East Coast Slavers Organization

East Coast Slavers Organization – I: A Caribbean Adventure

Chapter 04 – A Relaxing Flight (or First Class Service)

Aaron Clarke (now Mr. Michael Moore for the duration of his British Virgin Islands work) sat down in his comfortable reclining seat and sighed. He was tired. It had been a busy time getting things set up in Miami; and, he was nowhere near finished yet. That's why he was on the flight. A germ of an idea about doing business in one of the world's vacation spots for the rich led to this exploratory flight on American Airlines. Michael Moore, the first of Aaron Clarke's working identities to be used, was bound for the British Virgin Islands (B.V.I.).

The plan was to stay at a resort hotel and explore the possibilities. Aaron kept Steve Austin, his partner in Los Angeles, appraised of his progress every few days. Steve was impressed with Aaron's progress and obvious dedication. He agreed the idea was a good one and that it was time for Michael Moore to step forward. Steve told him to kick back and enjoy himself while on the scouting trip.

It was still dark outside the aircraft cabin and only a few passengers wandered onboard after Michael's First Class Cabin boarded the flight. Michael was in the fifth, and last, row in his section of the aircraft; right in front of the small First Class Luggage Bin and the dividing curtains. He sat up and only saw two other people, obviously a young couple, up in the front row.

A lovely stewardess stood across the narrow aisle from Michael to greet each passenger and move him or her along to Coach Class seating. Michael noted that unlike many modern stewardesses, Ingrid (from her American Airlines nametag) was trim and athletic. Michael had admired many 'stews' in his time; but, sadly noted that appearance and grooming standards had waned as political correctness and workers' rights infringed on what had been a critical part of early aviation – young, tender, bright-eyed girls dedicated to making an awkward flight a little more enjoyable. Yes, the era of 'eye-candy' while in flight was over.

Michael's critical eye appraised Ingrid as mid-thirties, 5'8" tall, and probably 125 lbs. Her trim form featured nicely formed breasts rising out over a trim belly. Her tailored blouse was tucked snuggly into her skirt's waistband. There was no place to hide any loose 'love handles' under that uniform. Her best feature – a sunny disposition, topped off the overall package. Ingrid's smile showed confidence, enjoyment, and a little mirth as she greeted each still-sleepy passenger that shambled aboard.

Despite her Scandinavian sounding name, Ingrid had black hair and deeply tanned skin. "Guess she enjoys the sun on this Virgin Islands run," Michael thought as he tried not to leer at Ingrid.

Soon after the 'Cattle Class' section was settled, Ingrid whisked the dividing curtains shut. She turned to Michael and leaning forward said, with sincerity, "Sorry for not talking earlier. With our enhanced security procedures, we have to scrutinize each passenger and account for their movements into the various cabins." She then smiled and added with a wink, "I was supposed to get you a drink first-thing upon boarding. You get a free favor in return for me leaving you without service."

Michael was certain she didn't mean anything by the remark; but he decided to remember in case the chance came up to flirt with her later. She looked like a fun bundle for cuddling.

Ingrid then efficiently took the drink orders from her three passengers. Everyone opted for coffee or a fresh-squeezed island fruit juice. Michael took both. Soon Ingrid was finished with her minimal galley duties and sat down sideways on the edge of the seat across the aisle.

"You look wide awake compared to my other two passengers. They will be asleep before takeoff. Do you want peace and quiet, or can I chat your ears off?" Ingrid commented as she leaned across the aisle toward Michael.

Michael's eyes fought to focus on her face instead of her impressively bulging breasts as he answered with a grin, "Well, it would be silly to miss out on all the pretty scenery as we flew along this morning."

"Well, a morning person at last," she responded with a grin of her own. "Everyone on my flight crew is grouchy in the morning; they won't even talk to me till we arrive at our first stop. Till then, everyone just growls, even to the passengers," she laughed.

She sat down and fumbled with her seatbelt. "They're already asleep up there," she said pointing at the couple in the front row. "I think I'll use this seat to give you the pre-flight briefing and stay through the take off. By the way, I am Ingrid Gaviard." She grinned and they kept talking until the aircraft was well on its way to cruising altitude.

