Jennifer, her daughter Stephanie, and her husband Joe were beat as they boarded the plane from New York. They had spent an exciting week visiting all the sights. They had stayed in the huge Victorian house on the northwest corner of Central Park for a fraction of what a hotel would have cost. Stephanie had made lots of friends from Israel, France, Japan and China. There was a new group there every day at the Hostel. She and her husband more or less became fortuitous chaperones. It wasn't planned, but if they were having a good time, nothing else mattered.

They had been shown the hidden cache of New York Police Department T-shirts in Chinatown and bought all they could hold to pass out when they got home. Joe had bought the two women purses at the New York Met that had been made out of cloth from the dress she wore in "L'Assedio di Corinto."

When they got on the flight, they had to walk past and through the first class seating section. Jenny admired the fine suits of the five black men sitting on each side of the last aisle for first class. They were obviously from Nigeria. They were huge men with short kinky hair and tribal tattoos on their cheeks that almost resembled the lamp black football players used to keep the sun out of their eyes; maybe more like the war paint they used to see on old westerns.

She had not seen the men put their travel bags in the overhead storage bins, but she did notice the thin briefcases they all had on their laps; portable computers no doubt.

She had no way of knowing that the thin briefcases carried a number of puzzling pieces of equipment. Three-D printers are in their infancy. The thin strands of carbon fiber that had been used in them were undetectable in the airport scanners. When parts of automatic pistols are made, disassembled and stored in backpacks, hip pockets, inside computers and suit pockets they are not recognized as such by the airport security. The ammunition also had been assembled without the use of metal. The shells were part of the combustion so there were no cartridges to eject and potentially jamb the automatic mechanism.

To Stephanie's pleasant surprise, the coach class had been overbooked and she and her mother would be reassigned to the first class section. Joe was stuck in the back with the stewardesses, or using the politically correct term; flight attendants.

Stewardesses are what they have in Spain. The girls are in their early twenties; wear very short dresses, gloves and some kind of sexy cap. Flight attendants are about half men and half women who are there because of the legal system and cannot be fired without due cause. They often have white hair, are paunchy and are not compelled to smile because they cannot be fired. It is easy to tell when you are on a flight originating in the U.S. or one from Europe.

This one was obviously an American flight. Stephanie had her reddish brown hair curled and in a pony tail that flowed down her back to just past her waist. She had ridiculously short denim cut-off shorts; one of her fathers too-long blue oxford cloth dress shirts with the button-down collars. The shirt was tucked into her shorts. She had high-heeled cork sandals that were held on with thong-like straps.

Her mother wore a short green summer dress that buttoned down the front. The dress came to about mid thigh and was long enough to get the job done among strangers. She had carelessly left the top and bottom buttons undone. Jennifer's long reddish brown hair was woven into a fishtail braid from the top of her head down to the beginning of her neck. From there, the long curly hair hung loosely past her waist. Her green eyes matched her dress and were a perfect complement to her hair.

The two women often were mistaken for quarreling sisters, rather than mother and defiant daughter. They had no choice but to sit on opposite sides of the aisle from each other in front of the two monsters from Nigeria. The two women had grown up in small towns in the Midwest and had not been around black people except if they went to a football game.

The flight was from Kennedy to Chicago, then a connecting flight to MCI, in Kansas City. They were expecting Jenny's sister to pick them up and take them to Tonganoxie, Kansas where Joe had a farm.

Jenny couldn't help but be puzzled by the abnormally large number of young couples who seemed to be snuggling up with other. Finally, when the attendant began her pre-flight discussion about seat belt safety, and exit locations, she discussed how the passengers continuing on to Aruba could stay on and did not need to change flights. She realized then, that these people were on their honeymoons.

Once the flight had been underway, and the seat belt signs went off, the black men left one at a time to the bathroom and took their back packs with them. Once they were all back, their expressions began to change.

One went to the back of the plane, one stood at the front of the coach section. One stood at the front of the first class section and two of them blasted their way through the cabin door. All of them produced their carbon fiber snub-nosed automatic weapons.

