White Women's BBC Clinic Ch. 05

White Women's BBC Clinic Chapter 5

"Cox Air 6-2-6"

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have been cleared for take off. Cabin crew, please take your seats and uh, cross check."

Cindy heard the pilot's words, and a few minutes later she was pinned to her seat as the 737 jetted down the runway. The huge turbine engines roared and propelled the flying machine faster and faster towards its date with the big sky.

"It's six sun filled days of white sand, blue water, and hot island fun!" Dr. Pierce had said the night before, as he distributed the airline tickets and hotel vouchers. The nurses and the group of "conscripted" men all had cheered with excitement. The ladies had exchanged anxious glances. Nurse Honeypot approached them.

"You won't need to pack anything, ladies," she had said, "the nurses and I have already done that for you! We leave for the airport bright and early tomorrow morning! On the bus at 6 AM-- Sharp!"

The ladies had sensed all eyes on them as they had walked through the busy airport. They wore matching outfits; A Daisy Dukes getup, consisting of tight, cut off jean shorts, and open toe white pumps. Their lips and nails were painted fire engine red. They each wore a backless white halter top, and a straw cowgirl hat. Gizzelle's large tits swung freely as she marched through the morning rush of the airport, and 2 or 3 inches of her round butt cheeks poked out underneath the impossibly tight short shorts. They appeared to be genuine, certified, white trash, surrounded by a pack of rowdy black men, and the other travelers took notice. Heads turned, right and left.

Gizzelle stepped into the security x ray machine and held her arms up overhead. The TSA security dweeb's face lit up when he saw her. She was aware her nipples were rock hard. They poked out like .38 caliber bullets under the sheer white cotton top. He seemed to leave her in the machine much longer than necessary, Gizzelle thought, before motioning her to exit. An old, fat female TSA agent scowled at her as she put back on her white pumps.

But now, they were seated in the aircraft, seat belts fastened, seat backs in the upright position--- and they were fast approaching blue sky.

Gizzelle Wadsworth felt the rumbling tires clear the ground and watched the scenery fall below, as the aircraft took flight. She looked down, with a slight uneasiness, as the buildings grew smaller and smaller. Carol Cundermouth looked at her with a big grin on her face. The jet climbed into the sky, then made a sweeping right turn, and climbed some more. After a few minutes, they were 26,000 feet above the ground, and on their way to the tropics. The Boeing leveled off and appeared to be peacefully meandering through the clouds, though they were traveling at over 500 mph.

A scratchy voice of dubious audio quality came over the intercom system of the plane.

"UH. . . Ladies and gentlemen this is your CAPTAIN speaking! We want to welcome everyone aboard Cox Air Flight 6-2-6, to Jamaica! Our flight time today is about 2 hours and 32 minutes. The temperature in Montego Bay is currently 84 degrees Fahrenheit, with a party cloudy sky. The local time is 2:45 PM. We want to welcome some very special guests today--the WHITE WOMENS BBC CLINIC!" The men cheered.

Jenny sat in seat 29a, a window seat, beside Wassina Oolegawwa. "YEAH, THAT'S RIGHT!" she heard him say, in a response to the pilot's shout out. The big fat man spilled out of his seat and pinned her against the side of the craft.

"Just my luck," she thought. "Is there anything worse than sitting next to a fat man on an airplane?" she asked herself. She didn't care for the large black man. She looked at the fleshy, puppy dog jowls on his cheeks. He had a odd, half wit manner about him. "Actually, he's weird as hell," she thought to herself. He looked at her with a big goofy grin on his fat face, a gaped toothed smile. Jenny quickly diverted her eyes away from the man, and back out the window of the plane.

"We have calm skies for our flight today," the pilot continued, "so I've tuned off the fasten seat belt sign and I've instructed the cabin crew to begin the drink service early."

"That's what I'm talkin' about!" Jenny heard Dr. Pierce exclaim, from a couple of rows up.

"And uh, as we here at Cox Air always say, it's never to early to start the party--so please, ENJOY! We know you have a choice when you fly, and uh, once again, we do thank you for choosing Cox." The mic clicked off.

Soon the stewardess had the fully stocked drink cart rolling down the narrow aisle. Cox Air was rated number one in customer service.

"Jack and water," one man said. "Johnny Walker Red," said another. "A Budweiser," said a third. "A Pina Colada," said Nurse Pinkwahls.

Cindy Holesgood sat in the middle seat, sandwiched between two large black men. She looked so cute in her straw cowgirl hat. Her elfin face was bright with excitement. She heard Dr. Tailsman's deep voice from several aisle forward of her. He gave a loud laugh.

