Flight SH 123 to Corfu Ch. 06 of 07

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Danny wasn't able to look at his watch, and so he didn't know how much time had elapsed ... maybe ten minutes, he guessed, when of a sudden, both his and Alan's service vehicles started to move ... began to trundle forward.

And Danny immediately concluded that the priorities of the Air Purification Technician Service Vehicles' designers, had obviously not been with the comfort, of the occupants of their wicked invention. Or, on second thoughts, mused Danny ... maybe that was the point: maybe it was at the top of their list of priorities -- dis-comfort, that is.

For, the wheels -- or castors -- of the contraptions jolted and clattered over the joins of the runners and, with nothing to absorb the resultant shock and vibration, transmitted the full, jarring effect of every jolt and clatter, straight through to the supine, strapped-down bodies of the hapless occupants of those heinously-conceived devices ... Just one of the products, born of the fertile imaginations of the Authoritarian Female Party's ingenious, diabolically inventive think-tank.

Danny made a mental note: Next time, wear something a lot more shock absorbing.

A few seconds later, when Danny's service vehicle jolted to a halt, and was locked in position, he heard, and saw in his peripheral vision, Service Vehicle C trundling on, conveying Alan further on towards the front of the aircraft.

Danny could also hear the more muted rumbling of Service Vehicles A and B, that were taking Eric and Kelvin on their travels on the port side of the Flying Pencil's narrow, dim and dismal fuselage.

Danny's own service vehicle, though, had stopped, and was locked in position. He hadn't travelled very far.

Looking almost directly upward, about one foot above his face, Danny saw a number -- 48 D.

Danny waited ...

Suddenly and startlingly, a panel -- about one-foot-square in size -- opened almost directly above Danny's incredulous face.

And then Danny's sense of disbelief -- of unreality -- grew tenfold as, via the S.A.P.S. computer, the almost silent hydraulics on the front section of his poolside-recliner-like service vehicle began to automatically raise his upper body; his head, being angled towards the one-foot-square opening. And, this automatic elevation continued, until Danny's head was actually protruding through the opened panel -- into the foot space of seat 48 D.

Danny squinted his eyes in discomfort, for such was the sudden, and drastic increase in the brightness of light -- light, inside the aircraft cabin.

When Danny's vision cleared, he saw a woman, aged about thirty, looking down on him. She was quite attractive, thought Danny, with bobbed, sandy-highlighted brown hair.

The woman was smiling, as she looked down upon Danny's conveniently positioned, mouth-sealed, fixed-in-place face. And it was a smile, of pleasure and gratification.

In the seat next to her -- seat 48 C -- sat a man with a 'designer' beard, who Danny took to be the woman's husband. He was smiling too. Smiling widely. But in a different way. His smile, was one of amusement. Great amusement. Barely controlled hilarity, in fact.

And then Danny saw a widely grinning, dark-blue uniformed man lean over and look down at him. The man was wearing a black peaked cap; the pilot's uniform cap of his Air Line -- Sunshine Holidays. He was Captain Simon (Buck) Rogers.

Addressing the woman in seat 48 D, Captain Rogers said warmly, "Congratulations, Madam, upon your making aviation history -- ha ha ha! Congratulations, upon your being the very first female passenger, to avail herself of the services of a Sunshine Holidays Air Purification Technician!"

"Thank you, Captain," crowed the history-making woman.

Smiling happily, the woman looked down on Danny; her eyes gleaming, with an inner light. Gleaming, with anticipation ... Heavens! thought the history-making woman, excitedly. I wonder if I'll get my picture in the papers? In magazines? Be on the telly! With the Air Purification Technician! Ha ha ha ha! Just think of it: me -- Lucinda Loveday -- actually on the Box. Famous! Ha ha ha ha! That would give Bob something to tell his mates at work!

And then, in a gesture she obviously thought befitting to this historic moment, the woman in seat 48 D -- Lucinda Loveday -- made a big show of hovering both feet over Danny's disbelieving face, and she performed a fanfare, heel-slapping ceremony with her bright-green, yellow toe-posted rubber flip flops, before letting them fall from her feet to the floor -- bouncing off Danny's fixed-in-place face, en route.

Immediately, the celebrity-wannabe loosely cupped the toes of her right foot around Danny's nostrils. She then rested her left foot on top of her right; the extra weight, pressing firmly down onto Danny's captive face, and ensuring that he had no option, but to inhale her in-between-the-toes foot stink.

