In-Flight Entertainment: Part Five free porn video

Skye Blue got the private time she desired with Mr Hanson much quicker than she had expected, because after the stimulation of Miss Blue's lewd lapdance, Mr Tarasov decided he needed to rest his ticker with a quick nap. Originally he had wanted to hang on to Skye's services while he slept, pointing out quite rightly that her bazongas would make excellent pillows, but after some tough negotiations between the two businessmen Tarasov finally agreed to hand her over to Mr Hanson for the next few hours in exchange for a small thatched cottage in the French Riviera. All of which leads us to the night time portion of the flight. Although the lights were out and the window shutters drawn, the plane was not a quiet place to be as it flew over a sleeping Greenland. Granted, Vlad was as quiet as a mouse - a 6"7, fuming mouse - but further up the cabin, there were several noises that could be heard even over the roar of the plane's engines. One was Tarasov's thunderous snoring. The other was the sound of Skye and Mr Hanson giggling like a pair of lovestruck teenagers as they greedily caressed and groped each other in a specially-designed luxury seat situated at the front of the cabin. A ceiling-mounted camera tracked the playmates' movements closely. The trolley dolly's conflicted behaviour made the couple's heavy petting session a terrific spectator's sport. Certainly, the pilots thought so; Skye's estranged wife spent more time watching her hubbie's humiliation on a specially erected screen in the cockpit than she did concentrating on the sky ahead. For the majority of the pair's 'courtship' routine, Skye assumed the role of damsel in distress; frantically trying to bat away her suitor's busy hands as they explored every inch of her feminine charms. "Oh, Sir, I just want to cuddle and talk!," the lusty ladyboy would whine, pulling the skirt of her dress back down over her plump rump to preserve what little modesty she could possibly have in her outrageous fantasy uniform. Her words did no good. All boobs and ass, it was impossible to take Skye's protestations seriously. Even as she pouted and wagged her finger as a warning, she looked more like a Carry On girl secretly gagging for it than a chaste woman deserving of gentlemanly respect. No wonder male attention and harassment followed the surgically reconstructed shemale wherever she minced. But occasionally, Mr Hanson's hands or lips would hit the right buttons, and Skye's new body would betray her old mind. Although she hadn't quite accepted it in her head yet, the oestrogen coursing round her ruined body had made her totally boy crazy, so all it took was a well-timed fondle from Mr Hanson's strong, authoritative hands to plunge her into a deep, insatiable heat. And so inevitably, what Skye had originally intended to be a candid sit-down chat quickly spiralled out of her control, escalating into something quite different. Something that began with a snog and culminated in her bringing off her former partner-in- crime with an wanton tittyfuck. It was a wonder that the plane didn't dive into a talespin while Miss Blue performed the dirty deed. Back in the pilot's bay, Michelle was masturbating furiously as she watched her spouse's homosexual debasement, climaxing just as the esteemed Mr Hanson splurged his virile, powerful manseed down the shocked hostesses' heaving cleavage. Michelle's orgasmic scream woke a slumbering couple in Godthab. After the heat of the moment had died, Skye was forced to face up to the perverse act she'd performed on her pal during the throes of passion. A single tear slide down her cheek as she felt the trail of hot, salty cum trickle through her red raw funbags and slowly dribble towards her belly button. Looking Richard in the eye and telling him the truth would now be that tiny bit harder when they touched down in Vegas. Skye (and by extension, Ace) wasn't just a cocksucker in Mr Hanson's eyes any more; she was a source of free tittyfucks, too. And worse might be yet to come if she wasn't able to pique Richard's curiosity now and convince him to 'save' her derri?re for a later date. She couldn't, wouldn't let that happen. The good news for Skye: her aching boobs' sacrifice seemed to have paid off. Now he'd relieved himself of his load, Mr Hanson seemed relaxed and far more open to talking, so Skye sensed it was time to strike. The dutiful attendant did her best to ignore the sticky, spunky mess congealing inside her satin bra and offered to oil the wheels of conversation further with a sensual body massage. Mr Hanson was predictably keen. As she unbuttoned his shirt and tie and leaned over him to rub his chest, she caught a look of herself in the reflection of his wine