Anonymous Flight Attendant by LASZLO ILYESMeg sipped and pushed back in the comfy chair and sipped.

The jet engines quieted as the aircraft began to give up altitude. Outside the tiny porthole windows, clouds whisked past amidst the blue.

A smile crossed her lips as she held up the champagne glass to inspect it. She was almost ready. A bump of turbulence caused drops of the champagne to spill onto her flight attendant uniform.

The plan had begun two days ago with Meg, on her knees, in the middle of a “circle jerk”.

Eight men, in turn, climaxed onto her face, into her mouth and onto her naked breasts. The men were all part of the plan, and each had proved very beneficial along the way, donating to her cause.

There was Doctor Meyers who felt her plan to feed hungry children was worth a hundred million donation. Doctor Kelvin felt her wanting to plant more trees in the rain forest was worth the same. Mr. Smith thought her plan to educate the women in Iraq was worth his company giving 250 million. Mr. Jayson felt it was worth 200 million of his porn production empire to fight for free speech in China. Reverend Michaels of the believed bringing Bibles to Uganda was worth another hundred million. Mr. Phillips believed it was worth 200 million to help the insurgents in Russia. Mr. Ramdial felt fifty million was a fair sum to open his first local Manteca Burger franchise. Then there was Carlos, from airport security, who thought he was just lucky to be there.

For months Meg had worked to befriend Carlos and discover his wants. His becoming an FWB was something she never complained about as he was very hot, when he kept his mouth shut. At least, for her purposes, he was the bull she had hoped for.

The circle jerk had happened at one of Chicago’s most exclusive swinger clubs. It had not been easy to get Carlos into this group of lawyers, doctors and scientists, but Meg had succeeded. His physical presence, once inside, had proven rather intimidating to the regulars. It tickled Meg to see the reactions when she brought him in on her arm.

There had been much drink flowing, and much hot air spewing before the group got down to business.

Carlos was approached by twelve women that night. Seventeen others flirted with him. All could have slept with him, but he was selective and only chose eight. At the end of the evening he found the group around Meg and joined in.

For Meg it was the perfect ending to a perfect evening, and the perfect beginning for her plan.

The engines whined again as the plane levelled out.

Meg gulped the remainder of champagne and put the glass in the empty seat beside her. Unbuckling and standing, she turned to the rest of the first class cabin. “Thank you all for this.” She held up the satchel in her left hand and smiled at them. “You’ve all been fantastic.”

The fourteen people in first class and the other four flight attendants, remained silent and tried not to look at her.

Meg looked down at Harold, the Air Marshall. He, too, had been an FWB. It was hard to look at him, laying in the middle of the aisle as blood trickled from bullet wound to his head. The gun, in her right hand, felt heavy.

It had truly been easy once, past security, Carlos brought her the satchel he snuck through for her. Had he opened it and seen the two guns and some of the donations from his fellow jerkers, he might have had an issue. Lucky for Meg, the big oaf did as instructed and never looked in, nor questioned it. It was his way of saying thank you.

Walking up the aisle, she popped open a compartment and pulled a parachute on. “I’d recommend you all buckle up.” Seeing no movement, she assumed they all were. She pulled goggles from the satchel before strapping the bag to her. Goggles on, she braced herself against the bulkhead and pulled the door open.

Air sucked from the cabin  with a lion’s roar.

With one last wave to the first class cabin and Meg jumped. Within seconds, the only real fear she had on this plan passed, as she streaked towards the island below and never came close to the aircraft’s wing, nor engine. Really she had no idea if it was a legitimate fear or not, but still it often crossed her mind in preparations. She let go of the gun, knowing there was still a second in the satchel. The skirt of her uniform held tightly to her legs with the wind resistance.

The sun set turned the blue above to more orange in the clear sky.

Checking her arm GPS, she popped the chute. Her military training kicked in as she descended perfectly into the clearing amidst one of island’s tiny forests. At dusk she emerged from the forest in nothing but a purple bikini and carrying only a satchel with a million dollars cash, a gun, and a memory stick with backing account access.

Wicked Wednesday

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