"Champagne, Nurse Honeypot?" she heard him say. "Why not!"

Jefferey Pauls was a studious looking brother. He wore big black rimmed glasses on his clean cut face. He was an outgoing, enterprising young man, neatly dressed, and always with something to say. People accused him of being a shit talkin' nigga from time to time, but that didn't slow him down one bit. He looked at the woman, in the seat next to his, row 22 seat b.

"Oh, hell yeah!" He thought to himself. He discreetly glanced again at the Caucasian woman. She wore a sharp dressed business woman's outfit, with a light grey skirt, a blue blouse, and matching suit jacket.

"DAMN, Bizitach!" Jefferey thought. He had already checked her ass out. He had watched her butt jiggle earlier, as she had slid into her seat. He was delighted to be seated next to the stranger. "I DO like me a lady in a bidnizz suit!" he thought. She had brown hair to her shoulders, with a big ol' butt and heavy swaggin' tits, just like he liked 'em.

"HEEELLLO!" He said to the lady, with a deep voice and a smooth, charming smile.

The woman smiled the briefest of smiles at the black man, but didn't say anything, then turned her head away.

The stewardess had that airline "come fly with me" thing going. She was a middle aged blond, with a certain European look to her. Gold rimmed glasses sat on her pointed nose, and she spoke with an accent. She might have been a Swede. Reginald Prode sat with Mr. Cerles, in the 20th row. He studied the airline stewardess, coming down the aisle.

"I wonder why it is," Reginald pondered, as he chatted with Mr. Cerles, "I always want to FUCK the airline stewardess?" He had a wistful expression on his round face. "I think I've wanted to FUCK every single piece of STEWARDESS PUSSY I have EVER seen."

Mr. Cerles thought to himself, then replied. "Well, it's a perfectly natural thing, Mr. Prode."

The men watched the stewardess. She wore a tight blue skirt, with a middle aged butt squeezed into it. Her round C cup titties filled her white blouse, and her gold flight wings were pinned to her pocket.

"Your feelings are quite common, Reginald. Many men are--eager--- to fly the friendly skies. . . "

The stewardess had blond hair piled up on top of her head, under a blue airline cap. She had blue eyes behind her gold glasses, and tight lips on her angular face. The veteran airline employee had logged many miles in her aviation career.

"May I get you zomething to to drink, zir?" She asked a passenger a few rows in front. Reggie heard her voice, for the first time.

"I wonder how many drinks she's poured?" Reggie asked, hypothetically.

"Huumm," Mr. Cerles pondered. "That's a lotta frequent flyer miles, there," he nodded his head. "And you KNOW what they say about airline stewardesses!"

The men watched the woman work. In the confines of the narrow aisle, she could rival any bar keep in any smokey bar. She worked professionally and efficiently in the cramped aisle, filling plastic glasses with ice, finding the tiny bottles of alcoholic beverage, and the various mixers to pour, methodically moving down the aisle, serving each seat, in turn. It was quite a juggling act. A skill honed and perfected, by years of pouring practice.

"I imagine she's spread her wings, more than a few times, for this captain, or that, during a, long hard LAY over, if you know what I mean." Mr. Cerles chuckled.

Reginald nodded his head in agreement. "She's probably licked a hairy beaver or two, as well, I would venture to say. Hotel rooms do get lonely," he added.

"Yes, they certainly do," Mr. Cerles said. "But the stewardess is often eager to please, and that always arouses a, certain, uh, Mandingo Instinct---- in the alpha male." Mr. Cerles eloquently shared his philosophy.

"I got some Mandingo I'd like to serve her," Reginald asserted, "with my seat tray in the UPRIGHT POSITION!" The men laughed.

"Indeed, Mr. Prode." Mr. Cerles said, " The crème de la crème! That would be—the friendly skies, indeed." Cerles watched her bend her knees and get some pineapple juice out of a lower tray on the cart. "I'm sure she's squatted her hairy baggage handler on more than a few big jet engines in her day." She bent over to hand a man his drink in a window seat.

"Aw, yeah, nice ol' blonde euro butt," she thought she heard someone say.

In seat 29A, Jenny Tendergash looked out the window of the plane. She could see a sky of blue, with puffy white clouds scattered randomly about, extending to the horizon. Far below, she could see the vast Atlantic ocean. Jenny felt a hand on her thigh. She stiffened and turned to see Wassina's goofy grinning face.

"We're gonna have a lotta fun, aren't we Jenny Tendergash," the big dimwit said.

"Umm, yes Wassina, we will," Jenny politely removed the big hand from her thigh.

"Is he inbred?" she wondered.