glass. Ugh! If there was an inch of her neck and tits that weren't covered in love bites, she couldn't see it. It made her all the more determined to get this discussion right - this was her ticket out of this depravity! After ten minutes or so, when she was finally convinced that her 'audience' had gone back to focusing on flying the god damn plane, Skye decided to put her cunning plan into motion. She curled up in a pacified Mr Hanson's lap and, with her hand still tucked inside his shirt, began the small talk. "So tell me, handsome," she cooed, rubbing his abs softly with her delicate hands. "How long are you in Vegas?" The massage had been so effective that Mr Hanson could barely muster the strength to answer at first. "About three or four days, honey," he finally replied. "I've got a conference to present". "Ooooh, that sounds very important," lisped Skye, running her hand lightly over Mr Hanson's pecs. This was home field advantage for Skye now. As his former confidant, she knew exactly what Richard liked in a woman. Step one: flattery. "You must be a very successful man!" "Only the most successful man in the entire aviation industry, sweetheart" replied Mr Hanson boastfully, opening his legs subtly as if to emphasis the size of his cock as he spoke. Skye unconsciously gawped at the throbbing package for a few seconds, but regained her bearings in time to let him finish his sentence. "It's a shame that you won't be able to stay for it..." "Oh, I don't know about that, Sir," Skye responded, looking up at him and batting her eyelashes with misplaced innocence. "I'm actually staying in Vegas for a few days myself" This was true. The return flight wasn't until Thursday, because Michelle wanted to spend a few days living it up in Las Vegas with Randy, who was now apparently her best friend. This meant Skye was forced to stay over too, because heaven forbid she get a day or two's respite from her wickedly cruel wife. The only difference was that while the pilots lived the high life in Ceasar's Palace, Miss Blue would have to make do with a bed in a dirt-cheap hostel, where only the sleaziest of punters would dare stay. "Just one of the perks of the job I guess," he flippantly replied, the growing bulge in his expensive suit indicating that his mind was thinking of the possibilities that could arise from the conversation. "So what are your plans in Vegas, girl? Going to take in some sights? Some shows? Some shopping?" Skye squeaked out a girlish giggle that irritated both parties equally. "Oh no Sir, my meagre hostess wages mean that I can't afford to do fancy things like that! I'll probably just stay in my hostel. But I guess..." She paused for effect and then clung to his Adonis-like body tightly. "...I guess it would be nice to have some male company though. I get so scared when I'm on my own!" Step two: appear vulnerable. Mr Hanson took the bait hook, line, sinker. "Doll," he began, wrapping his arm around her shoulder in such a way that his hand landed on her erect nipple, "if you'd fancy a taste of the good life, perhaps you'd like to be my date for the afterparty at the Ghost Bar." "Oh darling, I'd be honoured," simpered Skye theatrically, cradling Mr Hanson's rugged chin with her hand and planting a kiss on his cheek, adding yet another lipstick mark to his face's ample collection. "But....oh, but I don't have anything posh to wear...this uniform is the only thing I'm allowed to pack when I'm away on business!". Another truth, and one that threatened to make the shemale's stay in the hostel very, well, hostile. "Silly girl," Mr Hanson chided, "I'd be happy to take you shopping and help you pick out a stunning little number for you to squeeze that figure into. Maybe as repayment, you could model it for me in my hotel room later. That is...unless you already have a boyfriend?" The amount of time it took Skye to answer such a seemingly straightforward question caused her to blush a brilliant red. "Shit," thought Skye, remembering her earlier experience in the waiting lounge. "Is Randy really my boyfriend now? I have a boyfriend?? Oh, god!" Mr Hanson read the girlyboy's embarrassment and laughed it off."Don't worry, sweetcheeks - what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas! I can tell from the way your tits are stiffening that you're dying for me to do that sweet little ass of yours!" That wasn't quite the case, but Skye decided to run with it anyway. "Oh yes, Sir, I'd like nothing more than for you to cram that delicious cock of yours up my backside," she swooned. "It would be an honour to pleasure such an important, dashing businessman as yourself in any way I can". Step three: be really fucking horny. "But...it would be such an honour that I wonder if here, on this noisy old