Full-Service Flight 
-- lightswitch (C) February 2008

   [M/F+, reluctant/forced, white male, white female(s), teen female, black
female(s), interracial, fetish (foot, muscle), enslavement]

========== 
Synopsis: A man on a trans-Atlantic flight finds himself at
the mercy of a series of cruel women.

Inspired by portions of a true story, related to me by a reader. 
==========

   "Good morning!"

   The comely black flight attendant was entirely too chipper for such an
ungodly hour, Ron decided, as he drowsily nodded an acknowledgment and
forced a smile.  "Must be the stamina of youth," he decided, chuckling,
because he, himself, was only in his late 30s and kept reasonably fit.

   He checked his boarding pass to verify his seat number: 16C -- an aisle
seat, so he would have unrestricted freedom to come and go, on the long,
trans-Atlantic flight ahead.  Although a resident of the UK, Ron had
traveled extensively throughout Europe, usually on business.  This would be
his first visit to the United States and he was looking forward to the new
experience.

   As he walked down the aisle, his reverie was distracted by a young girl,
blocking the aisle, ahead.

   The girl looked to be about 15 or 16, although she could have easily
been anywhere between 14 and 19, for all he knew.  She was a striking
brunette, with the modest, but pert, gravity-defying breasts that could
only found on teenage girls.  Ron's eyes were immediately arrested by two
prominent protrusions in her faded pink tank-top (which had "Juicy"
sequined on the front).

   The girl was obviously going braless - a bold decision, given the cool
cabin air.

   Ron's eyes took in the extremely short denim skirt that barely covered
her full, round backside.  He gulped audibly as his eyes traveled down the
long, smooth, bare legs, before coming to rest on her petite, sockless feet
-- clad in a pair of the ugliest, dirtiest, grungiest sneakers he had ever
seen.

   The teen was struggling to cram an oversized duffle bag into the bin
over Row 15 ... the row right in front of Ron's!

   "I'll be sitting right behind this exquisite young thing!" Ron thought,
smiling at the realization.  Except for the nasty sneakers, she was *very*
pretty and Ron pulled his wandering mind back to propriety with some degree
of difficulty.

   "Easy there," Ron cautioned himself.  "She's definitely a looker, but
she's quite likely `jail bait,' as well."

   Still, there'd be no harm in casual conversation, would there?  Perhaps
even some mild banter and flirting?

   "I'm afraid size does matter," Ron quipped amiably, stepping forward to
offer his assistance.  "Perhaps I might lend a hand?"

   The girl stopped, bag partway into the overhead bin, and glared at him.

   "Did I ask your opinion, asshole?" she snarled.

   Taken aback, Ron flushed with embarrassment and indignation.  "I only
meant to point out that ..."

   "Stop ogling my tits, you fucking pervert!" the nasty-tempered teen
snapped.

   With a start and a flush of shame, Ron realized that his gaze had,
indeed, been resting on the inviting points poking out from the thin fabric
covering her chest, and at the soft valley of her B-cup cleavage, swelling
out from her low-cut top.

   He jerked his gaze up to defiantly meet her icy green eyes.

   "I was *not* ogling your ... er ... chest," he lied, sputtering with
indignation.

   "Why am I letting a bitchy ... child ... rattle me?!?" he wondered, as
he worked to regain self-control.

   His protests were interrupted by the attractive black flight attendant,
who glided through the press of people crowding behind him, to appear at
his side.

   "Hi!" she chirped.  "May I help with anything?"

   The girl went back to trying to cram her bag into the overhead.  "Yeah,"
she snarled, "you can get bigger storage cabinets in your
excuse-for-an-airplane -- and you can get grandpa, over there, to stop
staring at my tits.

   "I was NOT staring at her ti- ... er ... chest!" Ron protested, a bit
louder than he had intended.  Heads turned and a few women clucked,
audibly. Ron could feel his face turning red.

   This was turning into a disaster!

   "I'm certain that this gentleman would never dream of doing such a
thing," the flight attendant said smoothly, obviously trying to placate the
angry teen.  "It must have been a miscommunication of some sort."

   Ron smiled his thanks at the black woman, grateful for her
understanding, professionalism, and tact.

   "I'm afraid that bag is much too big for the overhead compartments,
miss" the flight attendant told the girl, gently but firmly taking hold of
the handles.  "I'll be glad to check it for you."

   "That's what *I* told her!" Ron interjected, before catching himself. 
The flight attendant smiled and winked at him before lugging the big duffle
bag towards the front of the plane.  Ron felt a rush of warmth and
gratitude towards the woman.

   "The bag's fine," the foul-tempered girl shouted at the attendant's
retreating back.  "It's your crappy plane that's the problem!" She flounced
down in seat 15B, ignoring the knot of people she'd been blocking in the
aisle.

   Ron took his seat, relieved to be out of the crowded walkway.

   The girl's pretty face popped up over the seatback of the row ahead. 
"Oh GREAT!" she said loudly, to no one in particular.  "I've got the old
pervert in the row right behind me!"

   Ron could feel his face flush, realizing that people were looking, but
he opened the book he had brought with him and studiously ignored the
foul-tempered teen.

   "Hey!" she said, loudly.

   Almost immediately, he realized he wouldn't be able to concentrate, as
long as the nasty teen was interrupting.  He set aside his book and picked
up the newspaper he'd brought with him.

   "Just don't go peeping over the seats, here, trying to look down my
top!" she told him loudly.  Ron glanced up at her in irritation, but
quickly returned his attention to his paper.

   "How can such a pretty girl be such a spoiled little evil bitch?" Ron
muttered aloud, keeping his eyes glued on the page in front of him. 
"Obvious lack of breeding!"

   "WHAT was that?!?" the indignant teen demanded, flushing in anger.

   Ron looked up, feigning surprise.

   "I said `How can such a pitiful world be embroiled in the middle of such
a fever pitch?'" he quickly extemporized, pointing to an article about the
Mid-East, in the paper.  "Obviously distracted by bleeding."

   She narrowed her eyes, studying him dubiously, but finally turned and
sat back down, muttering darkly.

   "Well," Ron said to himself, heaving a sigh of relief and exasperation,
"looks as if 15B is an ill-tempered, foul-mouthed little chit." He shook
his head in wonder.  The girl *was* exceptionally pretty and did have a
*very* attractive figure.  Unfortunately, her ugly personality appeared to
be the complete opposite of her physical attractiveness.

   "Lucky I'm in 16C and not 15A!" Ron mused, gratefully.  "I hope that if
I have any row mates, they're nothing like 15B!"

   The airplane filled rapidly.  People thronged in the aisle, jostling to
get through the crowd and over to their respective seats.

   Interestingly, no one else came to sit in Row 15.

   "Word probably got out about the young shrew in the middle seat," Ron
thought, perhaps a bit harshly.

   His thoughts were interrupted by a woman's voice.

   "Ex-CUSE me ... ?!"

   Ron looked up to see a striking blonde standing in the aisle, to his
left.  She was probably in her mid-40s, but was easily one of the most
beautiful women Ron had ever seen.  She sported a full, curvaceous figure
that only an adult woman could really achieve.  Even the stiff, drab
business suit she wore could not hide that lush figure.  Her severe navy
jacket and satiny white blouse gave just a peek of a truly bountiful
décolletage.  Long, nylon-clad legs tapered from an above-the-knee length
navy skirt down to elegant feet, tastefully clad in black patent-leather
heels.

   Ron found his breathing had become labored.

   The woman's platinum blonde hair was carefully coifed in a short, but
full set of waves.  She was glaring at him, her icy blue eyes drilling down
into the very core of his being.

   "Do you MIND?" she snipped.  "I'm in 16B."

   Ron was torn between two reactions: A thrill that such a beautiful woman
would be sitting in the seat *right* next to him, and ...

   ... dismay at realizing this appeared to be yet *another* beautiful, but
neurotically bitchy female, sitting in his immediate vicinity.

   "Why couldn't they be beautiful *and* pleasant?!?" Ron agonized.

   He decided to try the gallant approach.  Perhaps he could charm this ice
queen.

   He unbuckled his seatbelt and stood, apologizing profusely.

   The blonde eyed him with the same expression she might have used
extracting a clog from a bathroom sink pipe.  She eyed her assigned seat,
16B, glanced back at him, and proceeded to glide past to sit in 16A.

   "Why you arrogant ...!" Ron thought, flushing indignantly.  "You think
you're too good to sit next to me?!?"

   It was now obvious to him that he had drawn short straw in terms of
fellow passengers: Two beautiful, but incredibly bitchy females who both
thought the world revolved around them.

   Ron resentfully tossed aside his newspaper and returned to his book,
wondering if he might be able to sneak some undetected peeks during the
flight.  If he could preserve their mental images, he could always strip
their offensive personalities off later, in his fantasies.

   * * * * * * *

   Ron awoke with a start.

   "Must have dozed off," he realized, rubbing his eyes.  "I wonder how
long I've been asleep?" The flight was estimated to run about seven and a
half hours; checking his watch, he saw that almost four hours had passed
since take-off.

   The flight was more than halfway there!

   He stole a glance at his row companion.

   The beautiful blonde woman appeared to be drowsing.  Her hard features,
softened in slumber, were even more lovely than when he'd first seen her.
"It's not fair," Ron thought, bitterly.  "It's not fair that someone THAT
attractive, physically, could have *such* an unattractive personality!"

