Unknown - Office porn Queen

He turned his back and walked away. He presented a thundercloud face to the passengers. In the cockpit, he snatched away the copilot's newspaper and shouted, "Goddamit, you're in command here when I'm out!"

"Sure, Hank, but what am I going to do while the computer flies us in a straight line and no red lights or buzzers are sounding?"

"Well, ACT busy!"

Slamming into his seat, slapping on his headphones, Hank Hastings shouted back at the communications man: "Get the printout on that message that's just coming in."

"Kayrist," said Sparks, handing him the printout two minutes later. "Security sure has a bee up its ass."

The message, addressed to the Chief Pilot, requested him to order the Chief Hostess to require Hostess Helen Troy to surrender her duties to another hostess and remain off-duty until the plane reached Buenos Aires, at which time Hostess Helen Troy would report for disciplinary action in regard to reported lesbian activity. Hank Hastings growled at Sparks, "Tell Snarly Mollie to come up here." He handed the message to Snarly Mollie, who read it and snarled, "Hah! I knew it! She always had a sneaky way about her!"

"Get the hell out of here," Hank Hastings said.

And so, still wearing her uniform, Helen at last faced the Chief of Security in Chicago. His name was Mike Pawling and he was reputed to be a cocksman of high degree.

He shouted over at his secretary: "Sylvia, you're too young to hear this. Take a break. Twenty minutes. Give you time to run downstairs and make the newspaper dealer."

Sylvia rose and left. But since Pawling had his head down, rummaging through papers, she took the occasion to make the fuck-you sign with her middle finger and point it straight at him.

In fact, the more it became known that a career hostess with a good record was to be fired because she liked women more than men, the more indignation went around among the hostesses on planes going anywhere from Bahrein to Tokyo or returning via Singapore, Rio de Janiero or little old New York.

The news also had spread around HQ, where the office help did not see why a girl could not elect to be fucked by a prick, a finger, a tongue, or even a policeman's nightstick if she so desired.

In fact, anonymous notes of protest had been sent to the President of Wanderlust Airlines.

One letter said:

"You old son of a bitch, you were a boy, once. Did you care what you stuck your prick into? I'll bet every time your mother sent you to the butcher" – the President was proud of his lower middle-class upbringing – "for a pound of liver, you fucked it behind a fence on the way home. And I'll bet you used to get together with one of your pals and do something naughty. I'll even bet you used to hide with one of your pals, at about the age of twelve, when you were just getting used to having that thing between your legs go hard and want you to give it a nice feeling, and I'll bet you tried out each other's assholes. Let alone what you might have been doing later when you found out how expensive it is to take girls out and then you found yourself jerking off when you got home because she was too smart to let you into her cunt. Maybe you looked up your old asshole friend and got back into assholing, which at your age then was homo, buddy. And so what? Even if you and your boyfriend went down on each other for the thrill of the century, so what? You married eventually and the way I hear it you have four kids and they all went to good colleges. What does Helen Troy have? Not even a job. Who is guilty, you or Helen? If she is guilty, you are guilty. Again, of what? It's all a tempest in a teapot. Who cares who fucks who with what? Put her back on the 797-X, Godammit. Sonny, let me tell you something. If you ever got off your ass and took a look at the way that gal walks her breasts down an aisle you might leave your wife, see? I hate you. Yours sincerely, Ms. Noname Anonymous."

The President was said to have looked furtive and guilty and disturbed. But he did not interfere with his efficient Security Department. So all this did not help Helen Troy, who was due to walk out of Security with her head under her arm.

Mike Pawling gave her a careful breast inspection, grinned, and at last found her file.

"And here is the tape," he announced.

"What tape?"

"The tape that Cleo had going in her purse all along. I listened in horror. How you told her of the dreadful dishonesty of girls who do not admit they are lesbians. And everything you said during your session with our valued Cleo Prentice. Would you like to hear the tape?"

"No."

"No?" He seemed disappointed. She supposed that by now he knew it by heart, and repeated it in bars.

"Well, you are entitled to speak in your own defense, Miss Troy."

"I don't feel guilty of anything."

"You know our rules."

"Yes. I also know how hard it is for you to get good hostesses, and I know I am a good hostess."

"You cannot possibly be a good hostess if you engage in activities that turn your thoughts away from men."

"Did you ever hear of the Black and Blue Contest?"

"What's that?"

"One night in Rio, a local millionbux invited all of a 797-X's hostesses to a party. A wild one. Some of those Brazilian rubber barons carry ten kinds of condoms with them, all with fancy little nobs and ribs to give a girl a thrill, and they were awfully anxious to try them out before releasing them to the public. When one of them got finished with me, I mean he was using a condom with ridges, I thought my female apparatus was all punctured, but no, it was only kind-of indented, inside."

"But you did get a thrill?" asked Mike Pawling eagerly. "Because, look, I have something in my drawer, here…"

"Never mind. I want to tell you about the Black and Blue Contest. To get away from the condom ploy, one hostess started telling about the Wanderlust passengers who had pinched her ass, and another chimed in, and boasted that she had gotten twice as many pinches. First thing you know, we had lifted our skirts and dropped our panties and were standing with our asses in the air, showing them to a committee of three Brazilian men-about-town she couldn't seem to make up their minds without feeling every ass three times."

"What for?"

"The feeling didn't have anything to do with it. It was the ass-inspection that counted."

"Yeh?" said Pawling, doubtful, but at the same time licking his lips.

"Because we were trying to decide which girl had the most black-and-blue pinch marks on her backside."

"No kiddin!"

"And who do you suppose won?"

"I give up."

"Me."

"You? But you're female homo!"

"What I'm trying to show you is," said Helen, "that being a lesbian is a private matter and it does not show on a girl's face or in the way she walks nor in the attraction that her ass has for a male's pinching fingers. Do you want me to show you my bare ass right now, before all my black-and-blue marks fade, so you can see for yourself that…"

"No, no, someone might walk in," said Pawling hastily. "But if you'd like to drop around after hours? Listen, this fancy condom. See? Look, ain't it hairy? It's got more than one thousand stiff hairs cemented to it, and when you get that in your cunt you are going to…"

"I hope you find some other cunt, Mr. Pawling. I hope your prick gets plenty of exercise. But do be sure not to put on that condom inside-out. It will tickle you so much, you might die laughing. Meanwhile, if you are going to fire me, let's get it over with."

She walked out of Security in civilian dress. But still, Pawling had made sure she had his private telephone number, just in case she ever changed her mind about having a good dinner and then having a wild night with the aid of a super-tickler.

At first Helen thought she would get a job with another airline. But really, she had had enough of hostessing.