I guess I rebelled – with no one more
surprised at my success than me.

After that, I grew my resolve. When I walked into Edna’s company and took it
over, astonishment prevailed.   Many of the old timers must have shuddered and
even the new people looked askance at me when I made the announcement.

You see Edna had steadfastly refused to hire men.  “Can’t stand the hairy
beasts!  They’re so damned aggressive and bossy.  That’s why I married him,”
she’d say – and jerk her thumb at me.  Everyone would either laugh out loud or
grin sympathetically at me.  Now?  Women who had once seen me humbled that way
(often more than once) were in the position of having to defer to me if they
wanted to stay employed. I enjoyed this in my own quiet way, but think that this
may have rankled.

My first thought, naturally, was to hire some men.  But after I considered this
at length, I decided it wouldn’t do. I mean, after all, women are the kinder
sex. More nurturing, whereas my experience with the male sex had not inclined me
towards liking them very much myself.  I mean, remembering my schooldays?  How
would a male working for me feel, when one of the employees described how my
wife had subjugated me?  How would they react?  And honestly?  I preferred the
company of women and though I pretended to constantly be considering the hiring
of males into the office, it was the furthest thing from my mind. I liked being
surrounded by females – the pretty clothes, the scents, the quiet, alluring,
voices.

Looking back?  I realize just how ineffectual I was as the President of the
company.  Yes, I had a fine office and all the perquisites of the top executive
– my private bathroom, my special parking spot –  the ability of having my meals
prepared by the Managerial Restaurant staff – and sent to my private office – or
into the Management Dining Room (The Golden Trough the lower paid employees
called it – as my managers were fed culinary delights each day at no cost) where
I would rule over everyone there like a benevolent despot – although I often
sensed that the women there barely suffered me and my opinions.

Margaret had been Edna’s secretary and, naturally, I took her on in the same
capacity. A tall, austere, woman she had been with the company for almost thirty
years when I took over.  She was never anything but distant to me.  Well
mannered to a fault, she nevertheless always gave me the feeling that she looked
down on me and my power grab (as I heard her describe it to a co-worker ) of the
company with complete loathing.  I can’t say that I was surprised when she
handed in her notice that she was retiring just about the time I’d been there
about six months.  I made it immediately clear that I did NOT want anyone in the
company as her replacement, for reasons that should be obvious. She ‘suggested’
that she place the advertisements for the position for me and that she do the
original screening, with me only interviewing the applicants she deemed
suitable.  Naturally, I agreed to this, how could I possibly know what was a
secretary’s functional capabilities?  I did check the ads that were placed 
(though didn’t let Margaret know I was doing so)  and there was nothing I could
see amiss in them – but the women who applied for the position were, on the
whole, old frumps.  I wanted someone attractive.  After a while, Margaret began
to show signs of impatience as I rejected one after the other.  Started to drop
hints that she wasn’t going to hang around too much longer.  Finally told me
that my next interview was with a Sylvia Thompson.

But let me interject a comment or two here.  I was well aware that if not
actively disliked by the people who worked for me, most of them looked on me
with disdain.  They didn’t respect me, I guess.  Didn’t take into account the
fact that I always tried to defer to them – I’m not mentally equipped to be mean
to ladies – nor talk down to them even.  I’ll admit that I may have become a
little pompous with my sudden takeover of rank within the company – but that
isn’t a punishable offense, is it?   Another thing: Edna had been  older than me
–  even looked more mature, while I was cursed with little or no facial hair and
a complexion that I’d heard described as ‘peaches and cream’ as I grew up. 
She’d even laughingly referred to me as her ‘child bride’ on more than one
occasion.  So?  I think it’s fairly understandable that I wanted my secretary to
look younger than me, is it not?

Anyway, to describe Sylvia as a breath of fresh air would be misleading, to say
the least.  Yes, she may have been younger than myself.  Yes, she was attractive
in a self-centered, sophisticated way.  But she was impeccable! I mean she
wasn’t dressed like a secretary.  I mean I don’t know much about designer
clothes or accessories, but this young lady was stylish to the nth degree.  She
wore a skirt suit in a  black and white hounds tooth tweed, a scarlet silk
blouse with handbag and shoes to match. Her hair was very dark and cut short,
but styled in such a way that attention was immediately pulled towards her dark
– almost obsidian – eyes.  Scarlet mouth – maybe her worst feature as it had a
severe turn to it, but perfectly molded, full lips.  Matched her impeccable
fingertips in color.  Not much jewelry: A wide gold bracelet and square gold
earrings on beautifully shaped ears.

