Chapter 17

Author’s Note: Apologies for the profoundly long delay on this chapter. It was a challenge to write in a couple respects. I think you’ll see why from the beginning and the very end. But I hope you’ll find it was worth the wait. I look forward to wrapping up Traffic Girl: Katie in the next few months. But don’t worry – the story will most definitely continue. I’ve already got plans for the next book in the works.

Houston’s pro football team was up 24-13 midway through the third quarter of a Super Bowl rematch. Already 2-0 after consecutive blowout wins, an impressive first half against the team they had barely bested in the championship game meant the buzz for a repeat and third title in five years was going to turn into a roar.

For the third week in a row, Jess was in a luxury box with Shelly, cheering Johnny Burris on. Jess would fly to the game site the day before, have a brief tryst with her lover, and then she and Shelly would spend the rest of the day together. They’d attend the game, then the three of them – and sometimes other players and their girls – would party after. And Jess would fly home the following afternoon. The effect this arrangement had on Jess was incredible. But it also had some unexpected fallout. She and Shelly were growing extremely close, with Shelly in particular finding a new level of sexual exploration and fulfillment than she had ever experienced before. That third game was particularly special, though, because Johnny had just signed an eight-year contract extension worth a guaranteed $300 million. He could finish his career in Houston – a hometown boy made good.

At home, I used this as an excuse to have football parties of our own during the Houston games. This just consisted of inviting a few friends over and having drinks and playing grab-ass with the girls. And on that third Sunday, only Petey, Alix, Jason, Crystal, and Bianka had come by. That was plenty of fun, though. Clothes came off over the course of the first half. Champagne and wine flowed as freely as usual. Kat, Melanie, Alix, Crystal, and Bianka had given Petey, Jason, and me some teasing double blow jobs but refused to do more than that.

Rita was with Juliet and Riley, who planned to join us later, as would Henry. Rita, Juliet, and Riley were inseparable a lot of the time now, and they would have a weekly “retreat,” as they called it, which as best I could tell involved them doing shrooms and plotting out power games to play. There was something more going on, but I didn’t push Rita on it. I knew they were planning something. Henry was reviewing scripts. Petey had delivered on his promise to make his movie career happen. Katie and Stephanie? They were working on Katie’s album. Stephanie had become more than just a personal assistant to Katie. She had become a trusted confidant – putting her on course to probably eclipse Riley in that role before long.

In short, life was settling into an interesting routine. There were a lot of fun things going on, not the least of which were the soon-to-come kickoff parties for the new jet and yacht. And one thing that made me especially happy was that I was content to be somewhat on the sidelines for this. I didn’t have to be involved in all the decisions and machinations. I was content to simply enjoy while the others flourished. It was actually a lot of fun, and I was throwing myself into it – but when did I not when it came to hedonism?

So while others may have been working on big plans? I was happy watching the football game, though at that moment? My view of the game was half-blocked by Crystal. She was perched reverse-cowgirl on my cock but bent over toward the coffee table so she could sniff a line of cocaine. My shaft glistened with her pussy juices, and I swayed my hips a little to tease her while she refreshed her high.

To my left, Bianka was bent over the couch, moaning as Petey fucked her from behind while he watched the game. He had bet $10,000 on Houston to win, so he was intensely interested, but not interested enough to pass up the chance to pilfer Bianka’s tan body. To my right, Jason had his head buried in Alix’s massive tits while she rode his cock. Kat and Melanie had adjourned outside to share some bong rips. It was a perfect afternoon.

It was even more perfect when Crystal got on her knees and took my cum all over her face. She had said she needed more practice taking the perfect facial. She was determined to become a porn superstar. Jason happily unloaded on Alix’s chest via a tit-fuck, and Petey pumped his load into Bianka. All of that occurred in time for us to see Houston driving for a back-breaking touchdown that could put them up 31-13. They had a second-and-goal play at the seven yard line.

And, in the blink of an eye, everything changed.

