Chapter 2
Cathy suckled her captain's cock very slowly at first, until she got used to having such a large foreign object in her mouth. The member swelled with the heat and moisture of her mouth, and the captain kept poking it in and out so that sometimes she found it hard to breathe.
"Work your tongue around on it," Mac-Adams told her.
She began encircling the glans with her tongue, tasting the seeping precoital fluid, savoring its lemony tartness. The blond stewardess held the captain's balls in one hand and with the other stroked the base of his shaft, the tactile sensation strange to her, yet deeply satisfying in a way she couldn't explain.
MacAdams wondered at his own horniness. Normally, he would have taken a new stew into the private sleeping cabin, balled her, and that would have been the end of it. It was usually quick, fairly passionless and over in about five or ten minutes. He had done this on a hundred flights, the girls' faces all blurs to him. He was happily married, had four children, he and his wife had sex when he was home, and this had always been enough. The ritual of "breaking in" a new stew was routine to him. Sometimes he let his co-pilot Randy Keller, who was much younger, unmarried, and much handsomer, handle the ritual, but he himself kept his hand in to establish that he was the captain. Also, most of the fledgling stews thought it a privilege to ball the captain on their first flight.
But there was something about this honey blonde, Cathy Merritt, that he couldn't explain to himself. Was it that she was a virgin? Or that she reminded him, somehow, of his own sixteen-year-old daughter, Sheila? Sheila was a budding young woman and he felt her sexual presence at home more than he should. Was Cathy a way of displacing his sexual feelings toward his own daughter? Chuck MacAdams didn't know. He didn't want to know.
He shoved his cock back against Cathy's throat, heard her gag and then was immediately sorry he had taken out his thoughts against her. His blood was tingling with fire. Her mouth on his shaft was moist and deeply satisfying. He wondered if he was man enough to ejaculate again so soon. He was forty-five and not the man he used to be, although he was virile enough and in good health.
Cathy soon became accustomed to the captain's rhythm, his desire. She began to suck his cock in earnest, delighting in the feel of its swollen length going into her mouth, touching the back of her throat. She pulled with her lips on the mushroomed head of it, raking her teeth gently along the veins and flesh, tonguing the tip of it when it pulled away from her throat, squeezing it with her lips when it drove back in. She could feel the energy of it, the urgency of his lust. Deep down between her legs a fire raged, and the juices flowed once again. Each time she pulled on the stiffened mass of flesh, she spasmed in orgasm, a sense of power and joy flooding through her, intermingling like rare wine and rich honey. She wanted to tell him how grateful she was, how happy he made her, giving her this, this huge cock that grew in her mouth as though she herself were commanding it to swell and fatten.
The captain increased the speed of his strokes. He pumped into her mouth, holding her head tightly with both hands, driving her back down on the bunk. Her neck muscles stretched taut, her cheeks felt like sand from the exertion of her suction. He watched her sucking him, her eagerness apparent. He slid from her mouth and lay beside her on the bunk. She seemed to be in a daze, a somnambulist in a half-state of wakefulness. MacAdams thought she acted like a woman on drugs.
"Here," he said gently, "you'll be more comfortable this way."
She just stared at him, her eyes glazed as though stoned, her mouth quivering and moist.
He lay on his back, his erection slick and gleaming with saliva, while she devoured his shaft. Cathy seemed to be mesmerized by his organ, by the act of sucking it. This position gave her more freedom of movement, more opportunity to control the act of fellatio. She sucked his cock deep into her throat, seemingly desirous of swallowing its entire length.
Cathy sucked at the captain's cock as though it were a growing thing. She sought its warm juices, gulped its fleshy stalk like a person dying of thirst. She hadn't absorbed the impact of the experience as yet, she was merely responding to the excitement this pulsing, magnetic organ held for her. She grasped it with clawing fingers, she poked it deep into her throat, she slavered over it, licking its flared head with relish, tonguing the juices up into her mouth as they seeped forth, delighting in the response born of her own mouth's manipulations.
