The curtains were drawn for a reason.
Not that anyone could see through the windows anyways; the honeymoon suite at this elevation was practically a fortune, but still, thought Monsieur Pierre Baudelaire, ambiance can be a vital instrument in these sort of circumstances…
The tall, impossible to dress foreigner groaned deeply in his final hunt over a blind and muzzled, leather hooded groom strapped face down to the heart-shaped bed…
Pierre pulled his thick, deranged manhood from the miniscule little boy-pussy of the groom with a slurping wet pop, allowing the faceless whimpering inferior to gasp in relief.
The ungodly shake, creamed with buttery issue, drawn from his fly as Pierre took a step back from the gaping hole, and ran his bejeweled fingers through his wet mop of black hair.
“Not a bad fuck for a pretty little groom,” cheered Pierre, patting the tender cheeses.
“Mmmm!” the helpless sub groaned in pain, tingles joltinghim against his restraints.
Pierre’s grin, a red slash of a mouth, curved like the blade of a silk in delight to see the hurt boy-pussy catching its breath. Its pursued lips inhaled and exhausted like a blooming flower.
“Ah, springtime in the winter,” he sniggered. “And how are you faring with that adorable new bride, my darling Maurice?”
Pierre glanced over his shoulder at the second man in the honeymoon suite.
“Lovely, my lord. Just loved,” replied Pierre’s faithful man service, Maurice, a black behemoth of a man, in his usual baritone voice.
Pierre grinned for, presently, Maurice was sitting back on a velvet chain locke near the far wall of the suit, his walnut shaped face cracked in a wry grin. Strewn on the floor beside him was a wedding gown, and the face in his lap belonged to a blindfolded bride, stripped of her dress and clad in white stockings and garters, who busy slathered over an unconquerable cock.
Her hands were cinchedBehind her back, just as her her ankles were cinched together as well, and she laid longways across the chain locke, willfully submitting to Maurice’s cock.
“Wonderful,” Pierre beamed, and then turned his attention back to the helpless groom, whose creamy ass had been propped up on the bed under a stiff cylindrical pillow silk under his tummy.
Where the tuxedo pants hand been ripped open, the plump red-spanked buttocks presented like the engorged hindquarters of a baboon.
“You’ll have to bill me for the pants, my friend,” he sniggered.
“Mmmmm!” the groom groaned.
Maurice chuckled, looking down as the bride choked and sputtered, unable to swallow even half of the ten-inch pipe. And, despite knowing this, Maurice still hold her down with one hand on her head while his other hand slide Between her thighs, and catered to her clip as the sounds of her own moaning spurred her on.
Pierre stood his blood-drained, uncut cock back into his trousers, and smiled at the groom.
“Just look at you, my little sissy groom,” said Pierre, as he lowered to get a better view of the groom’s undercarriage.
There he saw the once proud cock so unfortunately smoked in the tiny little cage, hanging between his thighs like a pocket full of change. Dabs of pre-cum marred the pillow.
“Your little cock is positively dripping, enjoying the view of the hapless sub from this angle. He gave the cage a little jangle. “Does that hurt?” He sniggered.
“MMMM!” A wonderful little fee cry escaped from behind the leather hood, as the groom suffered the bundled-up manhood swinging to and fro like a pendulum.
“Oh, stop your complaining,” Pierre said. “Be happy it was only you who took the cock, and not your darling new wife, my friend.”
Pierre strolled to a desk where some papers were spread out, and a pen lay waiting.
“But now, I am familiarized,” he said, signing each of three documents. “It is time for brunch,I am afraid.
“Mmmppff?!” pleased the groom, as if to say, “You can’t leave us here like this?”
“Oh, hush. I’m sure housekeeping will be around to check on you two soon.” Pierre was throwing on his suit blazer. He glanced over at Maurice.
“Come, Maurice.”
At once, Maurice rose, his black python slithering out of the bride’s open mouth.
The bride lolled forward onto her belly, tittering unbalanced with her hands and feet bound. She suddenly peered around blind, cock-less and confused. Her wide sensitive mouth was still gaped, and reaching, as if hoping to find the massive cock again.
“Sorry, darling, but the fun is over. We must be going,” said Pierre.
The bride scooted to the edge of the chain lounge, blindly moving her head about the room.
“The deal is complete?” she asked, almost with the innocent of a virgin, but after seeing her skill with a cock, Pierre was certain she was not.
“Yes, the deal is done, darling. You and your hsband now own a vast share of the land holdings just outside of the Rocky Mountain Districts.”
“Thank you, Monsieur.”
