Chapter 2: The Naughty Stwardesses

Edited by Master Ken

Notes: This takes between Chapters 31 and 42.

Thursday, October 31st, 2013 – Monique Lavoie – Lansing, MI

"Everyone take your seats," Joslyn announced over Air Force One's loudspeakers.

"Pity," I sighed, breaking my kiss with 53, one of Mark's bodyguards. She was a petite, Asian woman with a gorgeous pair of breasts that my hands were currently fondling. We were leaning against one of the bulkheads, furiously kissing, her hands between my thighs, rapidly fingering me.

"Guess we'll finish up on the flight home," 53 shrugged. She pulled away from me, buttoning up her blouse, all business. Now that we're landing, she was back on duty.

I straightened my skirt, what little of it there was. It barely covered my asscheeks and, when I walked, my pussy would flash beneath the hem. My bustier had slipped, and I adjusted it, pressing up my round tits into an impressive cleavage. I tweaked my hard nipples, left bare by the bustier, and made sure my red-and-blue striped tie fell between my lush mounds.

I walked back to the main cabin, sitting down on a jump seat near the door. Lize—one of my many lovers, and my fellow stewardess—sat down next to me, her large breasts jiggling in her bustier. She wore the exact same outfit I did; our official uniforms that I had chosen last June when Mark and Mary first made us their stewardesses. I had been married then, but I dumped my husband in a heartbeat to serve a pair of actual Gods. Lize, on the other hand, had brought her husband with her, and Franklin worked as the Gods' webmaster now. That had surprised me; I thought Lize didn't actually love her husband. I figured her for another gold digger like me, marrying a rich executive for the easy life. Well, her feelings for her husband had never stopped the blonde from cheating on him at the drop of a pin.

"What shall we do for fun, my sweet, little Lize?" I asked, toying with a lock of my curly-black hair.

"Shopping, of course," Lize giggled. "Let's spend my husband's money on clothes to look beautiful for our lovers."

We laughed wickedly.

The Gods appeared out of their back cabin, dressed in simple clothes. It was Thursday, and that meant they were spending the day healing sick children. Every Thursday they traveled to a random Children's Hospital in the US, and this week Lansing, Michigan had been selected. They sat next to each other, cuddling up. Korina and Lillian, the two sluts that had attended them in their cabin, came out with broad smiles.

"Do you think they have good shopping in Lansing?" I asked, unable to keep my distaste for the provincial mid-west out of my voice.

"We'll find out," Lize shrugged. "Either way, we'll find something fun and naughty to do."

The plane began its descent. I took my little Lize's hands, soft and delicate. She had come a long way from the shy trophy wife I met at that party two years ago. I had introduced her to a world of decadent pleasures: young, muscular men; the pleasure of a woman's lips; multiple partners; anal sex; the thrill of public sex—she had been a virgin to it all. And serving the Gods just meant there was no limit on our decadence. We could do what we wanted, wherever we wanted, and the Gods would protect us. We served them, and had earned whatever amusements we desired.

The plane tires screeched, the thrust reversals roared, and my seat belt dug into my waist as we landed. The plane rattled, shook, groaned, and then we slowed to a crawl, the thrust reversals died down, and the plane made a gentle turn. Through the window I could see the other planes landing, part of the fleet of aircraft that followed the Gods around. They carried soldiers, vehicles, spare parts, and there was one plane that was simply their back-up ride, decked out identically to Air Force One. That was power. That's why I ditched my billionaire husband to serve Mark and Mary.

The plane pulled up to the advance troops; a company of the Legion and a squad of the scantily-clad bodyguards had arrived yesterday, making sure everything was safe and secure for their arrival. Beyond them stood the media with their cameras. We unbuckled our belts and walked over to the airplane's door. A staircase was maneuvered up, and then we opened the door. The bodyguards streamed out, joining their sisters, and then the Gods walked up, standing at the doorway and waving for the cameras.

"Have fun, ma chérie," I purred to Mary, embracing her. My Goddess took the moment to fondle my breasts while Lize gave Mark a similar farewell.

Then the Gods walked down the stairs to the roaring cheer of their worshipers and the flashing cameras of the reporters. The sluts descended the stairs with Leah, the chauffeur, followed by a few of the maids who would serve the Gods during this trip, then we descended with the last of the bodyguards. The air was frigid but, lucky for us, our ties had been enchanted by Sam. The Vizier had whipped up a spell that turned them into mini-heaters, and they'd keep us warm even in a blizzard. The Gods were giving a speech while their convoy was readied. A fleet of SUV's and Humvees pulled up, the Gods and their servants and bodyguards piled in, and they were off.

"So, what naughty fun are you two going to have?" 53 asked me, a grin on her youthful, Asian face. Her partner, 52, stood next to her, a buxom Mexican woman with honey-brown hair and a pair of aviator shades on.

"Shopping at what passes for a mall in Lansing," I declared.

"And fucking?" 53 asked, her grin turning sly.

"Of course," Lize nodded. "Preferably the nastiest, most depraved fucking we can have. Shame you can't join in."

"We'll have the plane ride back to relieve ourselves, right, 52?"

"Absolutely," purred the Latina bodyguard.

Lize and I piled into the back of another waiting, black SUV. 53 jumped into the driver seat, and 52 slid in the passenger seat, what the Americans called 'shotgun', though I never had the faintest idea why. Then again, there was a shotgun and an automatic rifle secured next to the passenger seat on the console.

