High Flying

Marta Salas hated flying, even in the luxurious surroundings of a private jet. She gripped the armrests, bracing herself as the wheels left the runway. It was a short flight, she told herself, no more than a couple of hours from Denver to Las Vegas. Maybe it was because she was brought up on an island, she loved the sea, or perhaps it was the knowledge that she was no longer in total control of her fate, but either way she hated it. Her husband was a frequent flyer; he loved it. He was vice-president of the company that owned the jet, and he spent days and weeks away from home, crisscrossing the country. It appeared to outsiders that they had the glamorous lifestyle of the super-rich, but she knew differently.

Ignoring the queasy sensations in her stomach, she distracted herself with the reason for the trip. She took the manila wallet from her bag and read the cover: Ms Amber Duberville. She flicked through the typed letter reports, copies of key documents and the photographs of a young woman, a tall leggy blonde with Barbie doll looks in her twenties. The private detective had been particularly thorough to include medical and dental records, misdemeanour rap sheets, job applications and CV, even the relevant sections of the high school year book. Most of the images included a much older man, stout and overweight with a dark Mediterranean complexion; the man was Marta's husband. They were pictured in restaurants and nightclubs; on a yacht in the Caribbean, in hotel rooms and corridors; and through the bedroom window of the villa in Forte Lauderdale. It was damning evidence of her husband's latest infidelity. Marta had had enough.

The jet cleared the low lying cloud and soared high over the Colorado Rockies. She had met him in Puerto Rico twenty years ago, where she had fallen for his brash, brutish charm. He was the son of a Greek magnate, looking to escape from the shadow of his father and the wreckage of his first marriage. She was the only daughter of a plantation owner, the apple of his eye, but she yearned for a world beyond the coastline of a small island. Her husband had always had a wandering eye, which for the most part she tolerated. Powerful men, like her own father, often had insatiable appetites. However, he no longer conducted his affairs with expected discretion and that she could no longer overlook. He needed to be taught a lesson in humility.

The plane levelled off and the seatbelt light went out. Marta unbuckled hers and stretched her legs. There was movement behind the privacy curtain as the cabin crew readied for service. Only one flight attendant had been booked for the short flight, indeed she had been requested. The curtain drew back and the young woman emerged into the main cabin. She was tall and blonde, like a Barbie doll, with long, slender legs that made other women jealous. The girl was easily recognisable, besides her name badge.

"Good afternoon, Mrs Salas, and how are you doing today?" Amber spoke with a thick Southern drawl. She grew up in Mobile, Alabama, the only daughter of Methodists.

"Fine." Marta placed the wallet back in her bag.

"Can I offer you something to drink?"

"A French 75 I think, with a lot of gin. I'm feeling adventurous." With chilled champagne, gin and lemon, this cocktail kicked like a stubborn mule. It was an acquired taste.

The girl returned shortly with her drink, a large one, and a small bowl of olives, which Marta pushed away as soon as she had left. She was sick of the sight of olives. She sipped her cocktail for a few minutes and then drained the glass with a flourish. Half-an-hour had passed since take-off. She rose and went to stand at the bar, where Amber was busy with some paperwork. The girl looked up and smiled.

"Can I get you another, Mrs Salas? Something to eat, perhaps?"

"Yes, another would be nice, the last one was perfect, and please call me Marta. Do you like champagne, Amber? I hope you don't mind if I call you Amber." The girl shook her head. Her grades at high school were above average, but she had several warnings on her record about wanton behaviour, and even a misdemeanour charge for possession from the local sheriff's office. In most professions she would have been red-flagged, but in this line of hospitality it was an advantage. Of course, Amber liked champagne, and a lot more besides, she was a party girl. She was easily led astray.

"We are not supposed to drink on duty, Mrs ... Marta." Amber replied, nibbling her lip.

"Well, I won't tell anyone if you don't."

Reaching over the counter, she took the bottle and poured the girl a generous glass. Amber drank it, hesitantly at first, but she grinned as Marta topped it up. After they had finished the bottle, Marta initiated the next stage of the plan.