Johnny had probably run that play a thousand times during his pro career alone. He was looking for his tight end, running an out-and-in route to the back of the end zone, beneath the goalposts. The three steps the receiver took to the right let the longer route unfold and gave Johnny confidence he could throw it like any other timing play. Two things happened on that second down that made for a horrific perfect storm. First, the center stepped on the right guard’s ankle as they came off the line. It was a freak accident, and it allowed the defensive tackle to come through the interior right side of the line unabated. Second, the defense blitzed its cornerback from the left side. With the tight end immediately running his route and the running back motioning out like a wide receiver to create distraction on that side, the left tackle was forced to choose between the defensive end and blitzing cornerback to pick up. He chose the defensive end, which gave the cornerback unimpeded access to Johnny’s blind side at full speed.

The two defenders hit the superstar quarterback at the same moment. The cornerback dived at Johnny as he had raised his right arm to throw, meaning his body hit him low. The defensive tackle jumped up and forward to try to block the pass, meaning his body hit Johnny high. The pass floated into the end zone, a spectacular effort that the tight end cradled into his arms for that key touchdown.

But Johnny lay crumpled on the field, his left leg bent at an angle so severe and unnatural, the television broadcast wouldn’t show the replay initially and immediately cut to the shocked faces on the Houston sideline.

Kat and Melanie came back in from outside giggling, but Kat saw my face as I stood in front of the TV, awkwardly naked.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

I just pointed to the screen. The network showed Johnny on the ground, writhing in pain and circled by the team’s medical staff and head coach. Teammates formed a ring behind him, huddled in prayer. The stadium was deathly silent. Everyone knew this was one of those injuries. One of the really bad ones. One of the broadcasters mentioned the name Joe Theismann. The doctors and trainers waived off the medical transport cart. They backed an ambulance up onto the field.

“My god,” I finally said.

I picked up my phone as I hustled to the bedroom to put on some clothes. I called Jess, and she picked up on the third ring. I could hear the tears in her voice, and my heart rose in my chest.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“I’m okay,” she said through sniffles.

“Is Shelly okay?” I asked.

“They already came and got her,” Jess said. “She’s going to the hospital right now.”

There was a pause. I could hear bits and pieces of conversations going on in the luxury box at the stadium around Jess.

“I want to come home,” she said finally.

“Don’t,” I said. “We’re going to get on the plane. We’ll come to you. Johnny is going to need friends right now.”

The news of Johnny’s injury spread like wildfire, of course. And by the time we had touched down in Houston on Sunday evening, he had been through one surgery on his leg to deal with the fracture. Based on the red eyes in the waiting room at the hospital, we knew it was bad. But at least the press had been held at bay.

Jess was shaken up, of course, but she retained a clear head in crises. She was able to relay all the information the doctor had given to Shelly. The leg fracture had been the most immediate issue, requiring a rod and several screws to put him back together. That created a danger because it would delay his ACL and MCL surgery, which put his overall recovery in a touch-and-go position. If the swelling would go down quickly, he’d have a better prognosis if he got the knee surgery more quickly because of the severity of the tears.

His season was lost, but somehow, Johnny remained in good spirits. He had joked that he signed his contract extension at the right time. It was hard to laugh under the circumstances, and we chalked it up to Johnny being under the influence of heavy painkillers. The internet was rampant with speculation that his career could be over, along with the usual, morbid parsing of the slow-motion replays. They were brutal. I couldn’t watch them. Shelly, somehow, couldn’t stop doomscrolling on her phone, which only led her to cry. Melanie tried to pull her away, but she couldn’t. It’s as if Shelly felt like she needed to immerse herself in the sheer horror of what had happened. There were, at least, a flood of well-wishes and messages from stars across the country in all sports.

We didn’t do that. We wanted to be there for Johnny and Shelly, but we also didn’t want to smother them. Going through that kind of trauma – as I well knew – required a certain amount of self-facing focus. We made sure Shelly knew she could draw on us for support anytime, and we would give them the space they needed to face the crisis, too. Jess took point, checking in frequently, although I also had a group text that included Johnny and some of the other guys to monitor progress and try to keep his spirits up.

On the home front, Jess took the lead, too. She put her usual zeal – and maybe even more because of the need for a distraction – into planning kickoff parties for the jet and the yacht. These would be trial runs, held a few days apart, and limited to our favorite swinger friends.

