Chapter 4

I closed my eyes and prepared for the end... and just then there came a dull thump followed by a groan from behind me. My eyes snapped open again as the man's left hand scraped an agonising furrow across the flesh of my right breast leaving four bleeding lines several inches long. As the guard slumped to the floor, Mr Foster's voice called out, "Don't just lay there, my dear. I didn't hit him that hard - it's up to you now."

I stood up and turned around just in time to see my patient lowering the metal bed pan that he'd used to clock the guard over head back onto the bedside cabinet where he'd got it from. Shaking my own head to clear it, I looked down at myself and there was the hypodermic sticking out of me like a miniature arrow. Luckily for us, the guard hadn't managed to depress the plunger. On the ground. the man groaned and stirred a little. Moving swiftly, I pulled the syringe out of myself and, with little concern for the man's well-being, rammed it viciously into his flesh before viscously forcing the drug into him. He grunted once then went slack.

With the plan now back on track but a bit behind schedule, I locked the door then pulled my bag out of its hiding place and fished about until I found the mobile phone especially purchased just to make this one call. I pressed the appropriate series of buttons to send the pre-recorded text message and then relaxed a little, knowing that help was now on it's way. Next came the task of un-plumbing Mr Foster and helping him to stand. Out of the bag came a business suit along with a shirt, tie and shoes. At this point there was a discreet knock at the door; I listened for the code and, once I was satisfied that it was indeed Mr Foster's 'associates', I let the pair of them in. They were both huge, heavy set men wearing dark glasses and smart but unremarkable suits. While I hurried to put my uniform back on, they used some lengths of rope to tie the guards up. When they were satisfied, they looked at Mr Foster who gave his blessing to leave. "Just a moment," I said before walking quickly over to the guard who'd given me so much trouble earlier. Taking a stance near him, I drew back my foot and kicked him as hard as I could in the balls. All three men looking on cringed and I smiled. "He can't feel it now... but when he wakes up, he'll have something to remember me by..."

Keeping our heads down, we walked briskly out of the hospital. As expected we were able to do this totally unchallenged. In the car park was a large Volvo with darkened windows. One of the goons respectfully held open a rear door and I helped Mr Foster in before joining him in the back. Both men clambered into the front and, without fuss and well within the speed limit, we pulled away from the hospital grounds.

As the car travelled along, I pulled a soft sports case out from under the seat and. stripping off my uniform, dressed in causal jeans and a polo neck sweater. I checked that I had my fake passport before making sure that my patient was doing just fine, which he was. I knew that it was a seventy odd mile run out the the small airfield where the private jet was waiting for us, so I settled down in my seat and tried to relax as best I could.

As the plane crossed the coast of Britain, I looked down and said 'goodbye' to the land of my birth. As the steward handed me a glass of champagne, I turned my attention back to the interior and what was going on. This was like no other aeroplane I'd ever been in. No rows of seats here with everyone squashed together like sardines. No, here there was just a smattering of large, leather easy chairs bolted to the floor. Mr Foster, myself and the two goons were the only passengers while a crew of three stewardesses and one steward were on hand to look after us. All four of the cabin staff must have been chosen not only for their skills but also for their physical perfection. I could hardly take my eyes off the steward. A blonde, blue-eyed, six foot two tall muscular god, what a hunk! I smiled at him and he smiled back.

Mr Foster coughed and brought me back to earth. "Carol? Please be so good as to check my pulse."

"Certainly, sir," I replied, a tad concerned for he didn't worry about that sort of thing too often. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed one of the goons having a discrete word with the steward who then moved to the kitchen area at the rear of the cabin and vanished inside.

"Let me explain something to you Carol," my employer said quietly into my ear. "This airline is a very special one designed for very special customers who demand the very best. When the airline heard that there was going to be a woman on the flight, they provided Hans to look after your every whim. But, Carol, you are my woman and I don't share my possessions with anyone. I'm telling you this just the once, Carol, and you'd be wise to remember it. All clear?"

"Yes... yes, indeed, sir. Very clear." I swallowed and realised that I'd entered a new world here. I moved to the toilets and powdered my nose. When I came back out, each of the men had one of the gorgeous stewardesses sitting his knee... and the girls were wearing only their very sexy and expensive underwear, their high heels and those silly little hats that air crew are issued with. I smiled to myself and thought, 'Bloody typical - one rule for the boys and another for their womenfolk. Some things never change, hypocritical bastards.'

I slowly became more and more incensed as the boys continued to have their fun with the stewardesses. It wasn't long before the girl's lost their hats, then their shoes. Bras swiftly followed but the knickers stayed on for awhile as the men decided to explore down there with their hands first before treating their eyes to what the girls were offering. I consoled myself by drinking more and more of the complementary champagne. I have to say that I'm more of a lager lout girl and the bubbles soon went to my head. By the time the bimbos were naked and the men starting to disrobe, I'd sunk the best part of a bottle and a half and was well on the way to being plastered. I was also getting very frustrated for it looked like everyone else on the plane was about to join the mile-high club and little old me was going to be left on the shelf - again.

"Please to like a massage?" said a deep, melodious voice in my ears. I looked up and tried to focus and eventually managed to make sense of what my eyes were trying to tell me - ah, yes, the steward... Hans. How could I have forgotten him?

For a moment I battled with my conscience and then thought, 'What the hell! It's only a massage... ' By now, all the other passengers on the aeroplane were stark naked; two of the stewardesses were doing a good job simulating a lesbian scene - well, I think they were simulating, it was hard to tell - while Mr Foster was taking the third in the traditional missionary position on the cabin floor while the poor lass earned her dough by jerking off both goons at the same time, one with each hand... though the pair of bodyguards were looking, it has to be admitted, with eager eyes at the lesbians and I suspected that their little female to female pairing was about to be disrupted. Somehow, I rather doubted if anyone noticed what I was doing anyway... "Yes, please, Hans," I slurred, "That would be very nice."

"Please to take your jumper and trousers off and lay on your stomach over there."