Total Woman Trainers Ch. 06

The men filled out the forms during the anonymous blowjobs, pausing only to groan aloud at the culmination of the Evaluation Assessments. Ned was the last man to finish spewing into his fellatrice's mouth.

They all wearily agreed aloud that all four candidates would receive recommendations for enrollment at Total Woman Academy.

The announcement was met by triumphant girlish clapping and cheering from under the table.

The jet was still undergoing maintenance for another day and Krystal saw how tired Ned was from his energetic schedule these past days. A day off would do him good. She took him to a Tybee Island condominium for rest and recreation. She let him rest but also saw to his recreation. They strolled the family beach and enjoyed a Low Country boil for dinner. Lacking a female candidate for him to interview, she gave him her full attention, keeping him at a primed low simmer.

Before this tour, she hadn't encountered Ned since her undergraduate days at TWA when he had been one of her many poise coach tutors. He had been her best sexual mentor and she learned many advanced techniques. She gently showed him how much she remembered his trainings, spawning recovered memories of her sexual talents. In lieu of her panties, she hoped those recollections sufficed as his memento for their night together.

-----

Francine, the Brunette Cajun Carnival Dancer

-----

Francine grew up on the bayou, her father made his living as a shrimper. She found the coastal rural life constricting to the dreams of an ambitious high school girl. Shrimping was hard work and, while assisting her father whenever she could, she grew hale and hearty in body and spirit. High school graduation left her future rudderless in the bayou waters.

Her father's younger brother, her successful bachelor uncle Bobby, invited her to live at his house in New Orleans and attend a college there, a safe place, Xavier University. She begged her parents and they relented. She moved to his historic mansion near the north edge of downtown.

As time passed through her first semester, she assimilated her girlfriends habits, became more adventurous in her clothes, more revealing, teasing the boys at school with her toned body and flirty attitude.

Uncle Bobby enjoyed her presence in his big empty house. She added a vibrancy he hadn't even known was absent. He liked her Cajun hue and bouncy nature. And her curves were a relentless attraction to his libido, even as the big city life added a bit of extra flesh. Even though he was her uncle, he gave her some 'fatherly' advice, cautioning her to indulge less in the ubiquitous cappuccinos and beignets.

Then, through her college mates, she got interested in the Krewe parade floats and was a natural at the high stepping, ass and boob shaking Carnival style dancing.

Young, vivacious and shapely, she was intrigued by the anonymity of being a masqued topless parade performer, ogled by the crowd. Her vain thoughts dwelled on the vulgar thoughts of the voracious men who watched her strut by. She did like being the tease.

Now her uncle was even more captivated by his shapely niece and her new sexy antics. He noted how her body slimmed back to her healthy Bayou days, recovering the hourglass curves built during her working youth on the family fishing boat. And now her bodacious form was even more on display in her evolving flirty college vogues.

Francine's second year at the college was nearing completion and he asked of her future intentions.

"Cajun Cuisine and Hospitality Services" was her reply. He thought Xavier a mediocre venue to pursue those subjects.

Creole gumbo ran almost naturally in her blood but he plotted to have the hospitality services trajectory take a decidedly exotic turn. As a surreptitious TWA Pledge Contributor, he stealthily arranged her transfer scholarship candidacy, confident she would acquire the erotic talents and techniques that a TWA coed devoted towards hospitably servicing elite alpha males.

Francine was subsequently vetted and rostered by the TWA Recruiters and informed that her final interview meeting for recommendation would be sometime that week. The Interview schedules were running tight and she would only get the one chance, so she mustn't hesitate when summoned. Her Coach Tutor would find her when he was ready and would, at his sole convenience, initiate her Evaluation Assessment forthwith. Until that time, she should go about her normal business.

-----

"KAPS, South Louisiana Executive Regional Airport Control, this is TWA 001 requesting a vector for landing."

A distinct Cajun drawl came through her headphones.

"Roger, TWA 001, this is KAPS Executive, NOLA, proceed to outer marker and turn for Runway 17, light winds off the Gulf at 10 MPH. Welcome to the Big Easy, Lil' Cher."

"Roger, KAPS. Descending for landing and taxi to VIP Apron."

"VIP, huh? Where ya' gonna be a-stayin', Lil Cher?"

