Chapter 2

We left a month later-a little rushed and a lot publicized.

Admittedly we could have made it easier on ourselves, but Vivi and I aren't the type to cut comers. Working on the old advertising trick of "new and better" (read sexier) tours, we wrote and designed a whole new set of brochures for Skinner's, had them printed, and then sent them off to people on our mailing list It cost us thousands but the response was terrific: we were booked solid for the year-beginning with May.

April was the problem, and it was in April that we had scheduled the "new and better" Skinner Special. Most people plan pretty far ahead when it comes to vacations, and the heaviest bookings usually occur in the May to September months. For years we had been pressing for tours in April and October. Vivi and I always thought those were the best months of the year for travel: Europe looks and feels better when its practically de-Americanized.

The Skinner Special was based on two things: an interest in sex and $1,000 to spend on it. Few peo- pie-except for those who either economized or had it in the first place-could afford it, and many of those were only interested in the regular tourist attractions. But somehow, somewhere twenty people always scraped through. This time, however, they had a little over two week's notice, and that was cutting it close. We started with ten and worked our way up to eighteen only two days before we left. At the last minute we got a $2,000.00 check from a couple who lived in Kansas-Hiram and Hannah Smith. That took us aback somewhat: our clientele are usually New York based. All in all they're a fairly sexually sophisticated lot. It's not that we're against moving into new markets; in fact, we're always looking for them. But Kansas ... that was another thing entirely. How the hell did they hear about us? And what did they hear? We were curious, to say the least. I deposited their check, hoping it wouldn't bounce.

The Pan Am 747 jumbo jet was even roomier than we had expected it to be. If you ignored the passengers' seats, it looked like somebody's duplex apartment, designed with an open plan setting. Very lush, very comfortable, and, when the lights went out, very seductive.

The stewardesses were something else altogether. Over the years we had seen hundreds come and go on a score of different airlines. Fashions were always changing, and on each trip I noticed that a little more tit and thigh was showing. In spite of this, most "stews" still stayed in the plastic smiling, sexless robot class.

Except these. God only knows who hired them or brought them together on this trip, but he or she must have been a flesh fancier extraordinaire. One was stacked and well-thighed even more than the next, and all of them seemed so willing to'please.

It wasn't as if they were trying to hide what was up front and down under. No sir. Their outfits-tight, ribbed sweaters, hip-hugging midiskirts with the buttons opened to the crotch, and knee-length boots -only accentuated what was there, and that was certainly more than one man could handle. When I saw that a few of them weren't wearing any bras, I nearly choked on my scotch.

I looked around me to see the general reaction. Vivi looked calmly back at me, but I could see that her eyes were lit up in that curious way that most men (and some women) possess when confronted with a sexual possibility.

From my aisle seat at the beginning of the Economy Section, I could only see about half of the people in the group. To our left sat Mary Lerner, a precocious, Lolita-like pout on her face, a glass of tomato juice in her hand. To our right were Dick Tucker and Pat Spooner, a nice-looking couple who let it be immediately known that they were engaged. Dick's hand was on Pat's knee and she was whispering in his ear.

Directly behind us sat the Buschells and the Gros-sells. The women (Mirium and Gertie) were yelling at each other across their husbands about another friend of their kid's who just had an abortion. Myron and George were gesturing to one another and winking; Myron licked his lips when one of the stew* ardesses bent down to ask him if he wanted another drink.

Behind the Buschells were the Phillips, a handsome Black couple dressed in the latest weird chic. They were talking to one of the single women-Kit Fisher-who seemed intent upon looking at the opening between the short, dark stewardess' legs. I couldn't blame her: Jenny (the stew) was some honeypot. If Kit didn't get to her first (and she looked like the type that wanted to), I certainly would make something more than a pass at her before we landed in London.

Behind Kit and Lester and Billie Phillips were Sadie Sharp and Alex Sexton, both on aisle seats, both middle-aged, and both recently divorced. These two had struck up a conversation when the plane took off and it seemed, from the way they were touching each other, that they would eventually end up between the sheets. Now, however, Sadie- a brassy blonde with a body you could easily lose yourself in-was playing it a little coy. Her eyes- when she wasn't giving Alex innocently meaningful looks-were everywhere; she seemed to be checking out the situation, especially with the younger men. I sensed that if Sadie was given a chance, she would put out for anyone who looked like fair game. I filed that thought for the time being.