"You know, Amber, this is the first time I have flown without my husband in a very long time. You know my husband, Nikolai, don't you? I am sure it will surprise you to learn that I have never been to Las Vegas in all my years living in America. I am looking forward to letting my hair down this weekend, catching up on the fun." She enjoyed Amber's discomfort. Her husband often took his girls to see the bright lights and the casinos in Nevada. Rummaging in her jacket pocket, Marta put the bag of coke on the counter. There was a couple of grams, of the highest quality, so the man had told her. Enough blow to last even the most jaded party girls an hour or two. Amber's eyes were like saucers. "My father would say 'de perdidos al rio', but it makes little sense in translation, so I will say it another way. You may as well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb. What do you think?"

"I don't understand," Amber said, suspiciously. It was naive to think she would not see a potential trap.

"Look, I see your worried," began Marta. It was better to hide a lie within the truth. "I have never done anything like this before. You can call it a mid-life crisis, but I need to do this, and if I don't, then I might as well just go crazy. I need your help."

"You want me to show you?" Amber perked up. It seemed that the girl did not require much persuasion. "I'll need money."

Amber went first, sighing as she threw back her long blonde curls. The girl rubbed her nose with pinched fingers then offered Marta the rolled up bill. Marta hesitated. This should not have come as a complete surprise to her, but it did. She had been around drugs before, there was not a fundraiser at the tennis club without any cocaine. But Marta never joined the other ladies in the restroom to 'powder her nose', always much preferring a clear head. However, she saw that Amber was still nervous. If the plan was to succeed then Marta needed to play along with it. She took the makeshift straw and snorted a single line. Her nostrils tingled. Without any real frame of reference it was difficult for her to know what she should have expected to happen or what she was supposed to do next. So to be sure she snorted another line and waited.

It began with a hot flush. Her heartbeat quickened, thumping against her rib cage as the adrenaline surged. It was similar to the feeling she got behind the wheel of her Porsche 911 convertible. She loved racing it through the twisty country lanes with the top down, the breeze whipping through her black hair. Marta accelerated, faster and faster, unable to slow down. A hot sun was beating down on the car from a clear blue sky, its warmth spreading over her skin like a brushfire. She saw the hitchhiker at the side of the road and opened the passenger door. The smiling girl moved closer. Marta welcomed her, eager for a companion to share the ride. The girl wrapped her arms around her and kissed her mouth. Marta's head fizzed like a Roman candle as she sank with Amber to the floor.

Marta had always been volatile, something to do with her Latin temperament. On first learning about her husband's wandering hands, she had flown into an incandescent rage. In truth she experienced every colour of emotion more passionately than most Americans she met. And now in a coke fuelled haze, her mind was spinning through the gamut of raw emotional contradictions like a roulette wheel. She had no idea where it would stop. Amber had wriggled on top of her and was trying to arouse her interest with all the subtlety of a common whore with little time to spare and bills to pay. It would have been easier at this point to give in to her piqued curiosity, to have momentarily forgotten, if not forgiven, the many injustices committed by Amber against her. She wondered if the girls threw themselves so wilfully at her husband that he constantly faced such a dilemma. She doubted it, sourly, as he always thought first with his cock and only afterwards with his head. Anger swelled inside her as she recalled the images of him and the slut in their love nest, his hairy ass jerking up and down as he fucked her. The roulette wheel came to an abrupt halt. Marta rose suddenly, shoving the girl aside and then slapping her hard across the cheek with the back of the hand. There was a stunned silence.

Time stood still as dread crept into her mind. The surprised girl fell backwards, landing in a heap, a fearful expression clouded her pretty face. Marta was speechless. She didn't know what to do or what to say as she searched frantically for a way back from her lack of self-control. She had promised herself a most terrible revenge on her husband, but now that seemed all in jeopardy. The girl was unimportant, anything that happened to her was only collateral damage. As the words of an apology coalesced in her addled mind, her self-recriminations were interrupted by sounds of mirth. Amber was giggling, hand covering her mouth. Marta joined in, a relieved laugh that together with Amber's became almost hysterical. Poking out her tongue, the cheeky girl suddenly raced away on all fours. Marta set off in pursuit and the cabin erupted in delighted squeals. Marta remembered the young and carefree child, who grew up on her daddy's plantation, and the simple joy of playing with other children. It had seemed back then that her kingdom extended only to the edges of the bay and the hills behind, and that the expectations, responsibilities, and the problems of the world beyond those shores were a million miles away. She wanted to feel like that again.