   Sighing, he decided to return to his book.

   To his consternation, he discovered it missing.

   "My book!" he whispered, looking around frantically.  "Where did my book
go?"

   With a sigh of exasperation, he realized that he must have dropped it
when he dozed off.

   He searched his seat and the floor around him.

   Nothing.

   He glanced across the aisle at the people in Seats "16D through F." An
elderly man, was there, napping; a US soldier, reading a newspaper; and a
woman in her 20s, paging through the Sky Mall catalog.  All of them seemed
oblivious to his presence.

   No sign of his book.

   Slowly, so as not to attract notice, he unbuckled his seatbelt and slid
to his knees, down onto the floor.  Crawling, he began searching for his
book under the seats.

   Leaning his face close to the carpet, he craned his head to look under
the seats of Row 15.  But he saw nothing.  Twisting his neck, he turned to
peer under the seats of his own row - Row 16.

   There!

   There it was!  Almost over in Row 17, near the wall!  He edged towards
the wall and reached out his hand.

   Close ...  !  But he couldn't quite reach it.

   He wished Seat 16A had been empty.  How was he going to get his book,
with that woman sitting there?!?  Row 17 was full of people; he couldn't
walk around and fetch it.

   He'd have to retrieve it from where he was.

   Shuddering at the thought of waking the ill-tempered woman in 16A, he
firmed his resolve and decided to risk the attempt.

   "The things I do for you, Faulkner!" he mumbled, quietly.

   Careful not to brush against his sleeping row-mate, he crept closer,
until his cheek was almost brushing against the sleeping woman's bare knee.
He strained his arm to grab the errant book.

   His fingertips brushed the corner of the hardback's cover.

   "So close!" he thought, carefully skirting the sleeping blonde's left
knee and edging closer to his prize.  "Almost there ...!"

   His cheek pushed softly against the hem of the blonde's navy skirt as he
strained his arm towards his book.

   His gaze drifted upward, as he strained further.

   With a start, he found he had unwittingly positioned himself almost
completely between the sleeping blonde's legs.

   He was now looking up her skirt, at her black-lace-clad crotch.

   "Well, *this* wouldn't look good if she were to wake up, now!" Ron
thought, wryly, his mouth suddenly dry.  He sucked in his breath, overcome
with a combination of embarrassment, shock, and ... desire.

   Beautiful, shapely white thighs ... so close on, either side of his
head, that he could feel their warmth on his cheeks.  Or was that just his
own heat, from a face flushed with arousal?

   Her panty-covered crotch ... maybe a foot or so away, at the other end
of the tunnel formed by her navy skirt, as it stretched around her parted
legs.  So close ... so forbidden!  He felt himself stiffen involuntarily,
but was unable to look away.

   Suddenly, something changed.  The cabin air felt suddenly cooler.  Ron
felt ... exposed.  Endangered.  What had changed?

   His gaze slowly strayed upwards, until it locked on the anger-flushed
face of the wide-awake blonde woman.

   "I ... I dropped my book!" he offered, feebly, making a desperate swipe
for his book that resulted, unfortunately, in pushing his head further
between the irate blonde's legs.

   But, at least he now had his book!

   Grabbing the errant tome, he quickly retreated to his seat.

   He feared she was going to slap him or scream, but she merely glared at
him in affronted anger.  Meekly, Ron clasped his book to his chest and
tried to make an apologetic expression.

   Finally, defeated, he buried himself in his newspaper.

   Several tense minutes passed before the woman abruptly arose and pushed
impatiently against his legs.

   "I need to get out," she informed him.  "IF you don't mind."

   Ron unbuckled his seatbelt and rose, allowing her to pass.  With a rigid
stance, she stalked to the back of the plane, towards the restrooms.

   "What an unmitigated bitch!" Ron thought defensively, as he sat back
down and fumbled for his seatbelt.  "I was just looking for my book!  She
has no right to ..."

   He felt the waistline of his trousers tighten uncomfortably around his
midsection, cutting into his stomach.

   "Drycleaner must have shrunk my trousers," Ron thought ruefully, trying
to repress the awareness that, perhaps, he was rationalizing a bit.  Had he
gained a pound or two, over the years?

   "Perhaps it *would* be prudent to cut back on the Guinness ...?" he
admitted to himself.  One's metabolism *did* slow down a bit, once you got
past 36 ...

   He unbuttoned the top of his slacks and lowered the zipper an inch or
so, releasing the pressure on his abdomen.

   "Ah!" he breathed in relief, as the tightness eased.  "That's more like
it!" He returned to his book and soon became pleasantly engrossed.

   All too soon, the woman from 16A returned.

   "DO you mind," she clipped, in a voice far louder than the situation
called for.

   "Tight-assed shrew," Ron muttered under his breath, glancing up from his
book.

   "WHAT did you just say?!?" she demanded.

   Mortified, Ron tried to cover.

   "I said: `Right, pass on through!" he said, improvising wildly.

   She looked at him skeptically, but seemed grudgingly mollified.  Ron
unbuckled his seatbelt and jumped to his feet, to make way.

   His trousers promptly fell to his ankles.

   All too late, Ron remembered that he had unfastened and loosened his
slacks ... and never refastened them!

   Horrified, Ron tried to snag them on the way down, but only succeeded in
losing his balance.  He pitched headlong towards the back of the middle
seat in the row in front.  Instinctively, he realized, even as he fell,
that he had two mutually exclusive options: He could try to put out his
hands and stop/cushion his fall or he could try to pull up his pants.

   Ron tried to pull up his pants.

   Almost immediately, he recognized his mistake and tried to correct, but
it was too late.

   To save his face from an unpleasant impact on the hard floor, he twisted
his body like a gymnast and tried to get his hands to change course.

   He landed heavily on the floor, the jarring impact momentarily knocking
the wind out of him.

   He lay there for a while dazed and unable to breathe.  He had come to
rest with his head just under the back of the middle seat of Row 15, with
the rest of his body sprawled out in Row 16.

   His spine felt horribly twisted and he slowly shifted his feet slightly
towards the middle seat of Row 16, so he could straighten his back out. 
His errant trousers were down around his ankles and, worse, his boxers had
slid partway down when he'd skidded on the carpeted floor, during his fall.
Still dazed and partially winded, he reached down to pull up his underwear.

   Before he could recover, he received a stunning blow between the legs.

   "On the floor, looking for your book, again?" he heard the angry blonde
enquire sarcastically, as she kicked him in the groin again.

   Ron was too surprised to react, before his world exploded in pain.

   Forgetting his state of partial undress, he instinctively tried to cup
his groin, protectively, with his hands, while he backpedaled his heels
frantically against the floor, trying to push away from his attacker.

   More kicks landed on his hands.  They hurt like hell, but he did
successfully cushion the impact on his vulnerable groin.  With his hands
unable to leave the guard duty, he continued to use his legs to push away
from the aggressive woman, inadvertently scooting his body further under
the middle seat in the other row.

   Ron immediately encountered several additional problems:

   1.  He was wedged under the middle seat of the next row and could no
longer see his attacker.  Or anticipate her kicks.

   2.  His boxers had come off almost completely, as he desperately tried
to kick away from his attacker.  They now hung down, just above his knees,
further restricting his movement.  Evading pain was his priority, though,
moreso than public decency, so he ignored his state of undress and kicked
out with his legs, hoping to fend off the attacker he could no longer see.

   3.  The space between the metal seat legs was too narrow.  He had
somehow gotten his shoulders past, probably because he'd slid in on an
angle, but now his arms had been forced from their protective position,
covering his groin.

   Another kick made him see stars and he almost vomited.  Arching his body
and pulling his arms slightly under him, he pushed backwards as far as he
could.

   Exhausted, his body sagged back down.  Unfortunately, this effectively
pinned his arms between the metal seat legs, the floor, and his own body.

   He was stuck!

   Panicked at being in such a vulnerable position, he struggled furiously
to free himself.  But there was no going forward or backward.  Ron realized
that he was well and truly stuck under the middle seat of Row 15.

   Mercifully, the kicks had ceased.

   "Thank God for that, at least," Ron thought, trying to clear his head.
"Maybe the bitchy blonde does actually have an ounce of human compassion in
her."

   Slowly, the spots that had been dancing before his closed eyes faded and
his mind began to refocus through the residual clouds of pain.  His ragged
breathing slowed, but he continued to gasp as he lay on his back.  He tried
to ignore the claustrophobic sensation of not being able to move his arms.

   Slowly, Ron opened his eyes, trying to assess his situation.

   As he'd surmised, he was, indeed, lying on his back, firmly wedged under
the middle seat of Row 15.

   His arms were firmly trapped at his sides, pinned by the metal 15B
seat-foundation, with his waist almost directly under the seat back and his
feet propped up against the upright cushion of Seat 16B.  He felt his legs
forced back as someone lowered the seat to 16B.  Someone raised his right
leg and brushed past.

   What was going on?  He wished he could see his old Row, but looking in
that direction, all he could see was the upright cushion of Seat 15B,
blocking his view.

   The unseen person in Row 16 lowered Ron's right leg, allowing it to rest
on the now-lowered seat cushion.

   Then he felt a flash of pain in his groin.

   Some weight was pressing down on his testicles!  The pain made his head
swim, momentarily.