She began to sigh with pleasure as the captain's body writhed prior to ejaculation. She could feel his jism boiling in the sac that held his testicles, could feel the gathering explosion that she so wanted. Her own loins undulated in an erotic rhythm that made her pop with climaxes, sudden little cracklings that made her cunt steam with exciting oils, made it twitch like her mouth. Indeed, she equated her cunt with her mouth at that moment, her tongue with her clit. She wanted to totally devour the captain, swallow him from both ends so that she gushed like some Yellowstone geyser. She had lost all reason on the end of his cock. Its fullness in her mouth and throat blotted out all sensible thought. She lived only for the pleasure of the moment, for the racking orgasms that ripped through her body in a series of concatenated fireballs.
"Oh, Cathy," the captain suddenly exclaimed, "I can't hold it back, you're going to get the whole load."
She heard his words and desire turned her stomach into a gelatinous mass of quivering eagerness.
"Let me have it, all of it," she gasped, before swallowing his spit-soaked cock deep into her open throat.
"You're getting it. Now!" he yelled, his body bucking with orgasm.
She felt his cock quicken, like molten lava suddenly freed from a volcano's core, and sucked the shaft deep. She wondered what it would be like, what to expect. There was something there, she knew, she could taste it, feel it: a surging, a tide that swelled from a distant sea. She strangled on the huge swollen trunk she had swallowed, gasped for air without caring whether she could breathe or not. She tensed and swallowed, as if sensing the moment when he would ejaculate into her throat. She didn't question the strangeness of this. It was as if she had communicated with the captain through his sex organ. She felt his passion, she sensed his coming ejaculation. She wanted it. Wanted it all.
The captain buckled in spasms of orgasm. He drove his cock deep as he looked down at the stewardess. She was so like a young girl, like his own daughter. She blurred in his eyes as his jism, flocked as snow, catapulted from his cock. Her eyes were closed and her hair soft and he didn't care anymore. He wanted her to choke, to gag on the whole load. It was all too much for him. He bent over her, touched her hair and watched her take his sperm into her throat. His body keened like a wind through high tension wires. Spume and spume, the floury sperm flowed again, somehow, and he was amazed. He was grateful.
Cathy choked on the first rush of his come.
It kept coming, splattering against the walls of her throat, clogging her windpipe, flowing down into her stomach. The captain's cock rammed and struggled, like a creature in the throes of a seizure. She grasped it tightly with her mouth and sucked it even deeper, wanting to consume it, to keep it in her mouth forever. She swallowed the hot milky sperm and sucked for more. It was like being born again, like coming from the desert onto an oasis flowing with thick honey.
She let the come flow.
She let the light come into her darkness. All the young years faded away, washed by the steaming tide of his jism, the milk and honey washing the desert of her shyness away in a floodtide of hot rivulets. In that moment of fountains, she knew she was a woman and she hungered on his cock as it erupted, drank at his spring, suppered greedily on his meat as if it were her last supper, instead of the first.
Her mouth worked wildly at his cock during the fading moments of his climax. She drank of his juices, impaled herself on his dying stalk, sucking every ounce of sperm into her throat as if the milky substance was a vitamin supplement, necessary to her own life.
The captain fell away from her, sated, his heart pounding in his chest.
Cathy watched him, with sadness, her mouth cloudy with the milk of his pleasure. Her eyes were glazed with a lust that still boiled in her pubic regions.
"Oh, my," she murmured, "oh Captain, sweet sweet man!"
MacAdams sat there, puffing for breath, thinking distant thoughts of his daughter, his wife's face fading like a portrait kept too long in a wallet. He couldn't speak. He just sat there, his cock shiny as silk in oblique light, limp as a fallen glove. His chest moved up and down with the effort of his breathing. The sounds of the jet engines drowned out the fast pumping of his heart.
Cathy looked at him through blurred eyes. There was a film over her eyes that she couldn't blink away. He danced here, before her, like some monument she had constructed out of sand. She looked longingly at his cock, which was falling into the wet matted hair of his crotch, small and shriveled, drained of life. She felt very sad about that. She remembered how it had felt, hard, in her mouth, and pressing against her throat, diving down deep like a torpedo.
"Ahh," she moaned, and got up from the bunk, her body frail in the half-light, delicate as a young tree, flushed with light from her passion, still, elusive, yet like a winged creature slowed in motion. The captain thought she looked very lovely, just then, but he was tired and had to dress himself.
Cathy understood this and began to dress herself.
In a few moments, they stood, flight captain and stewardess, fully clothed, and looked at each other.
