Special Privilege Ch. 02

Special Privilege chapter 2

Mile High Privilege

All the characters in this story are 18 years old or older.

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As Angela was leaning over, handing a hot cup of coffee to the woman in the window seat, she felt a slap on the ass. It wasn't a soft one, either. The sound must have reverberated a dozen isles in either direction. From her unbalanced, hunched over position, she wasn't able to snap at the unseen pervert as quickly as her hot temper would otherwise have led her to. She also had to get rid of the coffee, and the quickest place to put it was into the fumbling hand of the woman who had asked for it. Four seconds passed from the slap before she found herself in control of herself on her two feet. She turned, and found a row full of men staring innocently forward, either into their books or laptops, or dozily at nothing in particular. None of them looked more guilty than any other, and she knew she would achieve nothing by making a scene. The intelligent part of Angela told her to keep quiet.

"Who the fuck did that?" she shouted, none the less, at the perplexed row of men now all staring at her.

"Did what?" one of them, a lanky, long-haired blonde said with convincing obliviance, after a painful silence.

"You know damn well what! Who the fuck clapped my ass just then?" Angela was getting red. All the guys looked away, hoping not to get singled out. Except the blonde, who kept his eyes on her with apparent sympathy.

"Really? That's horrible. I didn't see anything, I'm..."

"Every fucking day," Angela burst out, singling out the blonde. His smug confidence was pissing her off. "I have to wear this tight skirt and bend over the seats and know that every single one of you motherfuckers are staring. Fine. I got a great ass, I know it. As long as you have the decency to look away when I turn around, I'm not gonna say anything. But there's a fucking line, and it goes right about here!" Angela slapped her well-defined ass in front of the blonde for illustration. In hindsight, slapping her own ass in front of a bunch of pervs probably wasn't the lesson she was trying to teach them, but by now she was conscious of the attention she was getting. Everyone on the plane was watching.

There was a silence that went on for ever. Why did she always have to make a scene, she asked herself. Humiliating herself in front of a plane-full of people was worse than a hundred ass-claps. And how was she supposed to de-escalate at this point.

"I didn't do it," was all the blonde offered in the end, holding his hands up in a mock surrender. What a fucking prick.

Angela broke the intense eye-contact, and stared at each of the other men in the vicinity. "I've got my eyes on you," she said menacingly, and walked away. At least she had gotten the last line. At least she could walk away with that.

"Miss?" she heard coming from behind her. She turned, and saw the blonde turned in his chair, looking back at her. He had his hand up, like a student wanting to ask permission to go to the bathroom.

"What?" she snapped, still not quite calmed down.

"Do you think I could have a coffee, please?"

The fucking balls on this guy... Angela was this close to spit in the man's face, but then she noticed Adam, the co-pilot and her boss, staring at her, evidently come out to see what the commotion was about. If she did anything else out of order, it was sure to end up on her permanent record.

"Yeah. Sure." Her voice was filled with defeat.

"Milk, two sugars," he said, just as she was turning away again. She had to stop, look at him, smile, and say "of course." This was going to be a long flight.

The curtain almost ripped of the hooks as Angela pulled it across. She needed to breathe, to get out of the prying eyes of the public. She ran the tap and splashed cold water in her face. It helped a little, but she was still fuming.

It wasn't the first time she had been groped at work. In fact she'd lost count by now. And it's not like she didn't understand it. She was incredibly attractive, with perky tits that would announce themselves against the tightest fabric, and a heart-shaped ass that would jiggle no matter how carefully she walked. She was 26, in the prime of her life, and wearing a stupid flight attendant uniform. It wasn't the touch that upset her. It's not like it hurt or anything. It was the fact that she was supposed to just accept it that infuriated her. It was her god damn body, she and only she got to decide who could touch it. Tapping a girl on the ass or cupping her tit in public is all nice and fair, but woe you if you dare cause a scene.

Tiffany entered the staff-section of the 737, and once she saw the expression on Angela's face, pulled the curtain behind her.

"What's got your tit in a twist?" she asked with her usual subtlety. Tiffany and Angela weren't friends, but they were co-workers, and at 35,000 feet there weren't a whole lot of women to confide in.

"Some fucker clapped me."

"On the ass? God damn it. Is that what the shouting was about? At least you gave him a full round."