Krystal grinned at the flight controller's sassy rap. She wondered what he looked like and how he liked his 'Lil Chers' that he probably courted to zydeco tunes in local bars off duty.

"Far away from you, 'bad boy'."

"Aw, shucks. Well, just the same, let the good times roll."

She keyed the jet's intercom.

"Five minutes to touchdown, sir. Please buckle in."

Ned fixed his seatbelt and watched the ground get closer in his window, broken by the wide roll of Old Man River, better known as the mighty Mississippi. The concrete runway popped into view and the jet trembled down the runway to a halt. The ground crew ran out and crowded around, alerted by the tower that a VIP passenger deserved their extra attention.

They thought the pretty blonde pilot was the special guest but she escorted a middle aged gentleman to the black town car waiting on the apron, opened the rear door and ushered him inside. Now they thought that Ned was either wealthy, or well-endowed, or both, to warrant an hourglass molded babe like Krystal for his personal aviator.

Either way, they were jealous all the same. Some guys have all the luck. She rolled the town car down I-10 towards the French Quarter.

She and Ned took their reserved rooms at the Hotel Montesino, setting the scene for his next Evaluation Assessment.

It was Fat Tuesday, the culmination of the Marti Gras Parades in New Orleans. The French Quarter crowds packed the streets near Jackson Square, and as dusk fell, the parades got underway.

Ned and Krystal stood out in front of the hotel on the sidewalk, checking out the multi-colored floats and near naked performers. They watched for Francine.

Krystal pointed out her approach to Ned. She was dancing in the vanguard of her Krewe's Float, semi-anonymous in her feathered costume and masqued headdress. Her bared breasts were decorated with festive body paint.

Ned stood taller, looked over the crowd and saw her, dancing in the middle row of three abreast. He waited until she was moving almost directly in front of him.

He darted from the sidewalk crowd into the passing dance file, momentarily jumbling the parade flow, drawing attention as he got in front of Francine. She tried to sidestep around what appeared to be a callous drunk.

Ned called her name and yelled about the noise that her TWA interview rendezvous started right now.

She stutter stepped, hesitated, unsure, a bit confused. So Ned took her hand and pulled her swiftly out of line. She pranced beside him towards the curb. Lewd catcalls rang out. Her headdress feathers wavered and her big decorated tits jogged as she quickstepped along in her dance heels. The crowd jeered as she was towed across the crowded sidewalk into Ned's hotel entrance.

He marched her through the lobby to the elevator. Krystal had gone ahead and now held the lift's doors open for them. It happened all too quickly for any of the bellhops to react.

The short elevator ride was silence as Francine's mind fought to mentally digest what had just happened. The bell dinged as the door slid open at the Third Floor. Krystal guided them to Ned's suite, popping the door open and ushering Ned and his bewildered interviewee inside. She closed the door after wishing them 'good night' with a snicker.

She descended again to the lobby. Intrigued by the air traffic controller's cheekiness, she had called the control tower and invited him to meet her in the lobby of the Montesino this evening.

She spied a tall, young man in black wool slacks, black dress shirt and necktie. He had dark hair, blue eyes and a scruffy but trimmed 'bad boy' beard. He stood out from the cluster of fat tourists with his shoulders broad and his waist slim. His black Oxfords were spit shined polished, a sign sure of discipline in a man who cared about his first impression appearance. Her tummy fluttered at the sight of the well-dressed man.

'Bless my dumb fucking luck!' she muttered to her excited self. 'He's gorgeous!'

He was scanning the crowded lobby, apparently trying to figure out which one was his 'Lil Cher' this evening. Krystal marched toward him. He saw her direct approach and his jaw fell open, then broke into a big smile. He liked what he saw, he liked it a lot, and extended a gentleman's hand in greeting.

She saw his extended arm, looked up at his face and left the handshake hanging. Her voice was assertive.

"I'm looking for a certain 'bad boy' tonight. Is that you?'

His eyes travelled up the chicly clad Krystal, from her strappy high heels, up past her short ass hugging skirt, pausing momentarily at the packed bra and blouse and arriving at her pretty blonde face with its blue eyes and perfect makeup.

"Yes? I mean, YES, MA'AM!" he stuttered. His posture stiffened to gentlemanly attention and he assumed a respectful tone towards this stunning vision of womanly beauty, dropping his Cajun sassy slang.