Gizzelle saw Dr. Pierce coming down the aisle with a sharp dressed man, in a dark blue suit, and an aviator's hat on his head. They stopped beside her seat.

"Uh, Gizzelle, this is Captain Jones, and we are in his capable hands this trip."

Gizzelle smiled and shook hands with the tall trim black captain. "Hello, Captain," she said.

"Why hello, Gizzelle! Rod has told me SO much about you, I feel as though I already know you!" The handsome pilot had a cocksure way about him. He wore a confident, wide smile, and a patch of gray around his temples.

"Bob and I go way back." Dr. Pierce explained. "Uh, Gizzelle, the uh... .the Captain would like to show you his. . .uh. . cockpit, and I told him you'd just love to see it."

"Yes, Gizzelle, I'd be glad to show you my. . .uh, the uh. . . cock pit." The pilot and the doctor shared a grin. The pilot offered his hand to woman.

"Well," Gizzelle really just wanted to be left alone. Flying wasn't her favorite thing to do. "I might just stay here," she tried to be polite. Gizzelle nervously grabbed the safety pamphlets from the seat back in front of her, " I was just going to read about the, the uh, safety exits and the life jackets and, uh, emergency procedures---since we're flying over water."

"Oh, don't worry about those, Gizzelle," the pilot smiled, "Nobody reads those! Hell, I ain't even read 'em!" The pilot laughed with the big doctor, "but let me show you where the real action takes place. In the cockpit!"

"Well. . ."

"Go on, Gizzelle." Dr. Pierce said. "You wouldn't want to pass up a chance to see the cockpit!" The pilot grabbed her hand and escorted Gizzelle up the aisle towards the nose of the aircraft.

"I'm a little afraid of flying, Captain," she admitted, as they walked. She turned back to see the rows go past, each filled with a new set of flying faces. There was Dr. Tailsman, leaning out into the aisle. He gave her a big thumbs up and nodded at her.

"Don't you worry about a thing, Gizzelle."

She passed Cindy's aisle. Cindy was engaged in a deep kiss with the Shaun in the window seat next to her, while Willy, in the aisle seat, had his big hand resting on her bare thigh. The brother had dark sunglasses on, corn rolls, and a dead serious expression on his face. He nodded his head to the hip hop blaring in his earphones.

Further back she could see Jenny Tendergash, next to fat ol' Wassina. She didn't look real happy. They passed Carol Cundermouth, returning to her seat from the restroom.

"Where are you going?" she asked, but Gizzelle didn't answer.

"Here we are, Gizzelly," the tall, dark, handsome black pilot said as he opened the cockpit door.

"Gizzelly?" she thought to herself.

In row 22, Jefferey Pauls continued his futile attempts to strike up a conversation with the disinterested, smartly dressed woman.

"I'm traveling with the White Women's BBC Clinic," he said, "you ever heard of it?"

Carol was returning to her seat from the lavatory when a a big arm blocked her way.

"Where do you think you're going?" the big man asked, with a smile.

"Levell!" Carol playfully protested. She felt a hand rubbing up the bare inside of her thigh. She turned around to see Roy in the other aisle seat.

"Looking good, baby!" he said, with a grin, "LOOKIN' GOOD!"

Carol Cundermouth was looking much better after her time at the Clinic. She had lost 30 lbs, and now her legs and ass had a good tone to them. The exercise, strict diet, and regular enemas were really paying off, the men all agreed. She felt the big paws roam up her legs and squeeze her ass. A few nearby passengers took notice.

Carol looked down the aisle of the plane, and there he was, seated about 10 rows back. He peered out from his aisle seat, and made eye contact with her. She had to smile.

Carol had grown up in a trailer park outside of Birmingham, Alabama. She spoke with a heavy southern draw. Every since her teenaged years, she had fantasized about being a slut for big black cock. She couldn't help it. She even had one dark fantasy about being thrown naked in a prison cell with a pack of horny black inmates. . .she heard the steel bars clang shut, and the big guard laugh, as he walked away.. . .the fantasy usually made her come. She saw the little man, in the back of the plane.

"There's my man," she thought to herself, "the little wimp." Harold Cundermouth sat towards the rear, and craned his neck into the aisle. He was a slight built man, with a bald head. He looked right at her, with an excited smile on his face.

Carol and her husband, Harold, did have a rather unique marital arrangement. It had all started one night when she got drunk and happened to mention how some of her ex lovers had been. . . rather well endowed. . . and rather dark. He had become highly sexually aroused as she told her explicit stories. He wanted to hear more and more. Soon, he was begging her to tell him every single detail, while he fucked her. She came to enjoy whispering in his ear, while he labored for his orgasm, telling him how much bigger her other lovers had been than him, and how much better their hung penises felt, jammed up her tender pussy. For some reason, he just loved it. He would always cum when she did that, as she giggled in his ear. Then one day, he brought up the subject.

