Chapter 5: Sofia Freud

We stumbled into our hotel room and were already grappling at each other’s clothes before we had even closed the door. When the heavy wooden thing finally and noisily snapped shut Sofia and I were already half-naked and on a direct approach vector towards the large bed.

A well timed shove later I found myself on my back as she impatiently divested me of my underpants. With a few licks along the length of my already hard manhood she had me standing at full attention and mounted me with all the calm and care of a Viking plunderer. Pinning me down with her hands she went to town.

If it had been one of her horse rides through the countryside it would have amounted to doing so at full gallop. Sofia rode me with an urgency as if she had only three minutes to do so. Trying to play at least some part in the proceedings, other than lying on my back and being ridden in earnest, I helped myself to two handfuls of her delectable boobs and started kneading them with the same enthusiasm.

The rest, as they say, was brain fog as we continued to - almost literally - fuck each other’s brains out. At some point or other, my sense of time and location wasn’t the best at that moment, her customary grunt announced her impending climax and I pinched one of her nipples, which sent my lovely companion over the edge with a howl.

A short moment later I went full caveman and spilled into her with a growl worthy of a mammoth hunter. We collapsed into a pile and Sofia grabbed a tissue from the amenity box to plug her battered pussy in order to prevent any leakage. This unceremonious end to a wild encounter usually got conveniently omitted from cheesy porn novels.

“My god, I needed that,” she said, still out of breath.

“Always eager to be of service,” I quipped back. For once I wasn’t the one gasping for air. “What do you say; we clean ourselves up and I’ll get us a nice bottle of bubbly from the hotel bar?”

“You go first,” she said. “I think I’ll need a few minutes.”

When I came back with a cooler and a large bottle of Krimskoye in it, Sofia was already waiting for me, naked as usual in one of the large armchairs. I put my cargo down on the small coffee table, fetched two glasses and for once I was the one serving drinks.

“So, lovely, do we pretend last night was a freak incident or do you have any idea what this was all about?” I asked as I sat down.

“I think I know,” she said carefully, tasting the hideously expensive sparkling wine. “Your mum never talked about your history, except for one time when she was a bit drunk.”

“So this is something from my childhood?” I asked and Sophia nodded.

“She didn’t say why, but your mum couldn’t produce breast milk and you had to be raised with the bottle. She said you often got very upset as a baby and cried a lot.”

“Guess my fascination with boobs goes further back than I thought,” I joked lamely to suppress the sense of embarrassment creeping up on me.

Sophia sent me a fleeting smile and continued her story.

“That’s why your parents never had another child. It was a very stressful time and your mother felt guilty about not being a ‘proper mum’. Your father tried his best to help her, but she never really got over that.”

“Damn, that must have been hard on her,” I said and she nodded again.

“Then, as a young boy you kept sucking your thumb in your sleep, even when you were already four years old.”

I felt a blush of embarrassment on my cheeks, but then a thought hit me.

“That’s why I don’t like spicy food. They smeared peeper or something on my thumbs to make me stop.”

My question was answered with another nod. For a while we said nothing and drank our sparkly stuff.

“So basically, I’m a nutter with a boob complex, because mum couldn’t breast-feed me,” I said with consternation.

“You’re not a nutter,” she protested softly. “And just so you know, I liked it a lot. It’s just not something we can do every day, or I will start producing milk.”

“You would?” I asked.

“Yes. Every woman can produce milk even if she isn’t pregnant. All it needs is the right amount of stimulation. In the olden days your mum would have looked for a wet-nurse, a woman that produces milk without being pregnant, but that went out of style when baby formula was invented.”

“And what do we do now? Do we need to season your boobs to prevent me from keeping you awake all night?”

Sophia laughed softly.

“Normally you spoon behind me, because you like to have your hands on my tits,” she pointed out. “Yesterday was the only time we slept facing each other.”

“Okay, so all we have to do is make sure that we don’t face each other when we go to sleep,” I concluded.

“Hm, I don’t know,” she said with a wicked grin. “I think once in a while ... But only if you’re ready to fuck me silly the next day. You have no idea how horny I was this morning.”

“Well, your emergency diddle in the bathroom and our desperate shag on the bed gave that one away, lovely. So you’re actually okay with that? You don’t think I’m creepy?”

“No, silly, you’re not creepy.”

Our talk was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Am I interrupting something?” Fred asked after I had called him in. “Do you ever wear clothes, lady?”

“Only when I have to go outside,” Sophia answered with a grin.

“You’re one lucky fella, boy,” he said to me and chuckled. “Anyway, I’m here on business. If you can manage to get all the paperwork done tomorrow we could be on our way the day after. A group of Pilatus mechanics flies out here in the morning and will do a routine check on the plane. Well, if you can pay the bill that is.”

I took the paper from him and read it.

“Swiss francs, any idea what that’ll be in dollars?” I asked him.

“There’s dozens of money exchange counters in the airport,” Fred answered. “They said it’ll come out around a hundred and fifty thousand.”

“I’ll get the dough when I’m in town,” I said. “You do the maintenance stuff, I’ll do the paperwork. Oh, and before I forget...”

I took out my chequebook and wrote out one in his name.

“Are you silly, boy?” he asked and looked at me as if I had spouted a second head. “For twenty thousand I could order coke and hookers on the flight home. We had agreed eight thousand.”

“You’ve gone above and beyond your contractual obligations on this flight,” I argued. “And besides, take it as an incentive to think about that job I offered. I need a chief pilot to get my AOC.”

Fred was now openly gawking at me.

“Chief pilot?”

“You have ample experience, you know how to handle inexperienced guys in the right seat and you’re a massive aviation geek. I don’t think I’ll find a better man for the job.”

“Boy, oh boy ... That’s quite a tempting offer,” he said and waved the fresh cheque at me. “I guess there’s quite a bit more where that came from?”

“About eight-hundred million,” I mentioned casually. “But before you worry, I’m not a nutter pissing it all up the wall for crack and tarts, and I’m planning to go about this a bit more methodically than the bampots in Reno that I poached the Pilatus from. Me selecting a chief pilot based on merit rather than just taking the first one who qualifies on paper should be a hint.”

“I’ll have to talk about this with the ol’ lady,” he said with a grin. “But goddammit it sure beats early-morning ferry flights for the rest of my days. And those stewardesses of yours...”

Sofia actually blushed a little at that.

“And if you don’t mind, maybe you can talk to your brother as well,” I said. “I guess we could both profit from someone who knows his way around in Germany. And those Dorniers are two-pilot planes.”

“Looks like I have some calls to make,” Fred he replied, still grinning.

The night had gone smoothly without any sneak attacks on Sofia’s mammaries simply because we had assumed our customary spooning position instead. And more importantly, for once I did not have to get out of bed at oh-dark-thirty in the night. We had a nice lie in until seven in the morning before making ourselves presentable.

Getting the paperwork sorted was the usual exercise in supreme patience. Both the Hungarian and Ukranian embassies took their sweet time sorting through my request forms, but at least the Germans had been their stereotypically effective self. When the taxi driver finally delivered me back to the hotel it was five o’clock in the evening and I was the last one to arrive. Both Fred and Sofia were already waiting for me in the hotel’s restaurant.