Irene boarded the Bikini-Bus the next morning at nine. Bev was already in the co-pilot’s seat studying a clip board. She was wearing oversized mirrored aviator sunglasses, large enough to be fashionable, not practical. “How we making out?” Irene asked.
“Ground crew is just about done. We just need to do the flight-check. There’s only Scirocco and his guests flying back and they’re waiting to board.” Bev eyed Irene’s dark blue skirt but said nothing.
“Okay,” Irene took her place in the left-hand seat, “let’s get on with it. Maybe we can get to the beach early.”
They were well into it when the intercom chimed. Bev picked up. It was Alex reporting from the back: “Guests are all onboard and I’ve got them seated. Anytime you’re ready.”
“How many? Bev asked.”
“Scirocco plus six business associates. Two of them brought their wives; probably forced to.”
“Their wives?” Bev sounded surprised.
Alex paused a beat. “Well, maybe not. I didn’t get a close look, but you might be right.”
“Yeah,” Bev smirked.
“As soon as we ramp up, I’ll move all of them into the lounge,” Alex continued, “be closer to the bar that way. By the looks of ’em, they started the party in the airport. It’s going to be a long flight.”
“Tell her we take off as soon as we get clearance from the tower,” Irene added.
Another ten minutes passed while they waited for an opening in the cue. “Bikini-Bus. You are cleared for takeoff. Runway two-niner.”
Irene adjusted her head set. “Roger. Runway two-nine.” Irene turned to Bev. “Request a push-back while I change into my uniform.”
Bev’s head came around. Irene had already hung up her head set and was rising from the left-hand seat. She opened her blouse and stepped out of her skirt. She placed her clothes in the locker at the back of the cabin and turned to Bev.
“Oh my God,” Bev squealed at the sight of the one-piece. “You look stunning.”
“Let’s hope Mr. Scirocco thinks so,” Irene quipped. “Now take us outta here before I lose my nerve.”
“What. You never fly naked?” Bev was laughing. “It the most fabulous feeling.” She reached for the controls. “You just gotta try it.”
“One step at a time,” Irene said, dropping back into the pilot’s seat. “I’m still getting used to flying in four-inch pumps. Hit the seat-belt sign.”
Bev ramped up to forty-thousand feet, drifting slowly to the south. Once settled, the autopilot took control and the women on the flight-deck could relax.
“So you were serious? About this flying naked business?”
“Well sure.” And Bev slipped forward in her seat and undid the strings of her bikini top. To Irene’s astonishment, Bev pulled the top from two small breasts and tossed it to the floor. “There. That’s better,” Bev murmured, running a hand under each mound. “Clothes are so restricting, don’t you think?” And she giggled and looked over. “I guess with a one-piece, things are a little more complicated.”
“Sheesh. You’re incorrigible.” And Irene stared straight ahead out the plane’s windscreen. “You better not let Scirocco see you like that. I’ll be flying this thing solo.
“Nothing he hasn’t seen before,” Bev said under her breath. Irene thought it safest not to go there. Instead, she slipped off her head set and hung it up. “I need to stretch my legs a bit; grab a coffee. You want anything from the service area?”
“Sure. A coffee would be good. And a couple of those biscuits.”
Irene uncoiled from the left-hand seat, slipped out the cabin door. She saw the pot of coffee but not Alex. There was a shriek of laughter from the rear of the plane and the sounds of a party in full swing.
She had spent a hundred and sixty bucks on the new bathing suit and contemplated strolling down the center aisle to see if Scirocco approved of her purchase. Irene moved into the passenger compartment and managed two steps before she faltered. Her flight-crew were scurrying back and forth between the bar and the men on the curved bolster. But it was Erin’s bare behind that caused Irene to come up short. She blinked wildly. The girls were wearing their tops but there wasn’t a set of bottoms to be seen anywhere. Only curved cheeks and swaths of pubic hair.
Irene quickly stepped back and into the cockpit.
“Hey. Where’s my coffee?” Bev looked up and whined.
“Nothing he hasn’t seen before. That’s what you said wasn’t it?”
Bev bumped a shoulder. “You mean Scirocco?”
“Yes, I mean Scirocco. Get on the intercom,” Irene said, “and tell Alex to put her pants on and get the hell up here. And tell her to bring coffees and one for herself.”
Bev caught a case of the giggles. “One of those flights,” she managed before keying the handset.
Moments later, Alex stepped through the cabin door carrying a tray. “Christ,” she said, passing out coffee, “thanks for getting me outta there. Even for a few minutes. My husband will have a stroke if he ever finds out what I’m up to.”
Irene turned in her seat. “What the hell’s going on?”