Ingrid was pleasant and cheerful. She often laughed as they chatted. At one point, she asked Michael what his plans were in the islands. Michael explained about needing a break from his job and that a few days exploring the islands sounded like fun. A little unhappy about the direction of the conversation, he had to explain about his export business. "I am kind of a 'marketing specialist' in international shipping and I'm expanding operations to the east coast."

"What's that mean?" Ingrid asked.

"Well, my specialty is determining exactly what a customer needs and getting it for him. I'm not talking about everyday items. It's more like you briefly discuss the needs with your customer; and then using a special vision, ensure the right merchandise gets to the them."

Michael wanted to shift the conversation away from his business, "Can you give me any pointers on fun things to do in the B.V.I.? Better yet, if you layover there, maybe you can show me the best beach, or snorkeling spot, or … a restaurant?"

They agreed to meet that night. Ingrid was going to shuttle back and forth during the day till her crew ended up in the B.V.I. with an entire day free for crew rest. Michael wasn't sure meeting was a good idea; he had just been making conversation to avoid telling Ingrid too much about himself. He wanted to stay focused on his scouting; but perhaps her presence would be good cover. Inwardly reluctant, he agreed to pick her up at her hotel.

Michael liked this woman. She was perky and vivacious. In addition, she was cute. She unbuckled and stood up. "Time to get back to work. Whoaaaa," she started as the plane lurched and she virtually flew sideways, fully across his lap.

Michael's quick reflexes only made things worse. As she flew toward him, he reached up to catch her. His left hand missed entirely, but his right hand hit her squarely in the chest, slipping between her blouse buttons. His thumb caught on her bra and the motion of her fall yanked it up and over her nicely formed tits. The result was that while his face was just a foot from one of the best tight asses he had ever seen, his right hand was stuck under her stunned form, strongly cupping one of her bare breasts. He didn't really know what to do, but decided to have some fun. "The worst thing that would happen is she won't meet me tonight," he thought with a grin.

So, before she could recover, his left hand moved across to her back and pressed firmly down, trapping her while his other hand forcefully kneaded her breasts. "Are you OK, Ingrid? My hand seems to be stuck," he laughed.

Ingrid was shocked. One minute she was in charge and casually flirting with 'Michael', and now she was wedged down on this man's lap and locked into place with his hand. Her ass and legs were stuck out into the aisle. The hand was soothing her back with the massaging actions, … but her breasts were being mauled. She silently struggled to get up, but made no headway. "Hey, Michael. What's going on?" she asked as she contorted her head to peer back at Michael.

"You're stuck and I'm trying to help you." He then leaned forward and whispered into her ear, "You have wonderful breasts. I bet your ass is firm too." She started to struggle a little, but his left hand just slipped down across her taut skirt until he felt her hose. "Up we go," he laughed as his hand turned back up along her hose till he squeezed her pantyhose-covered ass.

Her face flushed in embarrassment and anger; she started to pant from a lack of breath. "Stop it, this is not acceptable," she hissed back at Michael.

"Ingrid looks like you really owe me now. I'm a morning person – unlike your grouchy crewmates. We chatted, something you miss in the morning, and I saved you from thumping your noggin against the window here. Keep going and you won't have enough chips to pay off your debt."

She really didn't know what he meant except that he wasn't going to let her loose yet. Ingrid twisted and contorted herself, but was unable to gain leverage enough to begin to escape.

Michael could never explain why he then pulled his loosened tie from his neck and quickly hogtied the frightened stewardess.

Ingrid felt her hands pulled together behind her back and her ankles stretched up till they almost met. They stayed, bowing her body and taking away all possibility of movement. She felt her body lifted up off his lap and then she was balancing painfully on her knees sideways in front of the seat beside Michael. Her feet and hands were touching the side of the aircraft by the window behind her. "I'm trapped, but at least I'm out of the isle," she thought.

