In-Flight Entertainment: Part Four free porn video

By the time the seatbelt light finally went out, Flight Attendant Skye Blue had been reduced to a panting, breathy mess of boobs and curls. Straddled in Mr Tarasov's lap, she was practically humping her chastised crotch against his right leg, her bruised and slobber-covered tits swinging freely between the pair of them as she thrusted back and forth. She moaned and groaned and sighed in that adorable high-pitched squeak of hers as she attempted to bring herself off, but the steel cage just wouldn't allow it. In contrast, Tarasov was the picture of tranquillity - and as well he might be, seeing as he'd came in his boxers twice already thanks to Skye's skilled handiwork. His right hand was firmly clenched around Skye's tattooed left buttock, but that embrace aside he was all but ignoring the licentious display in front of him. With earphones in place he relaxed back in his comfy chair, sipped what remained of his champagne and continued to engross himself in the TV set in front of him. Held tightly in his left hand, the key to the prison that was holding Skye's maleness hostage. Frustrated, Skye took time out between humps to glance over her shoulder to see what was stealing her bloated beau's attention. She recognised what the mini-screen built into the seat in front of them was playing instantly - it one of Layover TV's most popular shows. It consisted of footage from a previous flight, in which Skye Blue was gangbanged senseless by several burly 'gentlemen'. Their faces were pixellated out to protect their identities, but Skye, as a former fan in her male days, recognised them as an NFL team on their way back from an exhibition game in London. A wave of dread shot through her womanly body as she relived the ordeal. Tarasov had an altogether different reaction to the footage. His thick member hardened for the third time around Skye's delicate fingers (which were still entrenched in the depths of his flies), and she dutifully took the cue to begin pumping it up and down, in rhythm with her rocking hips. Such excellent care Miss Blue takes to ensure the needs of her passengers are met! But the sexually-charged stewardess' hospitality wasn't down to professionalism, or from fear of the cameras that were concealed in the air conditioning units. Her lust was genuine - a by-product of her cock being locked in its cage for days on end. Although Skye now had the chassis of a goddess, the engine driving it was still very much male and every touch on her nubile body threatened to push her over the edge. So crazed was she in this constant state of semi-arousal that the gluttonous gargoyle in front of her may as well have been Scarlett Johansson, the way she caressed his distended body with her free hand and peppered his cheeks with passionate, desperate kisses. After a fashion, his cock erupted yet again in his trousers under the pressure of Skye's manicured ministrations and apparently the third time was a charm, as Tarasov suddenly unclipped the seatbelt resting just above Skye's booty, sending the horny hostess tumbling backwards to the floor. The impact cooled Miss Blue's jets just enough to knock some sense into her. The sudden realisation of what she - Ace! The playboy of the skies! - had just done to another man made her want to reach for the nearest sickbag, but instead without missing a beat, she licked her fingers clean, straightened the pillbox hat sitting atop her crown and quietly began cleaning up the mess she had made in Sir's trousers, a task which required both hands and her mouth. Showing hesitation of any kind was an instant demerit. Nonetheless, Skye's demeanour had changed now. She was now silent and sullen as she licked Sir's privates clean of three loads' worth of spilt semen, shame and sexual frustration scrunching up her pretty face in equal measure. Mr Tarasov couldn't have cared less about his hostesses' enthusiasm for her job though, as his attention had already been diverted by the presence of Mr Hanson, who had taken up a vacant seat next to the pair. For the first time ever, Skye was grateful that the surgeon's extensive facial surgery regime had left her so unrecognisable that even at close proximity, her former drinking buddy couldn't recognise her. That also meant she'd have a hell of a time convincing him of her true identity if and when they finally got some time alone away from the intrusive cameras, but right this second, while she had another man's testicles in her mouth, that could be considered a blessing. After the men reacquainted themselves with meaningless pleasantries, Mr Hanson got down to brass tacks. Skye listened in from in-between Mr Tarasov's legs. "Sorry to interrupt during such a tender moment, Mikhail," began Mr Hanson, "but