   It took him a while to realize what must be happening: Evidently, the
blonde bitch had nonchalantly retaken her original seat, 16B, and was using
his crotch as a ... a footrest!

   "At least she took off her heels," Ron thought, with relief, shuddering
at the image of those nasty black spikes spearing into his tender parts.

   As his eyes focused, he turned his eyes to evaluate his surroundings in
Row 15.  Looking up, he found himself gazing directly up the obnoxious teen
girl's skirt, his head now lying directly between her feet as she towered
over him.

   The young girl stood over him, looking down in shock and revulsion.  He
found his gaze torn between the pretty girl's horrified, angry face and the
ivory-colored stretch of cotton covering her probably-underage crotch.

   "You filthy PERVERT!" she gasped, raising one foot to stomp his face.

   "No!" Ron pleaded.  "Please!  I ... I tripped!  It was an accident!  I
swear!  I fell and now I'm stuck!  Really!  I didn't do this on purpose!"

   The girl paused, sneakered foot still hovering threateningly above his
undefended face.

   "Please!" he whispered.  "You have to believe me!  If you'd be so kind
as to help me out of this predicament, I'd be ever so grateful!"

   She looked down at him, scowling in disbelief.  "Surely she'll realize
this wasn't intentional and will help me out!" Ron thought.  Even a nasty
bitch like her won't let me suffer like this!

   Slowly, her expression changed.  A cruel, sly smile stole over her face.

   Ron felt his blood run cold.

   This wasn't looking good.

   "Really," she asked, almost conversationally.  "You're really stuck? 
You can't move?"

   Ron nodded miserably.  "Yes," he whispered.  "Please help me!"

   To his shock, anger, and humiliation, the young girl lowered the seat to
15B, turned, and sat down ... ignoring him.  The edge of the seat was
almost directly over his chin, so his view of the cabin ceiling was not
blocked.

   "Why you hateful little *bitch*!" Ron muttered, mortified.  He felt
humiliated that *both* of these bitchy females were aware of his dilemma
... and neither could be bothered to help.  He was even more terrified,
however, that more people would notice his degrading situation, causing an
embarrassing spectacle.

   He couldn't call out, without attracting attention and further
mortification, but neither of the people close by could be bothered to
help.

   What was he to do?

   Desperately, he struggled to free himself.

   To his surprise, he felt the weight lift from his aching, beleaguered
scrotum.  Gentle hands grasped him behind his right knee and pull his leg
up and back, allowing him to ease it down to the floor.

   Was it possible?  Had he misjudged his blonde row companion?  Was she
actually going to help him?

   "Oh bless you!" he murmured, suddenly ashamed at all of the bad things
he had been thinking about his traveling companion.  She gently laid his
right leg down on the floor, under Seat 16B.

   "Thank you so much!" he whispered.

   He felt her gently lift his other leg and adjust his position so that
it, too, was flat on the floor.

   "Thank you, maam!" he whispered, almost weeping in relief.  "Now if you
could just give me a hand to wriggle back your way ..."

   He heard a seat in Row 16 being pulled down and the sound of someone
sitting.

   Evidently, she had just wanted to make sure his outthrust legs didn't
attract unwanted attention.

   "Why you heartless ...!" His curse was cut off by the return of the
weight on his testicles.  The bitch was using his scrotum as a footrest,
again!

   He blinked back hot tears of pain and frustration.

   The teen's pretty face came into view, as she leaned forward to peer
down at him.

   "How you doing down there?" she asked, her voice sounding strange ...
thick.

   Ron froze.  Something wasn't right here.  She sounded ... different. 
She looked ... different.  She was looking down at him through heavily
hooded eyes, her pale cheeks flushed and her full lips parted.  Her
breathing seemed rapid and shallow.

   Ron had never feared a female before in his life, but here, entrapped
beneath the airplane seat, the expression on this young girl's face
terrified him.

   "Good Lord!" Ron realized, "She's ... she's *aroused*!"

   As much as he'd have liked to flatter himself that it was attraction for
him that had caused this reaction in the nasty teenager, he knew better.

   "She's ... she's realized her dominance in this situation," he thought,
trembling.  "And the possibilities are exciting her!".

   Ron turned pale.  He knew that he was, for all practical purposes,
almost completely helpless.  The only limit to what she could do to him was
what she might risk in a public place.

   "I should be safe from real injury," he tried to reassure himself.

   But anything short of "real injury" ...

   Smiling sadistically, she slipped one dainty foot from her shoe and held
it up for his inspection.

   Like the rest of the young girl, her foot was lovely - soft, white, and
perfectly formed.  Ron had never really been into "feet," but for the first
time in his life, he appreciated how a man could become sexually excited by
a woman's foot.

   "Do you like my foot, old man?" the girl cooed, softly.  "Does it make
you hard, looking at my foot?"

   To Ron's shame, he realized that it did.  He felt himself stiffen as he
gazed at the beautiful teen's petite foot, hovering about twelve inches
over his head.

   With a sudden surge of fearful realization, he remembered that any
erection he might get would be visible to the sadistic blonde bitch in 16B,
not to mention any other passengers or crew who happened to glance over or
walk by!

   Ron jerked his mind from the thought and tried to regain control.

   "I can't react!" he told himself.  "I can't get an erection!  Not here!
Not now!"

   "Yeah," the teen breathed softly, hands unconsciously rising to stroke
her erect nipples, through her top.  "You do, don't you, you old pervert!?
You *do* like my feet." Her breathing had become heavy and a noticeably
ragged.

   Ron tried to think of nonsexual things.

   "Would you like to kiss them?" she murmured, daintily dangling one
gorgeous foot over his face.  Ron emphatically shook his head "no!"

   "Yeah," she whispered, ignoring him.  "I'll bet you would, wouldn't you!
You want to kiss them, don't you!"

   Slowly, she lowered her leg until the sole of her foot brushed his lips.

   The odor stunned him.

   He didn't know how many months or years the girl had encased her
sockless, bare feet in the their grungy canvas prisons, but the effect was
truly astounding!  Ron had never been subjected to such a powerful, pungent
scent in his life.

   "Go ahead," she urged.  "Kiss them!  I'll let you."

   "Good God!" Ron gasped, turning his head.  "Your feet *stink*!"

   He realized, immediately, that he should have been more ... diplomatic.

   He knew that he was in no position to tick off the foul-tempered girl
sitting above him!  But the strong smell had caught him by surprise and he
had reacted without thinking.

   Looking up at her anger-infused face, he regretted his unthinking
protest.

   "Look," he offered, "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean that.  It's just that
..."

   She pressed her pretty foot down onto his face, cutting off his apology.


   Ron was stunned.  Before he could react, she had slid the other foot out
of its sweaty confinement and placed that one down on his face, as well.

   Both of her hot, sweat-moistened feet curled around his face, heels
pressing over his mouth and the soles of her feet covering his eyes, both
feet pressing together to entrap his nose.

   Ron snorted defensively, trying to force the offending smell from his
tortured nose, attempting to shake his head free from the young girl's
clinging, sweaty, stinking feet.  But she used the leverage of her weight
to pin his head against the floor.

   He tried to breathe shallowly, through his mouth, but the stench was so
strong, he could literally taste, as well as smell, the odor of the girl's
feet - just by breathing!

   "Damn it girl!" he muttered, half smothered by her heels, "Don't you
know anything about *hygiene*?!?" He continued to curse and plead even as
he twisted to try and free his imprisoned face.

   He froze as he felt the base of his fully erect penis being firmly
clasped.

   What was happening?!?  Why did he have an erection?  Was it possible
that he was ... excited ... by what was happening?

   "Impossible!" Ron thought.

   In his shock, he had stopped struggling and the teen continued to
happily press her sweaty feet down on his face.

   His startled wonderment was derailed by a slow, delicious stroking that
ran along the length of his exposed cock.

   In a surreal flash of awareness, Ron suspected what must be happening:
The bitchy blonde woman was fondling him with her feet!  The base of his
cock must be imprisoned between the big toe and second toe of her left
foot, while she used the toes and sole of her right foot to stroke him.

   Ron moaned in unwanted pleasure as her foot slowly stroked him again.

   "Oh, so you *like* sniffing my feet, do you!?" he heard the cruel teen
murmur from above.  "I knew you were a fucking pervert, old man!"

   Ron tried to protest ... to tell her that he *hated* her stinking feet
in his face, and was reacting to the coerced masturbation he was being
subjected to by the bitch in 16B!

   With a sudden insight, Ron realized what the blonde bitch's game was! 
The cruel teen must be only marginally aware of the row behind her, but the
sadistic woman in Row 16 ... she probably knew what the domineering teen in
Row 15 was subjecting him to!  The blonde in 16B must *know* about the
humiliation he was suffering at the hands of this teenage bitch and had
decided she'd add to it!

   Seeing his penis involuntarily react to the teen's abuse must have given
the blonde an inspiration, realizing that if she could make him climax
while the hateful under-aged bitch dominated him, it would raise his
humiliation to astronomical levels!

   Ron struggled furiously, but was unable to free himself from either of
his cruel tormentors.

   "No!" he tried to shout, furious at being victimized by this tag-team
subjugation.  "I'll be damned if I give that blonde bitch the satisfaction!"
But his protests were muffled by the pretty teen's beautiful, odiferous,
damp feet -- and the sensual stroking in Row 16 was also taking its toll.