plane, would be the right place to do it". Her blue eyes flashed with devious intent. "Wouldn't you...rather save me for later?" Mr Hanson seemed unsure. She licked her lips suggestively. "I'll let you do anything to me. Anything." If Mr Hanson's trouser luggage had swelled any larger, he would have had to put it in the hold. "I think we have a deal, Miss Blue. Nice doing business with you." Sky's eyes watered with tears of relief. "Oh, I can't wait for our rendez-vous, Sir!" "Nor I, baby, nor I. Now, why don't you see how my breakfast is coming along? And for god's sake, clean yourself up before doing so, lady. You stink of spunk." The crimson-cheeked cutie could only reply with her signature salute and the words: "Yes, Sir, right away, Sir! ------------------------- Miss Skye Blue had a spring in her step as she made her way to the toilet cubicle, and for once it wasn't caused by her anal implant. Her plan was working perfectly! By this time next week, there would be no more cocksucking, no more 'Yes, Sir," no more painful anal sex, no more skimpy, borderline illegal 'uniforms', no more crappy little flat decorated like a plane cabin, and best of all, no more Michelle. Skye painted a very exotic picture of the rest of her summer - tits removed, blonde hair shorn and recoloured, tattoo lasered off, and best of all, penis uncaged and ready to once again wreck havoc on the good young women of London. Before all that though, the drudgery of removing the cum stains from her bra. She pulled off a length of toilet roll and began dabbing at her colossal baps. Why did Michelle's boyfriend have to make them so big? This was going to take ages! Thank god they'll be gone by Friday! Skye was still lost in her silly masculine fantasy world when she heard a knock on the cubicle door. "Just a moment, Sir!," she shrilled, secure in the knowledge that the door was tightly locked. Then she heard an almighty thud which nearly knocked her off her teetering heels. What she saw next was easily the most frightening thing she had ever seen, and you have to remember that the past few months of her life had not passed without incident. The door had been kicked off its hinges, and standing on the other side, cradling the biggest erection Skye had ever seen, was Vlad. And he looked pissed. Very pissed, in fact. "S-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-sir!!!!" spluttered the tamed t-girl, her heart beating so hard it nearly burst out of her busty chest. "H-h-h-h- h-h-ow may I be of servi-" Her ineffectual platitudes were cut off by Vlad's huge right hand, which clocked her round her bimbo-blonde head with a slap so forceful it caused the plane to yaw. Now shivering on the floor, she looked up as he dropped his tracksuit bottoms to the floor, revealing the terror which lied underneath. Forget 'budgie-smugglers' - Vlad's briefs were packing an full-grown ostrich! The sheer size and girth caused Skye to cover her o-shaped mouth with her hand in an unmistakably feminine gesture. Vlad reached down and pulled the stewardess up to her feet by the collar of her dress. "I finish what you started" grunted Vlad in his basic English vocabulary. Nonetheless, the message was well understood. He tightened his grip on the dress and literally yanked it off her body with a powerful tug, causing dislodged popper buttons to scatter around the cubicle. Now clad only in her bra and panties, the stunned hostess found herself fanning her hands up and down her body in a vain attempt to cover her acres of exposed lady flesh from the gaze of Vlad's hungry eyes. Vlad tossed off his shirt and grabbed the howling hostess by her hair. "You remove pants now" he bellowed, before thrusting her face into his crotch with such force that his pulsating member nearly took her eye out. Professional stewardess/call girl that she was, Skye soon figured out what her customer was asking of her, and clamped one leg of his foul-smelling briefs between her teeth and began tugging. The ordeal took several minutes, but eventually she completed the humiliating task and successfully undressed her man. Skye looked up with some trepidation at the now-exposed throbbing member in front of her, and turned quite pale! It was even bigger - and wider - in the flesh! Surely there was no way that thing was ever going to fit inside her! Vlad begged to differ. He pinned Skye to the wall with one hand and used the other to unlatch what, Skye supposed, would on a normal flight be a nappy-changing station. On Layover Airways however it was served quite a different purpose, as indicated by the silhouette sign depicting a gentleman and a lady doing it doggy style. Vlad manhandled Skye onto the ledge until she was lying flat on her back, almost as if she too was about to