I presume you've had enough time to think over our offer?" "Yes, I certainly have. And everything seems to be in order, my friend. But I must confess, when you first approached me with this proposal, I thought to myself: 'no way'." "You swore and hung up on me as I recall!" laughed Mr Hanson. Mr Tarasov chuckled in kind, the vibrations causing a sea spray of cum to splatter on Skye's chin. "But then I chewed it over some more. As you know, Richard, I am not a young man like yourself. And in light of my anger management issues, and the heart problems that have come of it, I came to the unfortunate conclusion that maybe it would be for the best that I re-consider your offer." He lightened. "And I'd better do it quick, because I think this little cocksucker down here is trying to finish me off!" "Indeed! Look at those lips of hers; I bet she could suck the paintwork off the outside of this plane," Mr Hanson quipped, to the Russian's approval. 'Hey, you stole that line from me!' pouted Skye miserably. When Ace coined that zinger several years ago within earshot of a female Europa board member, he would never have dreamt that one day it would be turned around and used on him. She was the cocksucker now. Skye lowered her blushing eyes as she comprehended this fact and continued to clean the pole in front of her with her tongue in impotent fury as the talks continued. 'What business proposal is this, anyway?' she wondered to herself between loud slurps. Tarasov continued his speech. "But another thing I am not, Richard, is a fool. I knew what you were trying to do, but I promised myself that it'd cost you. Of course, we're still playing the percentage game with a few minor details, but now you've agreed to and acted upon my main condition, I think the rest of the deal can be considered a formality." "Then that means," said Mr Hanson triumphantly, "that we can go ahead as planned and announce at this year's Airline Leaders Summit that Europa and Imperial, the world's two biggest commercial airlines, are to merge!" Luckless Lady Blue was unfortunate enough to have a mouth full of dried cum when the bombshell hit. The revelation caused her to splutter her load back over Mr Tarasov's crotch, a move which did not best please the airline mogul. Suddenly enraged, he reached out and hauled her to her feet with a shriek by grabbing her blonde hair with his powerful claw. "What the hell do you think you're doing, bitch?," spat Tarasov at the trembling stewardess, his angered face now as red as his vodka-tinted nose. Frightened for her life, Skye could give no answer more intelligible than a series of stuttered apologies. "Maybe I should pull out those pretty teeth of yours, slut," he pondered, manhandling Skye's feminized jawline with his coarse fingers. "Perhaps then you'd be able to suck a man's cock without fucking up, no?" Mr Hanson laughed heartedly at his business partner's over-reaction and moved to diffuse the situation. "Mikhail, you get so worked up over the little things when you've been drinking. Are you going to be like this during our negotiations later?" Tarasov replied with a non-committal grunt. "You can't blame the girl for being excited - after all, you forget she works in our industry too. It's not every day that a common cabin crew member gets to hob-nob with the movers and shakers at the top of the food chain, is it?" Given Tarasov's notoriously tempestuous nature, and the way Ace's last meeting with him had gone a year ago, Skye recognised this was probably not the best time to point out that actually she was the guest of honour at last year's summit. "I suppose you're right," growled Tarasov, without actually acknowledging that he was wrong, and as a way of saying sorry he completed Skye's task for her by wrenching her head into his lap and moping up the residual jizz from around his member with her platinum tresses. "Go get us a refill you worthless slut, our glasses are empty" roared Tarasov, sploshing the remains of his champagne in the stewardesses' face. "Yes, Sir," whimpered Skye submissively, finishing up her duties by placing Sir's still-throbbing penis back into its boxers, planting a loving kiss goodbye on its head as she did so. Ace used to insist that Michelle do the same to him when they were an item even though she hated it dearly, so she considered it poetic to make the same gesture Skye's calling card now that she was the one who spent her time on their knees. The mock captain's salute that accompanied it was merely company policy. Job done, Miss Blue excused herself and minced back to the kitchen area as fast as her tall, tall heels would allow. ------------------------------------------------------------- Skye uncorked the unbelievably expensive bottle of red wine and placed it