"This is a hijacking. If all of you behave, there will not be any problems." There was a vicious struggle in the cockpit, and then the door shut.

The man from the front of the coach section and the man from the front of the first class section began demanding all cell phones, laptops, and kindles. They were not going to let anybody alert authorities or family members.

They all had the Bluetooth devices and cell phones to communicate with each other. They knew they would probably ultimately have to kill somebody to let the group know they were serious, and scare the rest of the passengers into capitulation.

The biggest man was obviously the leader. His name was Marcellus Vuto. People seldom recognized him. He had been a promising football player in college. He was a quarterback who could throw either right or left handed. On defense he played cornerback. An early permanent knee injury left him with a generous signing bonus, but no long big payouts. He had become a bitter angry man who had become used to the high income and adoration of a celebrity.

He had gone back to Nigeria to live, but was very discontent with his lack of recognition in his own country. The general American public had lost sight of him for several years, and was able to travel in obscurity. He was determined to find a way to recoup the vast income he had missed out on because of his unfortunate injury.

Marcel took one of the confiscated cell phones from one of the passengers. He used the memo option from his own for a list of numbers he had stored.

"Flight 429 from New York to Chicago has been hijacked. Send an electronic deposit of five million dollars to the Bank Account number 782987 in the National Bank of Syria within ten minutes or people are going to die."

Obviously the people at the main office of the airline did not have time to confirm the information or react. Marcel handed his cell phone to a passenger to let the airline know who he was, confirm that the flight had been hijacked and the men were armed. Marcel grabbed Joe, took him to the front of the coach section, lowered him to his knees and shot him.

He told the passenger with the cell phone to pass on the information. He handed out another cell phone to let another person confirm their name, flight number and information that the man had been shot. They now had five minutes to make the electronic deposit.

Marcel searched the internet with the confiscated cell phone and was able to verify that the money had been deposited. From there, he split the money into five accounts and transferred it to accounts in several different countries. From there, he had another program to continuously move the accounts from country to country.

It was now just a matter of time for his next part of the plan to be started. They had to get to a certain spot over the country where he had stashed more cars, and money.

They had some time to kill before they got to the dense forest of the Ozark Mountains. Marcel walked down the aisle and spotted Jennifer and her daughter. He decided that two rich bitches from the first class section would be the best choice.

"We have a long flight, and I think the people are hungry. I think it is time for you two women to pass out the refreshments, peanuts and drinks. Drinks are free today. I want you women to be the attendants for the rest of the flight."

Jenny had not recovered from the horror of seeing her husband shot. She needed to do whatever it took to keep her daughter safe. If the guns were fired, it was always possible that an errant shot would depressurize the cabin. Jenny got up to go see where the food and drinks were kept.

"No you don't young lady. I didn't ask the regular attendants because they are too fuddy-duddy. I don't like their uniforms. I like the way you are dressed more. In fact I think you and this young lady can look much better with a few modifications to your uniform. We need to have a more recognizable uniform.

The two gunmen came to where Jenny and Stephanie were seated. They made the two women stand. Marcel took Jenny's hand and led her out of the first class section and stood her facing the coach passengers. As she was turned and led out of the back of the first class section, she could see that the other gunman was taking Stephanie the same way to the front of the first class section. The difference was that he already had one hand around the back of her and draped it over her right breast. Jenny was too shocked over her husband being shot to actually realize quite what was going on.

She could hear her daughter groan and mew over the indignities she was enduring. She could hear her daughter sobbing softly as she was led through the first class section to face the coach passengers.

"I want you to undress. I think the food will taste much better that way. I also think that these people will focus more on you and panic less about being hijacked. Jenny stood there, not sure what was real.

"I want you to take off that fucking dress." She had to assume her daughter was being threatened the same way.

Jennifer was stunned. Everything had happened so fast. One minute she had been so excited about the trip they had been on. Now her husband had been shot. Now she had been ordered to strip.