52 pulled out a GPS. "Let's see what sort of malls there are around here." The device made an annoying beep every time she pushed the keys. "Ahh, here we go."

"Go straight 100 feet and take a left," a cool, feminine voice spoke from the device.

It turned out the mall wasn't far away, merely a ten minute drive through Lansing's streets. It was a depressing sight. A one story, sprawling mess, without the hint of high-end boutiques where we could buy some designer clothes. Oh well, there were other ways to spend time in the mall. 53 maneuvered the SUV right up to the front, lights flashing, parking in front of one of the entrances between a Target and a Sears, how positively gauche, and the two bodyguards exited the vehicle and opened the doors for us.

The shoppers gawked. It wasn't every day you saw two barely dressed women step out of an SUV guarded by two cops that would be more at home on a porno set than walking a beat. They recognized what women dressed like slutty cops meant, and backed away, not wanting to impede the Gods' servants. I didn't pay them any mind, and strode into the mall, my exposed breasts jiggling.

It opened onto a garish food court. Cheap Chinese food abutted cheap Mexican food abutted cheap Italian food, with two hamburger joints and a Shawarma shop thrown in for good measure. The tables were flimsy Formica, and accompanied by uncomfortable, plastic chairs. I looked around for anyone to have some fun with. A hunky, Black man accompanied by a rather plain-looking, overweight, White woman caught my eye. He deserved better than that dumpy woman. A pair of young women giggled when they saw us, and my eyes appreciated their short skirts and chokers about their throats. Another man, his forearms as thick as my thighs, walked by, his yummy butt clad in tight jeans.

And then I saw her, wrapped head to toe in black cloth, a hijab, I think it was called, protecting her modesty by leaving only her hands and and her eyes exposed. She trailed after an Arab man dressed in a suit, his head covered by a white headwrap, the keffiyeh with intricate, red designs, the type of headdress you'd see in Saudi Arabia. He was young, early twenties, and the woman was probably his wife, and struggled to carry their purchases while her husband chatted away on his cell phone. Asshole!

I nudged Lize. "How would you like to unwrap the Muslim woman?"

Her eyes fell on the woman and sparkled with mischief. "Umm, you always get me the best presents."

53 groaned. "He seems the possessive type."

"That's why we brought you along," I giggled, hooking my arm through Lize's and striding across the food court towards them.

The man stopped, his eyes falling upon our exposed breasts, and a smile crossed his lips. A few years ago I had been a model, and I was very acquainted with Saudi men. They were all pigs, loving us Western women and our uninhibited sexual ways. They would shower you with gifts: jewels, money, clothing, anything to get you to spread your legs and fuck them so they could boast to their friends about the slutty, Western girl they defiled.

We walked right past the Saudi man, his eyes whipping around to watch us, and we split apart to flank the Arabic woman. Her eyes—dark pools—and hands looked young, but it was hard to really tell. She looked down, and I could almost feel her flush through the black veil, and her entire body stiffened like a ramrod had just been shoved up through her body.

"Don't be scared, ma petite chérie," I purred, reaching out to take her hand. "We won't hurt you."

"We're just going to eat you up," Lize cooed, taking her other hand.

"Sharmuta!" roared the man. I knew that word, I had heard it often enough from Arab men. Whore.

"Umm, you have no idea," I smiled at him, grasping the woman's hand. "And she'll be one, too, once we're finished."

His dark face flushed with anger, his nose flaring as he snorted like a bull, and he charged at me. He didn't get far. 53 whipped out her collapsible baton and slammed it hard against the back of his knee. With a cry of pain, he fell forward. 52 grabbed one of his hands and 53 the other one as the Arab man thrashed like a fish flopping about in the bottom of a boat.

"Stop resisting, sir," 53 calmly said, yanking his hand back.

"Let me go, bitch!" he snarled. "I've done nothing wrong!"

"Sir, you just tried to assault one of the Gods' servants. So I'm placing you under arrest. Now stop resisting, or it will be much worse!"

"They touched my wife! Why don't you protect her!"

Pulling out her handcuff, 52 ratcheted one end around his wrist. "I'm not paid to protect your wife." 53 pushed her knee into the man's back and he yelped in pain, and she managed to haul his other wrist over and secured his free wrist.

The woman yelled something in Arabic, too fast and fluid for me to understand anything, and struggled in my grasp. "Don't worry," I told her. "He won't be hurt. So long as he doesn't resist."

"Secure him in the chair," I told them. "I think he should watch his wife finally become a free woman."

The woman flinched as I grabbed her veil and pulled it over her face. She was beautiful, long, black hair framing a round, delicate face. Her lips were lush, her cheeks full of color, and her neck graceful. Such a shame to hide her beauty. Her husband was a selfish creature, wanting to hide her away from the world.

I touched her cheek gently. "Don't worry. I won't harm you."

Then I leaned in and kissed her. She tried to pull away, but I still held onto her right arm, and Lize had her left. I tilted my head, working my lips against hers, letting my tongue slide out and caress her lips. Lize's free hand slid up her body and found her breasts beneath the shapeless hijab. I wondered if she wore a bra under there, or if she was completely naked. She stiffened a second time; Lize had found her nipple, pinching it through the fabric. I kept kissing her, prodding her lips with my tongue, hoping she'd open up and let me in.