The Air Stewardesses' Footmen Ch. 03

Faced with no option but to do what would be good enough, I exhaled fully, and then I inserted as much of my face as I could into Camilla's right post-flight pump and took a long, deep whiff.

I desperately hoped it appeared to Camilla and the eight air hostesses, looking on aghast or giggling in merriment or chuckling in malicious pleasure, that I was reacting as expected: shuddering in revulsion.

But no - I was struggling to conceal what I thought must seem to even the most unobservant of onlookers the blatantly obvious fact that I was in the tremulous throes of ecstatic enjoyment.

If it is true that the camera doesn't lie and that a picture speaks a thousand words, I would be in double trouble. Because after my long and deep inhalation of Camilla's 'signature essence', Camilla captured the look on my emergent face.

Gemma must never find out. Never discover that her longtime foe Camilla was now not only one of Terry's princesses of the skies, but mine, too.

Because when Camilla then rested the warm damp sole of her dark nyloned right foot on my face, my nose trapped under her toes, I said not a word or did a thing about it as the onlooking air hostesses chuckled at my so-easily won capitulation and giggled at my total submission as Camilla's camera continued to record.

"Sniff again, Ducky!" snapped Camilla, her smartphone set to capture the next stage of my subjugation. "And deeply, just like you did with my shoe."

Now, Camilla's direct, nostril-covering foot scent; her, signature essence, appreciated all the more after her overrunning sixteen-hour flight duty, flooded through me at full force, and the olfactory nirvana conquered me.

From the corner of my eye, I could see Terry looking across at me. The expression on his face told me I was a lucky dog.

"And Ducky, what is this? Hmm? What do I see, all tented up in your trousers?" inquired Camilla, laughing along with her sphere-of-influence coterie of cronies as she recorded my obvious arousal for Gemma.

Well, so much, then, for not presenting Camilla with golden opportunities to pull Gemma's hair, for not enabling Camilla to land metaphorical kicks, punches, slaps and scratches through miss-steps.

The question on my mind now was: What would Gemma do about it?

And now, air hostesses Annabel and Geri, from Senior Stewardess Lisa's crew, decided to take the weight off their tired and achy feet and sat on the stackable seats on either side of the foot service receiving Lisa. Annabel and Geri stretched out their dark nyloned legs and put their feet up on their side of Terry's conveniently positioned shoulders.

From the corner of my eye, I could see Annabel and Geri, ankles crossed on Terry's shoulders, heel popping and dangling and swinging their uniform black pumps to waft their after-shift foot fumes into the foot-massaging Terry's face to pleasurably pass their in-waiting time before their own turns to occupy the central, foot service receiving seat.

I could hear Terry taking his long, deep whiffs. Committing permanently to memory Lisa's, Annabel's and Geri's foot scents; their uniquely individual 'signature essence' identifiers. Which, after sixteen hours on their feet on their overrun flight duty, Terry appreciated all the more.

Air hostesses Jacqui and Naomi, from Senior Stewardess Camilla's crew, now followed suit and took the outer in-waiting seats on either side of the picture taking and video recording Camilla. Jacqui and Naomi, two of Camilla's most easily-led and example-following sphere-of-influence cohorts, stretched out their dark nyloned legs and crossed their ankles on their side of my conveniently positioned shoulders to pleasurably await their own turns to occupy the central, foot service receiving seat.

Gemma must never learn the terrible truth of my treachery. It must never come out. At all costs, Gemma must never discover the depth of my diabolical disloyalty.

Because, as seated thone-like on her stackable seat and using my face as her footrest as she'd looked down on me on my kneeling mat, with worshipful lips, I had anointed Camilla my queen of the skies.

In my now utter capitulation, the sole of Camilla's dark nyloned right foot remained resting on my unresisting and compliantly supportive face as not just willingly but gladly I surrendered to her total domination.

The truth might be terrible, but it was also undeniable. I was no longer the helpless, coerced and cajoled vulnerable victim but now the willing and obedient foot slave of my girlfriend Gemma's longtime antagonist.

My worshipful lips-anointed, queen of the skies, Camilla.

Camilla must be assured of my future fealty. Must be confident of my onward allegiance. Must be persuaded of my adherence to her decree.

How could it be otherwise?

But I clung to the hope that Camilla, having not remarked upon my worshipful anointment as I was sure she would, was unaware I had kissed the sole of her dark nyloned foot in homage. And the hope that, if aware of my compliment, Camilla would rationally suppose I had kissed the foot of a woman she knew I thought stunningly beautiful, not deliberately but just instinctively. And not, in homage. Not in adoration. Not in worship.

That said, Camilla had seen all she needed to see. The undeniable effect that her dark nyloned post-flight foot scent had on me. The tented evidence of my uncontrollable desire.

Camilla now removed the sole of her dark nyloned right foot from my compliantly accommodating face and said, "Ducky, take off my left pump."

Upon complying as previously, with her right pump, Camilla planted her left dark nyloned sole in the centre of my accepting and unmoving face. Unmoving, that is, except when adjusting to her optimum footrest angle.

And, Camilla's 'signature essence', heady with the fragrant fusion of foot-warmed leather, well-worn insole, and long-worn dark nylons after her long-overrunning sixteen-hour flight duty, was all the more appreciated.