Michael looked down at the uncertain girl with her two bare breasts flopped out in the open. He grabbed the white linen napkin she had provided with his drink service and stuffed it into her incredulous mouth. Then, using both hands, he lifted her tight bra out away from her neck and popped it up into her mouth to hold the impromptu gag in place. "Now, hush unless you want someone to find you like this, you kinky thing," he admonished her.

Ingrid remained silent. She was humiliated at the turn of events but at the same time her pussy was throbbing and she felt weak from the lack of control. The excruciatingly tight bra held her chin down on her chest. He position was painful with all her weight on her knees and her back deeply bowed.

"I'll take that as a yes," Michael said gleefully. "Now to finish helping you out." With that, Michael finished unbuttoning the remaining few buttons that held Ingrid's blouse together and yanked it down off her shoulders to her elbows.

Strong hands grasped her breasts and tugged hard. She tried to move forward to relieve the pain, but she was stuck. One by one, the hands curled around her full breasts and latched onto the plump nipples. They were also yanked and twisted, setting off electrical twinges through her nervous system. "My God!" Ingrid thought, "I can feel my breasts swelling and my pussy is starting to tingle as well. What is happening to me?"

Abruptly, he let go. Then she felt her body lifted up again and she was now kneeling on the window seat, facing the bulkhead. Her bare breasts scratched against the seat's fabric. One hand pushed against her back, forcing her to stay in place while the other hand positioned her knees a little wider apart. Her skirt was then rucked high up her back and her pantyhose yanked almost all the way down to her knees.

"Ingrid, you look like a little naked Piggy, … all trussed up and waiting for my branding iron."

She was horrified. This man had bound and stripped her in a matter of moments. Her titties were aching from the earlier twisting and the scratchy airplane seat. Further, her bare ass was pointing toward the pilots' cabin. "Hmmph, hmpp," she started to protest. She wanted him to take back the humiliating 'piggy'. Her tight bra kept her from turning her face toward his body.

Michael loved the sight in front of him. Both hands slid down to the perfect ass. He forcefully squeezed and pinched her cheeks. One hand formed a knife-edge that he drove down her ass crack, across her sensitive anus, and to her twitching pussy. He made her lower lips stretch and twist as the edge of his hand pushed and moved roughly about. She was starting to get wet.

Michael used one hand to grab a small digital camera in his carry bag. While the horrified stewardess twisted and jerked to escape, the camera flashed a number of times; catching her in a series of compromising photos. Fortunately, the couple up front was too hung over from their wedding to notice.

"Now my Little Piggy, you have two choices. First, nod your head to let me know you want a good fuck before we land. The second choice is no fucking, but I'll tell your crew what a dirty Little Piggy you are. Remember the nice pictures?"

Ingrid had no choice. He had those pictures. How horrifying. She nodded her head up and down as best the bra would allow.

"Good Piggy. It will be fun and you won't be hurt, I promise." Without further ado, Michael slid down on his knees and buried his face in her ass. His tongue found her tortured outer lips and he started licking, sucking, and twisting the tender flesh with his tongue, lips, and teeth. One hand stayed busy abusing her ass cheeks. The other yanked her pantyhose down to her ankles where they hung up on the silk tie and her wrists. "No time to lose, old girl," he muttered as his other hand freed his belt buckle and fed his throbbing cock through his underwear. His teeth ripped open the foil of a condom. The camera's digital memory caught the scene in full color and in the digital memory when the timer clicked off another photo. The flash flickered through the cabin like a lightning bolt.

Ingrid felt the wondrous tongue almost painfully stimulating her cunt. Little spasms already made her pelvis swivel and roll, unconsciously trying to fucking an imaginary cock. "Eiiiii," she screamed silently and thought to herself, "Ohh, he's pulling my lips so hard, … it … is … so nice." Her brain was overwhelmed by the pleasurable sensations that so quickly following the shock of falling and the pain caused by the hogtie. A moment later, she felt a pressure against her cunt. "Is he going to fuck me?" she wailed to herself.

As soon as his condom-covered cockhead was centered against her slippery labia, Michael yanked a quick-release from the knotted tie, releasing her ankles but leaving her wrists tightly tied. Her feet flopped down, his hands yanked her hips backward, and he slid smoothly into her sopping vagina. He drove nine inches of meat fully inside her in that first plunge, raising her hips and slamming Ingrid's face into the seat.