have her nappy changed. Vlad stopped for a second to chuckle at the crude 'Arrivals' motif stitched on the back of Skye's provocative panties (some jokes break the language barrier, apparently), before setting to work, aggressively tugging off Skye's underwear as if she was a rag doll. Once he was done, Skye was left to lay there alone for a second, naked but for her high heels and the pillbox hat still tied to her head, her legs still sticking straight up in the air. She heard rustling sounds in the background, and eventually her curiosity got the best of her. Peeking a look through her giant boobs, she caught sight of Vlad stuffing her bra and knickers down the toilet bowl. No! One flush later and they disappeared, fluttering down to earth where they'd make an Inuit farmer very happy in the morning. "Oh....oh, poo!" whined Skye aloud. That was her only pair! As if things weren't bad enough before, now she'd have to spend the next few days in Vegas with no underwear, with only an obscene latex microdress with heaven knows how many poppers missing to cover herself with! But Skye had more pressing matters to deal with, such as Vlad lifting her up against the wall and pressing his inhuman cock between her ass cheeks. Now, Miss Blue's poor bum had taken more than its share of male organs in recent weeks, but nothing like this. The scream as Vlad impaled her, unlubed, on his member was blood-curdling. It was a good job this area of the plane was soundproofed. Vlad didn't care much for the noise his cumdump was making however, so he rooted around on the floor until he found his soiled boxers, and ceremoniously crammed them into the stewardesses' moaning mouth. The taste was predictably foul but that was the least of her worries. At least she now something to bite on and he pounded her hard, her unfettered breasts wobbling furiously between them as he fucked the living daylights out of her. As much as he was enjoying his revenge, Vlad's main priority was to shoot his load and leave, so it didn't take long for him to grow dissatisfied with his level of penetration. As an industrious Eastern European type, Vlad decided to do something about it. He walked the skewered stewardess over to the changing station and slammed her down on the ledge with such velocity that her head bounced off of it. Now he had her where he wanted her, Vlad took it upon himself to grab Miss Skye's shapely legs and wrench them so far back that her feet were practically behind her dazed head. The change of position was a complete success - with this new angle of entry, Vlad was able to go balls deep into Skye's abused back passage. The flight attendant was beyond being hysterical as he lanced in and out of her without mercy - it felt as though if he was in any deeper, the head of his cock would pop out of her mouth. Vlad was much happier with this new arrangement, but he didn't appreciate the amount of froth the drooling girlyboy was getting over his best pair of pants. So he pulled them out, nearly taking a couple of teeth with them as he did so, and looked around for something else to gag her with. There was nothing else immediately to hand, though. Except for one thing. One tiny, insignificant little thing. After thinking over his options, Vlad reached between Skye's legs and in a single motion crushed her metal chastity device in his first, freeing her long-suffering cockette. To her shame, it immediately seized the opportunity to sprout a miniature erection. Thanks to the unnatural angle Skye's tortured body was bent at, Vlad was able to guide Skye's little penis into her mouth, where she sucked on it like a pacifier for the rest of the ordeal. Moments later, Vlad erupted like a volcano deep inside her anal cavity, biting down hard on Skye's right breast as he came. The pair just lay there for a few moments afterwards, panting and sweating (and in the lady's case, whimpering, as Skye felt the unwanted spunk deposit swirl around inside her bowels). Vlad didn't say goodbye to his conquest before he left, but he did offer a parting shot, slapping her round the face with his semi-erect cock. It was, if anything, even harder than the slap he delivered with his hand. The impact caused Skye to pass out for an unspecified amount of time. By the time she came around, Vlad has long since departed. --------------------------------------------- Skye had no idea how long she had been lying face down on the cold toilet cubicle floor, but the fact that one of her customers was impatiently buzzing for attention via her anal vibrator suggested that it had been minutes rather than seconds. "Ooooh...ooooh, pooooooo," she moaned, blearily. She was in big trouble. It took a few minutes longer for the well-fucked stewardess to scramble her way gingerly