"Yeah, and now I'm making him coffee."

"No!" Tiffany was astonished, disappointed even. "You're not getting the perv shit. Not happening."

"I don't know who did it. I was hunched over two seats with a coffee in my hand."

"Ah, the old bend-over, huh?"

"And this fucker, just grins at me. Doesn't even have the common curtsey to look away. The slimy, bony, oily, small-dicked fucking..."

Tiffany's mouth dropped, her eyes bulging, and Angela knew straight away what was going on. She turned around, and saw the blonde guy standing right behind her. He was taller than she had guessed, and carried himself with an ease and confidence that made him look like a complete dork.

"Your coffee's coming, sir, just have a seat," Angela said without missing a beat. She would put on an act in front of her boss and the entire plane, but back here, where no one were watching, she couldn't give two shits about 'customer satisfaction' and all that bullshit.

"It really wasn't me."

"Says you," Angela grunted as she turned her back on him, to pour the coffee. She could feel his eyes on her neck, but she wasn't giving her the satisfaction of seeing her shirk.

"Why would I lie?"

That was a weird answer, Angela thought, but she finished up the coffee, with milk and two sugar, and handed it over. She had planned to spit in it, but she couldn't well do it now. "Here you are. Now go back to your seat."

The guy stayed, looking at her with an amused grin. "You don't recognize me, do you?"

"Should I? You famous or something?"

"Or something." The guy was smiling. He was obviously anticipating the moment of realisation. It wasn't forthcoming.

She felt Tiffany pulling on her sleeve. She turned around, and saw her co-worker's terrified face. She looked like she had seen a ghost. Tiffany leaned in close and whispered in Angela's ear. "That's Andrew White." No reaction. "The 'special privilege' guy."

Angela suddenly stood stiff, her eyes perking up. She looked at Tiffany in disbelief. "The I-can-do-anyhing-I-want-to-you-and-if-you-say-no-you'll-go-to-jail guy?" Tiffany nodded fast. Angela turned, slowly, to face the slimy, blonde man standing in front of her with an evil grin. He had a certain snake-like feature she hadn't noticed before, his cheekbones were sticking out, ad his eyes were unnaturally blue. He had all the right parts, Angela concluded, but they were put together to make a wholly unattractive man.

"So is this the part where I'm supposed to apologize and beg on my knees for you to leave me alone," Angela said in defiance. A Latina to the core, there wasn't a law written that could force her to be polite.

No matter what else it would force her to do.

"Oh no," Andrew responded reassuringly, "I'm not going to leave you alone. And you'll be on your knees pretty quickly anyway."

There was an interruption to the tense silence as a single PLING rung out through the galley. Both Angela and Tiffany looked to Andrew, wondering what was gonna happen next. Andrew smiled.

"Don't let me keep you from your work," he said to Angela in particular, making it obvious he wanted her to go. Did this mean he was more interested in Tiffany, Angela asked herself. If so, she'd probably be spared the worst of it.

As she tried to slide past Andrew, he stuck an arm out to stop her. It wasn't going to be this easy, after all.

"Your suit's a bit wet. You better leave it here, don't you think?" Angela looked down, and indeed, there was a visible splash on her tight-fitting, red suit-jacket. It must have happened when she was dousing her face. With a sigh she slipped out of the jacket, and slid out before Andrew could give her any more perverse instructions. She was almost clear when she felt strong fingers encircle her wrist, and pull her back.

"Do make sure you smile," he said with a friendly wink.

She walked down the isle with confidence. She was still perfectly presentable. It wasn't the first time she'd ditched the constraining jacket at work, and the white shirt looked professional, with the company's logo in red over her heart, and a red tie around her neck. But still she was more conscious of her own movement than usual. The click-clack of her high heals sounded like gunshots to her, and she knew how much her hips would sway as she walked. Nobody were watching her, she noticed with relief. The scene from only a few minutes ago was already forgotten, and luckily no one knew who was in the back giving instructions.

A small green light was lit above an old, almost blind woman in the isle seat.. Angela forced herself to focus. She was still at work after all. She kneeled down next to the old woman, and with a soft, clear voice, asked what she could help her with. The woman took three minutes asking for pear juice, which they didn't stock, and finally settled on a bottle of still water. Angela clasped the woman's hand assuringly, and went back to the galley.

