Chapter 4: Mile High Airservice

Danny

What a fun evening that had been. Mum and I had deliberately accepted the longer drive to Hildesheim, where nobody knew us and we could go out on a date as lovers instead of having to worry that someone knew we were mother and son. I had never known that mum was so funny when she was a bit tipsy.

Okay, she'd been more than just a bit tipsy, in fact by the end of the evening she'd been hogwashly bladdered. The wine she'd been drinking had been quite a bit stronger than my beer and mum had emptied nearly two bottles of it on her own. I just hoped she wouldn't be too hungover in the morning, because I had a rather sexy idea for something I could 'order' for breakfast. Right now she was sleeping very soundly, and very loudly, with her head resting on my chest. Mum wasn't big by anyone's interpretation of the word, except of course in the boobs department, but she snored like a heavyweight lumberjack.

Ignoring the noise, I grabbed my textbook from the bedside cabinet and began refreshing my knowledge on navigation using VOR's and NDB's. I would need the skills the next day and that's why I had had only a single beer before sticking to mineral water. I would also be testing our first own plane – a three-engined Dassault Falcon 50 that we'd bought from a French charter company. It had put a serious dent in or financial resources, but we didn't exactly lead an extravagant lifestyle and since mum still had her flower business, we weren't in danger of starving any time soon. 'Oh my god, we only have one and half million left in the bank' was a problem that many people would definitely not lose much sleep over.

"I'm horny like the neighbour's cat," mum said the next morning, looking quite okay considering how bladdered she'd been the night before. "You've been playing with your favourite boobs again, haven't you?" She pointed at her very erect nipples.

I shrugged, feeling quite unrepentant. "Sorry mum, couldn't help it."

"Well, then at least help me cum, buster."

With that she pushed me on my back and knelt over me to push her pussy into my face. I happily nibbled and licked her to a howling orgasm, which didn't take long, considering how well I had warmed her up.

We were still sitting on the bed as mum tried to catch her breath. I flared my nostrils giving her the 'secret signal'. She smiled and puffed out her chest with a giggle.

I'm hungry. I want to eat my breakfast off your naked body.

"Oh my gosh," mum giggled when my command had sunk in. She became a bit hectic, actually. "I need to shower, definitely, and I need to shave," she said, feeling the light stubble on her still wet pussy. "We don't want you to have a hair in your meal. Wait here, I'll call when everything is ready."

She hurried away into the bathroom.

I guess in most households it is not exactly customary to discuss business while licking whipped cream off your naked mother's breasts, but at least on that day it happened in ours. And mum liked it a lot if her giggling was anything to go by. I knew it was the result of very extensive surgical intervention, but it was hard to believe that the naked bombshell that went by the name 'mum' was really thirty-six. I bet there were a lot of twenty-six year old girls who would kill for having a body like that.

"Well mum, if we really want to start an airline with ... um extra service. How far do we take it?"

She thought for a while as I scooped up a few cucumber slices she'd laid out on her flat stomach.

"As I said, honey, that depends on you," mum said. "As long as they are well groomed and use protection, I would have no qualms giving our customers the full service if you catch my meaning. The problem is: can you live with it? You'd be upfront in the cockpit hearing how your mum is getting shagged."

"I don't think I'll hear it," I said starting to eat the pile of scrambled eggs mum had put right on top of her pussy. "I'll be wearing a headset most of the time and when I'm in the cockpit, I concentrate on my job, not on what happens in the passenger compartment. Flying is serious business and we'd lose our AOC in a heartbeat if any skulduggery happened in the cockpit."

Mum nodded her agreement.

"Let's be honest, as much as I've fallen in love with you, we could never work out as a steady couple. There would always be someone who knows who we really are and we can't have kids because of the risk."

She nodded again and giggled while I licked her deliciously clean-shaven pussy.

"That's not to say I don't want to shag you any chance I get," I quipped and we both cackled. "If you think you can live with the idea of effectively making yourself a high-profile prostitute, then I leave that decision entirely to you. But I have one condition."

"Which one would that be?" she asked as I idly traced the outline of her pussy, having eaten all she had offered me for breakfast.

"Formally I wouldn't need a co-pilot in the Falcon, but we'll hire one, one with a background in security. I want to have some muscle at hand just in case any of our customers fails to understand the meaning of the word 'NO'."

"That's quite considerate of you honey. I agree, just because we offer it as a possibility doesn't mean any of them is entitled to it. I bet there'll be quite a few whom I wouldn't want to offer more than a chance to look a my boobs. But since we're being honest, even this miracle of modern cosmetic surgery that's euphemistically called 'my body', will have lost its charm again in ten years and I've not exactly been well catered for in the sex department since your father died. I want to to go properly wild before it will take another few millions to renovate my carcass."

"That means we need a name," I said, accepting mum's reasoning. "I doubt we'll get many customers if we call ourselves 'brothel airlines'."

She snickered. "I think there's a term for people who have sex on an aircraft?"

"The 'Mile High Club'," I confirmed with a grin.

"Well, 'Mile High Airservice' it is then," she said with a giggle. "Frequently travelling businessmen will know what it means, but it still sounds serious enough to be used as a company name. And all those who are well-behaved enough to score the stewardess will get an official membership card of the 'Mile High Club'."

"You are brilliant, mum,"

"I know," she smiled back. "Now would you help your old mother off this table, please? It's not exactly comfy and I need a shower, because you slobbered all over me."

"I'm so unrepentant, dear mother."

We both giggled like schoolgirls while I helped her up.

Lena

Gosh, it was a nice plane, and it was hours. I instantly fell in love with the craft's elegant lines and the cute little engines in its back. It was hard to believe that these tiny little things could propel this plane up to nearly nine-hundred kilometres an hour. But then it had three of them.

Danny didn't notice any of my mental ruminations. The moment he'd opened the door of the plane, he was in full professional pilot mode. He liked to clown around a bit, like all eighteen year old boys, but when it came to flying I doubt he'd even notice if I would strip down to nothing, which I didn't, at least not yet, because today there'd be an examiner with us to do a 'check-ride' with Danny, which I guess is pilot lingo for a practical exam. I had tagged along to get my bearings on the passenger compartment and my future job as a flight attendant.

I had actually once started an apprenticeship as a stewardess with Interflug, but that was twenty years ago and it lasted only three months until it was found out that I had distant relatives in the west. Well, that had been that – I was instantly removed and ended up working in a kolkhoz. I doubted some basic knowledge of working the galley in a Russian Ilyushin IL-18 would help me much with doing the same in a state-of-the-art French business jet. But at least I knew most of the safety rules.

The cabin, containing seating for six, was clearly targeted at a wealthy clientèle. Those seats did not have much in common with what you see on a no-frills holiday bomber. They weren't as much seats as they were very comfy armchairs and the small mahogany wood tables where definitely not your usual IKEA fare. Two seats and two tables would definitely have to go to make space for a little separeé with a bed in it. After all, wealthy customers who would pay a hefty premium to be served by a naked stewardess and would perhaps even provide some more service, would certainly not be too impressed by having to shag her on the cold floor.