   Another small moan of unwelcome pleasure escaped from between his
tightly clenched lips.

   "Yeah," he heard the teen murmur huskily, as she gazed down at him. 
"You really get off on having my feet in your face, don't you!" She leaned
further forward.  swiveling her toes to each side, in order to look into
his eyes.

   "Suck my toes," she whispered, face deeply flushed with arousal.

   Ron stared at her, unable to believe what was happening.

   The pretty brunette gently slid the toes of her right foot along his
tightly clenched lips.  "Suck them, you old pervert!  Take my foot in your
mouth and give it a good tongue-bath!"

   Ron stared at her, anger and resentment mounting.  "I'd die before I let
you put your filthy, reeking foot in my mouth!" he muttered.

   Flushing angrily, the frustrated teen plopped her feet back on the
floor, on either side of his head and slid off the seat.  Squatting above
him, she delivered a stinging slap to his face, rocking his head to the
left.

   The young girl's ivory-cotton-clad crotch hovered over Ron's chest, less
than a foot from his face.  From here, he had an excellent view of the
young girl's panties - not just the crotch shot.  His eyes took in the
sides of her cotton briefs.

   With a start of revulsion, he realized that her panties were originally
white.

   He couldn't bring himself to think about why the crotch was
ivory-colored.

   But he had worse with which to deal: If he had thought her *feet*
smelled bad, the teenager's sweaty, unwashed crotch made them seem like a
bouquet of roses.

   "Good Lord!" he choked, eyes watering.  "Don't you ever bathe?!?" His
reward was another series of hard slaps to his undefended face.

   When his eyes could focus again, he saw the pretty young girl still
glowering down at him.  He became suddenly fearful, remembering that in his
current state of helplessness, the sadistic little bitch could, literally,
do almost anything to him!

   Her expression of anger was slowly replaced by a cruel look of
inspiration.

   "Oh shit!" Ron thought, his blood running cold.  "She must have realized
the same thing - that I don't really have any defense options!" He closed
his eyes, bracing himself for the next blow.

   Instead of punching him, though, the girl stood almost upright.

   Ron slowly opened his eyes, confused.  The teen towered over him, her
long, pale legs like pillars on each side of his head.

   Crouching slightly so as not to attract attention, she hiked up her
short skirt and pulled off her panties.

   "You should BE so lucky as to get close to my crotch, you filthy old
pervert!" she hissed.  "You'd *never* get a chance to be intimate with a
beautiful, young girl like me!"

   Holding up the panties so he could see them, she smiled down at him.

   Suddenly, he felt an overwhelming urge to flee.  But, pinned under the
seat, as he was, he knew escape was impossible.

   "If you don't like the smell, maybe it's because it's been so long since
a disgusting old man like you has actually HAD a real woman!" she told him.
With an unexpectedly quick movement, she pulled the panties over his head.

   "There!" she said, with an air of satisfaction.  Now you'll get a chance
to become ... adjusted ... to the scent of a real woman!"

   She reached down and tugged the cotton crotch panel firmly into
position, over his nose and mouth.

   Ron almost passed out from the stench.  The awful smell of urine,
unwashed pussy, and sweaty ass swept through his sinuses like a tidal wave,
seeming to permeate his entire head.

   How could such an attractive young girl have such a nasty, unwashed
crotch, he wondered, briefly?!?  The overwhelming smell made him want to
retch.

   "Oh my God," he whimpered.  "Kill me!  Kill me, now!"

   If looks could kill, he'd have been stricken dead on the spot.

   "You don't know what `stink' is!" she hissed.  Her expression of anger
slowly turned into a look of impending vindication.

   "You want to smell something that *really* stinks?" she snarled.  "I'll
give you something that *really* stinks!  You'll be *begging* to sniff my
panties, after this!"

   Still squatting over him, she snatched up one of her grungy sneakers.

   "Tell me if you think *this* smells any better!" she hissed, slamming
the sneaker down over his face, so that the opening covered his nose and
mouth.  She pushed down hard on the heel, which was directly over his nose,
while the rest of the shoe pointed down over his chin.

   His mouth and nose were now pushed deep into the hot, damp inside of the
well-worn sneaker.

   She was right: Years of soaking up sweat from the young girl's unwashed,
bare feet had marinated the shoe's canvas fabric in a rich, pungent
distillation of "foot smell" that immediately overwhelmed his senses,
overpowering even the reeking panties covering his face.

   Desperately, he tried to hold his breath.  But as he looked up into his
cruel captor's sadistic eyes, he knew he couldn't last.  Tears streamed
from his face as he struggled furiously, trying to free himself.

   Finally, near passing out from holding his breath, he gave up and sucked
in a huge breath. The results were as expected.

   Immediately, he gagged, but somehow kept from vomiting.  The horrid
smell invaded his nose ... his lungs ... every air passage! It seemed to
spread through his body like some foul toxic taint.

   He choked and his vision went dark.

   "Please!" he gasped, voice muffled within the smothering confines of the
pungent shoe.  "No more!  I'll do anything you want!" Tears continued to
stream from his burning eyes.

   The young girl smiled cruelly and kept the stinking shoe over his face
for almost a full minute longer. He felt consciousness begin to flutter.
Darkness started to close in on him.

   Without warning, she finally removed the smothering sneaker.

   Cold, fresh air flooded into his poisoned lungs.  He gasped gratefully,
trying to exhale hard - hoping to force the foul airs from his body.

   Slowly, his head began to clear.

   "You ready to suck my toes, old man?" she asked threateningly,
brandishing the grungy sneaker menacingly.

   Ron knew when he was beaten.

   "Yes," he whispered, weakly.  "I'm ready to suck your toes."

   Smiling triumphantly, the pretty teen perched her bottom on the edge of
her seat and dangled her foot over Ron's face, again.

   "Kiss it," she ordered, pushing the crotch of the panties on his face to
one side, with her toe.  "Start by kissing my foot."

   Not wanting to be subjected to the horror of her sweaty shoes again, Ron
obeyed.  Pursing his lips, he kissed the sole of the foot she proffered. 
The soft, damp flesh tasted slightly salty and Ron was relieved to discover
her feet didn't smell nearly as bad as he remembered.

   "My olfactory nerves are probably in a coma, by now," Ron thought,
ruefully.  But he said nothing, continuing to kiss and lick the dainty,
pale foot hovering over his face.

   Sighing happily, the wanton teen allowed him to lavish attention on her
feet for another 10 minutes.

   Looking down at him, she smiled smugly.  Without asking if he was ready
for the next step, she placed her left foot firmly over the top of his
face; her delicate, damp instep pushing down across the bridge of his nose.
With her right foot, she pried his mouth open with her toes and slid her
foot inside.

   "Ah, yeah," she sighed.  "Suck them!  Suck my toes, you pervert!"

   Ron complied, sucking greedily on the young girl's hot, sweaty foot; his
cheeks bulging as she forced her way deeper into his mouth.

   During this time, the blonde in 16B had never slowed her foot
ministrations.  With the sole of her left foot crushing down on his balls,
her toes entrapped the base of his cock, positioning it to be firmly
stroked by the sole of her nylon-clad right foot.  She occasionally
curled the toes of her right foot around his shaft as she pumped him.

   To his horror, he realized he was close to climax.

   "NO!" he screamed silently. "No! How can this be happening?!? I
*can't* be aroused from this abuse!" He tried to will his errant penis to
go flaccid.

   "I can't!" he thought, desperation tinging his thought.  "I can't let
them do this to me ... can't let them push me over the edge!  Not like
this! Not in such a blatant show of power and dominance!"

   The pretty teenager was perched on the very end of her seat, breathing
heavily as she continued to slowly fuck his mouth with her foot.

   "Oh yeah!" she panted. "So good ... !"

   A droplet of moisture landed on his cheek.  Looking up, he saw her
beautiful, bare ass bouncing on the seat edge. Her right hand was between
her widespread legs as she furiously frigged herself, in silence.

   "She's ... masturbating?" Ron was aghast. "In public?!?While she's
jamming her foot into my mouth?!?"

   Evidently, having a helplessly pinned adult man at her mercy was more
than the perverted young girl could bear. She was so turned on that she
had to seek immediate release.

   "Wasn't she afraid someone would notice?" Ron wondered, continuing to
suckle at the young girl's foot. "I mean ... a young girl jilling herself
off, on an airplane, as she foot-fucked the mouth of a pinned man, stuck
under the seats?!?"

   But it was his own situation that was tormenting him. Even though he
was the one getting doubly molested, he felt somehow shamed ... humiliated.

   Ron was in anguish. To have that blonde bitch use her *feet* to
establish sexual dominance ... not even deigning to use her genitals,
mouth, or hands! What must she think of him to believe that he would
succumb to such a demeaning act?!?

   And worse, to have this happen while a depraved teenager forced her
stinking feet on his face and down his throat ... ! Did they really
believe they could force him to climax under such degrading conditions - to
succumb to their perverted attentions?!?

   "No way!" Ron mumbled, choking slightly on the dainty, saliva-slickened
foot that continued to slide in and out of his mouth. The beautiful foot
pushed deeper and he sucked helplessly. The girl was getting close to her
own climax and wasn't paying attention to how deep she was thrusting.