“Yes, you are both very welcome.”
Pierre turned to the leather hooded, caged, and bound groom played out across the heart-shaped bed, and said, “I hope you and your darling new wife have enjoyed our little wedding exchange, my friend. I am sure, you and Mrs. Del Mar will live a long, and luxurious life together. For now, I bid you adieu.”
“Mmm?!” the groom moaned.
“The locks on the restraints are on a time-lock. You have fifteen minutes left. Don’t fret. You will get free.”
Pierre paused, and divided in awe of the wonderfully beautiful bride, who was tied up and half-naked in the lacey white lingerie, and just sitting alone on the chain locke…
Ripe for the plucking, he thought. He could envision it now, every morning he would wake in his castle in the mountains with this woman’s luscious red lips on his cock, satisfying him tohis wits end.
He leaned into Maurice, and whispered. “Drug her, gag her, and bring her. I want her for my collection.”
Maurice need not hear anymore. He retrieved a ball gag from his pocket, and went to the defenseless, unbeknownst woman as Pierre never looked back as he exited the room.
Outside, along the wall of the hallway, a row of men in expensive suits waited.
Pierre nodded to each of them as they passed by, handing him an envelope. And one by one they entered the honeymoon suite to get what they paid for: the groom’s divided ass.
“Don’t critic him, fallas,” Pierre chuckled, standing the envelopes in his inside pocket as he continued down the hallway.
A moment later, Maurice exited the room, joining Pierre with the bride dragged over his shoulder. She didn’t seem to be putting up a fight at all, and to this Pierre grinned.
Mrs. Del Mar was totally doped.
Three hours earlier…
As the rumble of the big jet airliner long since faded away, the Virgin Airlines flight 187 cruised over the North Atlantic, leaving in its wake the dreadful thought of Paris, and the bitter taste of which it left in Mya Green’s mouth.
All things must pass, the tension, dark-skinned Bostonian reminded herself.
All things must pass. That was her mantra for the time being, something simple yet proved enough to semi-soothe her black ass from self-deprecating turmoil.
Mya had been repeating the damn line to herself of the better part of an hour; glaring intently out the small window into the big cruel world, hardly enjoying the decadence of the sea before her.
She crossed her long nylon clad legs, seeing, rattling the plastic cup of half-melted ice in her hand. Thinking of Paris, and how – All things must pass…
But when? And how? Mya grumbled to herself.
She had taken a devastating blow, to her life, to her self-esteem, to her delicate ego!
Losing a job was tough, everyone goes through it, but losing what was blossoming into a bright career at a company that had a report that once graced the pages of Forbes…
That was something all on its own. That was failure 101. That was universally known.
And when does that feeling pass? She asked. When does hard work, success, and perseverance finally win out? When do I get what I deserve?
Mya broke on that Thought a moment. Then, shit, she thought. Now I feel spoiled, like a whiny ungrateful bitch, which is very unlike me, but hell – that’s how I’m feeling right now, she reasoned.
But all things must pass… Right? She thought, considered, and realized – No! All things don’t pass. And what kind of bullshit mantra was that? I mean come on, she thought. She loved George Harrison, but damn – easier said than done, Beatle-boy!
Mya slammed the plastic cup on the tray table, fed up with it, and looked around to see if one of the flight attendants was anywhere in sight so that she could order anotherr cognac, and this time a double.
All she wanted to do right now was curl up right there in the bucket seat of the Virgin Atlantic flight and bawl her sorry little eyes out.
If I would have just let that scumbag Pierre Baudelaire have me, like he wanted; then right now I’d wouldn’t be sulking on my way back to Boston to look for a new apartment, I’d be at brunch, eating croissants and sipping Mimosas with my new client…
Mya’s eyes dampened as she recalled what Pierre had tried to do to her, but she had resisted the brute, and was proud of herself, but now she had no job, and no prospects. But at least I stood my ground, she thought. Whatever that means…
“Would you like another cocktail, miss?” a pretty voice above her asked.
Mya turned to face an ample pair of breasts so near to her mouth that she could have taken a bite of the juicy mounds. Her eyes trailed upward to see the blessed owner of the breasts was a smiling flight attendant who leaned on the back of her seat.
Mya wiped her eyes real fast. “Um, yes, please,” she stuttered, clearing her throat, and forcing a smile. “Another, please. A double,” she added.
“Alrighty, I’ll be right back with that.” The flight attendant stroke off.
Mya noticed as the woman left a run in her nylons, but she didn’t want to say anything. She didn’t know this woman; plus, flight attendants work crazy long shifts, sometimes back-to-back, and probably have very little time to worry about such things.