"If it would make you happy," he had sheepishly said.

"OK, Harold," she had finally agreed, " but dear---- I'm afraid they will all have to be BLACK men, darling, I'm sure you understand." He had swallowed hard, but quickly agreed. She had decided to give him exactly what he wanted. That's what had led them to the Clinic, after they saw an ad on the Internet.

"And here he is," she thought to herself. He had decided to book passage on the exotic Jamaica trip, all on his own.

"How nice," she thought. In some ways they were a perfect match. She thought about her husband, sitting alone in his room, beating his little white meat, while she pranced around the resort with one big black stud after another. She gave him a sly little smile as she walked the aisle to her seat.

A few rows up, Dr. Hyram Tailsman looked over at Nurse Honeypot. "She really has out done herself, this time," he thought.

Honeypot was standing in the aisle, fishing something out of her case in the overhead compartment. She wore a short, short, baby blue mini skirt, and the skimpiest of bright blue bikini tops. The string top barely restrained her firm heavy tits. The tiny fabric concealed her delicious nipples, but left plenty of chocolate brown tits spilling out the sides and middle. Over the bikini top, she wore a white cotton shirt, which she left half unbuttoned. She wore beach comber sandals, with brightly painted pink toenails. As she reached to the overheads, the muscles in her long athletic legs flexed. "Just, perfect," the doc said to himself. She had a white visor cap on, and tortoise shell sunglasses, seated atop the hat.

"Nurse Honeypot," he said, "You look like you're all set to go from the plane straight to the beach!"

"Right after I order a Yellow Bird at the bar," she said, and dug the iPod out of her bag, "I'm going to the pool! I ain't gettin' in that ocean! SHARKS in there." The doctor smiled at his black nurse. Her big tits swayed from side to side, as she wrestled the luggage and overhead bin.

"Nurse Honeypot," the tall doctor smiled, "I understand we're supposed to share a HOTEL ROOM. I can HARDLY WAIT." She took her seat next to him.

Honeypot could suck a mean cock, Dr. Tailsman had known that since the day of her first job interview. The young black nurse's full lips had pumped up and down the doc's big shaft, all afternoon long, before he finally told her the job was her's.

Nurse Honeypot gave him a wink. "That's right, Dr. Tailsman." she said, with a slightly drunk grin. She put a finger to his nose. "But you better behave yourself----or I might just have to give you another saltwater enema!"

"OH, Nurse HONEYPOT!!" his eyes lit up, he gestured to bite her finger, " you're SUCH a little FIRECRAKA!!" he said. The couple rubbed noses, and giggled together. Dr. Hyram Tailsman felt a tingle rummage through his scrotum sack. "Did you remember the coco butter?" he suddenly thought to ask.

They stepped into the cockpit of the aircraft, and Gizzelle saw the dizzying array of dials, controls, switches and gauges that crowded the instrument panel. Lights and meters, levers and knobs, and of course, the stick. She saw a small Asian boy, sitting at the controls of the jetliner.

"This is copilot, Wang Shoo. He's a KORean, don't call him Japanese! He'll freak out." Captain Jones said. Gizzelle looked at the diminutive Asian boy man seated in the co pilot's seat. He looked like he was about 16 years old.

His eyes immediately fixed on Gizzelle's eye popping breasts. The deep cleavage split the two mountainous peaks, like some man eating crevasse, falling into oblivion. His dark eyebrows raised up, and his slanted eyes grew large. "Nice meet you!" he said, with a wide smile on his baby face.

"Gosh," Gizzelle said, "you look so young! Have you been a pilot long?" Gizzelle nervously asked the young man, ignoring his gawking.

"Just got license!" He smiled. "I SO excite!" His straight black hair was groomed in a traditional bowl cut style.

"Yeah, the airline saves a TON of money with these young KORean pilots," the captain explained. "They get 'em just outta flight school. We train 'em as we go."

For a split second, Gizzelle contemplated the long fall, to the deep churning Atlantic waters below. She thought about the plane suddenly stalling, and spinning out of control, at the inexperienced hands of the young Korean man child. She imagined his frozen panic, the aircraft banking sharply into a grave yard spiral, then plummeting, beginning its long, terrifying descent, to find the sea. She quickly shoved that thought to the back of her mind. It suddenly occurred to Gizzelle she could not WAIT to get off this plane.