to her feet. She could barely stand without the support of the walls around her, and her awkward gait made it look like she'd just been fisted by Big Foot. She was just about to reach down for her tattered uniform, when a stirring sensation south of the border reminded her: her cock was free of its cage! It had been 216 hours since Skye had been allowed to cum, not that she was counting or anything. Her anal vibrator went off once again, causing her teeny peeny to twitch. "I'm already in trouble," reasoned Skye to herself as a naughty thought crept into her head. "What difference does it make if I take a few seconds for myself?" She attempted to reach around her boobs, but they were so comically oversized that she couldn't quite get a good enough grip on her penis, so she instead reached between them and started tugging away. Ahh, just like old times. For the special occasion, Skye resurrected her current favourite fantasy - that of herself, as her former entity of Ace, fucking the smugness clean out of his treacherous wife. Skye pictured the scene in her head. Exterior: Ace and Michelle's expansive marital home, in happier times. The camera pans out. A fire engine red Ferrari California roars into the driveway at 60 mph, stopping on a dime. It is a rugged, handsome machine, but even it pales in comparison to the extraordinary male specimen that steps out of it. Camera zooms in. It's none other than celebrity pilot, Ace McLaren! A man's man, yes, but he takes care of himself, too. He stops for a second to appreciate the summer breeze, stroking his designer stubble thoughtfully as he does so. Catching a glimpse of himself in the car's reflection, he takes the opportunity to flex his muscles vainly, as if to check that his 'guns' are still measuring up to his incredibly high standards. He's pleased to discover that they do. It is incredible to think that they make pilot uniforms capable of containing them, really. Enough preening, it is unbecoming of a macho man. It's time to say hi to the wife. Ace struts through the front door with the trademark swagger that makes him so irresistible to women. "Honey, I'm home!" he declares. No response. "Honey?" he tries again. Still nothing. Ace shrugs his broad, broad shoulders and continues the search by entering the master bedroom. "Ahh, there you are, Michelle..." he booms upon entering the room. Cut to the master bed. There indeed lies Ace's beautiful raven-haired wife, although not entirely peacefully. Each of her limbs is tied harshly to a corresponding bedpost, leaving her spread-eagled and vulnerable. She looks up at him through pleading, tear-sodden eyes, but the big fire- engine red ballgag in her mouth mutes her protests, save for a few drooly mumbles. "...I'd almost forget where I'd left you. You evil, conniving, treacherous BITCH." Ace wastes no time undoing his flies and flopping out his magnificent cock. It is as huge and mouth-watering as it once was in real-life, before the hormones left it a shrivelled husk of its former self. Michelle's grunts grow louder and more frantic through her gag as the beast approachs, but there was no BING-BONG or reading light to save her now. She was finally going to get what was coming to her. Without wasting a single extra second more, Ace rammed his big fat cock straight into his wife's defenceless pussy, causing her to writhe in agony. "MMMMPPH! HRRRRFFF!," she dribbled through her gag. Music to Ace's ears. It was impossible not to be impressed with the majesty of this man as he glided in and out of his disgraced and defeated wife's most private orifice freely and as he pleased. What an alpha male! What a powerful, masculine role model for any young man! Back in reality, the sight was considerably less impressive; a big- jugged shemale, naked but for her air hostess cap, neckerchief and heels, breathing heavily through a knot of curly platinum blonde hair as she gripped her tiny, emaciated pecker between her thumb and forefinger and attempted to delicately diddle her way to a pathetic orgasm. Skye was determined not to let real life get in the way of her fun though. She panted and gasped as her long-overdue splurt edged ever nearer; "Fuck you, Michelle...fuck you, fuck you fuck you, fuck you right in the..." A quiet cough froze Skye Blue's painted fingers in their tracks. Skye stood perfectly still for almost a minute, her hand still gripped onto what she laughably called her penis. Eventually, she reached over to her face with her one free hand, and swept her fringe out of her eyes. She instantly wished she had never bothered. There, drumming on the broken cubicle door with her fingers, stood a very agitated-looking Michelle. Her eyes narrowed as she calmly addressed the miserable sight in front of