   Moaning softly as her hand pistoned at her pussy, the young girl raised
slightly off her seat, almost standing on his face with one foot while
pushing the other even deeper down his throat.

   Ron gagged, helplessly ...

   ... and climaxed.

   He hadn't seen it coming. He had seriously believed that he could
resist their attentions, that the degradation of being worked over by
women's feet would limit his arousal.

   But he'd been mistaken.

   The orgasm, pent up for so long by his mental resistance, swept through
him like a storm-front.

   His body arched violently, pressing his chest hard against the bottom of
seat 15B. The teen looked down at his contorted face and spasming body,
her expression was one of delight, lust, and extreme smugness at her own
power.

   Looking down as her victim appeared to succumb, she climaxed, stifling a
cry of pleasure.

   A fine mist of warm moisture sprayed down on Ron's face, as her questing
fingers rammed in and out of her quivering cunt.

   Ron was only human Seeing a beautiful teenager masturbate to orgasm
right above him sent his own climax soaring even higher. His pelvis jerked
as his body banged against the underside of 15B. He could feel the cruel
blonde use her feet to lift his spurting cock as she continued to stroke
it; aiming it like a howitzer.

   Jets of Ron's cum flew over the seat and onto the climaxing brunette's
long, beautiful hair.

   The young girl, ignorant of the cruel blonde's "foot massage" in Row 16,
seemed to think *she* was responsible for her pinned captive's explosive
reaction.

   And the thought seemed to really excite her!

   She grabbed a handful of tank-top hem and stuffed it into her mouth as
her own climax spiraled out of control. She screamed through the mouthful
of fabric, bouncing her beautiful ass violently on the edge of her seat. 
Jets of jism continued to rain down on her.

   Ron watched the young girl's exposed boobs bouncing as she came and he
groaned aloud. He continued to spurt, hating the sadistic females that had
done this to him ... and hating himself for being too weak to resist them.

   After what seemed an eternity, Ron's rigid body finally went limp and he
collapsed back onto the floor, utterly spent. He gasped for air as he lay,
quivering.

   The young girl, also spent, slowly pulled her foot from Ron's mouth,
trailing a string of saliva from his lip to her toe, as she let her feet
drop to the floor and sank back, exhausted, into Seat 15B.

   Meanwhile, in Row 16, after ensuring her nylon-clad feet had milked
every drop from her victim, the cruel blonde finally left Ron's abused cock
alone and went back to using his scrotum as a footrest.

   Ron winced as he felt the weight return on his abused nutsack.

   Still dazed from his explosive climax, he tried to recover his
composure.

   He slowly became aware of a burning sensation from his member. "The
blonde bitch must be wearing nylons," Ron realized. "She's abraded the
hell out of my poor penis!"

   "Holy *fuck*!" the panting teen gasped as she looked down at him, having
finally recovered from her own orgasm. "You really DID get off on sucking
my feet!" She gave him an evil leer. "You are SUCH a fucking pervert!"

   He couldn't tell if that was revulsion or admiration in her voice.

   Still smiling, she reached down with her foot and nudged the crotch of
the soiled panties back over his face.  Ron struggled weakly, but had no
strength left.

   The young girl slumped back in her seat, appearing to lose interest in
him. Within seconds, he heard gentle snoring.

   "*I'M* a pervert?!?" Ron hissed, in indignation, still recoiling from
the aromatic panties covering his nose and mouth. "*I* wasn't the one
jerking off in public and climaxing because I had my foot in someone's
mouth and cum in my hair! YOU'RE the pervert, missy!"

   But the girl's exhausted snores were all the response he got from his
tormentor.

   "You're BOTH fucking perverts!" came a soft, sultry whisper from Row 16.

   The bitchy, domineering blonde.

   Ron was furious ... who was SHE to talk?!? If anything, HE was the
least perverted of the bunch! The worst HE had done was succumb to THEIR
perversions!

   But he found he was completely exhausted from his ordeal and couldn't
sustain his anger.

   Soon, he drowsed off.

   * * * * * * *

   Ron awoke with a start.

   "What a strange and perverted dream," he thought, trying to stretch.

   But his arms wouldn't move.

   Opening his eyes and looking around, Ron's heart sank as he realized he
hadn't been dreaming. He was still on the plane to America.

   He was still trapped, embarrassingly, under Row 15.

   He felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment as he recalled all he'd been
subjected to, at the hands - or more accurately: At the feet - of the two
sadistic females in Rows 15 and 16.

   Judging by the light coming through the window, the plane must be close
to arrival.  Part of him shriveled with humiliation at the thought of so
many of his fellow passengers possibly seeing his plight.  But a larger
part didn't care, anymore - he just wanted it to all be over.

   The pretty teen looking down at him, again.

   As before, he noticed that her features were suffused with lust.

   "Oh no!" Ron groaned. "Not again!  What's the little degenerate got in
mind, now?"

   The young girl looked at him, quizzically.

   "Have you ...?" she started, but then stopped.

   Ron looked at her expectantly, through the leg holes of the panties she
had pulled over his face. Fortunately, his sense of smell seemed to have
gone numb, some time ago. "Probably out of a sense of self-preservation,"
Ron thought, humorlessly.

   "Have you ever ... eaten a girl out?" the teen whispered.

   Ron was confused.  Beyond the bad grammar, he had no idea about what the
girl was talking.

   "Eating out?" he mumbled, bewildered.  "You mean `Have I ever taken a
woman out to dinner?'"

   The girl blushed. "No!" she whispered.  "You know ... `eat out!' Lick
her pussy! Oral sex!"

   Ron almost laughed. The girl could fondle herself to orgasm in public,
while forcing a pinned man twice her age to suck her toes, but blushed at a
reference to cunnilingus?

   "Yes," Ron murmured. "I've performed cunni- ... er ... I've licked a
woman's pussy, before, if you must know."

   The girl's cheeks were flushed almost scarlet, as she began
absent-mindedly fondling herself.

   "Are you any good at it?" she asked.

   "Any good?!?" Ron shot back, in a knee-jerk defense of his masculinity.
"Of course I'm good at it! I've never failed to *completely* satisfy ..."

   He stopped, suddenly, realizing where this had to be going.

   "Oh no ...!" he whispered, appalled.

   "I've never had anyone eat me out, before," she confessed, in a coy
purr.

   Ron was shaking his head "no!"

   "How about it, old man?" she whispered. "Want to taste some teenage
pussy?"

   Slowly, she slid her gorgeous ass from the chair and squatted over his
face.

   Ron groaned.

   He was only human. A beautiful young girl, sitting on her heels over
his face, begging him to orally service her ...

   Her pussy hovered about eight inches above him, her feet squarely
planted to each side of his head.

   "She shaved?" he wondered, looking up at the almost bare vulva above. 
No, not shaven ... just sparsely haired.

   A shot of panic went through him ... how old *was* this girl?  She had
nicely-developed breasts ... she *couldn't* be *that* young!

   "Today's your lucky day, you old pervert," she murmured, lowering
herself onto his face.

   Ron felt himself stiffening again.  But this time, he didn't care. 
Having a beautiful young pussy on his face was way better than a pair of
smelly feet!

   The teen settled down onto his face, her heated, swollen pussy settling
around his mouth.

   He was immediately inundated with a smell reminiscent of ass and
catfood.

   "Oh my God," Ron thought, senses reeling, "How many *months* has it been
since this girl bathed?!?"

   But he found he no longer cared. If anything, the rank smell of the
young girl's unwashed crotch gave a further perverted thrill to an already
perverted situation.

   Ron dove in and began lapping the girl's tight, wet slit.

   The domineering teen sighed lustily and settled down fully on her
captive's face.  Within minutes, Ron's attempts at cunnilingus became
useless - since he had no control, he had no opportunity to apply any
technique.  The young girl had seized control, grinding her young pussy
down hard and rubbing herself in lustful abandon on the older man's face.

   He felt her slick pussy lips slide up and down, over his face,
slithering over his nose and mouth.  She coated him with her juices and
moaned as she dragged her swollen clit across his face.

   She reversed her position, so that she faced the back of seat 15B. 
Straddling his head once again, she slid her hands under his head and she
pulled up hard, ferociously pressing his face into her musky crotch. He
gave up even trying to lick or service her, resigning himself to her savage
face-fuck.

   She slid her slick groin over his face in long, rapid strokes. His
well-lubed face slid up between her gorgeous, young ass cheeks at the end
of every stroke, his nose and mouth gliding over the bud of her puckered
anus before sliding back down to become engulfed in her hot, steamy young
pussy.

   As he feared, he felt the weight lift from his balls and the familiar
grasp of nyloned feet on his already-erect cock.

   He no longer cared. He was past resistance. Pinned beneath the seats
as he was, he was helpless to fend off their sexual dominance.

   "I must have latent submissive tendencies," he realized, heart sinking.
"Some part of me must ... must actually like this kind of treatment!"

   To be honest, he doubted he'd have been able to fend them off even if he
hadn't been pinned. His situation had merely given them the excuse they
needed to subjugate him - totally and completely.

   The young girl riding his face pressed down hard and he felt warm juices
ooze over his face.

   "She must have climaxed," he thought.

   But it was far too soon for his ordeal to be over.