"Ha ha ha ha!!" laughed the highly amused Captain Simon (Buck) Rogers, upon seeing Danny go bug-eyed with shock. "Again, Madam, my congratulations!" he said. Captain Rogers then returned to the cockpit, laughing uproariously, and sharing the joke with his passengers, along the way.

Transmitted through the soles of her pressing, possessing, clammy feet, Danny could actually feel the history-making woman shaking; vibrating, from the effort of suppressing her silent, delighted -- incredulous -- laughter.

Well, the way that she wanted to laugh, the way that she wanted to let go, to really let rip -- to just throw back her head, and laugh, and laugh, and laugh ... well, it just wouldn't be lady-like.

An ... an 'Air Purification Technician'? marvelled the woman in seat 48 D. Surely ... someone, somewhere, was having a laugh. A right old laugh. And she was laughing right along with them! Ha ha ha ha!

Lucinda could see the joke. Oh, yes! A wonderful, deliciously naughty joke. A practical joke. A practical joke -- yes, but with the emphasis on 'practical'. 'Practical', in that it was of sound, good sense and reasoning. That it was logical. And appropriate.

After all, Lucinda mused, what better motivation could there be, for the benefits claimants -- such as this one! (Lucinda squeezed her nostril-covering toes harder, in umbrage) -- to get up off their lazy, smelling-in-bed, fat behinds, and get out there and find a job? Because, if there was a better motivation than this ... (she gave Danny's nose another, even harder squeeze with her toes), she certainly didn't know what it was!

An 'Air Purification Technician'? pondered the flabbergasted woman, in seat 48 D. Oh yes ... this little set-up had the fingerprints -- or, should that be the 'footprints', ha ha ha! -- of the Authoritarian Female Party, all over it. Oh yes ... This would be the kind of thing -- exactly, the kind of thing -- that Caroline Flint would dream up. She was that kind of a gal! Ha ha ha ha!

Oh! Lucinda was glad -- so very glad! -- that she had voted for the A.F.P. But then, almost every female of voting age had done so, hadn't they? Well, why wouldn't they, if they knew what was good for them; if they knew which side their bread was buttered? It was a woman's world, now ... It was the women's turn, to rule the roost. It was the women's turn, to call the shots -- to say how things were gonna be! To hold the whip hand.

And she wasn't the only one, who could see -- and appreciate! -- the 'practical' joke ...

Danny could see the helplessly shaking and vibrating woman's designer-bearded husband, Bob Loveday, as he leaned across. Could see his wide-grinned, greatly amused face, as he proudly watched his wife -- his history-making wife -- gleefully avail herself, of the singular services of an Air Purification Technician. Gleefully avail herself, of him -- Danny!

"Ha ha ha ha! 'Air Purification Technician'!" bellowed the designer-bearded man, tickled pink, by the very notion. "Ye Gods, Lucinda! What an ab-so-lute corker! Who in hell dreamed that one up? Ha ha ha ha! Give her a medal! Unbelievable! Ha ha ha ha!!" he guffawed; his eyes tearing up with mirth, at the very idea of the hilariously absurd concept.

Widely grinning, the designer-bearded man watched, avidly, as Danny efficiently vacuumed up his nearest-and-dearest's horrible -- oh, he knew! and so too, now, did Danny! -- foot scent, from in between her now joyfully wiggling, and triumphantly splaying toes. "Go on, Luce! Give him hell. Ha ha ha ha!" Bob Loveday enthusiastically encouraged his beloved better-half.

The woman's husband watched, laughing -- laughing like hell -- as he beheld Danny, sniffing up his lovely wife's horrible foot stink.

Laughed, as he watched Danny's helpless, forced inhalations; sniff, after sniff, after sniff.

Laughed, as he watched Danny sniff up and absorb into his lungs, the dreadful, appalling odours, the highly offensive, stinky-feet fumes -- that, if not 'dealt with', would otherwise taint the quality of the air inside the aircraft cabin -- so that the Sunshine Holidays passengers wouldn't have to.

And Lucinda's husband laughed, too, because he knew there was no prospect of respite, either ... Unless his dear, lovely wife chose to show mercy. And, if he knew his wife's character; if he knew the love-of-his-life's heart -- if he knew his darling's true colours -- even half as well as he thought he did ... that was just never gonna happen.

This certainly warmed the cockles of his designer-bearded heart, to see. Oh! She was enjoying this, the missus! Really, really enjoying it! He could tell! My, but she could be a bit of a vixen, his lovely Lucinda -- given half a chance! he thought fondly.

But, Danny did not find the smiling, still helplessly shaking and vibrating woman's foot odour offensive. On the contrary. Lucinda's foot scent was, to Danny, like some tantalising, delicious aroma that had him unconsciously flaring his nostrils in trying to capture as much of it as possible.