Her catlike stride oozed self confidence as Margaret led her into my office and
introduced us.  I was surprised to find that she had a strong grip as we shook
hands. She seemed to enjoy imprisoning my hand in hers for longer than was
absolutely necessary as she stared down into my eyes – she was taller than me in
her heels.  Yes, I was intimidated immediately and as Margaret left the office,
I mumbled the usual inanities that you use when meeting someone for the first
time, then suggested that she sit in the chair across the desk from my own.

She smiled but, still holding my hand, said “Why don’t we sit on your couch? 
Don’t you think it would be more comfy there?  You could maybe have Margaret
bring in a pot of tea?  I’d kill for a nice cup of tea!  I hope you don’t mind?”
she cooed – and gave me a gentle tug towards the couch and coffee table. I
didn’t know what to do!  This girl was now leading me around my own office –
and, my hand held firmly in hers, I was following her like a little lamb! 

Dazed, I heard her ask if I’d designed my office myself. “No.  It was my wife.”
I replied. Then, puzzled by the expression that had been on Sylvia’s face I
asked “Why do you ask?  You seem a little puzzled?”

Her lips and teeth smiled, but her eyes didn’t.  “Silly me!  The décor just
didn’t seem to be you – just  little masculine is all.”  Then, as we were now at
the couch, she added. “Now, isn’t this much better?” and pulled me down to sit
beside her.  Then, finally, she let go my hand, reached forward and pressed the
Com line satellite on the coffee table.  Margaret answered immediately “Yes?”
“Margaret?  Be a dear and send in a pot of tea.  Green tea if you have it?”
Sylvia asked with aplomb.
“Be in there in a few seconds,”  Margaret answered, no surprise in her voice at
being spoken to like that by an applicant.

Sylvia smiled at me.  “While I’m waiting, you don’t mind?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I answered.
“Silly me!” she giggled softly. “I just wanted to make sure that I look all
right for our interview.”
I blinked.  “You look damn good to me, young lady.”
Her face froze a little. “I don’t care for profanity, sir.  Would appreciate it
if you’d desist.”

Abashed, I blushed. “I’m very sorry miss.  No offense meant.”
She gave me a cold smile. “Thank you.  Now, if I may?” Without waiting for my
approval, she opened up  her handbag and pulled out a compact, opened it and
took the powder applicator out using the tips of her fingers and examined her
face intently in the mirror.  I watched her, fascinated by this purely feminine
of all tasks. Suddenly, her eyes slid round in my direction and caught my
interest.  Then she turned her face a little, raised her eyebrows in a
questioning way and made a peculiar little motion with the powder puff – almost
as if she was offering it to me!

Astonished, I actually shook my head.  Her lips pouted as if she were
disappointed, but she gently dabbed her nose a little, then rested the
applicator onto the compact, closed down the lid and put it back into her
handbag. Smiled at me again as she snapped the handbag shut.


She then stretched her arms upwards, sighed happily, then relaxed back into the
couch. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself Alan?” she said, after bringing her
arms down – then laying a warm hand on my thigh!
I froze.  What the hell was she doing?  Wanted to pull away, but was trapped.
What does a man do when an attractive young woman lays her hand on his thigh –
and starts to stroke it?  Pull away?  Scream?

And what does he do when her hand pauses in its peregrinations as she feels the
lacy, elasticized, legging of his bloomer style panties under his pants?  Does
he lick his lips like I did as she slowly slides a long fingernail eases in
between the elastic and his thigh (through his pant material of course) pulls it
way from his flesh, then let it snap back with a soft, but audible,  pht noise?

Why had I worn my panties that particular day, my mind questioned.  Okay,
wearing panties hadn’t started out an everyday occurrence – and it still wasn’t,
though I had to admit it was becoming a more regular habit since Edna died –
maybe four times a week – well truthfully, maybe five or six by now?