   The degenerate young brunette continued to ride his face for the next 20
minutes, sliding effortlessly from one orgasm to another. The domineering
blonde in the row behind used her feet to jack Ron off repeatedly. He lost
count of the number of times she forced him to ejaculate, mercifully losing
consciousness, somewhere close to the double digits.

   * * * * * * * *

   Consciousness returned slowly. Ron had trouble breathing, as he came
to.

   Opening his eyes, he discovered the reason for his labored breathing:
The young girl who had been face-fucking him was now sitting on his chest,
evidently having reversed position, yet again.

   The soft sound of chimes sounded through the cabin.

   "We're now on final approach to New York, La Guardia," a pleasant female
voice announced. "Local temperature is 50 degrees, Fahrenheit. Please
return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts. You may see your flight
attendant for information on connecting flights and, as always, we thank
you for flying Bretony Airways."

   He felt the scratchy softness of fabric being draped over his lower
body. Evidently, the bitchy blonde was hiding his condition under a
blanket, to put off discovery (and rescue?) until after the landing.

   He wasn't certain whether he should be angry or grateful.

   The young girl sitting on his chest was gazing down at him, with a smug
expression of complete dominance on her face.

   She appeared to be lost in some consideration.

   "That can't be good," Ron decided. She must be working her nerve up to
force another "opportunity," while she had the chance.

   "You'd better get back to your seat," Ron whispered, hoping to distract
her from whatever perverted evil she was mulling over. "They've just
announced that we're on final approach.  The flight attendants will be
coming by soon, to make certain everyone is buckled in."

   I can't buckle in, yet," she confessed. "I have to go to the bathroom."

   Ron was losing patience. If he only had his arms free, he'd turn this
little tart over his knee and give her the spanking she so richly deserved!

   But he didn't have his arms free. He'd have to try talking his way out.

   "You'll just have to hold it," he told her, in what he hoped was a kind
manner. "You can't go back to the restrooms, now, anyway ... the `Fasten
Seatbelts' signs are on."

   The girl squirmed on top of him.

   "But I have to *go*!" she whined plaintively.

   "Well you can't leave your seat," Ron snapped, losing patience in spite
of his intentions.

   "I know," she murmured, flashing a wicked smile. "I have to stay right
here."

   Too late, Ron realized where this was heading.

   The young girl tugged aside the crotch panel of the panties covering his
features and quickly scooted up to sit on his face.

   "Don't let any spill," she ordered, parting her pussy lips and settling
over his mouth, "or the smell will give you away and all of these people
will see you - stuck under the seat like a pervert, smelling of pussy and
piss."

   He looked up at the beautiful young teen sitting on his face.  Her
nearly hairless cunt was pressed firmly down on his mouth and her swollen
clit was pushed against his nose.

   Smiling cruelly, she lifted her tank top, exposing her perfectly-formed
breasts.

   "Might as well let you gawk at my tits, if you're going to be drinking
my piss," she offered, magnanimously.

   Looking up from where he lay, beneath her - past her crotch; past her
beautiful, exposed body; past the swell of the pale undersides of her boobs
... he gazed into her cruel, dark eyes.

   He was beaten. He knew he'd do whatever this cruel vixen commanded.

   Submissively, he opened his mouth wide and began subserviently tonguing
the young girl's dripping pussy.

   Panting with arousal through slightly parted lips, she gazed down at
him, relishing this final act of subjugation.

   "Enjoy, Toilet-Boy" she whispered.

   And then she let loose.

   It was like putting his mouth over a fire hose or a bursting dam.

   A torrent of surprisingly hot urine gushed into his mouth and down his
throat. His mouth filled instantly and hot, frothy piss overflowed onto
his cheeks.  He swallowed frantically, trying unsuccessfully to keep up
with her gusher.

   "That's it, you fucking pervert," she sighed happily, forcing her cunt
down hard on his open mouth and increasing the pressure of her flow. 
"Drink it! Drink my piss, you fuck!"

   He was drowning and knew he'd have to try something desperate. Steeling
his resolve, he held his breath and relaxed his neck muscles, allowing her
to piss directly down his throat.

   This approach worked and she happily emptied her bloated bladder down
his throat in a forceful stream.

   After what seemed an eternity, the flow weakened until it got to the
point where he could start swallowing again. He greedily drank the
domineering teen's piss, gulping rapidly to swallow every drop he could.

   Finally, mercifully, she was done.

   "God, that was great," she sighed. "I can't believe I actually made a
grown man *drink* my *piss*!" She giggled.

   "God, you are such a sick fuck!" she sneered, looking down at him in
revulsion.

   With a flush of shame, Ron realized she was right. Even now, he had a
throbbing erection that would not go away. "Lucky for me the blonde bitch
already has me covered," he thought, "or she'd no doubt get me off yet
again."

   The young girl raised herself slightly from his face.

   "Clean me!" she ordered.

   Closing his eyes in shame, he did as he was told, licking the girl's
tight slit clean.

   Abruptly, the teen jumped up from his face and regained her chair. She
quickly threw a blanket over her lap, covering his head from view, as well.

   "Flight attendant must be coming," Ron thought. "At least my
predicament will remain a secret until after we land."

   As humiliating as it would be when the flight attendants found him, at
least they were professionals - it would be far worse if his fellow
passengers discovered him!

   After a short time, he felt the jar of the plane touching down. Time
crawled as the plane maneuvered across the tarmac towards the terminal.

   His heart jumped when the chimes again sounded, indicating it was OK to
unbuckle.  From under his protective blanket, he heard the bustle of people
as they started to deplane.

   "Hope you enjoyed the flight as much as I did, grandpa!" he heard the
young girl's voice taunt, as she prepared to leave.

   "I'm only 38!" Ron snapped, from under the blanket. Grandpa ... ! How
young WAS she that she thought HE was OLD?!?

   He sensed her step over him and leave. His thoughts were distracted as
he felt someone step, very deliberately, on his balls.

   It was all he could do not to cry out in pain. The person very
deliberately put their full weight on his groin before stepping off.

   "Must be the bitchy blonde, leaving Row 16," he thought.

   He felt a blow to his head that made him see stars.

   "Here's your book, asshole," he heard a female voice taunt. The sound
of footsteps told him she hadn't stayed for a response.

   Hours of pent-up anger, frustration, pain, humiliation, and tension
finally proved too much. Ron felt tears stream down his face and he cursed
the blonde bitch, the perverted teenager, and himself.

   The cabin was mostly quiet, now, with the exception of a few female
voices, in conversation.

   "Any time now," Ron realized, his heart pounding at the impending
humiliation of his inevitable discovery.

   As if in response, he heard a woman's voice, strained with shock.

   "Ohmigod!" she called out. "Cynthia! Come quick! I think there's a
dead body over here!"

   Footsteps rushed towards them. He felt his cheeks burning.

   "It'll all be over soon," he repeated to himself, softly.

   He blinked as the blanket was removed from his head.

   An attractive blonde flight attendant, probably in her early 30s, was
looking down at him in alarm.

   "Are you OK, sir?" she asked, kneeling to check his condition. She
pulled back in shock, staring at him.

   "Wonder what the problem is?" Ron mused, silently. "I probably reek of
piss and pussy.  I wonder if she'll call Security?"

   Ron smiled weakly.

   "Hello, there," he offered, putting on a game face.  "I appear to have
gotten myself in a bit of a jam." The blonde flight attendant looked at him
with amazement, before finally breaking into a smile.

   "That you have, Sir," she agreed. "May I ask how this happened?"

   Another flight attendant joined her. It was the comely black woman,
he'd met earlier. Part of him was deeply embarrassed that she had to see
him this way, part of him was glad that it was her - he trusted her
professionalism.

   "Don't worry," the black attendant reassured him, "There's no one else
on the plane, now." Ron nodded, grateful.

   "It's a long story," he admitted, "but the gist of it is: I tripped and
fell. My row mate had a bit of a temper - kicked me when I was down, so to
speak - and I got jammed under here as I tried to evade her blows." Ron
gave an embarrassed grin.

   "I'd really appreciate your helping me extricate myself," he entreated
with a sigh.

   The blonde smiled and nodded, retreating to Row 16 to assess the
situation of his lower half.

   The attractive black woman gave a sympathetic grin.

   "Looks as if the passenger in Row 15 decided to ... take advantage ...
of your plight," she observed, gently removing the soiled panties from his
face.

   Ron, who had forgotten they were even there, blushed deeply.

   At last, he thought, sympathetic women who are going to help me!

   He felt the blanket removed from his lower body and heard a gasp.

   With a stab of embarrassment, he realized what the blonde flight
attendant must be seeing: A jizz-covered mess all over Row 16, and him
still sporting a big, throbbing hard-on after having the horny young girl
piss down his throat!

   He felt as if he could die of shame. If he could have sunk into the
floor, he would have.

   Ron noticed the black woman regarding him with a strange expression.

   "The little minx really did a number on you," she observed, drawing a
finger across his thoroughly slimed features. She brought out a
handkerchief and began scrubbing his face.

   "Judging by the state of this row," came the white attendant's amused
voice, "I think he enjoyed it a bit, in spite of himself."

   The black woman was giving him a calculating look, from the corner of
her eye.

   "Is that true?" she asked, spitting into the handkerchief before
continuing to scrub at his face. "Did you ... enjoy it?"