As she pulled aside the curtain, she saw Andrew and Tiffany on the fold-down seats in the back. Andrew had a cheeky arm over her shoulder. Angela did her best to ignore them, as she got a bottle from the top shelf of the cabinet, and went back out again as quick as she could. She gave the bottle to the woman, who received it gratefully, and for the first time in her career, Angela didn't mind her customer telling her about why they were flying, or who they were going to see. This one was going to Los Angeles to see a grandson who had just gotten his first bit-part in a TV-show. Angela listened with disinterest, but happy with having a reason not to go back to the galley again.

Her trained ears heard the PING from across the plane, and knew that someone was wanting to order something. Angela felt safe ignoring it for a while, especially as she was technically serving another customer already. But when a second of the little lights came on, Angela had to leave the rambling grandmother behind.

The first was an overweight man in his late fifties, sitting in the middle seat but almost taking up the row by himself, sweating through his business shirt and fanning himself with the customary safety manual. He smiled as he saw the gorgeous woman standing above him.

"Gimme a bud light, will ya, darling?"

"My name's Angela. Coming right up." She forced herself to say it with a smile, even if her tone was a little snappy.

"Mine's Dave. Pleasure." He showed teeth as he grinned, and Angela quickly moved on, to a woman just older than herself, sitting in the back of the plane.

"What can I get you?"

"You got any gum?" the woman asked hesitantly.

"We don't, I'm afraid. There's a menu in the seat pocket in front of you."

"Oh, okay." The woman bit her lip, clearly embarrassed. "It's just... I'm scared of flying. I just want something to focus on, you know."

Angela felt sympathy. "We got wine?"

The woman thought about it, then shook her head. "I'm good. Thank you."

"No worries. Let me know if you change your mind." Angela gave her a smile, a heartfelt one for a change, and forced herself to approach those thick, red curtains again.

Andrew had already started forcing himself on Tiffany. His mouth was going all over her face except her mouth, and his hand was firmly planted on her tits. Hoping to slip through unnoticed, Angela quickly grabbed the bottle of beer out of the fridge, and dashed away.

"Miss." She froze in her steps, and looked back. Andrew, his attention still fully on Tiffany, was waving her over. What choice did she have, she thought, so she walked over.

Andrew took his mouth off Tiffany's now wet cheeks to look at Angela. Letting go of the boobs, he grabbed Angela by the top of her shirt and pulled, ripping off the top five buttons and exposing her bra and cleavage. He also pulled loose her tie, and lazily rubbed his sweaty palm across her carefully brushed hair. "Remember to smile," he said, before shoving his tongue down Tiffany's throat, indicating he was done for now.

She caught a glance of herself in the little mirror they used to check their appearance. She looked haggard, like she'd just got back from a crazy night out, or more accurately, like she'd just been fucked behind a dumpster by a guy she hardly knew. But her makeup was still intact, her hair mostly straight, and everything that needed to be covered still was. She could make this work.

She walked out with confidence, and no one really paid her any attention until she reached the fat man in the middle seat. He clearly noticed, and with a smile and a leer.

"Bud light? That will be 2.50, please." She held out the bottle, but instead of taking it, the fatty just put down his tray, meaning Angela had to lean in to put the drink down for him. Which he clearly enjoyed. Her long, black hair must have obstructed most of the view, but the guy seemed plenty happy as he paid.

Walking back, she got plenty of glances, as she was strutting her (impressive) cleavage out on full display. She didn't stop before she got back to the galley, and immediately wished she had as soon as she saw Andrew with his hand deep inside Tiffany's blouse. Tiffany looked up at Angela, pleadingly. Angela shrugged helplessly. There was nothing she could do. And, a voice inside her said, what I've got coming will surely be worse.

She didn't have much time to contemplate, as another PING brought her back to the real world.

"Loose the skirt," Andrew said distantly before she could leave. He wasn't even looking at her. Like he didn't care. He was just playing with her, because he could. Angela let the skirt drop without hesitating. If she was going to play his game, she might as well get on with it.