Jennifer stood in the front of the coach section with Marcel holding her long reddish brown fishtail braid in his left hand, and the gun pointed at her in the other. Jenny looked at the gun. She looked out at the stunned faces staring back at her. Everybody in the plane was more concerned with their own safety than hers. All they wanted was to land safely. She did not really see any expressions of empathy in the eyes looking back at her.

Jenny was concerned about keeping the attention away from her daughter as she raised her hands to the buttons at the top of her dress. Her eyes watered as she began to open the top of her rumpled green dress.

There wasn't really any way to hold the sides together as she opened the buttons. When she got to the buttons to her waist, she had to start pulling up on the garment to reach the buttons. As she did, the sides gapped open to reveal the cantaloupe sized melons. She had the transparent type of bra made of the same fabric as nude panty hose.

Jenny had the hem of her dress raised almost to the bottom of her panties as she opened the last button. When it was free, she crossed her arms in front of her to keep the sides together and shield her nearly naked breasts from view of the passengers.

"Drop it cunt." The words stung. It was bad enough to be standing in front of all these strangers with her dress open. The words were more humiliating when they were issued where her daughter could hear her debasement. Reluctantly, Jenny dropped her hands to her sides. The dress gapped a few inches. Her humiliation wasn't so much from what they could see as from her despair as to what this was leading to.

Jenny looked pleadingly at Marcel, hoping for some sign of empathy as she arched her shoulder back and turned her head to shrug off one side of her dress. She brought the garment around in front of her and held it for a moment.

Thinking the depraved hijacker might just shoot somebody else to move her along; she quickly dropped the dress to the floor. Jenny couldn't help but bring her hands over her face for a moment, struggling with the next sequence of orders. "What next?" she wondered. "Take off the bra or panties?"

Jenny stooped her head as she reached behind her for the clasp. Her restrained breasts seemed to jump as they were freed. She brought her hands around in front to catch and keep the transparent fabric where it was. It was ridiculous, really, because her long-stemmed pink nipples were clear even with the fabric in place.

Jenny chocked as she let the fabric drop on top of her dress. Defensively she crossed her arms in front of her and cupped her breasts. The crowd was now silent; the women out of empathy; the men in masked curiosity.

"Next"

Jenny knew it was coming. There wasn't anything she could do about it. She was resigned to the anguish and humiliation of knowing.

Jenny tried to keep one arm across her breasts to cup and conceal at least one breast as she reached down with her left hand for the waistband of her panties.

They were not thong panties. The waist of the green lace garment was just below her belly button and above her hips. The back panel covered her entire rear. The front had very high sides, with just a sliver of fabric connecting the front to the back. The high waist and miniscule fabric at the waist along with her high heeled cork shoes made her appear much longer-legged woman than she was.

Jenny bent over with one hand over her breasts as the other struggled to push them over her thighs until they dropped free to her ankles. Sobbing visibly, she raised her feet to step clear of them.

"Put your fucking arms down, cunt." Marcel said. Sobbing, Jenny wiped a tear from her face as she put her arms down. For a forty year old woman, she could have easily passed for a woman who was half that, except for her dignity. For all the humiliation of having been stripped of her clothes, she still had the grace and dignity of a queen. Her hours of running had kept every ounce of fat from her body. She had the muscle tone of Dana Torres. Her suntan seemed to frame the alabaster white cleft at the top of her legs.

Her vagina had been shaved to a landing strip configuration above her wonder down under. From the top of her cleft, the rest of her pubic hair had been shaved so that she could wear a skimpy bikini. Her long-stemmed pink nipples looked like the two cherries on the top of two melon-sized scoops of ice cream. Her Coppertone chest accented and framed her pink nipples. Even if she had been dressed, one could tell she had an athletic build by looking at her arms. She had excellent muscle tone as her toned arms showed.