Krystal took a grip on his tie and turned an about-face on the toes of her heels, draping his tie over her shoulder. She started walking back toward the elevator, her 'bad boy' in tow.

"Come along, 'bad boy'."

"Uh... sure thing, ma'am... By the way, my name's Kevin. What's yours?"

"Krystal. Come on, Kevin. You're going to show me how you 'let the good times roll' on Mardi Gras in New Orleans."

"Yes, ma'am!" he replied more docilely as he picked up the pace to stay even with hers. He was absolutely committed to showing this pretty 'Lil Cher' how he 'let the good times roll', whether it was here in NOLA or anywhere else on earth.

-----

Soon after Krystal had installed the interview pair inside Ned's suite, he and Francine emerged on the third floor balcony. He pressed her towards the decorative wrought iron railing.

He leaned her tummy against the balcony railing in full view of street crowd below. She gave a tentative wave towards the gawkers watching from the street, who saw she was still enticingly topless.

Ned positioned himself behind her and tilted her forward over the railing. Her big tits dangled as her chest hung well beyond the edge. A few drunken catcalls rose from the street. She returned another tentative wave, quickly returning both hands to gripping hard on the railing to balance herself.

Ned searched for the costume bottom catches and found what he sought. He unclipped her sequin decorated panties and yanked them off her butt. His hand thrust high in the air, displaying his prize to the crowd that yelled a jolly cheer that matched his smiling face.

He positioned himself square behind her naked ass, and needing both hands, placed her thong in his clenched teeth, the straps dangling over his chin.

He spread his stance, gripped her hips, braced, and drove his cock forcefully into her cunt. Francine's ruby painted lips formed a sudden 'O' at the potent penetration. The inebriated audience got a good look at a big first bounce of ass and tits and they cheered again. She grunted and braced her hands on the railing, expecting more, and she got it.

Ned hammered away at her pussy. Her tits bounced freely and she used one hand to brace against toppling over and the other to occasion a sheepish wave to the fully engrossed cheering crowd. Her colorful feathered headdress wavered to the pace of Ned's powerful strokes.

Whatever Francine had imagined in her vain thoughts about the vulgar thoughts of the voracious men who watched her, they never rose to being taken in an anonymous public fucking. But, although not planned, she was aroused by this sudden turn of events. She kind of liked it. She liked to tease.

Ned stroked his last, tilted back his head and gave a mighty groan, unheard but well seen by the cheering onlookers. The sparkly thong dropped from his open mouth onto her naked bowed back. His first spew coated her cunt, amplified by the following volleys. He laid over her in post coitus fatigue, feeling the sequined thong trapped between her back and his belly. His slow deflation and fall out opened the escape path for his ejaculated spunk to drip from her cunt.

Francine felt the flood both times, the ejaculated jets and the unplugged cum trickling down her inner thigh. She hung her tired head lower, catching her breath; the feathered headdress blocked the crowd's angle of view of her trembling tits. She and Ned stayed like that for a moment as Ned recovered.

He reached around and cupped her painted boobs, tight gripped handholds that he used to haul her upright on her heels. Holding hands, they jointly waved a cheerful goodbye to the rowdy crowd as he pulled her into his room. A last cheer died below as he shut the balcony doors and closed the curtains.

The public indecency, though nominally enigmatic, fueled her lust and she tackled him onto the bed. She was fired up and Ned hugged her wiggling body but was unable to rise to the immediate occasion. He removed her face masque but not the headdress, held her close, engaged in a bout of feverish kissing, stalling for refraction time.

When he was ready again, he fucked her wildly, tearing away the few remaining pieces of her costume and feathers in the tumble. Vivid memories of her robust exhibitionist act energized her to repeated orgasms.

After another rest for refraction, and when she had wound down a bit, Ned hugged her soft, warm body in sidesaddle, rubbing his knob deeply within her welcoming channel. The smeared body paint added a skin slipperiness that aided her boob rubs and rolls on his chest as the somewhat satisfied Cajun maiden focused herself to his pleasure again. And she knew she had achieved her goal when she felt his body stiffen and his powerful jets of cum again struck the walls of her womb.

She cuddled him through his immediate afterglow and settled warmly next to him as he drifted off to sleep.