You see, Edna used to spank me as a precursor to sex. She didn’t hurt me of
course – well maybe just once or twice – but when she discovered that she got a
major kick out of it, she elevated her enjoyment by dressing me in very feminine
panties before putting me over her knees  – usually a heavy gauge satin, with
scads of lace – and sometimes even the roomy bloomers, of the type I was wearing
the day of my interview with Sylvia.  Then she’d  usually spank me on my panties
cooing at me and calling me her little sissy as she did so.  After she died, I
found myself missing her so much – and then the consolation of remembering our
pleasant interludes was heightened by first of all by my touching of the panty
material, followed by the thrill of wearing them at home – then under my normal
clothes all day at work.

Another Pht!  got my attention again.  “Where did you go to school?”  she was
asking, her face showing a slight enjoyment and her eyes fixed hypnotically on
mine, her immaculate, scarlet fingernails now daintily taking a hold of the
panty lace edging, pulling it up and away from my thigh, then pht!
I answered her question. It was all I could think to do.

Then, motivated by consistent phts, I told her about my upbringing – by my
mother. Our friendship with Edna and her mother. (Pht!)   Our marriage. (A
number of phts!).  What I was looking for in a secretary – she assured me that I
wouldn’t have any trouble with her. Then, with an air of finality, she made one
more pht on my thigh then openly stretched her arm across me, found the lace
border on my other leg, and negligently pulled my elastic there to at least a
couple of inches – then smiled softly as I yelped when it snapped back into
place.

She reached forward to the Com button, but before she pressed it, looked at me
out of vaguely amused eyes.  “May I?” she asked.
I had absolutely no idea what she was asking, but felt forced to respond.  “Yes
– of course!”  She gave me a maternal smile, and pressed it.  When Margaret
responded, Sylvia simply said.  “I have accepted Alan’s offer.  You can cancel
the search now.”

A few weeks later, I was Sylvia’s creature.  Margaret had left and Sylvia now
inhabited my outer office.  She deferred to me in front of other people, but it
had become obvious to me that she enjoyed toying with me in my private office.
Her domination over me was started by the use of her compact – something she
always seemed to have around her person. 

One morning as we sat and chatted over our first coffee of the day, she took her
compact out and started powdering her nose, responding to me, but barely paying
attention to what I was saying. Then her eyes found mine again as, per usual, I
couldn’t keep my eyes from what she was doing.  “Yes?” she asked softly.
“Eh _ Er -  I don’t know.  I’ve forgotten,” I said lamely.
“You always seem SO fascinated when I  powder my nose.  Would you like to powder
yours?”  This time, she held the compact out towards me invitingly.

I pushed myself back into my chair.  “No!  Of course not!”
“Why not?” she asked, putting a perplexed look on her face and getting up from
her chair and advancing towards me.
Her intentions were obvious.  “Please don’t?” I asked softly but showed my
capitulation as I turned my nose up towards her..
“Silly!  Now just hold still for a second.  Your nose IS a little shiny – and we
can’t have that, can we?” she cooed – and gently patted my nose with the
applicator, the scent of the powder filling my nostrils.
“Now?  What do you say?” she asked in a chiding manner when I kept quiet.
“Thank you?”
“Yes.  That’s better.  Now that wasn’t too bad, was it?” she said. “And don’t
you think you look nicer?”
“I don’t know,” I said meekly.
“Well, why don’t you have a look.  Go on!” she said bossily, handing me the
compact..
“Oh Sylvia.  I can’t tell,” I said looking in the little mirror.
“Probably because I didn’t put enough on you.  Why don’t you add a little?  Come
along now!  Don’t be silly! Powder your nose!”
And, blushing with shame in surrender, I stood there, peering into the compact
mirror in front of my secretary and daintily powdered my nose.

For the next week or so any time I caught any sign of her reaching for her
compact, I made myself scarce or if I couldn’t escape, quickly picked up my
telephone and placed a call.  She caught me a few times when I wasn’t paying
attention though – I’d turn around, and there she’d be holding the compact out
towards me.  I demurred once, saying that I didn’t see any sense in it, but the
icy glare she gave me scared me so much that my hand was actually trembling when
I powdered my nose a few minutes later.