carefully on her drinks tray, where it sat alongside a couple of bottles of beer, an ice bucket and some glasses. The tray wobbled ominously as the plane hit a spot of turbulence. Skye gulped. This was a ticking time bomb of demerits just waiting to happen. Skye figured she could afford a few moments to herself, so she took the opportunity to tidy up her appearance. She eased her poor, aching baps back into their bra cups and unwedgied her knickers from her arse crack. She was just about to wash the spunk out of her hair when a powerful sensation from deep within her backside caused her knees to buckle. "Ooooooooooh," she mewled, grabbing hold of the taps for balance. One of the passengers had pressed the stewardess button on their control panel, causing the electric sensor implanted inside Skye's tush to rumble. They were giving her the hurry up call. "Coming, Sir!" she gasped. If the cage around her semi-erect penis had just been a tiny bit looser, then she most definitely would have been. Realising she had no time to waste, she scooped up the drinks tray and sashayed out to greet her guests before they could jab at the button again. She underestimated their impatience. "Oooooooooh, pooooooooooo" she cried as the intruder in her anal passage vibrated wildly. Another three steps forward and it throbbed again. Skye bit her lip and concentrated her entire being on keeping the tray upright above her head while her girlish body shuddered with sensation. Against all odds, she succeeded. At this point her nipples were almost bursting out through the latex of her uniform. Any more turned on and she would have been able to rest the tray on them. Skye was just a few strides away from her destination when Mr Tarasov, still red with rage over the earlier incident, locked eyes with his quivering prey. She flashed a warm smile in his direction as a peace offering, but it was to no avail. His fat finger stabbed down hard on the stewardess button. This time the wave of pleasure caught her in mid-stride and in the ensuring panic to keep the assorted bottles on her tray upright the ice bucket tipped over, spilling most of its freezing wares straight down the crevice of her cleavage! Somehow, Skye managed to compose herself against the stinging sensation of the pile of ice bouncing away between her lady lumps, and survived long enough to place the tray safely on the table between the gentlemen, an act which earned her ironic applause from her lecherous guests. She began to pick the lumps of frozen water from her breasts, but Mr Hanson's strong hand slapped hers away and his ordered for her to kneel in front of them. "Such slow service on this airline," grumbled Mr Tarasov as he greedily pawed around in Skye's pillows for some ice to add to his drink. "Well, it's only a small private flight, Mikhail," reasoned Mr Hanson, "it's not right to judge them by our high standards." He rummaged around in Skye's busty ice bucket, causing her to let out an involuntary moan, but withdrew no ice. "Erm...excuse me, miss? The ice cubes are a little on the large side for my liking....could you grind them up for me?" It took Skye a couple of seconds to comprehend what was being asked of her. She choked back a tear, placed her hands on the sides of her breasts and smooshed them together in big, circular motions, pounding them until all that remained between them was crushed ice. When she had finished making slush with her puppies, she was forced to press her breasts together with her hands to stop the smaller ice shards from slipping down her cleavage, which made them appear even larger than their already outrageous 38E dimensions. "I thought you English liked your beer warm?" questioned Tarasov, his mood improved thanks to Skye's titillating display. Mr Hanson simply smirked and scooped around deep within Skye's tits for a handful of ice. The stuff at the bottom always tasted the best. Skye was forced to hold this humiliating pose for what seemed like forever as her two guests casually discussed what their plan would be later tonight in Las Vegas. Over the course of the conversation, Ace's virile exploits the previous year were discussed in graphic detail and both men agreed that it was a shame that he'd left their industry so suddenly. "His wife told me he'd gone to Asia to 'find himself', but wouldn't go into more detail than that," Hanson explained. "Seen it happen many times before, some pilots just can't hack the pressure." "I guess his cavalier act was just a front!" smirked Tarasov with an annoying sense of self-satisfaction. "Perhaps, but it is a pity all the same. I know you had your run-ins with him, but he was great company on these business trips!" I didn't care for the way he spoke to me at last year's party, but I can't take that away from