-----

She awoke alone the next morning, the sheets stained with colorful body paint and splashes of cum. There was a handwritten note from Ned on the bed stand, a piece of the gold trimmed hotel stationary.

'Francine, the room has an early checkout time of 7 AM, previously arranged by Krystal to accommodate our early dawn flight out. Go home. A representative from TWA will be in touch with our decision, and if favorable, you will be briefed on your immediate enrollment itinerary. Ned.'

Francine gathered her bits of costume but was unable to find the face masque. Her sequined costume panties were also gone. There were no bathrobes in the closet or towels in the bathroom. She would have to make her journey home on foot, unclothed.

She tottered back to her Uncle's house through the empty early morning streets, quickly scooting past the street cleaners hosing away last night's debris. They seemed undeterred by her condition, wholly accustomed to the sight of naked morning-after traipses following the bawdy parades.

Uncle Bob sat dining in the front pallor breakfast nook, scanning The Times-Picayune, dwelling on page three, which had a spread of pictures from the parades In the French Quarter last night. One in particular showed an unidentified near-naked Carnival dancer getting doggy fucked over the third floor railing of an upscale hotel. The hotel manager gave a 'no comment' response to press inquiries, reasoning the free publicity and a saucy street cred were a welcome way to increase business.

Her uncle smiled when he looked up at a commotion out front and saw Francine skitter mostly naked across the front porch, then bound up the stairway to her room. He was smugly titillated when he glimpsed her jiggling half naked body in its tattered pieces of costume, already aware of the unidentified railing fuck's identity.

His cock twitched at the thought of his frenzied voluptuous niece. The TWA Recruitment interview had obviously gone well, and he was confident that she had been thoroughly fucked all night by his TWA associate.

He hoped she would be available this coming year for TWA Freewill Weekends and a startling intimate poise lesson when her mysterious guest coach tutor turned out to be her uncle. He smiled into his sugar sweet chicory sip of coffee and daydreamed of the coming possibilities.

-----

During the pre-dawn town car ride to the airport, Krystal asked Ned's verdict.

"How was she?"

Ned placed a hand on the Mardi Gras costume face mask and panties lying next to him on the seat. He had taken them in the morning as she slept. He had also stripped the room of towels and bathrobes; those went down the housemaid's laundry chute. Francine should have had quite a nervous scurry home.

He was pleased by Francine's embrace of the kinky costume lifestyle. She would surely become a favorite for the more fetish prone staff and guest coach tutors. He told Krystal to record his hearty recommendation for Francine's enrollment in the scholarship program.

"Will do, boss. Her uncle's scholarship investment should earn him a very kinky dividend."

Krystal passed a manila envelope package into the rear compartment.

"Headquarters needs you for an unscheduled urgent assignment."

Ned sighed and blew his breath out slowly. He had hoped for the vacation breakaway that he had been denied before embarking on this last series of evaluation assessments. But he was a professional dedicated to his specialized vocation.

"Where to?"

"A longer flight this time. We have to trade out the TWA G280 for the G600 model with a longer range. So we'll need a second pilot. Turns out my 'bad boy' from last night was a retired military pilot as well as an air traffic controller. I convinced him to take some time off from the tower and come along as my co-pilot. He'll meet us at the airport."

"I'm sure you were very persuasive."

He saw Krystal smile brightly at him in the rearview mirror and nodded assertively.

"Yes. Yes, I most certainly was."

"So, where to? A long flight leaves me pretty lonely in the cabin with you two upfront flying the plane."

"Don't worry, I've got you covered. Do you remember Holly, the blossoming belly dancer you escorted to the Middle East last year? You delivered her to the Grand Vizier Hassan for cross cultural experiences?"

Ned thought a moment and then his face brightened. He remembered her very well. A sinuous beauty of great accomplishment that swelled the hearts and cocks of any man she met. And she had a talented body that she used to bringing soothing comfort to those uncomfortable swellings.

"The Grand Vizier needs to get his daughters into TWA quickly, before they become child brides of the local Emirs' sons. He's sponsoring an International Belly Dance Competition as a ruse to get his daughters out of the Kingdom. He has secretly prearranged them as winning finalists and the contest prizes are TWA Scholarships. But TWA Recruitment insisted at the last minute on full Evaluation Assessments of all the contestants to mask the disingenuous plot. So you're urgently needed there."

"How many contestants?"