"Now sniff again, Ducky!" commanded Camilla. "Just like you did now, with my other foot. And be warned, Ducko: It had better be good again! Or else! Because that ginger ninja girlfriend of yours has already got enough begging and crawling to do - and with you to watch her do it! I'm telling you. If she wants me to delete all of my great photos and awesome videos I've now got of you instead of posting them all on every social media site I can think of, here is my ultimatum to Gemma. In your living room with you present to witness, that bitch Gemma is going to go down on her knees behind me and beg to kiss the soles of my feet!"

"You want Gemma to go to her knees and kiss your feet? For me? Gemma won't do it, Camilla. You are asking the impossible. Don't you see that?"

"Duckster, I've told you - don't make me tell you again: its 'Miss' Camilla! Now shut up - and listen up! I know Gemma's lunch hour is twelve till one and that she goes home for her lunch break; it's only about a ten-minute walk from the DIY superstore where she works. So I'll ring for her answer on Wednesday at twelve-thirty. And if Gemma has arrived at the sensible decision, she will grovel on the phone too and invite me super-nicely to come straight round to your place. You will then witness the big event: my ultimate victory over the ginger ninja. Got it?"

"Miss Camilla," I said, mumbling into the sole of her dark nyloned left foot, "whatever you have on me, it won't be enough to induce Gemma to go down on her knees and kiss your feet. And in her own living room? You are overvaluing Gemma's feelings for me. Gemma will say to go ahead and post all of your photos and videos. Even though it will mean the end of my cabin crewman's job and the end of my engagement to Gemma."

"Ducky! Do you think I'm going to sit here arguing with you when I've got my foot resting on your face? You are in no position to backchat, only to tell me that you understand my instructions to Gemma. And do not try to kid me. I know Gemma thinks enough of you to meet my demands. For some unfathomable reason, Gemma actually loves you! How you persuade Gemma to do what I want is up to you. And I don't care how high a price you have to pay to square things up with Gemma afterwards. In fact, the thought of the maddened Gemma taking all of this out afterwards on the man she loves is giving me little tingles of pleasure. Gemma has been a thorn in my side for far too long. This is my chance to finally get Gemma out of my hair. I want to finish Gemma once and for all. To bring her, literally to her knees, and win the decisive victory in the sweetest way imaginable. Gemma will never forget it - and neither will I. So I'll ask you again: Have you got it? And will you tell her?"

"Yes, Miss Camilla. I've got it. I'm on a Rest-Day, so I'll tell her when she gets home from work."

"Well, what are you waiting for now, Ducky? Didn't I just tell you to sniff?"

As my queen of the skies Camilla commanded, I exhaled fully, and then I took a good, long, deep whiff of her dark nyloned post-flight under- and in-between-the-toes foot scent.

And the result was the same, as Roddy or, as Gemma calls him, Mason Junior, came fully awake and rose to the occasion again.

From the corner of my eye, I could see Terry looking at me. Terry's expression was telling me that now I was in dreamland, too.

And Terry was right.

Camilla waved her smartphone again. "Duckster, you will consider Jacqui and Naomi - and all of my other friends too; you know who they are - as under my auspices, and obey them from this moment on as you obey me. After a minute or two sniffing under the toes of my left foot, you will sniff inside Naomi and Jacqui's work pumps while they dangle them by your face as they are doing now. You will also kiss the soles of Naomi and Jacqui's pumps to further demonstrate your recognition of their goddess-like power over you. And remember, Duckster: I'll be recording it all."

Terry suddenly piped up, "Oh, and Miss Lisa! Senior Stewardess Jasmine has put a message on the noticeboard to inform you that you no longer need to polish your uniform pumps yourself. From tonight, air hostesses can leave their after-shift uniform pumps for their cabin crewmen colleagues to clean and polish for them."

Senior Stewardess Lisa said, "Really? That's absolutely brilliant! What a relief to have that tiresome task taken out of my hands, as it were. Because what a nuisance it is! Having to do it after my shift or coming in early for my next flight duty to do it. So... is polishing air hostesses' pumps another part of your revised contract then, Terry? Because as I told you earlier, Ms Summers keeps her Senior Stewardesses in the loop, but I've not heard a word about this excellent new shoe-cleaning benefit."

"No, not originally, Miss Lisa. But I'm fairly certain that a pump-polishing clause will be factored into cabin crewmen's revised contracts tomorrow as an unintended omission. But for tonight, Mason and I have volunteered to do it as an extra service in hopes of earning a good word in your Cabin Crewman Conduct Reports. So, if you and Miss Camilla and the air hostesses on your crews would afterwards like to leave your uniform pumps outside of your left-open lockers, Cabin Crewman Mason and I will put them away after we've cleaned and polished them up to a gleaming shine. All nice and ready for your next flight duties."

Yes, I thought. And I would get my hands on Camilla's super-scented after-flight pumps. To savour, once again, Camilla's 'signature essence'.

And then, with my shoe-cleaning kit of black polish, half-and-half soft/stiff-bristled shoe brush and soft buffing cloth, it would not be a tedious chore, would not be a tiresome task, would not be a dispiriting duty to polish them.

No - it would be an honour, a pleasure and a privilege to buff to a gleaming shine Camilla's after-shift uniform black three-inch heel pumps.

All nice and ready for the next flight duty of my queen of the skies.

The Air Stewardesses' Footmen continues in Ch. 4 (of 6): Queen of the Skies.