him, at least," begrudged Tarasov. "Who could forget the time he jumped up on that podium at the Glitter Gulch and convinced two strippers to suck him off at once?" "The stuff of legend," Hanson concurred, scooping up the remaining few shards of ice that hadn't yet melted and dripped down Miss Blue's bosom. "I propose a toast to Ace McLaren, a real man's man - wherever he may be." Skye heard the glasses chink but the endless mental torture had left her too weak to lift her heavy eyelash implants up to look. She tried instead to think positive: at least her former persona was still in Mr Hanson's good books despite his sudden departure. That boded well for their future meeting, if only she could set it up. Once Richard had helped her escape this nightmare, he'd surely use his power and stroke to keep this entire feminine fiasco covered from the press, and Michelle and her surgeon would likely end up doing time in some hellish foreign prison. Although the body hair would never grow back, a few corrective surgeries and treatments and it'd be like Skye Blue never existed. The sound of whispered Russian snapped the stewardess out of her silly fantasy. Her blue eyes flashed up to see Mr Tarasov discussing something with Vlad, his brick shithouse bodyguard. Ulp. She'd nearly forgotten about him. Nearly. "Hostess," snapped Tarasov, dragging her back to her feet by her hair. "My bodyguard has indicated that he would like a drink. I don't normally like my employees drinking on the job, but this is a longer than usual flight, so I think I shall allow it this once. Bring him a beer." Skye Blue showed the kind of hesitancy that would later result in her performance evaluation chart being covered in demerit-red pen. She wanted no truck with this 6"7 bruiser. While the two suits looked upon her with decadent lust, the look in this guy's eyes suggested something else. Hate. Disdain. This was a guy who probably beat up on gay people for laughs, and in her current ensemble, with her bulging tits, man-pleasing curves and cocklicking lips, there was no-one gayer on planet Earth than Miss Skye Blue, shemale stewardess at your service. Nonetheless, since a Layover Airways hostess cannot refuse a customer's request under any circumstances, her resistance was futile. Aware that her two tormentors in the cockpit were likely spending more time evaluating her performance than keeping an eye on the sky ahead, she sucked up all the courage her petite little body could muster and flounced over to the man-beast with a bottle of beer and a glass. All the while he stared through her with eyes that were even colder than her ice-ravaged boobies. He snatched the glass from her hands when she arrived and motioned for her to pour. Beads of sweat dripped down her forehead as she tipped the drink into his glass. If she spilled even a drop, she knew she'd be as good as dead. The head of the beer was almost kissing the rim of the glass when disaster struck. She remembered hearing some whispering and giggling behind her. The next few seconds were a blur. The sensor in her butt jolted, causing her to tip the contents of the bottle all over Vlad's groin. Suffice it to say, Vlad did not take this slip with good grace. After hurling a string of Russian obscenities at the luckless Miss Blue (who to her credit was already frantically attempting to pat his crotch dry with a napkin), he leapt to his feet, grabbed her by her neckerchief and pinned her to one of the windows as the threats continued. Just as Skye was seriously considering defecating into her satin panties, Mr Tarasov stepped in and broke up the moment with a single click of his nicotine-stained fingers. "Vlad! I paid good money for that whore, put her down right now!" The change in the atmosphere was so sudden, it surprised Skye that the oxygen masks didn't automatically deploy. Vlad reluctantly released his grip on the flight attendant and muttered something apologetic-sounding to his boss in almost inaudible Russian. As Tarasov continued berating his bodyguard in his native tongue, it dawned on Skye that she wasn't the only one on this flight who was at the mercy of this revolting little man. Vlad was a paid employee of Tarasov's and likely counted on his monthly paycheck to feed his wife and children. That meant whatever he says goes, for him as well as her. Skye briefly felt a sense of kinship with the brawny ape, which ended when he flashed her a hostile glance in the middle of his dressing down. Tarasov repeated the final line of his tirade in English, so the message was clear to Skye, too. "If you touch her again without permission, you're fired," he boomed. "Now sit." Vlad did so. Next Tarasov turned his attention to the shemale. "You clumsy bitch," he barked. "This is the second time already