They had rushed about in ever decreasing circles, like children at a birthday party, until Marta finally cornered her quarry. The girl, her breathing fast and shallow, waited with her arms rested on the edge of the seat, as Marta approached the wagging rear. The roulette wheel spun round again and the mood in the cabin changed.

"Oh, my sweet child, you shouldn't runaway like that," purred Marta. The air around them crackled and sizzled. "You are a naughty girl. Mamá knows everything."

If the girl had any inkling that Marta knew the deeper truth, she showed no sign of contrition. Pushing back the girl's uniform revealed the sheer black pantyhose beneath the ruffled skirt. Marta found a nylon seam and spitefully twisted both fabric and skin between her French manicured fingernails.

"Shush!" She commanded as the girl yelped. "Did you think that I would never catch you? Mamá must teach you a lesson in good manners."

Amber remained silent. She offered no resistance as Marta pulled down her tights and panties. The pale and freckled skin was smooth, the cheeks soft and curved like a perfect peach. Marta felt a terrible thrill as she impulsively raised her hand and brought it down with cruel intent. She told herself that it was all just a part of the plan, but there was no denying the strange, captivating beauty in the girl's helplessness. Marta repeated the punishment, a little harder this time, leaving a crimson mark. The girl stifled a cry as she recoiled from the blow, before rebounding obediently to the same position. Marta struck her again and again until the cheeks glowed like hot coals. She felt intoxicated by more than champagne and cocaine. Shame mingled with a strange desire, heightening her state of arousal. She had never hunted, but Marta wondered if the forlorn doe, knowing it was soon to die, ever looked so alluring to the hunter through the crosshairs of his rifle? She began to understand her husband's behaviour, his need for girls more than half his age. Marta felt the same attraction, the same sense of power when she now looked at Amber.

"Stop. Please stop. You're hurting me," the girl sobbed.

It snapped Marta out of her trance and stayed her hand, but it did not bring an end to their kinky games.

"What do you say?" Marta recalled her mother's voice, the tone she used when scolding her for one of many indiscretions that the young child committed. It demanded respect.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, mamá," answered Amber, a willing accomplice in her kinky game.

"If you promise me that you will be a good from now on, then mamá will stop," said Marta, softly. After the storm had passed, her mother would be tender, reminding little Marta that no matter what happened, she would always be loved. "I will look after you, Amber. I will make everything better."

"I promise, mamá."

Leaning forward, Marta planted a gentle kiss at the centre of each sore cheek and heard Amber's contented sigh. Marta peaked back over her shoulder, a little self-consciously, in the direction of the hidden camera in the cove above the bar. It had the best view in the house for what was about to be the main event. If this had been the step in the plan that had caused Marta to have so many sleepless nights, she need not have worried. As her soothing tongue returned to the girl's warm salty skin, she shed her inhibitions as easily as mamá had shelled peas while sitting on the veranda. When Marta thought about it, women were not so different from men.

Desire took hold. Marta squeezed a hand between the trembling thighs and sought out the gully between them. Amber's sex was hot and wet. She caressed it, stroking the swollen lips with her fingertips. It felt neither unpleasant nor unnatural to touch another woman, on the contrary, the timid softness, the floral fragrance, the gentle curves, all felt wonderfully familiar. Marta inserted a middle finger through the entrance, the ring of muscles tightly clenched around it, and began to move in and out, slowly at first. Every stroke she caught the apex of the lips, nudging the hooded clitoris one way then another with her knuckle, before sliding back inside. Marta liked a little rough handling, some friction, and it seemed that the girl did too. Amber moaned, rocking back and forth on her knees in rhythm with the hand. Marta quickened the pace as the honey started to flow. Marta never imagined that she would feel this competitive, but she wanted her to come harder than Amber ever did with her oafish husband. Marta had the advantage, the insider knowledge, knowing where to find the G-spot, near the front wall. The tormented girl shuddered and shook, her legs crumpling beneath her as orgasmic waves consumed her.