The jet was going to be a somewhat low-key affair. Though it had three bedrooms and a generous cabin, there was an underlying notion in our core group that the jet was a bit of an anticlimax. We were voracious mile high clubbers and had been for a long time. The attraction was that this plane, the flagship of what we called Mile High Airways, was so big and opulent. I was particularly excited about the flight attendants. Christy was reprising her role, peeling off from the escort business to be a Mile High Honey. London, of course, would join her. And both of them had teased a third girl, Zoe, who they swore I would love.

After that Wednesday test flight for a few hours, we would take off on a first voyage on the High Seas from LA to the Baja peninsula. It would be a short, weekend affair, but it promised to open a new realm of debauchery. I was incredibly excited for it because the yacht appeared to open a new mentality of permissiveness – on the water, anything goes. Jess and the girls curated the guest list, and they swore there would be some special surprises. I knew that couldn’t be a bad thing.

Maybe this followed a typical pattern for us – me especially – on dealing with trying circumstances. We’d plow forward with hedonism on the brain, pushing our pursuits of pleasure to newer heights and dealing with the serious shit only when forced to.

Avoiding the serious shit became incredibly easy when I stepped on board Mile High Airlines. I was greeted by the three flight attendants, who absolutely lit up the cabin of the 737. Christy, the most senior, stood at the front of the line. As always, she exuded sexuality. It was her defining trait. But the uniform Jess had picked out for her and the others didn’t hurt, either. It was a sky-blue, front-zipper mini-dress that clung to every curve or even hint of a curve on their bodies. They also wore navy stockings, which I soon learned were simply thigh-highs. That was the only thing they were permitted to wear under their uniform. Christy’s ample fake tits curved lusciously above the top of her dress, and her hips flushed out generously, as did the curve of her ass. She was a sexpot and looked the part. I greeted her with a hug, kiss on the cheek, and hands that traced the beautiful curve of her sides.

London stood next to her, standing like she would have on the sidelines in her UCLA cheerleading days, broad smile on her face and hands behind her back. That let her natural breasts push against the fabric of the dress and drew attention to her long legs, which looked gorgeous in the stockings. Her blonde hair seemed made for this environment. She was a California girl through-and-through. Young and vivacious, you couldn’t look at her and not simply lust for her. She wasn’t shy about hugging me, wrapping her arms around my neck, and giving me a kiss that was full of expectation.

And then there was the third flight attendant. She was taller than Christy’s five-two but shorter than London’s five-nine. But she was skinnier than both. She had luscious, wavy brown hair and big, expressive brown eyes. She smiled so brightly, in part because her teeth were luminously white and perfectly straight. She gazed up as she smiled, showing off a delicate neck that framed her petite body. She was very slim, which was betrayed most notably by her stick-like legs. She was a slightly knock-kneed, and her smile held an eager innocence to it. Her lips were full and painted red, but I was intrigued and surprised by her ample breasts. Perhaps even more, however, was seeing the significant, firm bubble butt jutting out. I barely caught a glimpse of it as she nervously moved side-to-side. The girls hadn’t been wrong. She was cute in a way that tugged at my desire to corrupt.

“You must be Zoe,” I said. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Oh, gosh, you have?” Zoe said and held out her hand awkwardly.

I shook it firmly.

“Welcome aboard,” she said.

Christy and London laughed.

“Come in, gentlemen,” Christy said confidently. “Welcome aboard and make yourselves at home.”

The girls had decided the test flight would be an ideal boys’ excursion. So Jason, Petey, and I went alone – a convenient number that would let us match up with a flight attendant each.But, first, we needed to tour the cabin. After greeting the trio of sky sluts, the captain emerged with his first officer to say hello. They were hired because of their professionalism, but I doubted whether they could be fully immune to the charms of their cabin crew. And I joked with the pilot about it, noting that he probably wasn’t having to exaggerate anytime he announced that passengers were flying with the most friendly, accommodating crew in the friendly skies.

“We don’t want them to do stressful work without being fully, fully relaxed and taken care of,” Christy joked before the pilots ducked back into the cockpit.

“We’re always happy to jump into the cockpit,” London said with a laugh.

Zoe just smiled, but her eyes were fixed on me. I detected apprehension and excitement in her face.