They didn't know what to say to each other, so they said nothing. The airship hummed on outside them, and inside them, but they didn't notice. The door was still closed and neither made a motion to open it.
"We have to assume our duties," the captain said.
"Yes," said Cathy. "I have to help Linda."
MacAdams looked at her, stiffly. The uniform brought him back to reality. She was no longer a vision of his daughter or anyone else. He brought his shoulders up and tried to smile. His teeth barely showed.
"Back to duty," he said. "Thank you, Cathy. Have a good flight."
She felt the change and turned to the door. He stepped in front of her and opened it.
They both stepped out into the corridor of the ship. Outside, the captain went forward to the flight cabin, while Cathy went aft, through the first class section to passenger class.
Linda Barlow saw her coming, her brown eyes noncommittal under heavily mascaraed brows.
"Well, dearie," Linda said, "that was quite a long initiation. Couldn't the old boy get it up?"
Cathy flashed her a sharp look that was as vindictive as it was full of pain. How could Linda understand what had happened to her?
"Look, I'm sorry, Cathy," Linda said, as though she understood. "We have to get these drinks out. I'm way behind. Give me a hand. We'll talk about it later, okay?"
Cathy nodded and began to do what she was trained for, walking up the aisles and taking drink orders, filling trays with small bottles and small glasses, being polite, rejecting advances discreetly and pumping up pillows for little old ladies, adjusting headphones for those who didn't understand the operation of the taped music system.
Later, as the plane settled down to a steady hum through the skies, Linda Barlow spoke to Cathy quietly, in the rear seats.
"You're going to stay with me in St. Pete, aren't you?"
Cathy looked at her. Linda was tall and willowy, a dark-haired, brown-eyed beauty who was nineteen.
"Yes, I don't have any place else to stay."
"Good. I know how it is on your first flight. I had MacAdams too. He couldn't get it up. It was embarrassing. I suppose the same thing happened to you."
Cathy's eyes hooded in disbelief. She couldn't explain to Linda what had happened to her. She didn't know herself.
"Sort of," she said.
Linda smiled. "Don't worry about it, kid. You'll get balled by better guys than him on other flights."
Cathy stared out the window at the far towns below, lights that shimmered in oddly shaped patterns, people unaware of their passing in the night. She felt very alone at that moment, chilled suddenly by the impersonal air-conditioning.
"It wasn't so bad," she said, wondering at her own voice. It didn't sound like her own voice.
Linda patted her friend on the hand. Cathy gave back a weak smile of acknowledgement.
A light flashed on the overhead. It was Linda's signal. Quickly, she hurried up to the front of the plane. Cathy watched her go, wondering what was up.
Moments later, she found out when Linda returned.
"Hey, what did you do to MacAdams anyway, Cathy?"
"I—I don't know what you mean."
"He's collapsed. They're giving him pure oxygen. The co-pilot, Randy Keller, wants to see you right away."
Trembling, Cathy went forward. Randy was just coming out of the cabin where she and MacAdams had been earlier in the flight. He was frowning, but when he saw her, he smiled.
"Oh, Merritt," he said. "Glad you could come by. You and Chuck must've really gone to it. Poor guy's all tuckered out."
Cathy blushed. Randy was tall, much younger than MacAdams. She guessed him to be about thirty or younger. He had a slight Southern accent, Texas, she figured, light brown hair and clear blue eyes. He was wide-shouldered and lean, his eyes twinkling as though full of mischief.
"I—I ... " Cathy started to stammer. Randy put his arm on her shoulder.
"No need to explain. I know Chuck. He's good for about two hops a month with his old lady and anything over that his blood pressure shoots up. I just wanted you to know he's okay. See me when we land, though, will you? After I check out with operations, I want to take you to lunch."
"Me?" Cathy asked.
Randy nodded and turned, heading back into the cockpit. All the way back to her station, Cathy was conscious of the stares of the other stews.
Linda was grinning when Cathy got back to her.
"You," said Linda. "It's all over the plane. It'll be all over the fleet before your next trip."
"What?"
"Your reputation, silly. Every pilot at Inter-coast will want to ball you now. They'll all want to find out what you did to make Chuck MacAdams poop out on your maiden flight. You'll be the talk of the airways, kid!"
Cathy paled, wondering what lay ahead for her.