that you've disturbed my flight with your incompetence. You're all tits and no brains aren't you, you fucking airhead?" "Yes Sir!" "Yes Sir what?" "Yes Sir, I'm an airhead who is all tits and no brains, Sir!" parroted Skye, blushing furiously. "Yes, you are. A stupid fucking bimbo." Tarasov seemed to calm now that they had come to an understanding on Skye's mental capability. "But perhaps we can overlook that seeing as you're as obedient as you are dumb. Now, clean up the mess you made." Skye reached for the tissues but Tarasov grabbed her hand and wrenched it behind her back until she let go. "Not with that, airhead" he whispered sinisterly into her ear. "Here's how you're going to do it..." She gasped as he explained his masterplan to her. "Ooooh, poooooo!" "Is there a problem, bimbo?" "N-no, Sir!" "That's a good bimbo." Within seconds, the plan was put into action. Vlad was forced to sit down in his seat, motionless except for his grinding teeth, as Skye hovered over him, her back facing his front. She lifted her dress up, exposing her naughty nothings, and on Tarasov's command, began Operation: Clean Up by grinding her ass like a lapdancer into Vlad's pelvic region. Although the technique was mildly successful at mopping up the suds of beer around Vlad's groin mess, it was patently obvious that Tarasov had set this mock-lapdance up to embarrass the subjugated pair for his own perverted kicks. Just to eliminate any doubt, soon both Tarasov and Hanson gathered round, filming the lewd display on their mobile phones while whooping and hollering orders at the sexpot stewardess. "Rub your tits!" "Wiggle that ass!" "Lick those lips!" Skye almost tied herself in knots trying to keep pace with the demands that were raining down on her. At the same time she could feel the heat of Vlad's rage radiating into her back, but she didn't dare stop following her orders. Suddenly, Skye felt something. Something that Skye would never have imagined she would feel under these circumstances. Seemingly her gyrations had done the trick - Vlad had grown an erection, and it was trying to drill its way through her knickers! After a moment's shock and revulsion, a bulb went off above Skye's head, and it didn't belong to the reading light. It was her mood that had changed now, for the sunnier. After administering a final jiggle for good measure, she lifted her shapely buttocks from his loins and spun round to look at her prey with a devious smile. He was sat perfectly still,drenched in sweat, his hands burrowed deeply into the armrests. In the middle of his damp crotch, the most magnificent tent you could ever hope to see in a man's pants. Tarasov and Hanson whooped in laughter when they saw it and shared a very unbusinessman-like high five. Their homophobic bodyguard had just been given the biggest boner of his life, by a shemale no less! This fact amused them greatly. It amused Skye too, but her thoughts were primarily fixed on revenge. Not since sprouting a pair of boobies had she ever been allowed to get the better of someone, but at this moment Miss Blue realised the power a sexy lady - even a ladyboy - was capable of holding over a bigger, stronger man. She couldn't take her revenge on him for his earlier attack physically, she mused to herself, so she would do it by humiliating him and making him feel a little of what she had to go through every day. If she had to give this bastard a lapdance, then she was going to give him the best fucking lapdance he'd ever had, so he'd spent the rest of his life doubting his sexuality. With the camera phones rolling expectantly, the show began. Commands no longer needed to be whooped from the audience, this girl was taking charge. Skye kicked things off with a cheeky wink and a blown kiss as she slowly unbuttoned the poppers on her dress, letting it fall to the floor in a heap at her feet. Now clad in her satin underwear, she pranced over him and and knelt between his legs, sensually rubbing the length of his legs up and down with her delicate hands as his huge cock twitched in- between. She looked up at him with a wickedly sinful grin and licked her lips as she traced the head of his penis teasingly through his trousers with the tip of her nail extension. He swallowed with some difficulty. The truculence had faded from Vlad's scarred face. What replaced it was almost pitiful as he whimpered to himself and tried desperately to avoid looking at the lustrous sex show occurring between his legs. Skye could tell that he was trying to think of something, anything, which could deflate his organ and restore his prized heterosexuality. Skye wasn't going to let that happen. Not while she could still feel the chaffing of the neckerchief round her throat from the earlier assault. "Oooh, I think you like