The flight attendant set the double cognac down, and turned to leave when Mya raised a finger. “Miss,” she called.
“Yes?” the woman replied, turning back to Mya.
“How long until we land at Boston Logan?”
“Um, let me check that for you real quick.” She consulted a tablet. “Looks like we have clear skies all the way to Boston. Chances of inclement weather are slim, so we should be set to arrive in approximately two hours, and forty-three minutes.” She smiled. “Is there anything else I can get for you, miss?”
“Yeah – a noise?” Mya quipped, twice, chuckling to herself as she throw back a swallow of cognac.
The flight attended granted a smile. The joke was morbid, and didn’t quite land, she thought, but sarcasm had become a second language her. She leaned against the overhead bin.
“Having a rough morning?” she asked, sensing the answer already.
“Excuse me?” Mya asked.
“Have you had a rough morning?” the woman repeated, a calming smile on her round pretty face.
“Oh. I’m sorry about the noise comment. I shouldn’t be joking like that. I’m just in a bad place right now.”
“Care to share?”
“Well, okay. Um, I missed out on a great opportunity, a real game changer in my life, and well, I blew it. So now I’m just walking over here, and I can’t even pretend to know what my next move is. So…” Mya stopped, feeling too many words spinning out of her mouth. “I’m sorry. Don’t mind me. I’ll let you do your job.”
“Don’t sweat it. Believe me,” the flight attendant said. “I completely understand how you feel. I’m Helen by the way,”‘ she said, extending a hand.
“Hi, Helen,” said Mya, shaking the soft hand. “I’m Mya.”
“Well, Mya, I might have a few odd years on you, but let me tell you a little secret.” Helen leaned forward as if she as about to reveal the secrets of the universe. Mya was all ears.
“I didn’t always want to be a flight attendant,” she whispered with a cute crooked smile.
Mya laughed. Now Helen was the one joking.
“It’s true,” Helen said. “I missed my chance at a great opportunity too, years ago, and I’ve never stopped beating myself up for not getting back up, dusting off my skirt, and carrying on. But you, Mya, you look like you still got some fight left in you.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes. It’s the eyes. They never lie. Like a window into your heart. You haven’t given up yet.”
“Awe,” cried Mya. She felt herself soften a little to hear such kind words from a stranger. “Thank you for that,” she said. “Honestly, I know I do. It just feels like I’m in a free fall at the moment.”
“It happens to all of us. But the trick is not to beat yourself up about it. I mean, you could be a flight attendant,” she joked. “And believe me, us girls would love to have a pretty little thing like you in the short skirt with us, serving cocktails, cracking jokes. We could really use the help.”
Mya let out a real laugh, and took a small sip of her cognac.
Helen placed a hand on Mya’s shoulder. “But if you feel as I feel in those days, when I was ready for bigger things, then pick yourself up, dust your skirt off, and get back out there.”
“Wow. Thank you, Helen,” Mya said, touched, and a little teary eyed she had to admit. “You don’t know how much I needed to hear that,” she said, dabbing her eyes with a napkin. “Thank you, Helen.”
“You’re welcome. But for now, relax, kick off your heels, and blow off some steam. I’ll be around if you need me. Just give me a shout, okay.”
Mya caught Helen’s smile. It was infectious, and soothing, Mya thought, a breath of fresh air.
“I appreciate that, Helen. Thank you,” Mya said.
Helen turned to move toward the back of the plane, when Mya said, “Oh, Helen.”
Helen looked back as Mya reached into her attaché case, and pulled out a brand-new packet of nylons. She offered them out to Helen. “Here.”
Helen cocked an eye. “Stockings?”
“Yeah, I only have the thigh-highs on me at the moment, but I noticed you had a run.”
“Oh?” Helen glanced over her shoulder, and saw the run in her nylons laddering from the back of her two-inch work heel all the way up the back of her flexed Calf.
“Oh my,” she murmured, then turned to Mya with a warm smile.
“They’re seamless, too,” add Mya. “Very soft.”
“Thank you, Mya. Wow. You have no clue how often that happens. The airline’s always on our asses about professornalism. Thanks for heads up.”
“Anytime,” Mya smiled.
Helen hugged the packet close to her chest, and scooted off, swinging her ample hips as she ambled down the aisle.
Mya felt better already. She sipped her cognac, and slide over the empty seat to the window to gaze out at the North Atlantic, marveling at the vastness of the rich, deep blue sea. Such unadulterated beauty, she Thought, always quietly churning so many miles below.
