This is a work of fiction. The story is an unadulterated and unabashed attempt to tickle male and perhaps some female fantasies as well. As such, the story may or may not conform entirely with reality. But isn't that the whole point of fantasies--what could be? With historical exceptions, all other locations, events, and characters are entirely fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.]
I do not practice nor do I condone any of the sexual acts about which I write, other than straight, heterosexual relationships. Beside the fact that most other forms of sexual behavior are illegal, I still don't judge consenting adults for their sexual preferences except where such behavior is hurtful/harmful to others, such as pedophilia.
None-the-less, many people have FANTASIES of such taboo laden behavior to achieve sexual gratification or whatever, but have no intentions whatsoever of carrying out such behavior in actual practice. That said, if I have struck a particular fantasy of yours, read and enjoy.
Barb Bushy ... female lead character, twenty-eight
Edward Busy ... leading male character, twenty-three, brother of Barb
The Crazy Russian (Ivan Ivanovitch Chezniski ... supporting male character, forties, Barb's significant other
while in Russia
Roger Chesterton ... supporting male character, late thirties, San Francisco banker
Ted Jones ... minor male supporting character, forty, salesman, seat mate on plane
My mind was in turmoil. My body only a little less so. I was going home. Home, after nine long years. I could hardly believe it yet. I was particularly anxious as to what I'd find when I finally got there. I hadn't seen my parents or my only other sibling, a brother Edward, in all that time.
Why? Because I left home when I was nineteen. My purpose was to study art at the Sorbonne in Paris. My brother was a very pimply fourteen year old at the time. He was a constant and irritating little shit ever since I entered puberty; he stayed that way until I left for Paris.
My parents? They were on the verge of divorce by the time I left. Three years later, they were killed in a car/train crash. I didn't get home for the funeral because I never found out about it until years later. Anyway, I was incommunicado somewhere in eastern Russia with The Crazy Russian at the time.
In fact, it'd been less than two years ago that I had learned of their death. My Crazy Russian had just recently disappeared under strange circumstances and I had word from the Russian Secret Police in no uncertain terms, to get out of the country sooner rather than later. I was one really lost lady.
Thus, I found myself on a United 747 seat on the great circle route from Moscow to San Francisco. We were past the North Pole with only a couple of hours left to fly. I was growing more apprehensive all the time.
No one would meet me in Frisco. I still had to fly on to Chicago and then get a regional flight to Sioux City, Iowa. Then I would need to rent a car for a drive of several hours to rural Spencer. So I had a long time before I should be apprehensive, but I couldn't help it.
I had no money worries. Not at least for some time. The Crazy Russian, shortly before he disappeared, gave me a letter of introduction and the numbers to a money account in a New York bank and in a second, off shore bank in Bermuda. I knew nothing of the amounts involved, only that the Crazy Russian said I would be well taken care of. I planned to wire the New York Bank from Chicago before going on.
The landing at San Francisco International was hair raising to say the least. We landed in a turbulent thunderstorm and literally swayed in all over the place on the approach and then bounced our way down the runway until we were able to taxi to the gate. I dreaded flying anyway and that experience did nothing to bolster my confidence in flying.
As I walked to the Cab stand after clearing customs, I thought, Why wait til Chicago? I'll just go to a bank here and wire New York for some spending money to tide me over til I decide on what to do and where I'm going.
The date was nearly mid July and still quiet, comfortable weather. I was dressed in a loose halter top, knee length culottes, and sandals sans socks. When I bent over to get into the cab, the cabbie was looking my way and got an eyeful of my more than generous boobs, unfettered by a bra. I quickly gave the cabbie the address of a big bank in town. I also gave the cabbie a wink.
Ass we sped along in traffic, I could see the cabbie's eyes dart to and from the rearview mirror that was turned my way, not so much to the traffic behind.
OK, buster, you want to look, then look, I thought.
I unsnapped the front closing halter and let its cups fall to my sides. My hands returned to my exposed boobs to caress and knead. I rolled my nipples with my thumbs and fingers. The cabbie swerved and sideswiped a parked car and then tail ended a squad car at a red light.
My giggles got the better of me as I quickly resnapped my halter in place, handed the metered fare to the cabbie, and said, Your mirror just gave you your tip!