   Ron swallowed hard. For some reason, seeing the black woman spit on the
cloth and then rub it on his face ... was incredibly arousing! Such an act
of dominant intimacy! He could feel his erection straining.

   "From the looks of things over here," came the white woman's laugh, "he
*definitely* enjoys it!"

   There was a short pause before he heard the white woman huskily whisper
"Looks like you could use some help, here, honey."

   He felt a wonderful liquid warmth engulf his swollen cock, only to
disappear, immediately.

   "Feh!" he heard the white attendant spit. "His cock tastes like FEET!"

   The black attendant laughed and caressed Ron's face.

   "Did it excite you," she whispered, "when those women had their way with
you?"

   Ron looked at her with wide eyes and gave a small nod. He groaned as he
felt his shaft engulfed in a wonderful, warm wetness, again.

   The white attendant had mounted him, facing his feet!

   "She sat on your face, didn't she?" the black attendant asked, standing
and straightening her skirt. 

   Ron nodded.

   "Did you like that?"

   Ron stared, eyes wide in disbelief, watching as the attractive black
attendant hiked up her skirt and removed her panties - which (to his
relief) were pristine, clean, and dazzlingly white.

   "Did it excite you, having a woman sit on your face while you were
powerless?" she murmured, standing over him and looking down.

   Ron looked up, helplessly.  She was standing over him, allowing him to
look straight up her skirt.  Any sight of her crotch was lost in the rich,
promising darkness up there, between her parted legs.

   Ron looked up, past the dark recesses of her skirt ... past the swell of
her breasts in her clean, pressed airline uniform.

   He looked up into her face.

   The woman was beautiful.

   She looked down at him, dominantly -- but not maliciously, as the
domineering teen had done. The black woman's expression was authoritative,
but kind.

   "Yes," he croaked. "It did excite me." He paused, trying to work past
the lump in his throat.

   He had never yearned for domination as he was yearning for it, now.

   "But not as much as I'm excited now," he whispered, blushing with the
admission.

   He was rewarded by her broad smile.

   More than anything, he wanted this beautiful black woman to sit on his
face ... to please her with his mouth and tongue.

   "Please!" he begged. "Do it. Take me. Use me."

   She gave a smile of acquiescence and straddled his head, lowering her
sweet, musky crotch down onto his face.

   Ron was in submissive Heaven!

   This woman was the exact opposite of the dirty teenager who had
subjugated him, earlier!  The black attendant was squeaky clean and the
only thing he could smell was the enticing scent of her arousal.  Even her
ass -- dark, full, and curvaceous - was delightful, with only the faint
lingering scent of soap discernible.

   She held herself over him, pressing ever-so slightly down on him,
allowing free access to his eager tongue.  He strained to push his face
deeper, brushing his nose between those gorgeous, soft, dark asscheeks as
he slithered his tongue between her nether lips.  He was rewarded by a soft
moan of pleasure as the beautiful woman lowered herself a bit further onto
his willing face.

   The white attendant, straddling his hips, rode him like an expert -
controlling the pace with long, slow strokes.

   The two women rode him for almost half an hour - multiple forced
climaxes had guaranteed Ron wouldn't climax soon.  In fact, he knew, if it
weren't for the erotic thrill of being seduced and dominated by these two
beautiful flight attendants, it would probably be at least a week before he
could sustain another erection!

   The white woman always seemed to sense when he was eventually reaching a
breaking point and would slow her pace - enough to avoid forcing him to
climax, but not so slow as to cause him to lose his erection.  Both women
knew their own bodies well enough that, when they had control like this,
they were able to achieve several deep, satisfying orgasms.

   The black woman finally lifted herself off Ron's face by about four
inches, depriving him of her intoxicating pussy.

   "It's getting late, Michelle," the black attendant called.  "We really
should finish up so we can get this poor man out and on his way." Ron
wanted to protest, but knew they were right.

   "OK," the white attendant called.  She dismounted and Ron almost wept in
frustration.  To have been so expertly fucked for so long ... only to be
deprived of final release!

   His frustration was short-lived.

   He moaned in appreciation as he felt a hand firmly grasp his shaft and
begin stroking.

   "Now it's your turn," the white woman murmured, huskily.

   The black attendant looked down at Ron and smiled.  She shifted her
position, bringing her beautifully rounded ass over his face.

   "It's your turn, baby," she purred, spreading her asscheeks and settling
down firmly on his face.  "Cum for us."

   Ron couldn't breathe, but he didn't care.  The warm pressure of the
attendant's soft, deep-brown ass on his face ... smothering him ... the
rapid pistoning of the white attendant's fist as she feverishly jerked off
his already well-lubricated cock ...

   In spite of having climaxed so many times already, today, Ron shot off
again.  The ferocity of his climax surprised him, as the two flight
attendants forced him over the edge.

   He shot wildly into the air and screamed aloud in pleasure, his cries
muffled in the beautiful black attendant's smothering ass.

   On the verge of passing out from exhaustion and lack of air, he finally
collapsed and lay still, heart still pounding.

   Seeing him go limp, the beautiful black attendant raised herself from
his face.

   He sucked in a huge lungful of air.

   "You like that, baby?" she asked, smiling as she regained her feet.  She
slipped her panties into his jacket pocket.

   "A memento," she whispered.  "And probably a lot better than that nasty
memento that 15B left." Ron nodded his thanks and smiled broadly.

   "Now," said the white attendant, wiping her hands with a cloth, "let's
see about getting you out of there!"

   The two women tried to free him, working at it for over 20 minutes:
Pulling, tugging, evaluating ... all to no avail.

   "I'm sorry," the comely black attendant told Ron.  "You are *really*
stuck there!  We aren't going to be able to get you out.  I'm afraid we'll
have to call Maintenance."

   Ron felt his spirits sag, but shrugged.  "I understand," he said.  "And
I am most appreciative." He smiled even more broadly.

   "MOST appreciative!" he laughed.

   The two women chuckled and took their leave, assuring him that someone
would be by shortly, with tools, to unbolt the seats and release him.

   Ron lay on his back and waited.

   What a day!  First he had been foot-fucked and thoroughly subjugated by
two bitchy passengers ... then he had been delightfully seduced and
dominated by two attractive flight attendants.  He sighed, happily.

   "A happy ending," he murmured.

   In any event, it would all soon be over.  He no longer feared the
reaction of anyone finding him.  Hell, the Maintenance guy would probably
be green with envy, when he found Ron half-naked, reeking of four pussies!

   It was almost half an hour later when he heard footsteps.

   He wanted to be irritated, but realized that it was late, and they
probably had to roust the poor Maintenance man out of bed to come rescue
him.

   "You the guy who's stuck under the seats?"

   Ron was momentarily struck by the incredible silliness of that question.
He was about to zing off a witty rejoinder when he looked up at the
Maintenance man.

   It wasn't a maintenance *man* at all.  Standing in the aisle, regarding
him with obvious amusement, was a maintenance *woman*.

   She was a black woman - her ink-black skin much darker than the flight
attendant's had been.  This woman also had a much thicker body.  She wore a
sleeveless jumpsuit that showed amazingly well-developed and muscular arms.

   On the left side of the coveralls stretched across her broad chest was a
red-trimmed white oval that read "Sam."

   Ron regained his wits.  "Hello, Samantha," he said.

   The woman looked at him in surprise.

   "How did you know my name?" she asked, in awe.

   Ron repressed a laugh.  "Just a guess," he chuckled.  "I'm good at that
sort of thing." He was gratified to see her smile back.  For being a
muscular woman, she really was fairly attractive ... if one was in to
muscular women.

   Sam laid out her tools and went to work, ratcheting nuts off the support
bolts.  "Gotta get the fastenings on the back legs," she told him, moving
to Row 16.

   Ron waited.  He didn't hear any nuts being ratcheted.

   "Well, lookee here," he heard Sam chuckle.

   He jumped when he felt a large, strong hand grasp his erect member.  He
*still* had a hard-on?!?  After everything he had been through?!?

   "Looks like you could use a little action," Sam murmured, huskily,
stroking his aching cock.

   Ron felt as if he could cry.

   For the first time in his life, he didn't want sex.  And he especially
didn't want to be dominated by any more women!  And *especially* especially
not by a muscular bodybuilder!

   He heard the sound of metal on metal and felt his arms finally freed. 
The big woman easily lifted the Row 15 bank of seats from their bracket and
set them in the aisle.

   Free!  He was free!  At long last!

   Ron sat up, rubbing his sore arms and flexing.

   "Not so fast," the big woman told him, smiling as she pushed him down
onto his back.  "I think you owe me for getting you loose."

   She began to shuck off her coveralls.

   Ron almost wept.

   "Look," he stammered.  "I think you're very nice and you *are* very
attractive.  On a normal day, I'd jump at the chance, but you see, today
has been ..."

   She dropped her uniform, revealing a bright white bra and thong panties
that contrasted sharply with her deep, indigo skin.  Large, full breasts
hung from a broad, muscular chest and she flexed her biceps for his
appreciation.

   "A body builder," Ron thought.  "She's definitely a body builder."

   He didn't have time to think, much less protest.  Sam straddled his hips
and engulfed his member with her muscular snatch.

   "Ah, shit!" she murmured happily.  "It's been ages since I had me some
cock." She began pumping herself up and down heavily on him, battering his
pelvis with her weight.

