Pleasures of the Flesh Ch. 01

More time went by with the group getting together for their gaming every night that they could while nightly news reports commented on the growing unrest in Raya's country. Civil militias seemed to be springing up everywhere and reports of sporadic fighting surfaced. The trouble seemed to be being contained by the authorities, but the trio wondered how long this could go on.

Before long, Sandra had devised a ceremony to make Ermaline into Soluen's slave in their game. Raya was an enthusiastic participant and received a facsimile of the collar she wore around her neck in life to represent her servitude. She then snapped a leash onto the collar and the proceedings were complete. Ermaline the Quick was now the slave of Soluen the Wise and would come as a complete surprise to anyone intending malice. She was leashed to Soluen to let all know whose slave she was.

After playing Soluen's slave in the game and then playing sexual games with both of her friends during their cam sessions, Raya began to yearn to be Sandra's slave in real life and not just in their fantasy world. Her submissiveness had fully surfaced in her.

Months passed with the three friends meeting to play their game and then hanging around to cam with each other afterwards. Even this activity could not keep the rumblings of a coming civil disturbance out of their thoughts. Each night, the news continued to broadcast events of the deteriorating situation. Whatever was coming down the pike at them was coming soon.

The situation exploded one cool Autumn day. What looked like the corrupt loss of the losing candidate in the national election was the last straw for many people. They could not understand how their candidate had lost and were determined to dismantle the corrupt machinery that had allowed this to happen.

Of course, there was the faction determined to preserve what was left of the Republic. They formed up on the other side and it wasn't long before the shooting started in earnest. The country was plunging into chaos.

Sandra and Gordon were very worried about their friend who could potentially get trapped in the middle of this fracas. They scanned the news for information about her city but found none. Figuring that no news is good news, they kept scanning.

On the second day of hostilities, Raya's parents had gone to the mall to stock up on some essential goods they had been lacking. A bomb set off by rebels terrified and killed many people, including Raya's parents. Raya was profoundly frightened as she contacted her friends.

"Thank God, you're ok! We heard about the explosions and violence where you are. We were worried sick about you. Are you all right," asked Sandra

"Why are you crying, Baby?" asked Gordon.

"I learned that my parents were killed in the explosion at the mall," she sobbed. I don't know what to do, I don't know where to turn."

"Can you get transportation out?" asked Gordon.

"I don't have that kind of money on me and the banks are all frozen. Since the police retreated, most of the ATMs have been vandalized. I'm caught!"

"Not as long as I draw breath," muttered Gordon as he retreated from the camera. Sandra stayed with Raya and talked to her to keep her calm. He came back about twenty minutes later. "Okay, go to the TWA desk at the airport and give them the name Julie Morris. There is a ticket there for you!"

Raya sat in her chair with her mouth open for a moment, only semi-comprehending what Gordon had just said to her.

"Get yourself to the airport and follow those instructions," growled Gordon in rough, bass voice. "That will get you out of there." His words ended just as the gunfire outside her building erupted.

His words and mortal danger galvanized her into action. She packed what clothes she could into a suitcase and a backpack. The last thing she did the house was to turn off all the lights and lock the door.

She dialed the number for a taxi. It ran interminably before the dispatcher answered. She was much dismayed to discover that the wait time would be two hours plus.

She needed someone to caretake the house anyway, so she ran to the neighbours to see if they would water the plants in her absence. Because these people were of the United Church, her parents would not associate with them. Trepidaciously, she knocked on the floor. A friendly older woman's face greeted me when the door opened.

"Hello, Dear," she smiled in greeting. "Why the tears?" she asked out of concern.

"My parents were killed in the mall bombing yesterday," she answered as the waterworks started again and her tears began to flow.

"Oh, you poor thing!" exclaimed the lady, cradling Raya into her body. "Well, you come in and see what we can do to help."

Raya was grateful for the kindness and followed the lady into the house as she closed the door. They sat at the kitchen table as Raya related her tale. "Abner!" yelled the lady into the basement. "Get up here! You gotta hear this!" Presently an elderly man with a long face, silver mustache and bearing a striking resemblance to Sam Elliott appeared at the top of the stairs. He stood and listened as well, spellbound by the girl.