Michael looked over his shoulder to the front of the cabin as his cock slid out halfway. "All's quiet up front Ingrid," he announced as his hips forcefully started to swivel in circles, stimulating every bit of her inner walls and meaty cunt lips.

Ingrid was getting into the action now. Still unable to move with her face in the headrest, she tried to move her hips against his motion to increase the stimulation. "Yes, … yes, … yessss," she chanted to herself. She never noticed the additional camera flashes. Then abruptly, the dick was withdrawn from her steaming pussy. Her wet and slimy ass kept circling and searching blindly for the missing cock.

Michael stood up to survey the stewardess. He chuckled and said, "Little Piggy, you sure are fast to breed. I need to get you some more rutting experience." He sat back in his seat and pulled down his own slacks and boxers. "No use getting myself slimy from your juices Piggy," he observed to the inattentive woman.

Ingrid next found herself facing the front of the cabin with her back to her captive, her hips still held tightly by the man's strong hands. Then she was lowered back onto his cock. Despite the fear of being caught and a certain firing after a humiliating review board, her heart jumped as the fat head pushed back in, to the hilt. The bra still painfully held her mouth open and her chin down as far as it would go. Something slid down over her eyes, blocking her view of the cabin. "Ohhhh, no! He's put a sleeping mask from the First Class Comfort Kit over my eyes," the analytical stewardess cried to herself. His hands then savagely squeezed her tits.

Michael grinned at the camera he had stuck between the two seats in front of them. It was set to take a picture every thirty seconds. Ingrid could no longer see the repetitive flashes. "Hope no one comes by to see why all the pictures are being taken," Michael laughed to himself. He then reached forward and pulled the ruined bra and soggy napkin out of Ingrid's mouth. He yanked her head back against his chest. One hand now rested tightly against her throat and the other mashed into her belly to control her hips as he sat still. "Do you want me to stop Piggy?" he asked with an evil voice.

She squirmed for several seconds trying unsuccessfully to grind her pussy down on the immobile cock. "Yes, stop … ahhh. No, eiiiii. No, … no, …" Ingrid's common sense said no; the rest of her being took over and hissed, "Michael, you bastard! Fuck me, … fuck me, … fuck me. Ughhhh, Goddd. Oh, you fuck!"

Michael took the hint, lunged upward, and began a rapid up and down fucking motion. Her damp and slimy pussy made a rhythmic slapping sound as it slammed against his thighs, over and over. He was churning his dick through her cunt, touching every inch of her velvety pussy. It was incredible that nobody from the crowded Economy Class section of the aircraft noticed the obvious sounds of sex.

Afterward as they sat together, huddled more or less like normal passengers, Michael leaned over to Ingrid beside him and said, "Believe me, I have never done anything remotely like that before. Your jumping on me just triggered something uncontrollable."

She flushed and her sense of propriety returned enough for her to snap, "Well, it won't happen again! I will admit the ending was nice, … but, it was really rape. I mean, … the nerve of you, tying me up and …, Umphh." His hands pulled her flapping mouth to his in a passionate kiss to stop her self-righteous tirade.

Every major nerve bundle in her body twitched in response to the deep kisses. Impossibly, she felt her wet and sticky pussy start to throb again.

--L--A--T--E--R--

Michael felt invigorated as he stepped of the ramp into the bright tropical sunshine." I have the entire day to do some exploring and then prepare for my 'date' with Ingrid," he grinned while reflecting on the way she only agreed to meet him after he reviewed with her some of the photos in the large color viewer of the digital camera. Her orders were to skip check-in at her regular hotel and go straight to his to change for dinner.

The Customs and Immigration Officers only made perfunctory review of the passenger's belongings and papers as the passengers passed through. After all, nobody was worried about drugs coming into the British Virgin Islands with tourists. Further, local business would not tolerate interference with the needed cash infusion brought to the islands by tourists.