"Get out the fucking cart and start serving the fucking drinks, you cunt." Her tormenter whispered. Jenny was sobbing now. She had a good idea they were treating her daughter the same way. She had to follow orders or somebody else would get hurt. Jenny tried to cover herself as she pulled the cart out of the closet. It was so hard to push the cart in her high heeled shoes, and also cover herself. Her long fish tail braid hung down her front, offering some cover as she approached the first row.

She could not bear to look at the first couple, and could not control her voice to ask them anything. She stood there. Marcel turned, stuck his head through the curtain separating first class and coach to say something in French to his partner holding Stephanie. Jenny heard a vicious slap and her scream out in pain.

"Oh, please don't hurt her. I can get through this. Please give me a moment." She pleaded to Marcel. Marcel was still angry, but he faced her. Without any words, she knew he meant business. "Then do it." His eyes told her.

Jenny looked at the cart. "What can I get you to drink?" she whispered to the first young couple. They were just as stunned as she was, but knew they had to respond. "Water will be fine." The young man whispered. The young woman with him was cowering against her husband as Jenny poured iced water in two small plastic cups.

When she moved her cart back to the next aisle, Marcel came up behind her. "Now young lady, it wouldn't be nice if Miss Jennifer were the only naked woman on this flight would it? Now you take your fucking clothes off too so your husband won't stare. You give him his own show. Get out here in the aisle and stand the fuck up."

The young girl began sobbing uncontrollably and buried her face in her husband's chest. Marcel raised his gun and snapped off the safety. The young girl heard the safety like somebody had hit an anvil with a BAL peen hammer. She knew he was not fooling around, so she pulled away from her husband and stood in the aisle.

As Jenny began serving drinks to the next row, the young girl started to remove her clothes. Marcel ordered the girl in the two seats on the opposite side of the aisle to do the same thing. She was a middle aged woman quite a bit like Jenny. The two women stood trembling as their husbands helplessly watched in horror and outrage.

"Now you two women change sides. I want you two women to get down and suck off the men you are sitting with now. The women were stunned. The passengers near enough to hear gasped, knowing the orders were going to follow on down the aisles behind Jenny. The women wouldn't respond. They were too stunned.

Marcel raised his gun. "No! Please don't shoot. I'll do it. I'll do it." The older woman sobbed. The older woman was about forty. Her body was in excellent condition. She probably belonged in the first class section. Her clothes were obviously expensive. Her blouse, skirt, bra and panties were piled in the aisle over the garments of the young girl that had been sitting opposite her.

She raised the armrest separating the two seats, and then began unbuttoning the younger man's jeans. She slid his jeans and briefs down past his knees. She couldn't bear to watch as the young girl did the same thing to her husband in the seat across the aisle. The older woman could see that her new partner was only semi flaccid.

She raised it with both hands. She squeezed it softly to get a response. It jumped. She used her forefinger and thumb and grasped the soft loose skin on the bottom of his shaft and tugged gently. She tugged it gently back and forth along the length of it. She pulled the loose foreskin out past the tip, it was almost painful, but easily aroused the young man to full erection.

She heard Marcel slap the young girl savagely. The girl was mewing in humiliation and fear as she got back to her knees in front of the older man. He wasn't quite fully erect, but she opened her mouth and took the whole thing in. Her cheeks bulged as she buried her lips against the base. Her tears had blinded her to the shaft in front of her.

As Jenny continued to the back of the plane, Marcel followed, making all the women strip and blow the men across the aisle. The aisle was now covered with clothes.

When Jenny pushed the cart back to the closet at the front of the coach section, she could see that her daughter was struggling with the gunman in that section. She was now naked too. The man had put his gun down. He was behind her; with his left arm around her front, squeezing her breast and nipple. His other arm was stretched down to her crotch. He had at least two fingers sawing in and out of her vagina.

Stephanie had her hands over her face, as if she could blot out her humiliation if she could not see it. She had on of her high heeled shoes raised and hooked over the leather covered armrest on her left. She had no choice but adjust her pose to accommodate the man's huge fingers. Her arms moved, oblivious now to her nakedness. She had to hang on to her abductor's arm for support. Her head writhed from side to side in agony and humiliation.