Two of Sadie's prospects sat behind and diagonally across from her. John Thorne and Thomas Knox, lawyers in their mid-thirties, were handsome in a rugged way, very self-assured, and, one could see, quite well off. They seemed to be dividing their time between two young secretaries-Francie Rivers and Christie Wells-and two of the more buxom but less attractive stewardesses. The secretaries reeked with radical chic: Sassoon hairstyles, polo shirts, and tailored dungarees. Both were braless, but that was understandable, given what they were into. Francie was taller, with points for breasts. Christie was better endowed, with nicely rounded tits and a real seat for an ass. There was something about the shape of her hips that made me think she could really move them. I'd have to find out to be sure.

Harold Palmer, a nondescript guy, was sitting behind Christie. Every once in a while he leaned out and oogled at her and then sank back in a cloud of frustration. He seemed to spend a lot of his time scratching his balls.

To Harold's right, all the way over by the window, was Peter Poynter. Thin and fair, almost aen-imic, he seemed vaguely uncomfortable and very shy. During the three hours we had been in the air, I noted that he had consumed more than a fair share of gin.

Finally, all the way in the back, were Hiram and Hannah Smith. Perfectly composed American Gothics, the Smiths ate cautiously, drank cautiously, and spoke cautiously. And yet, when the lights went out I saw Hiram reach under Hannah's flared, flowered dress and play with her pussy. I wondered if he learned that down on the farm.

"Well?" whispered Vivi, putting her hand over mine.

I turned around in my seat to look at her and saw that she was stifling a smile. I gave her a broad grin.

"Looks pretty promising," I commented quietly, again glancing around. All the overhead lights had been dimmed, and except for a few reading lights that were still on, our section was dark.

Vivi put her hand between my legs, her palm resting on my stem. I went hard instantly, a warm feeling creeping into my thighs.

"I think so too," she said. "And he does as well," she laughed, caressing my hard-on.

"Now Vivi, let's not start this thing off on the wrong foot. This is your tour just as much as it is mine, and I don't want you to feel that I'm stopping you from doing anything I wouldn't do."

"Stopping me from doing anything!"

"Keep your voice down, Vivi."

"That's a laugh, Vic. When have you ever made me feel inhibited about anything that had to do with sex?"

"I just thought.. *

"You just thought-ha! What you're afraid of is that I'll cut into your score, and who knows, I just might."

I thought about what Vivi said for awhile. I'm a pretty egotistical guy, and I know that I almost always get what I'm after. Vivi is much the same herself. The only difficulty I could see was if we went after the same person, or if the same person played both ends. Things might turn a little sour then if we let our egos get in the way; I really hoped we wouldn't.

I looked at Vivi. She was drowsy and about to drop off to sleep. I decided not to disturb her as I didn't think it worthwhile to pursue the matter any further.

I sank back in my seat, my eyes half closed. Through the partially open curtain that divided our section from the one before it I could see Jenny reaching up to get a blanket for a fat, old man. The blanket was all the way back in the rack and I heard her ask the man if she could step on his seat to get it. He got up immediately and reached up but he too couldn't get it

Jenny stepped onto the seat, stood on her toes, and stretched. She seemed to grasp hold of it but she didn't pull it out. Then she groaned and made a face like a sensuous pixie. For a split second I saw her naked in my mind's eye; she was playing hide and seek behind the trees, running from one to the other in a flash of flesh. Again I.felt the distinct thrust of a hard-on and I got up to help her.

"Here, let me get it down for you," I said, appearing from between the curtains.

"Oh thank you," she said merrily, "but I'm determined to do it this time."

She put one foot on the arm-rest. Her skirt parted and I caught a glimpse of her small but well-formed thigh. Then she grasped onto the rack and quickly pulled out the blanket A pillow toppled down and the old man caught it. She started to get down but she lost her balance. I caught her around the waist, marvelling how tiny it was, and helped her down. One hand glanced her pert little ass; my cock gave a slight thrust.

Jenny thanked me with a nod, told the man to sit down, and arranged the blanket and pillow. Then she looked up at me. Her look was more than friend-

"Uh, can I have a drink?" I asked, thinking quickly. I knew that the bar was closed, but if she agreed to open it for me then I could take it from there.

Jenny didn't answer me. Instead she gave me a cool once-over and, apparently satisfied, she wiggled her finger for me to follow her.

I watched her ass as it swayed back and forth down the aisle and then up the stairs to the bar. I could feel myself rising and I felt strangely excited at the thought of putting my cock into her-if she'd let me.