“It’s Scirocco. Shortly after takeoff he forced the girls. Debbie was first. She was serving and he reached over and pulled her bikini bottoms right down to her knees. If it wasn’t for the fact she had a scotch in each hand she would have made a dive for the john. But as it was, she just stood there, trembling from head to toe in front of the men. They started laughing. She was devastated, but it was just the start.”
“Is she okay?” Irene wanted to know.
“As well as can be expected,” Alex exhaled heavily. “But Scirocco wanted to see everyone’s bare butt,”
“Oh Lord…”
“He took me aside and told me he wanted the girls working bare-assed for the rest of the flight and anyone who wouldn’t drop her pants would be terminated immediately.”
“Just like that. He threatened to fire everyone?”
“Yeah. That’s about the extent of it. So I gathered the girls in the service area and explained what was required of them. They weren’t happy about it, no surprise. Linda and Debbie refused outright. Melissa was noncommittal and the rest need persuading so I opened my bag and took out my hair brush.”
“Oh Alex. You didn’t…”
“I didn’t know how else to handle the situation except by setting an example. I pulled off my bottoms, back brushed the hair and walked down to the bar and started serving drinks. Tracy wasn’t about to let me go it alone and showed up a moment later to help. No way Melissa was going to return to California so she was next. A couple of minutes later, the rest of the girls strolled down the center aisle.”
Irene was jolted. “Just wearing their tops?”
“What choice do we have? It’s the most humiliating thing that’s ever happened to me. The party atmosphere has certainly changed. No one is having fun anymore but we are getting the job done and I’m kinda proud of the girls.” But it’s getting worse. When I left, the men were talking about getting the girl’s to sit side by side on the edge of the bar. So they could take some comparison photographs.”
Irene was incredulous. “Comparison photographs of their vaginas?”
“No. Of them masturbating.”
“Oh Christ. Is there anything we can do?”
Alex humped a shoulder. “Not much. Just get this flying fun house back to Cracker-Jax as fast as you can.”
They heard the cabin door open and heads turned to see Charlie Scirocco’s bulk in the block of light. “What the hell is this? A hen party? Alex, get back to work.”
“Sorry Mr. Scirocco,” Alex mumbled and ducked by him, disappearing into the passenger compartment and working her bathing suit bottoms down over her hips as she went.
Scirocco spied Bev’s bare breasts. “Go join her.”
Bev scrambled out of her seat and reached down for her bikini top but Scirocco quickly scrunched it under his shoe. “Leave it. Go back and introduce yourself around. Let my guests have a nice look.”
“Yes sir,” she squeezed by, this time without the sexual innuendos.
Once she was gone, Scirocco closed the cabin door and ran his eyes along the length of Irene’s legs. “Nice to see you in uniform,” he said without jest. “You’ve turned out rather well, haven’t you?”
“I do my best,” Irene returned, keeping her eyes focused on the windscreen.
Scirocco moved forward and parked his haunches on the arm rest of Bev’s seat. “How much did you earn, flying for United?”
Irene assumed he already had the answer so didn’t trouble herself with a lie. “One thirty-five.”
Scirocco inhaled deeply, mulling it over. “That much. I may have to reconsider.”
There was a small shift in Irene’s heart but she desperately hid her disappointment.
“You buy the swimsuit in Miami?” he asked.
“Mmm…”
“Hope you didn’t waste your money. C’mon. Stand up. Give me a decent look.”
Irene exhaled audibly. “I happen to be flying a plane at the moment.”
“Don’t bullshit me, Scirocco spat, “I paid for this fucker. It flies itself. Give me a little credit.”
Irene removed her headset and uncoiled her legs. She stood in front of him; very close in the tight confines of the cockpit. “Well?” she asked when she saw him boldly run his eyes up and down the length of her body.
“Nice. Very nice, in fact. Turn around.”
Irene did, shuffling in her high-heels.
Scirocco patted her right buttock. “You’ve got a nice ass, Irene. For a woman your age.” And he ran his fingers under the elastic, close down by her crotch. Irene couldn’t contain the shudder of revulsion and heard him chuckle when he felt her recoil from his fingers.
“Turn back to me. Hands up.”
Irene dutifully turned to face him and raising her arms, she crossed her wrists over her head. Scirocco let out a low whistle at the lift in her breasts. Irene kept her eyes focused over his right shoulder.
“You come by these honestly?” he asked, running his knuckles across the front of her swimsuit.
The blatant touch startled her but she didn’t flinch.
“Cosmetic surgery has never been my thing,” Irene said quietly.
“I see.” He ran his fingertips along the side of Irene’s breast then lightly squeezed the under-curve between thumb and fingers.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“Reconsidering,” he said mildly, and he tested the opposite breast. “These are nice.”
“I’m happy you approve.” Irene didn’t quite manage to keep the scorn from leeching out.
He dropped his hands and encircled her waist. “Show me.”