Chapter 18

Sam Berkindale flipped over to the next page of his Sunday newspaper and started to read the latest gossip about Posh & Becks and the football star's latest carryings on out in Madrid. Dimly registering on his brain was the almost constant sucking and blowing noise as his bound slut, Mabel, struggled to get sufficient oxygen into her lungs through the small tube that passed through a clear plastic bag which was inverted over her head and sealed off around her neck with tape.

Finally folding the paper up carefully and laying down on a small coffee table sat at the side of his chair, Sam stood and, brushing his hand lightly over the flesh of his thirty-something tart, he went into the kitchen with the intention of making himself a cup of tea. As the water in the kettle started to boil, it occurred to him that, maybe, Mabel would be getting thirsty by now. Picking up a small plastic funnel and a glass of water, he returned to his lounge where, with the woman's eyes watching his every move through the plastic that covered her, he inserted the funnel into the tubing, a task that was by no means easy since both were of a very similar bore. Finally satisfied with his efforts, Sam held the funnel upright and started to pour some water down the tube. With her air hose now blocked with liquid, Mabel had no choice other than to drink and, frantically she did so as she attempted to clear the hose and get some air back into her lungs. After pouring in about a third of the glass, Sam gave her a small break before pouring in the next third. As he watched the woman's throat bobbing about as she swallowed, the sound of the kettle whistling came to him and so, once she had emptied the funnel again, he went off to pour the boiling water over the teabag that waited in his cup...

Elizabeth had to agree that the seats in the first class area aboard the Boeing 747 were plush and rather large but this didn't prevent her from squirming about as if she had ants in her pants. Passing by, one of the many attractive hostesses on the flight bent over and, looking down at Elizabeth with nothing other than professional disinterest showing in her eyes asked if there was anything she could do for the young lady.

"No, no, I'm fine, really," muttered Elizabeth as she continued to fidget well aware that several of the other passengers were now looking at her.

"If you say so, Madam," returned the hostess, clearly relieved that no further action on her part was required, before she started to move away.

"Just a moment, please," broke in Sam. "Would you mind bringing me another red wine?"

"Not at all, Sir," smiled the rather good-looking brunette before she straightened up and headed off towards the galley.

Andrew turned to look sternly at his young wife. "Stay still for goodness sake!" he snapped at her, "You're making a right spectacle of yourself."

Leaning in closer to him so that she wouldn't be overheard, Elizabeth whispered into his ear, "Well, if you'd not put these sandpaper lined knickers on me - and the bra too - I'd not been in this state! They're scratching me to pieces!"

"Quit complaining - you've only been in them for six hours! That's hardly anything!"

"Hardly anything? Listen, you should try it..."

Glancing about to make sure that no-one was trying to overhear, Andrew snorted before answering her. "It's me who runs the marriage, bitch, and don't your forget it. This might be our honeymoon but that is no excuse for your cheek. If - and I do mean 'if' - you manage to sit still to my satisfaction for the next hour, I'll consider letting you remove the panties and bra..."

"Thank you, Andrew," smiled Elizabeth as she resolved to make every effort to stop squirming for the next sixty minutes...

Returning and bending down beside Andrew's chair, the hostess returned carrying a glass of wine which she carefully placed onto the table set before the young man's seat. "There you are, Sir," she said, smiling as she thought about what a nice looking specimen he was compared with the usually older people who were normally the only passengers who could afford to travel up front here. Leaning a little further forward, she used a napkin to wipe up a few drops of spilled wine, knowing full well that this was giving the passenger - what was his name? - she'd checked him out on the seating plan only moments previously - a good look at her cleavage...

Swallowing a mouthful of the wine rather quicker than normal, Andrew gazed transfixed down the woman's blouse and at the ample treasures therein. Was this hostess coming on to him? She had to know just what she was displaying to him and there was certainly no need to for her to hold the pose that long. As she finally straightened up, Andrew coughed and asked, "What's your name, girl?"

"Pat, Sir," she replied pleased that she had go him to talk to her.

"So why does it say 'Susan' on your name badge then?" broke in the uncomfortable young woman sat next to the man whom Pat assumed must be his wife.

Transferring her gaze, Pat coolly replied, "You see where the name badge is positioned?"

"Yes - right over your flat little tit!" snipped Elizabeth jealously, fully aware of how the hostess and her husband were flirting.

"Elizabeth!"

"Sorry, Andrew..."

"It's a very nice breast," Andrew said quietly to Pat before raising his voice again. "Please, do go on..."

"Well, if I were to put a badge with my real name on it there, some comedian is always reaching out to 'follow the instructions' as they attempt try to joke."

"Don't know why, there's not much there to pat..." pouted the still livid Elizabeth.

Reaching out, Andrew picked up his glass and drank about half of the red wine that it contained before he moved his hand to where it hovered six inches over Elizabeth's crotch and, with malicious slowness, he tilted he glass over and poured what remained of the wine over her jeans.

The hostess sniggered quietly while she looked at the expression of disgust on the female passenger's face as the wine soaked into the light blue of her pants, immediately staining them a much darker shade. "Elizabeth," the young man said, "you really will have to learn to mind your manners. And Pat? Can your bring me another glass of wine, please?"

"Certainly, Sir," Pat purred as she straightened up and brushed down her skirt. "I'll get a cloth for the lady too..."

"That's no lady," joked Andrew, "that's my wife..."

Elizabeth simply fumed while Pat smiled at Andrew's witticism before the brunette turned and shimmied down the aisle. Elizabeth looked at Andrew. "Did you have to do that? I look a right mess! And did you really have to stare down her blouse like that?"