She explained her fixation on makeup a week or so later when she gave me my very
own compact, a rather pretty one with a container attached that held a lipstick
tube, the compact covered by a plush velvet case in pink.
“I’ve been thinking,” she started.  “You and the other ladies don’t seem to have
much communication between you and, in my opinion, it’s probably because of
gender.  They don’t like men you see and with you being the only one here,
you’re simply the target for all the bad feelings they have about them.”
“But how would powdering my nose here in my office help?”
“Not just here, silly! Out in the main office too!”
“They’d laugh.  Think I was gay!”
“Laugh? I don’t think so.  And if they did?  It would just be a little bit. 
They’d maybe stop seeing you as the all and mighty powerful male then.”

I had to laugh.  “They see ME as an all powerful male figure?  Somehow, I don’t
think so!”
She nodded.  “Maybe not.  But I think it might improve relationships all around
if you tried to meet the other girls half way.  Don’t you agree?”
Her constant use of phrasing that suggested that I was on a par with the other
girls disturbed me, but I couldn’t think of a way to point out why, without
diminishing myself, so simply replied. “But I don’t see how pretending to be
feminine will help me do that.  Doesn’t make sense.”
“But you ARE feminine, are you not, Alan? Otherwise, why would you have been
wearing such nice panties that day I interviewed you?  As a matter of fact, you
seem to have stopped wearing them, and I’ve been wondering why.”

I gulped.  Thought of denying the charge, but knew it was useless. “I was
embarrassed that you found out that I was wearing them.” I admitted.
She looked at me, disbelief all over her face.  “But WHY for goodness sake?  I
felt immediately that you had at least some willingness to relate to the women
here – and I was very impressed!  Not very many men would go to that length.  So
now?  Why do you quibble at putting on a little face powder?  Seems silly to
me!”
“Well?  It seems kinda feminine to me,” I muttered defensively.
She stared at me and shook her head and misinterpreted what I’d said. “Well some
might look on it that way. I considered it a master stroke on your part.  An
attempt to bridge a gap between you and your employees.  If not that, then
perhaps an attempt by you to walk a mile in another man’s shoes – that sort of
thing.  Is that NOT what it was?”

My mind rejoiced! She had read something entirely different into my little cross
dressing adventure.  Could not believe my luck.  I pretended to consider my
answer for a few seconds. Nodded my head.  “Well Sylvia? I can’t honestly say
that either one of these observations is exactly correct, but you really have
caught the essence of what I was trying to do.  Yes.”
“Then why did you stop?”
I gulped and shrugged.  “Embarrassment, knowing you’d found out what I was
wearing – accidentally of course – and might have taken the wrong impression.”
“How nonsensical!  What a masculine reaction!    I simply assumed that you
borrowed a pair of your wife’s from her lingerie drawer?”
“Yes,” I answered shyly, looking down at the floor.
“So it doesn’t mean to say that you were wearing your own panties, does it?”
“No, I guess not,”  I replied.  (Although technically, they had been mine.  Edna
hadn’t liked the type extremely feminine panties she’d bought for me, but she
made the pretense that they were for her, even kept them in her own lingerie
drawer)  So I really wasn’t telling a lie.
“And there were more there?” Sylvia continued.
“Yes.”
She came and put a strong arm around my shoulders.  I was surprised at her
strength as she pulled me into her side.  “You can be such a little silly!” she
purred.  “Give up on a wonderful idea at the first obstacle.  Now starting
tomorrow?  I want you to start wearing panties again, every day.  Nice pretty
ones, like the ones you wore that day.  Where the panty lines will show under
your trousers.”
“Oh Sylvia!  I can’t do something like that!” I protested.
“Yes you CAN!  Of course you can!  You did it that day, didn’t you?  If you
don’t?  I’ll tell all the girls what you wore that day – and explain why, of
course. I’ll just bet that they’ll understand – and appreciate what you’re
trying to do!  Then, once you see how accepting they are, you can start wearing
them regularly.”

For some reason, this sounded more like a threat than an inducement.  “Well,
okay,” I said grudgingly.  “But only for a few days.”
“No.  A month,” she said.
We negotiated and finally agreed to a trial period of three weeks.  As she went
back to her office, she smiled and said.  “Looks like I’ll have to take care of
your program to become successful in your personal relationships with your
employees.”
Little did I know how ominous these words were.