"I've got to phone for a cab," revealed Raya after she had regained some of her composure.

"Oh, no. A cab is gonna be a couple hours at least," observed Abner. Well, I wasn't looking to risk my neck today, but here it is. We'll get you there in the car then. Come on, it's this way." Raya followed him through the house to the garage where a low-slung sports car awaited them."

"Why do you have a Porche Carrara?" she asked incredulously after she got in.

He just smiled with a gleam in his eye and said, "Mid-life crisis. Buckle up!" She did up her seatbelt as he peeled out of the driveway and skillfully began to pick his line down the road as he proceeded with extreme prejudice. You'd never think that this old man had, in his youth, been a champion race car driver, and now was his hour to shine.

The traffic lights in this end of town were not working, so Abner was careful and bolted ahead whenever he could. There were armed individuals watching them and tanks on another corners, fires everywhere. "Never thought I'd live to see this," muttered Abner looking around as they raced along. Abner dodged skillfully around obstacles that they found in their way and managed to keep moving all the way to the airport. "Good luck, Kid," he said solemnly as he hoisted her suitcase from the vehicle and clasped her hand to shake it. "We'll keep an eye on things until you get back," he said with a sincere smile and a friendly wink.

She smiled and shook his hand in return, looking him in the eyes as they did. He was a good man and would be missed should the unthinkable happen. "I need to get back. Don't want anything to happen to the missus!" he said as climbed back into his car and raced off.

She entered the airport through the giant doors to find the place virtually deserted. There were small fires here and a few bullet riddled bodies on the causeway and luggage, both open and closed, was everywhere. She wondered if the place was even still open. As she started to walk in the direction of the TWA desk, as indicated by the signs, she heard automatic gunfire to her left, dashed behind a huge planter and froze. Straining her ears to sift the air for any information, she stayed in her hiding spot for some minutes before deciding to dash to the next planter. This time, no reports of gunfire reached her ears. She made sure she was still on track and made her way slowly to the TWA desk, scooting to the next cover and listening as she went.

Finally, the TWA desk hove into sight, with a lineup of people likewise trying to get out of the enflamed city all clamouring at the attendants who were doing their best to mollify the crowd in front of them.

Raya finally got to front of the line at the desk and looked up at the attendant. "Hello, my name is Julie Morris," she blurted quickly.

"Ah yes. We've been expecting you," said the attendant with a smile as she motioned for Raya to slip in beside the desk. "Have a good flight, Ms. Morris," the attendant whispered as she handed Raya the ticket.

"Thank you!" returned Raya as she whisked herself and her luggage off toward the departure gate.

There was pandemonium at the departure gate when she arrived. There was a lot of shouting and yelling going on. One woman was crying and begging those beyond the gate to take her baby.

A large man in a security uniform spied her, pointed his finger and asked, "Do you have a ticket?" Raya quickly nodded yes, and the man made his way toward her. He assumed a position ahead of her and began to part the crowd as Moses might have parted The Red Sea.

Raya looked around her as the man who led her toward the gate. "Why can't they go?" she asked in her innocence.

He jerked his thumb at them and growled, "No tickets!"

When they reached the gate, he held it so that she could pass. Someone in the crowd clouted the big security officer in the head with something hard. His head snapped around, his eyes narrowed, and there was a substantial change in his demeanour that said, "Somebody gonna get hurt, real bad!"

A small, wispy man in an identical security uniform smiled. "This way miss," he said as he took her by the arm and began bolting down the gangplank. "We must hurry. Your flight is ready to taxi out for takeoff!" She ran as fast as she could to keep up with the surprising pace the wispy man was making. At last, they turned a corner, and the open door of the airliner was right in front of them. "Have a pleasant flight, Miss. And thank you for flying TWA," said the wispy man as he turned on his heel and walked back into the airport.

"The propaganda dies hard," thought Raya as she cordially thanked the man and was then passed into the care of the onboard stewardesses. She was shown to her seat and buckled herself in immediately because she was expecting that this might be a bumpy ride.