I climbed out of the cab, leaving the cabbie to face the music. I'd noticed we were only one block short of my destination. The walk was invigorating.
The sweet young thing, cute by the way, at the information desk took my request to see the manager and dialed a number on her phone. A bug-eyed young assistant came and ushered me to a secluded waiting room.
The manager entered from across the room. He was mid thirties, handsome, and suave. He ushered me into his office and he was introduced as Mr. Roger Chesterton.
How may I help you, dear lady? Your name is Barbara Bushy, correct?
I handed him my letter of introduction. He read it and then looked up at me.
Ah yes, our dear Mr. Chezniski. His reputation has preceded you.
We chatted for some time. Unintentionally, I gave Mr. Chesterton a number of great looks into my gapping halter top. He sure didn't waste any of those opportunities.
I have a suggestion, Ms. Bushy.
Yes, Mr. Chesterton?
I really wouldn't like to see this bank lose your account, but, for a fee, I can set you up with an offshore account that will be highly beneficial to you financially.
How much of a fee, sir?
Oh, I don't mean a monetary fee, Ms. Bushy.
Then, just what kind of fee did you have in mind, sir?
Come now, Ms. Bushy, you're quite a lovely young woman. It shouldn't be too hard to figure out the fee I have in mind.
Why you dirty old man, I thought.
I stood up quickly, somewhat red faced.
I didn't hesitate one iota. Come here, Roger! It was given as a command, not a request.
Roger stood, showing off a really good bulge in his pants as he did, and came around the desk to face me. I opened and dropped my halter top, giving him an unobstructed view of my naked orbs. The nipples hardened immediately.
Drop you pants and underwear. Do it quick.
He complied, freeing a sizable boner and a large ball sac. The tip of his cock head slid out of his uncut foreskin and it was leaking precum. That cock was still bouncing a bit from the rapid passing of his dropped clothes. It throbbed with life.
I pushed him back onto the front edge of his desk, scattering his name card and some other trinkets in the process. He sat down hard. His bouncing boner was now staring up at an angle, right in my face.
Take a really good look, Roger. This is what you ARE NOT going to get a taste of. I'm not a dumb blonde, ' Roger. I don't have an account in this bank and I never will now. I also already have an offshore account and don't need another. All I want is to have a draft of money sent here to me in the amount of fifty-thousand dollars. You will do that now by giving instructions to an assistant over your phone or I will scream bloody murder. Do it!
Roger started to get up.
Just sit right there just as you are and do it, Roger.
He did. When he hung up, I spoke again.
Roger, how many women have you done on your desk like this?
Ummph, I don't know--a lot, I guess.
Well, I've changed my mind. I need a good fuck. You've been a good boy and carried out what I wanted.
My mouth dropped into place over his glans and my tongue went to work. I laved all around that prick tip, tonguing the little eye for its juice. My reward was some deep groans of pleasure from Roger. Suddenly, his hands grabbed my head through my hair on either side and held me tight as he spasmed his cum into my mouth.
Like that did you, Rog?
Mmmph, was all he could manage to say.
I swallowed all his spend, but kept my mouth on his dick as I worked to get him hard again. When I succeeded doing so, I stood up and did a sexy strip tease of dropping my culottes. Rog seemed to like my bald pussy with the little narrow landing strip of trimmed red hair on my mons just above my clit.
How bout a little muff diving, Rog? That way you can get me even more ready for that fuck stick of yours.
He needed no further urging. Rog stood and I switched places with him with my ass then on the desk edge. He stepped between my widespread legs and dropped to his knees. He was pretty good with his tongue and I climaxed within two minutes.
Enough, Roger, now I need that cock of yours where it'll do me the most good.
Roger quickly stood, his rigid cock leading the way. He poked it into my labia and rubbed it up and down my center crease. My excretion of pussy fluid was more than ample to lube up his cock.
Each time he got to the top of my crack, he circled the tip of his cockhead on and around my clit. That drove me nearly wild with desire. Finally, he sank his cock deeper and deeper into my folds. When he got to the gate of heaven, he stopped. Just the cock tip penetrated. I moaned in pleasure.