Lucinda's foot scent excited Danny, too. It excited him a lot. In fact ... he couldn't get enough of it.

Oh, the designer-bearded man could laugh. Could laugh all he wanted. Could laugh, until his stupid beard fell off. But, his wife's stinky foot scent, only served to invigorate Danny -- to bring him alive.

It was as if ... as if he'd previously been living his life, insensate. In some kind of a stupor. Might as well have been comatose. With God knows how many leads and lines and cables and wires hooked up to him -- and yet experiencing nothing.

But now, at these miraculous 'smelling salts', being wafted under his nose -- at them being 'administered', to him ... he was waking up.

Danny had, at first, felt utterly humiliated -- yes. But, only at first. Because his humiliation, as acute as it had been, had then been counterbalanced— no: outweighed, far outweighed -- almost banished -- when his incredible, fevered excitement; his rip-roaring, ecstatic exhilaration, came surging through him. Taking him over.

In fact, this whole thing; the combination of the separate components of this whole, amazing, awesome situation, thrilled Danny beyond belief ...

It was the awesome feel, of the thirty-year-old, history-making woman's soft, warm, sticky soles, resting upon his face; her toes, gripping his nose, covering his nostrils -- and him, unable to do anything about it.

It was the incredible smell, of Lucinda's pungent, in-between-the-toes foot stink. Her imprisoning toes, ensuring that her powerful-smelling foot odour was all that he could breathe in. Making him inhale her noisome foot scent, without respite, sniff, after sniff, after sniff -- and him, unable to do anything about it.

It was this, combination of ... 'thrill factors'; the amalgamation of all of these individual, excitement-fuelling components that, mixed together, was a potent, magical cocktail that was blowing Danny's mind ...

It was looking up, and seeing the face of the woman; the serene, smug -- superior -- face of the woman, who was looking down on him, and 'obliging' him to sniff her stinky feet. As if enthroned! As if enthroned, and looking down on him, as if at a mere nothing; his conveniently positioned, fixed-in-place face, simply her taken-for-granted footstool. And him -- unable to do anything about it.

It was seeing her patently obvious, enormous pleasure, in -- like some advantage-taking, evil nurse -- 'regulating' his breathing, and 'monitoring' his ... status. And him, unable to do anything about it.

It was seeing her revel, in the experience. Seeing her, ecstatic, in her unfettered, nothing-to-stop-her, total domination of him -- and him, unable to do anything about it.

It was the beetroot-red, shame-faced, brink-of-tears humiliation, at being the figure-of-fun object, of Lucinda Loveday's withering scorn. At being so scathingly, so derisively laughed at, by her. At being so derided, so ridiculed -- so diminished -- by the woman in seat 48 D. And him -- unable to do anything about it.

It was the sheer helplessness and hopelessness, of his humbling predicament -- his humiliating subjugation.

It was this, combination of thrill factors, this cornucopia of separate, individual, amazingly aphrodisiac ... ingredients -- this magical cocktail -- that was turning Danny on.

And, Danny was being turned on, like never before.

Danny didn't know why he so enjoyed these sensations; why he was so wonderfully overwhelmed, by these ultra-powerful emotions -- only that he did; and that he was.

Danny had heard it said that there is a fine line between love and hate. Now, he wondered if there was an equally fine line between misery and joy.

In fact, Danny was starting to get hot and bothered. Getting excited. Very excited. Over-excited -- 'down there'.

And, Danny wanted to do 'something' about it -- was desperate, to do 'something' about it ...

Danny wanted to touch himself. He wanted to play with himself. He wanted to pull his penis, in worship.

Danny wanted to pay his solemn 'devotions'. He wanted to make his sacred 'sacrifice'. To Lucinda. To his thirty-year-old, sandy-highlighted, bobbed brown-haired Goddess.

And, Danny wanted to pay his ... respects, to Lucinda, now! Now, in the here-and-now! Now, in real time -- in the moment! -- and not have to wait until later, when he got home, and replayed in his mind, the ...

But, he couldn't -- because Chief Stewardess Julie Davies had secured his wrists, to Service Vehicle D!

Danny moaned, groaned, and bemoaned -- could have wept. For, such was the measure, of his maddening torment.

Via the S.A.P.S. computer, Danny's head was then automatically lowered from the floor opening, and the one-foot-square panel above his face closed, sealing off the foot space of seat 48 D.

And, after the bright lighting of the cabin's interior, the sudden reinstatement of the near-dark conditions of the under-seat space of the Flying Pencil's fuselage were shocking.