The plane itself was outfitted beautifully. Up front, there was a large bar and service area. On alternating sides of the cabin, starting on the left side, then on the right, and then the left again, were the three bedrooms. They were en suite, with a small sitting area and dry bar, and featured king-sized beds. Each private room was about two-hundred square feet, with about five-hundred square feet remaining in space throughout the cabin. It was generous and luxurious. The open spaces were just that – they favored banquette-style sofas with some tables rather than individual seats. The idea was to encourage interaction. And it was easier to fuck on a sofa than in a traditional airplane seat. There were another three bathrooms, expanded in size, for the rest of the plane. A second bar was at the back of the aircraft, a bright, curved structure that was the perfect bookend for the purpose of this plane.

“Make yourselves at home, gentlemen,” Christy said. “We’ll be right with you before we depart to start our service.”

The three of us sat down in the middle of the cabin. I was in the center, sitting on a long couch, while Jason and Petey each took a seat on either side of me, the end portion of the angular, C-shaped banquette. We were silent, taking in the cabin and its comforts, as I watched London and Christy move to the front of the plane, while Zoe moved toward the back. I caught a glimpse of Zoe’s ass, which I confirmed was surprisingly ample.

Christy took the lead on closing the cabin door, while London reached under the bar and produced a bottle of Champagne. While she wrestled with the cork, Zoe reappeared from the rear, holding a thick, clear glass tray that was already prepared with lines of cocaine on it. There was a recessed edge around the tray that was deep enough to hold matching glass straws.

“Gentlemen,” Zoe said, her voice high-pitched and singsong, “could I interest you in a PDB? Pre-departure bump?”

“Fuck, who could say no to such a cutie?” Petey asked. “Lay it on me, Zoe.”

Jason couldn’t take his eyes off her. I could see he was smitten. She was also new, which would increase her appeal among all three of us. Petey snorted two lines, but before he could pass the tray along to me, Zoe interceded. She picked it up and smiled at me. She really did have a pretty smile and eager eyes.

“Mr. Cameron,” she said. “Could I offer you a PDB?”

She smiled at me, and her eyes searched my face.

“Wow, what incredible service,” I said with a smile to match hers.

I took my turn, and she repeated the process with Jason. As soon as he had done his coke, London appeared with the bottle of Champagne and three glasses.

“Would you gentlemen also enjoy a traditional pre-departure beverage?” she asked sweetly.

We all readily agreed. Just as we clinked glasses, the pilot came on the intercom and asked the flight attendants to take their seats. Our test run would be three hours in the air, flying a lazy route over the deserts of California and Nevada and back to the Burbank airport.

The three of us clinked glasses and took a long drink as our custom 737 taxied from toward the runway.

“Is this seat taken?” Zoe’s sweet voice came from behind me.

She didn’t wait for my answer before sliding into my lap.

“Oh!” she said. “Did I hit your seat belt?”

She looked back at me, her brown eyes wide and expressive, her mouth shaped like an O in surprise.

“That’s not your seat belt, is it, Mr. Cameron?” she said and winked.

In corresponding moves, London sat on Jason’s lap, while Christy ground her ass into Petey’s crotch.

“So, gentlemen,” Christy said, taking the lead as the most experienced of the trio, “are you interested in our refreshment service or the in-flight entertainment?”

“What’s on offer?” Jason asked, a grin on his face because his crush on London was tantalizingly close to playing out.

“At Mile High Airlines,” London began in a normal, professional sounding voice, “we are passionate about our customers. We have a variety of refreshments available for your enjoyment. Please see your flight attendant for a menu.”

“But our passion also extends to service,” Zoe picked up. “We want the customers at Mile High Airline to keep coming and coming. I mean, to keep coming back.”

She flipped her hair around and flashed that eager smile at me.

“Well, sounds like we should be sampling a little bit of everything,” Petey declared.

The plane finished taxiing and nosed forward on the runway for takeoff.

“Do you mind securing all items for takeoff?” Christy asked.