Leaving the girl to the rest of her pleasure, Marta returned to the bar. She had more than enough film to show her husband that these girls were never truly in love with him. They were playthings, nothing more or less, whose attentions could be bought and sold for a gram of cocaine. Marta would confront him with this cold truth, teach him a harsh lesson that she did not take kindly to betrayal. She wiped her sticky fingers on a paper napkin and picked up the $100 bill. She celebrated her success with another line of coke; she was quickly developing a liking for it. Sauntering towards the front of the jet, Marta marked the path with a saucy trail of her clothing: skirt, tights, and panties. It would make a good final scene, she told herself, on which to end the movie.

Marta took a seat next to the secured cockpit door, in the alcove where the flight attendants sat for take-off and landing. There was no camera here, so she could relax off-stage. She was feeling like a goddess as the coke hit her bloodstream. Only one straightforward task remained, to reveal all to the girl and to convince her, with hush money if necessary, that Marta's husband was simply not worth the trouble. Although her view was restricted by the short connecting corridor, she saw Amber polish off the rest of the drugs at the bar. The girl looked a mess with tangled hair and a crooked and dishevelled uniform that now barely covered her rear. But, oh, those long slender legs, they still belonged to an angel. Marta beckoned her over. Drifting unsteadily into the corridor, Amber leaned against the wall and beamed a dreamy glib smile.

"Don't you think that you've had too much?" Marta's maternal instincts were in overdrive. Perhaps the girl's only crime was that she was naive and easily lead astray, like a young woman who left the shores of Puerto Rico more than twenty years ago.

"Maybe," Amber replied, cutely.

"Come here, baby, we need to talk about my husband."

There was no more than a flicker of recognition from Amber as she squeezed herself down into the cramped space at Marta's feet. Marta wondered, rather oddly, if the girl thought she was inviting her to a threesome. Right now, Marta had no intention of sharing her. Amber was sitting between her naked thighs. When she looked up at Marta, her eyes sparkled like dazzling sapphires.

"I know you've been fucking my husband for the past three or four months," Marta said, trying to remain focused on the plan. "It has to stop, do you understand me?"

"Yes, I know." Amber averted her gaze. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to hurt anyone. He took care of me. He took me places I've only ever dreamed about. It was fun."

"I don't blame you, my baby, not really. He can be quite charming and very persuasive." Marta knew this from her own personal experience. "It is over for him and you. I will not tolerate it a moment longer. However, I am going to make it a little easier for you. I will give you some money, if you promise me you will quit working for the company and never see him again."

"I promise," said Amber, solemnly. "Now, that I've met you, I don't want him. You see I am still a naughty girl." She looked up and caught Marta in a tingling gaze. "Do you want to spank me again? I won't mind."

"No, no, I don't." Actually, a part of her did, but Marta fought back the urge.

"Oh." The girl sounded disappointed. "Perhaps I can make it up to you another way?"

Marta had already guessed where this was heading, and to her great surprise, she was open to it. Shivers ran all the way up and down her spine. Amber did not wait for a reply, nudging apart Marta's trembling knees. Her kisses lacked finesse, her wanton mouth felt warm and sloppy, painting the skin with saliva. Marta braced herself as the flicking tongue reached her sex, timid at first, but soon emboldened. It sliced open her lips, which unfurled like flower petals, and licked and drank the copious flowing nectar. She was on fire, her body melting in the sexual heat. It had been a long time since Marta had felt like this. She wrapped her legs around Amber's head, resting them on the girl's shoulders, and slid forwards. Swallowing Amber within her throbbing torso, Marta climaxed. Spasms smashed through her body like stormy waves breaking against a rocky cliff. Another arrived and then another until she almost blacked out. Marta reached out and pulled Amber into her arms. She kissed her mouth, tasting herself on the beautiful rosy lips. The rapture faded, but the intimate bond between them remained.

Marta did not know how long she cradled Amber to her bosom. She smiled, at no one in particular, feeling spent and purged. Amber rested peacefully, her breathing slow and deep. Marta brushed a blonde curl from the girl's face and sighed. It could easily have been a romantic moment in another time and place, two lovers in bed on a lazy Sunday, drifting in and out of a contented slumber, but it wasn't. As the buzzer sounded, Amber sat up and rubbed her eyes like a waking kitten. She reached out for the handset, its orange light flashing impatiently.