As the aircraft pulled out and began to taxi, she noticed airplanes taxiing out to several runways then taking off. She determined that this the demand for runway space must be at an all-time high right now and they were launching airplanes wherever they could.

Suddenly, her plane began to accelerate down the runway to achieve flight speed. The planes wheels had just lifted off the tarmac when there was a terrific explosion off the starboard wing. Another airliner trying to escape from another runway had been hit by something, and a trail from the fireball led to the ground. There was a collective gasp and some hysterical sobbing on her plane, but the pilot got the aircraft out of the danger zone unharmed. Questioning voices babbled to one another in the cabin. "They shot it down?" questioned one voice, others asked, "Why? What was the point?"

The pilot's voice now crackled through the intercom. "Good evening. ladies and gentlemen. Our destination is a northern coastal city where it's been sunny and warm for the last two days. Our cruising altitude will be approximately thirty-six thousand feet. Thank you for flying TWA airlines and have a pleasant flight."

They now learned from a radio that one of the other passengers was playing that the airport had just fallen to the Rebels and was now closed to all traffic. She realized that their plane had been on of the last to receive permission to take off. She hoped the other passengers were as grateful as she was.

After flying for some time, chasing the sun to the northwest, another passenger noted that there were odd glints of light in the air behind them. Whatever they were, they were gaining on the lumbering passenger jet.

As the glints became dots and got closer, someone pointed out that they were fighter planes. "They must be coming to give us an escort!" another mentioned. A murmured cheer went up from the interior of the airliner. As they got closer still, the cheer died. There were rebel colours now painted on the pursuing planes. Were these the same Rebels who had downed the other airliner? Would they shoot down this one?

The pilot's voice crackled through the intercom. "All passengers return to their seats. The "No Smoking" and "Fasten your Seatbelts" lamps are now lit. Brace yourselves, we are about to hit turbulence!" Screams and cries erupted from the cabin as the call ended and the plane began to put the plane through aerobatic maneuvers that it was never designed for.

The border and safety of Northern airspace was in sight as the pilot poured on all the coal he could muster and pressed the huge airliner well past its safety margins. There were many lights flashing and angry sounds all over the cockpit as he pressed for more speed. It was then that he noticed the glint of the two Northern fighter jets that had been flying picket along the border in the distance. "If we can just make the border," he thought, "and into Northern airspace."

Just then, one of the passengers screamed, "They've fired something at us!" One of the chasing planes had, indeed, loosed some sort of missile that streaked out toward their airliner! Pandemonium broke out as the passengers strained to catch a glimpse of their impending doom.

At the same time as the missile was launched, the astute pilot flying the closest Northern fighter jet smacked the countermeasures button in his cockpit and the aircraft began to spit flares out the back of its fuselage in an attempt to distract and confuse the offending projectile.

"Cmon! C'mon, big bird! Hold together for me, Baby! Hold together just a few minutes longer!" the captain was heard to mutter as the plane thundered through evasive maneuvers it was never designed to do.

The flares from the fighter and the unorthodox flying of the jetliner pilot indeed confused the incoming missile and it lost lock on the passenger plane. It veered off as it acquired lock on one of the new, hotter targets now floating down through the air. All watched the warhead detonate harmlessly in the distance and cheers for the skill of the Northern pilots, as well as that of the airliner pilots, were hear throughout the passenger compartment of the commercial aircraft. The passengers breathed a huge, collective sigh of relief, and all had a new-found, quite heartfelt admiration for those brave fighter pilots from the North who had just skated the razors edge of war and death to protect them. Each knew that they were indebted to these unknown and unsung soldiers forever. For the pilots, it was just another day at the office.

The Rebel leader cursed and ordered his fighters to veer off before entering Northern airspace. "We got enough on our plate without tangling with them," came his gruff, gravelly voice through the headsets of all those in his flight as they peeled off their intercept vectors.

The pair of Northern fighters now took up station off of each wing of the big plane. They escorted it all the way to destination to ensure the safe arrival of their charges. The last thing they did was to give the passengers a wobbling wing salute before peeling off to return to their base for tasking to another mission.