She opened the bar and made me a scotch and water; I was glad that she remembered my drink. I offered her a cigarette.

"Uh, uh," she said, "it's against regulations. They'd ground me if they found out I was smoking while I was on duty."

I lit one for myself and exhaled. "And what else is against the regulations?" I asked.

She gave me her sexy pixie look and said, "Mr. Skinner... ."

"Call me Vic."

"Vic," she said, a laugh in her voice, "you're just as aware as I am of the regulations; package people always are, and you especially"

"Why me?" I asked blithely.

"Skinner's Tours are absolutely notorious. Lots of the girls always try to line up at least one flight a year with them. And you know why." I

"Tell me," I challenged her, knowing full well that some of our customers start their vacation from the moment they step on the ramp.

Jenny smirked and then took my cigarette from my lips and stubbed it out Then she led me further back into the lounge and seated me on the soft, circular couch. Hurriedly she walked over to the light switch and flicked off all but one. Then she turned around and walked towards me, crossing her arms and lifting her sweater over her head. For a split second the light shone on her olive skin, illuminating her perfectly rounded breasts, her dark brown areolas, and her button-like nipples. Then she walked into the darkness, and when she reappeared, I saw that she had unbuttoned her skirt and let it fall behind her.

I stood up and put my arm around her. Jenny was small, the top of her head barely reaching my shoulder. Her flesh felt warm and smooth and very tight. She was tembling slightly.

I downed the scotch in a gulp, feeling the burning liquor course through my body. Time was short; we would have to skip the preliminaries. If Jenny was discovered, she'd be grounded for life.

I felt her reach down and unzip my fly and open the snap. My cock was raging and it leapt out when she pulled down my pants. In the dim light it looked like a sabre.

"Wow!" she exclaimed. She took my hard stem between her hands and whistled admiringly at my cock. "You are big. Wow. Are you big."

She touched my cock lightly and I could see that she was staring at it incredulously. If I didn't put it into her soon we'd end up spending the next few hours with her regarding it in wonder.

I took the waistband of her tights between my finger and inched them and her underpants down over her thighs. Her hips were slim, almost bony, and I hoped that she would be big enough for me to get into her.

I lifted her and lay her down on the couch. I unzipped her boots, pulled them off, and threw them onto the floor. Then I pulled down her tights and tossed them aside.

She lay there looking defenseless and yet very resolved. Each time she glanced at my pounding prick her eyes grew large. I stripped within a few seconds and stood over her, ready to pounce on my prey.

I eased myself on top of her and she opened her legs out wide. She was wet and I could feel her juicy cunt against my belly. She was breathing hard and she groaned deeply when I aimed my prick at her and gave her a prepatory thrust.

"Please, please don't hurt me* she whispered.

"You're so big. I don't know if I can take all of you."

"Don't worry, Jenny; 111 be gentle," I said easing myself into her. She was small and tight but fully wet; I could make it.

Quickly I rubbed her lower lips, opening her up with my middle finger. With each thrust I went deeper and deeper into her and I heard her moan "Jee-zus, Jee-zus." Then I pushed her thighs apart till they could go no further. She moaned and I thrust into her with my prick, again and again, until I felt myself go all the way in. She closed around me like a tight-fitting glove.

"Now," I said to her, ramming my pulsating prick into her hot, wet womb. "Now," I repeated, moving faster and hitting her pubic bone.

"Wow, wow, wow," she whispered, "this is so great. You're filling me up with that big prick of yours. Wow."

I slowed down slightly, knowing that I would come if I didn't stop for a bit. Her cunt lips closed around my lower stem and I felt a spasm rip through her small, delicate body. She dug her fingers into my back and it was then that I knew we would have to go on.

I pulled myself up onto my knees, cupped her ass in my hands, and lifted her up a few inches. She felt light and totally relaxed, but I could see that she was poised for the kill.

I aimed myself at her once again and plunged into her. Jenny accepted me completely, growing wider with each thrust

"Fill me, fuck me," she whispered excitedly, "Wow. What a man, what a prick."

My cock seemed to grow inside of her and I rammed into her brutally. She started to move her hips but then became passive, taking my thrusts with tremors of delight.

"Oh, oh, I'm going to come; oh shit, Tm coooom-ing," she suddenly cried out.

I rammed into her again and again and again. She shook violently, cursed and laughed, and then cried happily.

At the sound of her laughter my cock shivered and I exploded into her.

"Now," I yelled.