After a ten, or so minutes Helen swung by, and placed an unordered cocktail on the tray table. She grinned. “Just in case,” she said, and continued down the aisle.
Mya barely had time to say thank you before Helen had already whisked away, but she did notice Helen’s freshly clad legs, however.
She had changed into the new stockings, and Mya admitted how the sheer charcoal hue of the nylons worked their magic on the contours of Helen’s shaped legs; compared to the drag matte black standard issue hose she was wearing before.
The woman had gams, Mya smiled, lifting the plastic cup, and sipping the fresh double-cognac. It was perfect; nice and strong with lots of ice.
She pushed her seat back a skosh to comfortably recline, and thought of how there was only three hours left to go until her flight arrived in Boston.
From there she would go back to her apartment, and avoid the world for a few hours until one of her Girlfriends caught wind of the bad news, and begged her to let her take her out and paint the town red with Vengeance.
But she didn’t know if she would be up for it by then.
Mya giggled when she saw Helen approach down the aisle, granting a forced smile to each passenger as passed, but when she came closer to Mya, she drew a finger across her throat, and let her tongue fall out, and then grinned.
Hilarious, Mya thought.
She liked Helen. She appreciated a woman of her caliber. Mya valued her life experience, and the kind words she shared that deeply affected her. Pragmatic. Simple. Reassuring. That was all Mya needed to “dust her skirt off”.
My smiled, feeling loved again. Such a cathartic experience for such a brief exchange, she thought. But maybe, just maybe, it was the cognac romanticizing her thoughts, but something about Helen’s confidence was devastatingly sexy.
As Mya relaxed, and nursed the cognac, she couldn’t help but Wonder what Helen would have done with her life if she hadn’t become a flight attendant.
The woman was by far intelligent, and very aware of herself, and those deep almond brown eyes showed bright with life, thought Mya. The woman was just so darling, a wholesome beauty, with such natural poise, and grace…
Suddenly, Mya couldn’t help but imagine what bestial sounds Helen would make in the teeth-baring throes of a passwordate love-making. The woman would be – Mya stopped.
It was the cognac, she giggled, thinking that I just met this woman, and already I’m picturing her naked. Conjuring scenes as if her and I would sometimes lay…
Mya laughed at herself.
Although her tensions were indeed uncoiling, and the thought of Helen’s legs wrapped around her face enflamed her, Mya knew it would be best to get some rest for the remainder of the flight.
Oddly, as if sensing this, Helen appeared all of a sudden, and offered a pillow and blanket to Mya.
“I Thought you might want to rest up a bit until we get to Boston Logan,” she said. “I have these for you just in case.”
“Thank you so much,” Mya said, smiling with her eyes and cheeses. “I think I will close my eyes after all. Start letting this day go.”
“Absolutely,” Helen smiled. “A little rest never hurt.”
“Yes, and Helen?”
“Yes, love?’ Helene said.
Mya blushed, then said, “I just want to say that your words really helped out. I’ve been down in the dumps for the past twenty-four hours, and I just wanted to say what a blessing it is to have met you.”
Helen leanedforward, smiling brightly. “You know, Mya, I would have to agree. I don’t make many friends in this line of work. Partly because I meet so many people from so many walks of life that it’s nearly impossible to keep up with them, but I really like. It’s nice to meet another woman whose heels I once walked in, so to speak.”
“Exactly,” Mya said. “What’re the chances.”
“Oh!” Helen burst like a bubble. “I have to tell you how much I love these stockings! They’re so light and airy it hardly feels like I’m wearing anything at all.” She smiled. “I saved the packet so I can buy a few pairs of my own.”
“Hey, I’m glad you like them, Helen.”
“There just perfect. Thank you, Mya.”
It was brief, but something between the two women, an old-fashioned feeling, sparked as they lingered on each other’s eyes for much longer than expected.
“Well then,” said Helen, clearing throat, and shaking off the spell. “I’ll let you get some rest, and I’ll check in on youin a little while. Sound good?”
Mya smiled up at her. “Yes, sounds wonderful.”
“Alright, you. Sleep tight.”
Helen rubbed Mya’s should, and then carried on.
Mya showed, clinging the loving warmth she felt inside of her for the moment.
Time to rest; she pulled the window blind shut, and then, leaning over, she unbuckled the little ankle straps of her heels, and slide them off one by one, massaging her feet. She set the heels neatly aside, and then fluffed the airline pillow, propping it up against the window. She curled her peach nylon legs up onto the seat, and throw the blanket over herself, nuzzling her head, and closing her eyes.
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