Some of the passengers were still waving goodbye even after the two jets had disappeared into the distance. They were overwhelmed at the lengths these people had gone to for them. All were grateful for the sanctuary of the North and would never forget their harrowing episode.

As the aircraft landed smoothly and taxied to the terminal, the passengers clapped and sent up three cheers for the pilot and crew who had ensured their survival. They were the unsung heroes of the ordeal who just disappeared into the night, treating the incident as just another day at the office.

Raya was herded toward customs with the other passengers, as all incoming passengers arriving from international flights were. The lady there took her passport and papers, then compared the image to her as she stood in front of the imposing desk.

"Reason for visit?" asked the big lady behind the counter officiously.

"Refugee from the South, Ma'am," Raya claimed in a low voice. The woman looked over the papers at her for a moment while writing down her response.

Bringing any fruits, vegetables or meats on this trip?" she enquired.

"No, Ma'am," replied Raya.

The woman checked another box on the paper then asked the final question. "Anything else to declare?" she asked.

Raya thought this a bit of ridiculous question, considering her circumstances, but answered promptly and truthfully anyway. "No, Ma'am," was all she said.

The lady ticked off the final box and stamped her papers and passport. "Welcome to the North, Honey," she smiled to Raya as she slid her papers back across the desk to her. "Next!" she bellowed as Raya left the desk, safe in the knowledge that she had been admitted to a safe and sane country. She realized now, for the first time, that she really was a refugee... a stranger in a strange land.

She walked down a short hallway that ended in a double escalator going down. As she looked out into the assembled crowd below her, she picked out the familiar faces of her friends about the same time they saw her.

Sandra and Gordon leapt with joy and relief as they recognized Raya's figure on the escalator, coming toward them. The looks of relief on their faces were evident even to Raya, far away as she was. They swept to the bottom of the escalator where the bulk of the crowd had gathered to greet their guests.

"We saw what happened at the airport over there, live!" reported Gordon. "We thought it might have been your plane! God, am I relieved to see you!" he babbled as he wrapped his arms around her small frame to pull her in and give her a big bear hug.

Sandra touched her head for the first time and marvelled at the softness of her hair. "It's great to see you in person finally, Raya. We were so worried watching the reports of what happened to the other airliner."

"That's not all that happened!" started Raya excitedly as the little group began to amble off to the baggage claim.

"What else happened, Raya?" asked Sandra as she looked at her young companion.

Raya took a moment to steady herself and control her breathing before she spoke. "We were chased by Rebel fighters from the South, and only survived because of the bravery of two Northern pilots! They escorted us all the way to the airport," she related.

"Oh my God!" exclaimed Sandra with wide eyes as Gordon gawked on, pretty much dumbfounded on hearing this news.

"A Rebel fighter fired a missile at us, but one of the Northern pilots interceded with a bunch of flares. We all watched the rocket blow up in the distance!"

"Holy Mary, Mother of God! They fired on you?" whispered Gordon in stark disbelief, still digesting all of what had happened to his friend. "That is one incredible story, Raya! We're forever indebted to those pilots for bringing you here safe! By the grace of God, you're here!"

"That is truly amazing, Raya. You're gonna have some stories for the grandkids," Sandra chuckled as Raya swept up her suitcase and backpack full of all of her belongings in the world. The trio then spun on their collective heel and headed for the exit in search of Gordon's car.

They located the automobile and placed Raya's luggage gently in the trunk then got in. Gordon started the motor and began nosing for the exit among thousands of others coming and going from the terminal.

Soon enough, they were away from the hustle and bustle of the airport and running in high gear on the freeway. "Is there anything you'd like to do, Raya? Get a bite to eat, some fresh air maybe?" asked Sandra.

Raya was lost among her thoughts. She thought it eerily quiet here, considering what she had just come from. "What, huh?" she responded as she realized she had been spoken to.

"I was just wondering if you wanted to do anything before we got to the house, like get a bite to eat or see any of the sights," mused Sandra.