The following day, I did something stupid. Put panties on all right, but not the
bloomer type I’d worn before.  When Sylvia brought my coffee into my office she
found me sitting down.  As she laid my cup on my desk, she smiled.  “Good
morning sir.  Did you put your panties on today?”
I blushed.  “Yes.”
“Would you mind standing up – sir?”
“What for?”
“Well sir, you didn’t see me when you passed by, but I saw you - didn’t see a
nice panty line.  I just wanted to check and make sure you weren’t being
naughty.”
“Well, I’m not!” I said with some asperity.  “I put panties on, just  like you
suggested.”

The smile left her face and she started to come around to my side of the desk. 
“Am I not asking nicely enough – sir?” she said, but coldly.
“Oh – oh Y . Y .Yes,” I stammered.
“Then please do as I tell you?”  She moved a step forward.
“Oh very well then!  If it means that much to you,” I said, but with not a whole
lot of bravado – and stood up, facing away from her.

“Stand still now, “ she said, coming and standing close to me.  Then, with one
hand cupping each buttock, she actually caressed me!  “Mmmm!” she whispered
softly. “How nice!  You are wearing your panties after all! I’m SO sorry for not
believing you sir. What color did you choose?”
“Pale yellow.”
“What material?”
“Satin.”
“How nice! Nice frills around the hems and waistline?”
“Yes.”
“Feel nice on?”
“I guess so, I don’t know.”
“Oh sir!  Here, let me feel,” she said – and reaching around me from the back
she had unzipped my pants and slipped a hand into the opening – then quickly had
pushed my shirt aside and was stroking my erection softly on the outside of my
panties, stopping every so often to fondle the lace at the hems and snap the
elastic there.  “Feels very nice to me, sir,” she said.  “Are you sure it
doesn’t feel the same to you?”
“Please Sylvia – don’t?” I whispered.
“Okay – but only if you promise to wear pretty pink panties tomorrow – just for
me – sir?”
“I don’t think there are any pink ones there,” I said honestly.
“Well, you little silly? There’s LOTS of nice stores where you could buy some,
aren’t there?”
“I guess so,” I closed my eyes and leant backwards into to her strength.
“So you’ll wear nice frilly pink panties for me tomorrow, Ellen?”
“My name’s Alan,” I said weakly.
“Of course it is!  What do you think I called you?”
I blushed. “Oh nothing, I probably made a mistake.”

Her hand left my penis and she snapped the elastic on my panty leg quite hard.
“Ellen?  What do you think I called you.  Tell me!”
“Ellen,” I said.
“No I didn’t!” she laughed, whispering in my ear.  “Ellen’s a girls name!”  Then
she paused for a second.  “Though maybe, touching your nice undies and feeling
you all soft and weak in my arms? Maybe I’m psychologically thinking of you as
being a girl?  You think that might be it – Ellen?”
“I don’t know,” I said helplessly. Locked in her arm and becoming more and more
incapable of extricating myself by the minute.
“Or maybe?  Maybe you’re starting to think of yourself as Ellen – wearing
panties, powdering your nose and all?  Could that be it?”  She pulled me back
into her even harder and I could feel the warmth of her groin against my
backside.  I wasn’t entirely sure – but it felt as if she started to gently hump
against me.  Then after a few beats, she giggled. “Oh my!  You little flirt! 
Stop it!” With that, she withdrew her hand and zipped up my pants, then let me
go.  When I turned around, she was sitting in my chair, behind my desk.  She
smiled possessively at me.  “Time we had a little chat about delegation of
authority, Ellen.  Why don’t you sit and we can have a discussion over our
coffee?”

She started off by stating the obvious – how the company would go through a
great deal of difficulty if anything serious were to happen to me.  I was
flattered of course and, naturally, tried to downplay my importance.  She gave
me a maternal smile and said.  “But if you want to really try to establish a
better rapport with the other ladies – and you do, don’t you?”
“Oh yes!” I assured her, still bridling a little bit about the ‘other ladies’
stuff..
“Well then!  That’s going to take up some of your time, will it not?  And you
don’t want to be getting disturbed and interrupted by signing papers and stuff
like that, do you? Not for tiny, unimportant things, right?”
“Makes sense,” I said, wondering why – I mean, I really had no intentions of
actively trying to establish any kind of rapport with my employees.
“Good!” she said, sliding a piece of paper and a pen across my desk.  “I didn’t
think you’d have any problems with it, so I just typed up a little Delegation of
Authority memo for distribution.
“Mmm,” I said and went to pick it up so that I could read it.
“Ellen?” she said. “Why don’t you just sign it?”
“I was just going to read it, Sylvia,” I said
“ELLEN!”
I signed it, then tried to save face by laughing and saying “I’m delegating to
you, of course?”
“Who else?” she sniffed, taking the paper back.  Now why don’t you call in the
top tier managers?”
“Me?”
“Ellen?  It’s time that you got to know them better, don’t you agree?  Just call
them, would you?”