This also, it turned out, was a coordinated statement. The three girls made various movements to secure themselves to us. Christy turned around to face Petey, straddling him and wrapping her arms around his neck so his face was buried in her impressive chest. London pulled Jason’s arms around her ribs, pushing her ass down into him. Zoe, meanwhile, also turned around to straddle me, but she made a point to keep her smiling face directly in front of mine. Her full lips looked soft and inviting. Her breath smelled sweet. Her nostrils flared slightly, like she wanted to say something. I looked at her expectantly, and she realized I had noticed she was about to speak.

“I hear you’re a ... patient teacher,” she said and bit her pouty lower lip.

I stared at her blankly, obtusely not getting the reference.

“And a gentleman with a wild side,” she added. “It was all on your profile.”

“My profile?” I asked and glanced around the cabin as the jet banked to the left, out toward the Pacific ocean. Petey was already fiddling with the zipper at the top of Christy’s uniform, while Jason and London engaged in a similar conversation to mine.

“Every passenger fills out a profile before the flight,” Zoe explained. “That way we know what you like or dislike and make sure to have the proper ... refreshments on board.”

“I didn’t fill one out, though,” I noted.

“Jess did it for you,” Zoe said. “She said she got input from all your wives.”

I was impressed that she didn’t bat her long eyelashes at the statement.

“Sounds like I’m being well-taken care of,” I said. “This bodes well for the airline.”

I chuckled.

“I think you will find, Mr. Cameron,” Zoe said, a new richness deepening her voice, “that there are no lengths we won’t go to in order to make our passengers happy.”

“This is very, very promising, Zoe,” I said.

Our eyes locked, and our heads moved closer together. I could feel her breath against my face. Our lips were terribly close. Jess had done an exceptional job of finding new talent for the jet.

“I’ve never had a client left unsatisfied,” Zoe said.

“Oh, you’ve been doing this for a while?” I asked.

“Doing what?” Zoe said, crinkling her nose adorably.

Before I had a chance to answer, there was commotion on either side of us. Petey had unzipped Christy’s dress halfway, and her tits were now hanging out. She had arched her back as Petey buried his head in her naked breasts. On the other side, London stood up and was leading Jason toward one of the bedrooms. His hand was fondling her ass, and she was playfully pretending to swat it away.

“You can’t bite them too hard,” Christy moaned as Petey took one of her pebble-like nipples in his mouth.

“Do you want to go somewhere more private?” Zoe asked, arching her artistically formed eyebrows.

“Sure,” I said. “Good idea.”

Zoe slid off my lap as gracefully as she had slipped on. She stood upright and gestured toward the rear of the aircraft. The familiar ding signaling that we had ascended above 10,000 feet had chimed. I looked at the zipper hanging invitingly at the top of Zoe’s uniform. Jess really had made a great choice. They were tailored to each body, hugging them perfectly. I felt a compulsion to pull the zipper down to reveal Zoe underneath. If she was game.

Zoe led me to the rear of the plane, and I was mesmerized watching her ass sway. It really was an unusually perfect bubble. Her legs were so skinny, you never dreamed she would have such a nice ass. She opened the door and held her hand out to invite me to proceed inside first. I glanced back up the cabin before I did and saw Petey dumping coke onto Christy’s tits. She was sitting on his lap, leaning back, and giggling.

“Mr. Cameron,” Zoe said, pulling me back to the aft of the aircraft. “I took the liberty of preparing your private cabin with some suggested refreshments.”

She had entered the room and pointed out what she was talking about like she was a gameshow model. There was a bottle of Dom Perignon in an ice bucket, along with a smaller glass tray similar to what we had been presented before takeoff. This one contained four lines of cocaine and four lines of ketamine.

“Is there any particular indulgence you’d like to begin with, sir?” Zoe asked.

I glanced around the room, noting how enticing the king bed looked, and letting my eyes settle on the cute flight attendant.

“I think I can tell what your preference is,” she said, putting her hands on her slender hips, and I saw just how tiny her waist was. She looked over at the bed.

“Oh, I don’t have any agenda coming into today,” I said, putting my hands up like I was surrendering.

“As if,” Zoe said and rolled those pretty eyes.

“How about we start with Champagne and let me get to know you a little bit,” I said. “After all, I wasn’t given a dossier on you.”

“How sweet,” Zoe said. “I didn’t realize this would be such a gentlemanly endeavor.”

“Well, my wives say I amaze them by proving that chivalry isn’t dead,” I said.