that, don't you baby?" she cooed, while massaging his erection between her mammoth jugs. "I think you prefer a shemale's touch to a woman's, don't you, my big, bad gay boy?" His face said no, his glands screamed yes. The airline bigwigs were totally on board with what Skye was trying to do. They yelled encouragement from the sidelines as Miss Blue continued her lewd act. She had never given a lap dance before in her life (and never imagined she would!), but as Ace she had received hundreds so considered herself something of an expert on the matter. She used this wisdom to put on a truly ball-busting display. For her next trick, she slithered up off the floor and positioned herself squarely in his lap, her knees resting on his hips. From this position, Skye's breasts were level with Vlad's face and she made sure he got an eyeful as she rode him up and down like a cowgirl. Thanks to her extensive experience in bed (from both sides of the gender divide), she was able to sense when he was near to cumming from his body language alone. When his body began to stiffen, she slowed down her gyrations just enough to keep the wolves from the door, amusing herself during the downtime by smothering his face with her cleavage. Once this had run its course, Skye flipped herself over and began rubbing her pantied ass up and down his body, not unlike the way she did during Operation: Clean Up, but this time with more vigour, enthusiasm and sass. As the vinegar strokes approached, she stopped dead in her tracks and laid back on her client's body, rubbing her tits suggestively right in his line of sight as he physically shook with sexual desire. She reached behind with her left arm and cupped the back of Vlad's head, allowing her to pull herself up to within earshot. "I bet your wife has never treated you like this, huh stud?," she purred into his cauliflower ear. He bit his lip and gave no response. "C'mon honey, be honest with me and I might finish you off." She clenched her ass cheeks around his dick once more, so the question wouldn't get lost in translation. It sucked the oxygen from his lungs. "So tell me, do I turn you on more than your wife back home does, mmm?" "Da," he answered mournfully between gasps. "That's what I thought, gay boy!" she replied with a smirk, a hint of victory colouring her deceptively sweet voice. With that, she went back to work, grinding her surgically-augmented ass into his crotch a few more times for good measure, before strutting off him triumphantly just as he was on the verge of release, leaving him with balls bluer even than Miss Blue's uniform. The show was over. The beer had long since dried but there was a wet spot in Vlad's groin region all the same. She received her second round of applause of the flight, but this time it was genuine. As she curtseyed to show her gratitude, she found her eyes gravitating automatically towards the businessmen's crotches. Ugh! Now why did she keep doing that? Still, the unmistakeable bulges in their trousers told her that she was back in her passenger's good books, which was a nice side-benefit from her revenge-dance. Although not a hard and fast rule, happy passengers tended to mean less beatings. Plus, she needed to start buttering up Mr Hanson now if she was ever to convince him that he wanted to spend some, ahem, 'private time' with her outside of the airport, so she could explain the situation to him. She decided to kick things up a notch. She eyed him wantonly as she shimmied back into her dress, even going as far as to blow him a kiss, and was pleased to see the gesture returned. The male mind locked inside her hated that she was forced to use these feminine wiles to seduce her former best friend, but she knew it was her only chance to reclaim her lost masculinity. As she was buttoning the poppers on her uniform, the handsome executive approached, causing her to get flustered and muddle up her buttons. He placed his hand on her curvaceous behind and motioned for her to join him at his seat. She gushingly accepted the invite, with a little more genuineness than she was comfortable with. Never mind, the plan was working perfectly. Within a week her body would be free of these bothersome female hormones. As she was led away she glanced back at Vlad, who still hadn't moved from his chair, seemingly apoplectic with rage and sexual frustration. She shot him a smug look that said 'don't fuck with me, I'm queen bee around here' and flipped him a very unladylike hand gesture that she did well to hide from the roving cameras that connected the cabin to the cockpit. The best thing about winding up that big lug, Skye thought to herself as she poured Mr Hanson a glass of wine and snuggled up to his chest, was that there was no way it could possibly backfire on her.