I felt that I should point out that it was her job as secretary to do this, but
she was staring at me in such an intimidating way, and her voice had shown
evident traces of impatience so that I though it best not to raise the point.
“Want me to call them from your desk?’ I asked meekly.
She looked at her watch pointedly.  “Yeah. Have them come in a half hour from
now.  But then come back in here as soon as you’ve finished.  Something I want
to show you.”

I suppose I was indignant a little too much, and probably showed it.  “Ellen?”
she called after me just as I reached the door.
“Yes?” I replied haughtily.
“You really flounce very well!” she said straight faced, but I heard her giggle
as I turned again and left the office.
After I’d called the four managers, I went back into my (her?) office.  She
pointed to a chair and I sat.  She then came over and stood in front of me then
perched on my desk, her well shod foot swinging negligently.

“You’ve been powdering your nose for a little while now, right  Ellen?”
I nodded.  “A week, maybe ten days.”
“Think the girls have noticed anything?”
“Don’t know.  Hard to say.  I don’t think so.”
She shrugged.  “Oh, I think they probably have.  I mean, it’s hard to see face
powder at times but women have a much better sense of smell than men – and when
I stand close to you, I can smell your powder.  They probably can too.”
I blanched. “You think so?”
“Of course.  But tell me this, have they laughed at you or teased you?”
“No.  Can’t say that they have,” I replied.
“See?  Didn’t I tell you?” she said.  “Now, it’s time for the next step in your
program.”
“Next step?” I asked, a tingle of fearful excitement running through me.
“Yes.  Give me your compact and roll your chair closer to me.”
I took my compact out of my pocket, rolled my chair over a few feet and gave it
to her. “Turn your face up to me Ellen,” she said.

When I did, she took my chin in one hand, moistened the forefinger on the other
with her tongue, then smoothed out my eyebrows in arcs.  “You know Ellen?  It’s
not fair! Curly dark eyelashes, lovely complexion, nice full, kissable lips!
Things that LOTS of girls would die for!”  She paused for a second or two, then
added.  “Aren’t you going to thank me?”
“I’m sorry.  Thank you,” I said, blushing.
“But nothing that can’t use a little enhancement,” she said, opening up the
compact and taking the lipstick out. “Now pout those lips for me, and we’ll make
them even prettier.  Come ON now Ellen!”
“Please Sylvia?  Please don’t!” I mumbled.
“Behave!” she commanded.  “Put your lips together – now, please?”

Slowly and patiently, she applied the cosmetic to my lips.  There, she said
happily and leant back smiling at her handiwork.  Kept the lipstick tube still
opened in one hand and handed me the open compact with the other. What I was
supposed to do was obvious.  I examined my scarlet lips. “It’s awfully red, is
it not, Sylvia?”
“Just the way it should be. Don’t want anybody missing it.  Now there’s
something else,” she said standing.  “Here, take your lipstick and pretend to
touch up your lips.  I don’t want you to mess them up – but I DO want you to
take out your compact and do that during the meeting. Then powder your nose
while you’re at it.”
“In front of everybody?” I complained.
“No.  Not everybody,  Just me and the four managers.  And like I was saying? 
There’s something else I want you to do.”  With that she handed me a small
leather rectangular box..

“What’s this?” I asked suspiciously.
“A nail kit.  Time you started taking better care of your nails.  I want you to
be filing them while the meeting is taking place.”
“Isn’t that considered awfully rude?” I asked, desperately searching for a way
out.
She shook her head.  “Nothing wrong with showing some personal hygiene.  Anyway?
 You’re the boss,  Can do anything you want.  Oh – and here.” She handed me a
small sized silver lame purse.
“What’s this for?” I asked, taking it from her gingerly.
“What do you think?  It’s a cosmetics bag for your makeup and nail kit.  Now
just make sure you carry it with you at all times..”
“At all times?”
“Exactly!  Now put your compact and nail kit in there.”