Zoe had grabbed two wine glasses and held them as she filled each one in turn with the bubbly. She extended one to me, then held out her glass so we could toast.

“To not having to abstain from Champagne while on the clock,” I said.

“Jess told me this job would be very permissive,” Zoe said, flirtation permeating her words. “Not a lot of limits.”

“Is that what attracted you to it?” I asked.

We sat down on the edge of the bed and clinked glasses again.

“Partially,” Zoe said. “I needed a change. And I can’t really work in a traditional sort of office setting. I need freedom. I like indulgence.”

“Sounds like maybe you came to the right place,” I said, which made her laugh over-exuberantly. “What did you do before?”

“I was a pharmaceutical sales rep,” she said, crossing her legs and taking a sip.

“I bet you were good at that,” I said.

“I was,” she said, her eyes sparkling now. “My doctors were extremely loyal.”

“That sounds very unlike doctors,” I said. “You must have been very persuasive.”

“When you only tell them yes, doctors are actually pretty easy,” Zoe said, her ingratiating smile reappearing. “Do you mind if I hit one of those lines?”

“Hit two,” I said.

“That’s generous of you,” she said and leaned forward to pick up a glass straw.

“Of course,” I said, smiling and leering as she addressed the lines.

Zoe was extremely comfortable with cocaine. She quickly and skillfully snorted the first line, and my cock stirred. She looked back at me.

“Did you have a good view, Mr. Cameron?” she asked. “Jess said you like to watch.”

“Perfect view,” I said, the words almost catching in my throat.

She smiled, brushed her hair back, and snorted the second line. She set down the straw gently, making sure it was secure in the recessed edge of the glass tray. Then she pinched her nose briefly and closed her eyes.

“I love that feeling,” she said as her eyelids fluttered open again.

“Wow, there really is top-notch service on this airline,” I said, smiling at her.

“I don’t know about that,” Zoe said. “I realize I just indulged without offering you the opportunity first.”

“Sometimes I’d rather watch,” I said. “When it comes to pretty girls doing cocaine, anyway.”

“I heard it’s your fetish,” Zoe said.

“I love it,” I said.

“How did I do?” she asked.

“Really fucking hot,” I said.

“Good,” she said. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

“I love to hear that,” I said.

“What?” Zoe said, sitting down again and pushing her body against mine. “That I’m a cokehead?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Exactly that.”

“I love cocaine,” Zoe said, putting her hand on my thigh and opening her eyes wide. “And not just because it keeps me so skinny.”

“You are awfully skinny,” I observed. “Except in a couple key spots.”

“You mean my fat ass?” she said with a subtle laugh.

“I would use the term ‘bubble butt,’” I said.

“You like it?” she asked, grinning.

“Love it,” I said. “You have curves in the most important spots.”

“My ass is from cheerleading,” Zoe said. “My tits are from a really fantastic plastic surgeon I used to fuck.”

“Cheerleading, huh?” I said, my interest piqued.

“The University of Kentucky!” she said, putting on a believable false smile.

“Yet no accent,” I pointed out.

“Born and raised in Chicago,” Zoe said. “I was a ballerina for years, but that never goes anywhere. So I got into cheer and ended up getting a scholarship.”

“So that explains the coke,” I said.

“I got into coke in high school,” Zoe said, her eyes not leaving mine. “Prep school. Lots of people with money. Lots of parties. Cheerleaders and jocks. I guess maybe I just liked it more than most.”

“You must have come from a pretty nice background to be able to afford it,” I said.

“Who says I paid?” she said. “Have you ever let a pretty girl buy her own party favors?”

“Not even once,” I said.

“I have a confession, though,” she said. “Coke wasn’t my biggest vice.”

“What was?” I asked.

“I’m a slut,” she said matter-of-factly. “A huge slut.”

“You’re definitely my kind of girl, Zoe,” I said.

“I know,” she said. “That’s why Jess told me I was with you today.”

Before I could respond, Zoe moved forward and planted her lips on mine. It was awkward at first, since she took me by surprise, and we both needed to balance our wine glasses to make sure they didn’t spill. Her lips were as soft as they looked, and her tongue became aggressive. She pulled back and smiled after a minute.