--L--A--T--E--R--

Michael stepped into a taxi from the stand in front of his luxury resort complex, the Castle Maria in Road Town, Tortola. He directed the driver to take him to the Road Town office of Banco do Estado de San Paulo.

A smiling and officious bank Vice President, Odiwaldo S. Nesser, greedily watched a bank lackey count the stack of $100 bills that Michael Moore submitted for deposit. Mr. Moore sat calmly sipping his tea while he reflected on how well the morning had progressed.

After checking in to the hotel, Michael arranged for a fast introductory interview with a local real estate agent, a Miss Connie Baxter. He selected her solely based upon her company's website that featured several shots of the fetchingly beautiful agent.

Michael Moore and Connie had chatted agreeably for about thirty minutes. Michael passed on his rental requirements to the quickly overwhelmed rental agent. Michael insisted on the following:

• A large secluded luxury villa with beach access and all the necessities: pool, Jacuzzi, tennis courts, ski boat, small sailboat, jeep and mopeds.

• Full luxury food provisions with enough for 10-15.

• Minimal interference from staff and maintenance crews.

• An unlisted local phone only, no access to international circuits.

Michael offered to pay cash for three weeks rental, a substantial deposit in case of damage, and reimbursement for anything on his required list that had to be rented or purchased. He expressed his confidence to Miss Baxter that she would find exactly what he specified, and he left the astonished woman sitting at her desk staring bemusedly at the almost ¼ pound of $100 bills ($20,000) left on her desk as a 'good faith' deposit.

Michael nibbled on an English biscuit in the banker's office as he pondered again on the interview. "I think she will take me up on the offer for drinks and dancing," he thought. "She was cute and cuddly, a little plump from the soft island life and no exercise; but, we can work that off in a few days of 'structured' weight control and workouts," he grinned as he visualized a naked Connie running on an electric walking machine, her wrists tied off to the support bar, … breasts swaying and bouncing. At thirty-two, she was a definite prospect for putting in a final hogtie.

Connie Baxter had also proven to have a great sense of humor. She agreed to help him with a girlfriend problem. She giggled when he described the problem and his proposed solution. Like many women, the chance to put a potential rival down a few notches was too great an opportunity to pass up

"Oh, yes, life is certainly getting more interesting," he observed. "Perhaps she could sweat it off exercising by the pool under the hot sun. We do need some color added to the fair-skinned Connie anyway."

Ingrid paused outside the fancy entry threshold of the Sir Francis Drake luxury suite and pondered her choice to show up at his room tonight. "Damn it, he left me no choice in this," she angrily fumed. "Those pictures would ruin me. Sex with a passenger! Shit! Shit! Shit!" She had to refrain from stomping her feet in frustration.

Of course, Ingrid was fully aware that her body had stayed in heat all day. She had masturbated each time she could break free during her busy schedule, at least a dozen episodes so far. She also knew that most of the aching soreness in her bruised breasts, nipples, pussy, and clit came from her own mauling hands. Each time she sat down on a toilet that day, she had orgasmed over and over. Her hands and groin were puffy and sore from the repeated soaking in her slimy pussy juices and then the harsh soap needed to wash away the stink. "I have dirtied every scrap of underwear and spare uniforms that I packed," she complained to herself.

She also remembered her humiliation as she edged her way toward the aircraft's cramped bathroom to repair her disheveled appearance and torn clothing. In the cramped bathroom, she saw with horror the reflection in the mirror of a wild-eyed sexual pervert. With only moments till her landing duties had to commence, the dismayed senior stewardess aboard the flight hurriedly wiped her sticky pussy and thighs. She then bumped around the tiny room while she struggled into a clean pair of pantyhose. A clean bra and blouse finished up her clothes repairs. Fixing her makeup and hair took longer. She balled up the ruined clothes in her blouse and returned to near Michael's seat. "I hope you're happy, you bastard!" she hissed at him as she plopped down onto her seat. She bent down and repacked her travel bag.

That's when he described their change of plans for that night. He told her to report to his room at the Castle Maria after her last shuttle run from Miami. Their date would consist of dinner out and staying the night at his room.

Author: Desert Dog

E-Mail: Desertlickingdog at yahoo dot com