The next thing I knew, Rog had shoved balls deep into me with one quick and hard thrust. Then he pumped unmercifully in and out of my channel. He held me in place with his hands on my hips. My one hand diddled my clit while the other one played with my boobs and especially my nipples. With a sudden hard arch of his back and a mighty grunt, Rog shot off a number of strings of cum deep into my core.
My quivering climax followed his and our combined cum overflowed my stuffed pussy to flow down my crack to the desk beneath my ass. Shit, this guy could really fuck.
Do you fuck your wife this well, Rog?
No. She doesn't like sex and I'm lucky to get any on Christmas and our wedding anniversary.
Oh! Sorry, Rog. You really are a good fucker.
We both made use of his executive rest room to clean up and get our clothes back in order. Roger then used the phone to check on progress of the wire. The wire was in.
I want the money converted to cash. I'd like it divided into ten, one-thousand dollar bills with the rest divided into fifties, twenties, and tens, please.
I see no problem, Ms. Bushy. The total amount in the New York bank account is ten million dollars. It will take a few more minutes to get the cash together.
I was flabbergasted. Until that moment, I still had no idea of how much money was in the account. When I heard the amount, ten million dollars, my knees nearly turned to jelly. That was just the New York account. I still had no idea how much was in the offshore account.
Yes, Ms. Bushy, your Crazy Russian, for all his shortcomings, certainly must have held you quite dear to settle that sum of money on you. That's why I think you're better off with an offshore account--little or no U.S. taxes. If I were you, I'd consider moving most of the New York account offshore as well.
I think you're correct about that. I'll see to it soon.
You know, don't you, if you'd declined my first fee, ' I still would've done your transfer for the more usual monetary fee.
Thank you so much, Roger, I know. May I visit you again if I get back this way again?
Oh, by all means. Be sure to do so.
I wished Roger a very passionate good-bye until next time. The cabbie back to the airport was female and paid me no special attention. Things were not all OK at the airport however.
There was no flight direct to Chicago--at least not for some time to be. I could, however, get a flight to Stapleton at Denver and then a connecting flight from there to Chicago. So, I booked the flight to Denver.
On the flight out of Frisco to Denver, my seat mate was a salesman named Ted who was going from Chicago by car into the nearby backwoods area of Wisconsin. I didn't envy him. He was forty, good looking, and lonely. A bad combination for a mixed up woman such as I who was growing ever more apprehensive as the flight droned on.
The sunshine up above the clouds where we were was beautiful. I was by the window and mentioned to Ted to lean over and take a look. His hand dropped onto my thigh as he did.
Yes, Ma'am, that's quite some beautiful sight from this vantage point. Very beautiful. My name's Ted, by the way. What's yours?
His hand remained on my culottes covered thigh. Within a short time, the hand was moving an inch or two, back and forth. Then, it slowly moved up and kept going up toward the junction of my two thighs.
Ted, wait. Ask an attendant for a pair of blankets. Here where we're sitting, it's not uncommon for folks to sleep. With the blankets, we likely won't be discovered.
After we each got a blanket and covered up, Ted's hand went into action again. But not on my thigh. This time, he went for the kill and dove his hand under the waistband of my culottes. I still had nothing on underneath, so he hit pay dirt right off, my naked mons and the folds of my naked pussy.
He sighed in contentment as his fingers rubbed my labia and his middle finger delved into my crevice of joy. I was already slightly wet in anticipation. His finger finished the job and got my love tunnel soaked. His finger sank into my gate of heaven with ease, as deep as he could reach. My climax followed very quickly.
My turn to give you pleasure now, Ted.
I loosened his belt and reached into his pants under the waistband under the blanket that covered him. His cock wasn't the biggest I had ever held in my hand, but it certainly wasn't the smallest one either. But the space was too constricting for his size.
Slide your pants and boxers down, Ted, there's not enough room in there for my hand and your big cock at the same time, I whispered into his ear.
He did and then I could get a really firm grip on the object of my attention. I certainly got Ted's attention as well. His circumcised cock had ballooned into full length and full girth of a man sized boner. Precum was providing plenty of lubrication for us. I played for quite some time, slowly stroking, tweaking, and rubbing just the glans. Ted could barely contain himself.