   "You'd better not cum too soon," she warned.  "If you don't hold on
until I get off, I'll punch your lights out!"

   As it turned out, her warning was unnecessary.  After having climaxed so
many times within the past five hours, Ron felt as if he couldn't climax if
he'd wanted to.  In fact, he was certain there'd be no way he could sustain
his erection.

   Unfortunately, his traitorous penis seemed unable to resist responding
to each new woman.

   And Sam appeared to be no exception.

   Something deep in his psyche must be attracted to dominant women, he
realized.  One would think that after so much use, his poor penis would be
flaccid for a month!  But evidently, the sight of the black woman's shiny,
sweat-soaked, muscles tensing as she fucked him must arouse him on some
level.

   Unfortunately for Ron, he had achieved the optimum balance between
exhaustion and arousal ... Sam fucked him savagely for almost an hour,
climaxing repeatedly as she pounded him beneath her.

   Mere minutes into it, Ron gave up.  He was too exhausted to put up a
fight to prevent this rape.

   And rape it was.  The big black woman fucked Ron to within an inch of
his life.  He actually passed out several times, only to be brought back
around by stinging slaps to his face.  He felt certain that the hulking
bitch was going to fracture his pelvis, the way she slammed herself down on
him.

   Eventually, the savagery of the rape overcame even Ron's exhaustion. 
Her muscular cunt was squeezing his tortured cock as if it were a tube of
toothpaste, as she bounced up and down on him.

   With a strangled cry, he climaxed.

   His body arched forcefully, actually lifting the big woman's knees off
the ground as she rode his spasming body into the air!  He couldn't tell if
he was actually shooting anything ... if he even *had* anything left to
shoot into his rapist ... but the effect was the same.

   His balls ached as if they'd been punted.  His twitching, burning cock
felt as if it were being crushed in a vise.

   With a scream of pain and pleasure still in his throat, his mind and
body gave out.

   He lost consciousness.

   * * * * * *

   Ron groaned as he came to.

   He opened one eye, then closed it.  His body was wracked by every kind
of pain imaginable!  Most intense was the pain between his legs: He felt as
if the entire cast of Riverdance had performed on his groin ... and then
come back for an encore.  The ache was so intense, he was afraid that he
might vomit if he even breathed too deeply.

   Then, there was his head ... he had an absolutely pounding headache, and
his face felt as if it had been rubbed raw.

   And speaking of being rubbed raw: His penis burned as if it had been
sandpapered!

   "What the hell happened to me?" he wondered, grimacing.  Was I in an
accident?

   He opened one eye again.

   This wasn't his room!

   With a start, he opened both eyes.

   He was lying on a king-sized bed, on top of a large, billowy, yellow
quilt, with lacy fringe.  Dozens of throw pillows were scattered about.

   And he was naked.

   Ron sat up, instinctively curling to hide his nakedness.  "Where the
hell are my clothes?!?" he wondered, looking around.  he glanced at the
nearby closet, its louvered doors left open.

   There were clothes hanging there, but everything seemed so ... frilly.

   "This is a woman's room!" he realized.

   He didn't know whether he should feel alarmed or proud.  Had he had a
one-night stand?  Never before had he awakened and been unable to recall
how he'd gotten there!

   And, for the life of him, he didn't recall spending the night at any
woman's place ...

   He looked around the room, noting the neat dressers and unfamiliar
framed pictures of black people.

   "Guess I'd best go reintroduce myself and get reoriented," he decided,
throwing his legs over the side of the bed.

   As he moved, a length of chain slithered after him.

   "What's this, then?" Ron exclaimed.  Twisting around, he grabbed up a
handful of chain.  The links weren't especially heavy ... it reminded him
of the type of chain one might use to restrain a German Shepherd, to keep
it in the yard.

   One end of the chain was securely fastened to a heavy leather strap,
fastened around one of the bedposts.  The strap had been slid through a
hole in the headboard, effectively preventing it from being removed.

   The other end ran to a collar - which was securely fastened around Ron's
neck!  In his pained daze, he hadn't noticed it until now.

   Panicked, Ron pulled at the chain.

   "What's going on, here?!?" he cried, grabbing at the collar.

   He couldn't get the collar unfastened.  There was something in the way
of the buckle.  His fingers probed and encountered a cold, metal object.

   "A ... a padlock?" he gasped.  It was a small padlock, but a padlock,
nonetheless.  The implications were chilling.

   "Someone is intentionally trying to keep me prisoner!" he thought,
fighting an urge to run.

   The door opened and a familiar figure breezed in.

   Wearing a revealing, fur-trimmed yellow robe of some diaphanous fabric,
Sam the airline Maintenance Woman walked over to the window and threw open
the curtains.

   The light from the window made her thin robe translucent to the point of
being nearly transparent.  He gulped hard, as he saw her exquisite
musculature revealed - dark and powerful, silhouetted against the
background light.

   She turned to him, smiling.

   "Finally awake?" she laughed.  "I thought you were going to sleep
forever!  It's been almost two days!"

   She jumped up on the bed, next to him and kissed him, deeply.

   "Was I *that* good?" she chuckled, giving him a lewd wink.

   Ron was flabbergasted.  "Sam!" he said, blinking his eyes in confusion.
"What am I doing here?!?"

   The big woman grinned and pulled him into a crushing bear-hug.

   "You were fantastic, that night!" Sam sighed, pressing her sensual,
thick lips over his reluctant mouth.  "I have *never* had such incredible
sex!  But when you passed out, I couldn't just leave you there."

   Ron held up the length of chain securing him to the bed.

   "And this?" he demanded.  "What's with this collar and chain?!"

   Sam's expression sobered.  She was still smiling, but her face had
become deadly serious.

   "I've decided to make you mine, baby," she said, in a matter-of-fact
voice.  "You are a keeper - there's no way I'm going to let you escape from
my life!  That was the best sex I have ever had!"

   She paused, looking at him intently.

   "And I want it again," she told him.  "I want fantastic sex like that
again and again and again -- whenever I want."

   She pushed him back on the bed and jumped on top of him, straddling his
hips.  Her robe dropped opened, allowing her large, dark breasts to swing
free above him.

   She easily pinned his wrists and lowered her face to his.

   "You're mine, now, Ron," she told him, her features clouding with
desire. "You belong to me." She began to slowly rock back and forth on him.

   "She knows my name," Ron thought, grunting under the big woman's weight.
"She must have found my Identification in my wallet, while I was
unconscious."

   "A man like you," Sam murmured, voice thickening with lust, "a man with
that kind of stamina - who can delay climax and stay hard for so long --
you're one in a million, baby!"

   Ron could feel hot, wet trails that her dampening pussy was leaving on
his groin and stomach.  She kissed him deeply, almost engulfing his thin
mouth with her full, dark, thick lips.

   "And I know what you need, baby," she whispered, breaking the kiss, at
long last.  "I know that you need a strong woman - a woman who can control
you ... dominate you."

   She released his wrists and wrapped her big, strong, black hands around
his pale throat.

   "A woman who can make you serve her."

   She tightened her grip slightly and Ron felt a wave of erotic fear run
through him.

   "This woman has the dominance of those other four, combined!" he
thought, feeling the cold flutterings of panic rising in his gut, as well
as a sick, erotic longing.

   "If things got out of hand with those others, I could have easily dealt
with any of them," he told himself.

   He mentally chuckled.  "Well, assuming that I wasn't pinned under Row
15, of course."

   But the fact remained: This situation was different.  Sam was different.
It was obvious that she had the physical strength to enforce her dominant
will.  And she seemed intent on making him her sex slave.

   But the problem, Ron realized, was that the "fantastic performance" with
which she was so impressed had been a one-shot deal, due solely to the
unusual circumstances!  He'd never have been able to perform in such a
manner, had he not been sexually abused for so long on the flight, followed
by the delightful dominant seduction, immediately afterwards!

   Even now, he was completely flaccid.  And after that last marathon
session, it would probably be days before he could get an erection.  Maybe
longer.

   "The only reason I didn't climax too soon, then, was because the other
women had utterly exhausted me already!" Ron thought, trembling.  "The only
reason I was able to get an erection at all is because it had been so long
since I had been with a woman and the novelty of a `new, strange woman' -
who happened to be extremely dominant -- was enough to overcome my
exhaustion!"

   Well, he admitted, that and the dominance she had displayed.  He had to
admit, he was helpless to resist a sexually dominant woman.

   What would the big, muscular body builder do to him if she found out he
couldn't repeat that performance, on demand?  Could he respond to the
dominance of a single woman, over time - without the novelty factor?

   Mental images of her probable, angry reaction flashed through his mind,
when she discovered he couldn't get hard.  The images terrified him.

   His cock stiffened, involuntarily.

   Sam smiled as she slid her slick pussy lips over his growing shaft.

   "That's right, baby," she purred.  "You belong to me, now.  And I'm
gonna do things to you that those other women never *dreamed* of doing!"

   She lowered her full chest down on him, crushing the air from his lungs.
Grabbing the chain, she wrapped it around tightly Ron's throat, before
reaching out to pin his wrists, again.

   "Things that *you* never dreamed of!" she whispered.

   Ron whimpered, and the big woman slid his straining, engorged cock
deeply inside her.

   "Maybe I *can* repeat," Ron thought, before the big black woman's
pounding pelvis beat all rational thought from his mind.  