her. "Skye," she began, "do you have ANY idea how many demerits this is worth?" ----------------------------------------------------------------- Skye Blue had every idea how many demerits her behaviour was worth. This explained why she was reduced to a blubbering wreck, begging for forgiveness at Michelle's feet. If clemency was on Michelle's mind though, she was doing a good job of hiding it. "Can you think of ONE good reason, Skye, that I should let you keep that dismal little nub of a penis of yours?" In the context of this conversation at least, Skye couldn't think of one. "It's disgusting. Revolting. We can't have an air hostess running around the plane tugging at herself like she's a monkey, can we? And the thing that really gets my goat is that you have the audacity to fantasise about ME while you're doing it. Sick! Get it into your head, missy; you had your chance with women, and blew it spectacularly. It's men and men only for you from now on! Have I made it clear enough for you?" "Yes, madam," replied Skye, her lip trembling. "Thank you, madam." "Honest to god, I knew I should have had that joke of a pecker lopped off. My partner keeps asking me when he'll get to chop it off and replace it with a nice fuckable pussy. If it were up to me, that little prick would be long gone, so there would be absolutely no chance of it ever bothering a lady ever again. But do you know why I have let you keep it?" Skye seriously had no idea why. "Because Randy asked me if he could keep it. You know; your new boyfriend!" Michelle's words chilled Skye to the bone. Oh god, they were actually going to carry on this charade! Michelle wanted her to become the girlfriend of her own worst enemy and professional rival! Skye clung to the thought that her 'date' with Mr Hanson would pre-empt any potential romantic liaisons with Randy; in fact, he might even get the sack, after it was proven beyond doubt that he was in cahoots with this unacceptable debasement of the airline industry's golden boy! A silly smile crept onto Skye's visage as she considered this outcome. A smile that Michelle delighted in wiping off the stewardess' face. "So in a way, Skye, that little thing belongs to Randy really, not yourself. In fact, we should make that clear, since you seem to be too much of an airhead to properly grasp the concept." Michelle stormed out of the cubicle and returned with a leather luggage tag bearing the words 'Property of Mr R. McCloud'. She swatted the attendant's hand away and tied the tag a little too tightly around the base of her cock, a tiny padlock locking it in place. The key followed Miss Blue's lingerie down the toilet bowl. Once in place, the tag hung down from her little erection, scraping and rubbing irritably against her useless balls. "Now that's settled, I think it's time you said thank you to your man, don't you, sissy?" Michelle whipped out a smartphone from her trouser pocket and began filming the shemale. "Oh, don't look so concerned, Skye - it's on flight safe mode! Now, why don't you show your boyfriend how honoured and grateful you are that he allows you to have a little penis, by wanking yourself off over thoughts of being with him!" Skye was too horny to refuse. Ad-libbing to the camera, Skye waxed lyrical to the camera about how wonderful her new man was while posing in a range of sexually provocative positions. "Oh, Randy, how I long for your touch!" "Can't you see how hot your shemale is for you, babe?" "I long for the day you take me in your arms and show me who really wears the pants around here." "I could never hope to be half the man or half the pilot you are, you gorgeous, gorgeous man! I'm so grateful my wife realised this and turned me into a form more pleasing for you!" And on. And on and on. Disconcertingly, Skye found herself half- believing her words - it seemed that the more she verbally disgraced herself, the harder her (if it was indeed still hers) cock became. Skye would worry about this development later, when she was a man again. Right now, all she could concentrate on was the long-awaited climax that was coming in 5...4...3...2...oh god, oh god oh....OOOOOOOOOOF! A loud crack reverberated around the recycled cubicle air. Michelle had just punted Skye, full force, in her teeny testicles with her steel- capped shoe. "Sorry, darling, time's up," she explained coldly. "I don't have all day to watch you play with your little toy, do I? Now scrape yourself up off the floor and stop that crying. You've got three minutes to get dressed and put your make-up back on. I'll be expecting you out here, ready to serve your passengers then." She took a few more steps before stopping to add, "Oh, and don't worry about your uniform. You can easily pay for a replacement through overtime."