I was about to complain, but a knock on the door told me that the ladies had
arrived. Hastily, I stuffed the compact and kit into the bag, as Sylvia called
“Come in ladies!”

The four ladies filed in, smiling at first, then looking surprised at the
reversal of normal seating arrangement between Sylvia and I.  All various shades
of blonde.  All in smartly designed skirt suits, high heels, and fashionably
smart.  All youthful, well coiffed with confident predatory eyes. I’d always
been a bit scared of them to tell the truth.  Ashley came in first, followed by
Lynn, Karen, and Anne.  “Hi Alan,”  Lynn said.  “You wanted to meet with us?”
“In answer to your question Lynn?”  Sylvia spoke up before I could answer.
“Ellen has made a decision on delegating authority and has asked me to make the
announcement.”
“Ellen?  Karen giggled.  “You mean . .?” As her eyes caught my lipstick and the
cosmetic bag, she looked a little perplexed.  “Oh!  I see.”  The others looked
where she was looking and their eyes widened for a second.  Ashley looked at 
Karen, a small smile on her lips. “Yes Karen – it’s Ellen.  What else would you
call him?” And they took chairs on either side of me.

I made the mistake of looking at Sylvia while the others were doing this. She
took an exquisitely manicured finger tip and delicately moved it over her lips
without touching them, while staring directly into my eyes –  the meaning of her
gesture very obvious.  I didn’t react quickly enough as a stern look came onto
her face, and she looked as if she was going to say something.

 The sound of the zipper as I opened up the cosmetic bag drew the eyes of the
other ladies in my direction and, though I couldn’t see their faces because I
was avoiding them, I heard a small titter coming from one and the sound of
surprised inhalations as I pulled out my compact, opened it up and stared into
the mirror. Their wasn’t a sound as I then opened the lipstick and advanced the
scarlet tip then using the compact mirror pretended to touch my lips up.  But if
there had been silence when I did this, the quiet as I powdered my nose, for
real, was deafening.

“Finished dear?” Sylvia asked solicitously.
I looked up.  The women around me were looking at me with smiles ranging from
the incredulous to the supercilious, but even these expressions changed when
Sylvia pointed to her nails and smile approvingly as I took out my nail kit and
started to file my nails.
“Very well done, Ellen!” Sylvia said loudly.

Then she explained that, in an effort to make myself more ‘reachable’ I was
delegating all my signature authority to each individual manager – with me
available for any decisions pertaining to overall company policy.  I brightened
up at this.  I wasn’t being stripped of ALL authority by the sound of it,  Then
she added “Well, he’ll be available unless he’s too busy.”
“ Too busy doing what, exactly?  His nails?”  Lynn laughed, followed by the
others.
“That’s not very nice!” Sylvia chuckled. “He’s thinking that if he makes himself
available to you ladies for various tasks, he’ll gradually learn the processes
within the company from the ground up – and get to know the other girls more
quickly.”
“Working for us?  But doing what?”
Sylvia shrugged. “Whatever you tell him to do, would be my guess. Is that
correct, Ellen?”
“Well, I was thinking . .” I started.
“Ellen!  Why don’t you work on your nails?” Sylvia said sternly.
As I blushed and looked down at my nail file, there was a pause.  Then Ashley
said.  “I get him first!”
“But Ashley? You know that Tiffany, my office girl has that big copying
assignment to do – that’s why I had to borrow the office girls from you, Lynn,
and Karen, this morning.”  Anne finally spoke up.  I’m sure that Ellen would be
very valuable helping them out.”

She was sitting closest to me and gave me what had a faint resemblance to a
sympathetic smile and patted me on the thigh. Yes Ellen, why don’t you go and
join the other girls?  Tell Tiffany that I asked you to report to her.  Okay?  
And tell her you’re to have the empty desk right beside her.”
“Yes, off you go.  No sense in sitting around here while us ladies are working!”
Sylvia said.  “Don’t forget your makeup bag!”

I got up from my chair as quietly as I could and started to leave the room. Just
as I reached the door, I heard Karen say.  “Very interesting!  I’m sure that
Ellen is going to be worthwhile addition to our staff!”
“Yeah!” Ashley replied.  “I’m sure she will!” and they all laughed as I closed
the door behind me.

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."