At last, I let him come. He really made a mess of the blanket, his pubic hair, and my hand with the copious load he spurted out in rope after stringy rope. He wanted more of me than finger fucking my pussy.
I don't know if he was a member of the mile high club or not, but I said, no, enough.
Ted got up and went to the restroom, presumably to clean up. I did the same after he came back. He sat there, pouting, until he fell asleep. I slept also until the sign and bells signaled seat belts on for our approaching landing in Denver.
The plane touched down in a near perfect and smooth as silk landing. I walked quickly to the United desk to get my ticket for Chicago. I boarded United Airways flight 232 that early afternoon Of July 19, 1989 for a reasonably quick and quiet flight to Chi Town. Little did I know what awaited me. I hadn't a clue, but then, neither did anyone else.
Flight 232 lifted of on time at 2:09 p.m. that afternoon. By the time the plane reached cruising altitude, I'd dropped off into a light doze. I was rudely awakened approximately an hour later at 3:16 p.m. by a very loud bang and brief shaking of the aircraft. There didn't appear to be any visible damage inside the cabin.
Not too long afterwards, the pilot, Captain Alfred C. Haynes, announced that damage had occurred to the middle engine in the tail and it had to be shut down. He also said the plane, a DC 10, would fly quite easily on the two engines left and located one on each main wing.
At 3:30, the senior flight attendant gave out instructions for a possible crash landing.
Everyone was still outwardly calm, but tension had been building ever since the explosion. The feeling was apparent that everything definitly wasn't OK. If it was, why the instructions for a possible crash landing?
At 3:50, we passengers received our final briefing for a crash landing and that we'd been diverted to Sioux City, Iowa.
Ten minutes later, the plane was winging down, seconds from touchdown on the runway. Looked to me like we were going way too fast, but then, what the hell did I know about it.
The plane suddenly lurched to starboard at the last minute and the right wing dropped onto the runway, collapsing the right landing gear.
With a loud explosion, the DC 10 was careening out of control down the runway in flames.
The next thing I knew, I was on my knees in a cornfield, trying to make sense out of where I was and what happened. My clothing was in tattered shreds. Some man grabbed me under the shoulders.
You can't stay here, lady. You have to get away from the airplane before it really goes up.
The unknown man helped me and together, we staggered out of the cornfield onto the runway and into the hands of the dozens of emergency personnel who were there to help us. I never saw my seat mate or my cornfield helper again. I was to have a hospital stay of three days with minor injuries.
During the hospital stay and much later, I found out some crucial details of the crash. For one thing, ten crew out of the eleven survived and one-hundred and seventy-five passengers out of two-hundred and eighty-five survived. The other main thing, the cause of the crash, was not discovered until many months later after intensive investigation by federal inspectors.
The cause turned out to be the disintegration, due to a fault in a blade, of the main fan on the number two engine in the tail. The exploding fan and engine pieces spread shrapnel throughout the tail. The fatal damage was the breaching of all three hydraulic systems which cause a lack of any flight controls except the thrust of the two remaining engines on the wings. Never had that happened before or since in civil aviation.
Well, as I said, I spent three days in the hospital in Sioux City. None of my relation knew I was on that flight and none knew I was actually on my way home from Russia. Therefore, I decided not to try and contact any of them until I actually got home. I figured that would save them a lot of worry. I doubt I'd ever set foot inside another airplane ever again.
Oh Yeah, my money.
I carried all that cash in a money belt around my waist. Most of my clothing that I was wearing and the money belt survived the crash. The clothing as I've said, was mostly in tatters however. Obviously then, the money belt was found upon my examination at the hospital. After recovery and much wire communication with San Francisco and New York banks to prove the money was legally mine, I was released along with my cash. Phew.
Clean and shiny, if not still somewhat shaken, I got a ride to the airport to the car rental area and checked out a Corvette Coupe. The time was about one in the afternoon when I got in the Vette. I drove back into town to buy a basic outfit or two to wear since what I wore on the plane was no longer wearable. A nurse had volunteered to get me panties, bra, slacks, and blouse so I could at least leave the hospital without being arrested for indecent exposure.