A couple glances quickly turned to a couple more glances, some more subtle than others. There were also some confused looks, and Angela could hear whispering all along the plane. She could also swear she heard a camera snapping behind her, but it would do no good to turn around. They weren't doing anything wrong, after all. She was the one walking down a full-booked plane in her panties, shaking her pretty ass for everyone to see.

She took the orders professionally. A sour woman at the front wanted a sandwich, a businessman two rows behind wanted a red wine, and a row full of horny boys took their time ordering six sodas, four bars of chocolate, and three crisps in between their giggles and private whispers. She kept her head up as she walked back the length of the plane. She could feel how people avoided her eyes as she came closer, and how their turned in their seats after she passed.

She was in the galley, collected all the items, and went back out again before Andrew could get Tiffany's nipple out of his mouth. He'd forced her shirt open by now, taking his time with her as he was with Angela.

Angela acted as nothing was out of the ordinary as she took payments. So did everyone else, too, albeit less successfully. There were two more lights on, and Angela quickly took the requests. One man confidently asked "are you on the menu?" "Not for you," she quipped back with a wink and a hip swing.

"Take your shirt off," was how Andrew greeted her when she entered. He'd already done that favour for Tiffany, who was looking worn out already, with one of Andrew's hands down her skirt. Angela growled at him, but unbuttoned the rest of her shirt and took it off. She was wearing a thick blue and black bra that pushed her tits up and created an alluring cleavage. Her matching panties were now fully visible too, fortunately covering up all her privates. For now.

She went to take of her tie, but Andrew shook his head. "Keep it on. It's sexy."

She gave him a slanted look. Then ripped it off, and tied it around her head like a sweatband, serving the double function of keeping her hair out of her eyes. Her usually well-kept hair was already starting to loose it's form, and Angela knew it would only get worse. She raised her eyebrows, staring at Andrew. Waiting for approval. Andrew smiled. "Nice."

With her tie around her head, wearing nothing but her underwear, the clang of her high heals felt ridiculous. They would be the next ones coming off, she decided.

Everyone were staring now. A few people were taking photos. Wait for the main attraction, she was tempted to tell them. Somebody slapped her ass from behind. She didn't turn. Back to where it all began.

"Are you sure you're not on the menu?" the man asked again as he looked her up and down, taking in her slender figure and perky tits. At least he kept his hands to himself, she thought as she walked away. Another slap on the ass perished that thought.

More and more lights came on, as people all across the plane were eager to get Angela closer. She kept her professional face on. Seven years of practice had made her good at that. She counted seven hands on her ass, two on her tits, and one reaching between her legs to grab her pussy. That one almost made her spill a glass of wine on a leering man and his angry wife. But she kept her cool.

Tiffany's hand was around Andrew's shaft, slowly stroking up and down. Her eyes were fixed on the window of the emergency door, almost like she was contemplating jumping out of it. Angela did her best not to look, but she couldn't notice how big the perverts cock was.

But Angela quickly lifted her eyes to find Andrew's. For someone in the process of getting a handjob, he didn't look particularly aroused. He was taking more pleasure in her than from the woman who had her hand around his cock.

Angela kicked off her boots in a fluid motion she'd shown off in front of many guys in the past. She pulled off her high socks and threw them away. Then she got what she'd come for and left again. Andrew didn't say a thing. At least for this round, she was in control.

She got much the same attention this time, although people were getting more and more ballsy, especially seeing as she wasn't fighting back. She couldn't really blame them, she thought. She was walking around in her underwear, seemingly happy with being grabbed by everyone she was in arms reach of.

There was also an increase of people ringing the bell without any particular requests, only wishing to get their hands on her. The more obvious ones, or the hands that refused to let go, she pushed away firmly, yet with the same professional smile. That seemed to discourage them temporarily, but Angela was under no illusions. As soon as her eyes were the other way, they would be right back.

By the time she got back to the galley, the only real order was a cup of tap water. Andrew was leaned back over his seat, elbow on the back where Tiffany had been sitting. Now she was on her knees, her head bobbing up and down. Angela looked at Andrew, and maintaining eye contact, threw off her bra. Without even the hint of a smile, she shook her chest, letting her double-D tits jiggle for her sick viewer. She filled up a cup of water, and walked out, Andrew's twisted smile burned on her iris. Somehow she knew he had even worse plans for her, and the thought made her shudder.