The smiling, history-making, helplessly shaking and vibrating woman's stinky feet, and her widely grinning -- foolishly-grinning -- designer-bearded husband, in seat 48 C, had disappeared from Danny's sight.

Lucinda's ten minutes were up.

Considerately, Lucinda's husband leaned across her. "Allow me, love," said Bob Loveday, with his wide, cheesy grin, as he pushed the button located under the right armrest of his wife's seat. The button that would, eventually (if time allowed), re-summon the Air Purification Technician.

Re-summon him, to once again sniff up and absorb into his lungs, the nauseating, highly offensive, appallingly pungent fumes from between his beloved's toes -- that, if left 'untreated', would spoil the quality of the air inside the aircraft cabin -- so that the Sunshine Holidays passengers wouldn't have too.

* * *

There was a sharp jolt and, via the automatically controlled S.A.P.S. computer, Danny's service vehicle trundled on again ... then, after travelling for about twenty seconds, Service Vehicle D again stopped with a jolt, and locked in position.

Looking almost directly upward, Danny saw a number -- 35 D.

The panel almost directly above Danny's face, now opened.

This time, of course, Danny was not surprised; just eagerly awaited his next awesome adventure.

Danny wondered how his three former school pals were going on ...

Once again, via the S.A.P.S. computer, Danny found his upper body being automatically elevated; his head, being angled towards the one-foot-square gap created by the opened panel. A moment later, and his head was protruding through the opening -- into the foot space of seat 35 D.

Again, Danny had to wait a moment, while his eyes adjusted to the relatively harsh light inside the cabin. His eyes adjusted more quickly this time, though, apparently becoming more accustomed to these sudden extreme variations in the brightness of lighting.

Upon blinking his eyes open, Danny saw a woman, aged about twenty-five, looking down on him.

She was not smiling -- far from it. In fact, she was rather dour-looking, thought Danny, as she looked down on him in great disdain. Danny wondered if she might be sucking on a lemon. After all, thought Danny, what else could be causing her such distaste?

Swivelling his eyes to his right, Danny was able to see another, older woman in the next seat -- seat 35 C -- who he took to be the younger woman's mother.

Danny guessed she was aged about fifty. She was leaning over, and she was looking down on him, too. She was not smiling, either -- far from it. Similarly dour-faced, and also looking down on him with great, sucking-on-a-lemon disdain, she was definitely the younger woman's mother, thought Danny: like mother, like daughter.

The two women, thought Danny, actually looked very much alike: same long, raven-black hair, same thickly-applied make-up. And they dressed alike, too: same black top, same knee-length, black skirt.

Together, the two unsmiling, dour-faced women silently looked down upon Danny's mouth-sealed, fixed-in-place face, disdain and contempt, all too evident upon their starkly made-up faces.

Just like her mother, thought Danny, the twenty-five-year-old, unsmiling, dour-faced woman who had summoned him, had the look of a Goth, about her.

She had long, straight, raven-black hair, dark-brown eyes, and pale skin. Her thin-lipped mouth was a humourless, compressed slash of vivid red lipstick. Her eyes: their lids, brows, and lashes, made-up darkly with mascara. The overall effect, making the rest of her face appear almost milk-white.

The twenty-five-year-old, Gothic-looking woman had a tattoo, just above her right ankle. This tattoo design seemed familiar to Danny. He thought it reminded him of something he'd seen in art class at school: an Indian Goddess. The tattoo was of a brown-skinned, fierce-looking, warrior-like female who was victory posing: standing over, and placing the sole of her bare foot upon the chest of the man she had so evidently comprehensively conquered and, seemingly claiming ... 'rights', over him.

And now, Danny knew, this Gothic-looking woman was about to place her own, conquering bare foot, upon him! About to lay claim, to her own 'rights'!

She wore on her feet, what used to be white -- but now, with the evident accumulation of the scuffs and scratches, dirt, grime, and foot sweat of too many years -- dirty-grey, extremely well-worn, thin rubber-soled flip flops.

The unsmiling, dour-faced, twenty-five-year-old Gothic-looking woman then slipped her feet from her dirty, grimy flip flops and, bringing the soles of her almost equally dirty feet to a hover, just above Danny's astounded, fixed-in-place face, she scrunched her slender toes, displaying to Danny her cut-short, glossy-black painted toenails.

Danny's eyes were like saucers, as he stared up, enraptured, at the Gothic-looking woman's up-close, in-his-face, dirty bare soles. For, he had never seen anything like them!