Night Flight Ch. 03

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Everything in this tale is true, I just changed the names to protect the guilty, all of them.

It’s really hard to believe, but we were in our late twenties once That is when this story took place.


4:30 PM FRIDAY – NOVEMBER – 1988

My conversation with Sam went well. I laid out the concept that we were valuable assets of his corporation that could be better utilized, appealing to his own self-interest. He agreed, now the seven of us had a viable set of options to consider. We could not afford at the present time to move into a “good” school district, whatever that meant.

We did not have the expertise or credentials to start our own school, although that was a concept I believed we should explore for the long-term future. The five of us who were rated were all tired of working nights and having a dissimilar schedule from Eva, Kristin and the children. Eva was almost a graduate, she would be finished at Nod before we could act. The time was right for a change.

Mom and dad had thought about looking around the Houston area for a place. Lou was working in Commercial Real Estate there. It was a place which Ethan and Claire ,who parented their other grandchildren, might viably choose. In addition Houston Intercontinental and Hobby were viable locations to base a firm engaged in the aviation industry.

We do everything significant together, and this was certainly significant. We needed to consult with each other, and to consider the available options. Jamie needed to play the Devil’s Advocate to my Pollyanna. Eva needed to lead us in serious contemplation of the alternatives, while Kristin made sure that all of our concerns were heard. Lillian needed to figure out the logistics, and George and Punch had to engineer and design our transition.

We needed to find some time to get together and discuss our future.



I woke up from my nap Wednesday morning an hour before noon.

Kristin was placing some sirloins that she had removed from the icebox in a tray of marinate. Punch was going to grill them outside for our dinner. She was currently scrubbing the yams she was going to bake for us in the oven, before wrapping them in tinfoil. .

Our dinners were at always at six o’clock. It gave our children a little time to play outside after school, and it let us eat together before the seven o’clock pilot had to leave for the airport. George and I were off this Wednesday night. Punch had to take the seven o’clock west. Jamie had to fly the nine o’clock south.

Lillian had the eleven o’clock to the east, so she would get to play with us later. Lillian and I would play a little game called ‘two ride George’ with Eva and Kristin. It involved George lying face up on the bed and being ridden cowgirl and reverse cowgirl style. Two being the someone sitting upon his face while he fucked their sister.

There being four sisters, and but one brother, the girls would invariably help keep each other warmed up while awaiting a penis ride, but that is what sisters always do, help their sisters out. While loads of fun, the game could be a little taxing for the boy, so we only played it when he could take a short nap afterward.

After my conversation with the children’s principal on Monday I thought I would bring up the subject of only using bottled water. It was well known that radioactive waste from Mallinckrodts’ work enriching uranium for the Manhattan Project had leached into Coldwater Creek from old dump sites. The reports said those sites were downstream from us. But based on the idiocy I had just encountered I would not doubt it if some more sites were not found closer by, perhaps directly under the school’s office.



“Excuse me,” I said.

“Oh yes, I recall now,” the Principal said, “we had this same stupid merry-go-round with Lilith and Michelle, the two unrelated Deveraux-O’Connor girls.”

“They bostancı escort are not unrelated, they are both simultaneously first-cousins and half-sisters,” I said.

“But there isn’t a space on our forms for that, so they must remain unrelated,” she said.

“I just don’t see how it’s an issue, or frankly any of the schools business. Each of our children from Debra, the oldest, to Michelle, the youngest know it by heart. Who their mommy is, who their daddy is, the address where they live, their telephone number, and who their cousins, aunts and uncles are. They all know they were created intentionally because we wanted them to be here.”

“So is Stuart Stuart-Saunders Philip’s brother?” the Principal asked.

“I don’t know a child by that name; could I just repeat all of the children’s names to you,” I said. “The names of the children you have enrolled at this school, some for the past three years.”

“No that will not be necessary, Mrs. Stuart,” she said.

“Good Lord,” I said in exasperation.

“Excuse me, we can’t have discussions about religion in here,” she said.

“What?” I asked

“Not everyone holds the same beliefs,” she said, “so you cannot talk about religion in here. In the school building…”

“I wasn’t discussing anything; besides this is the town of Saint Andrew Missouri,” I said. “It’s named for Saint Andrew the Apostle. You know, Saint Peter’s brother… The Saint Peter who was also an Apostle. Both of them were Apostles of the same Jesus Christ that I am apparently not allowed to casually mention?”

“I really wouldn’t know anything about any of the history, my degree is in Education,” the Principal said, “but District Policy says we can’t discuss religion. In the school building… At all…”

“Really,” I said, “that is rather humorous, because the school district is named for an Apostle of Christ, it’s named the Saint Andrew School District.”

“Yes, well be that as it may,” she said, “we really should get these forms updated.”

“Corrected,” I said, “not updated.”

“Well, Mrs. Stuart, it’s just you have seven children here at the school with seven different related parents individually and in combination with each other,” she said.

I guess I had just grown tired of correcting her, I let “Mrs. Stuart” slide.

“This is probably more of a junior high school health class topic,” I said, “but I am pretty sure that all children everywhere are created in combination with others. And we have eight children, not seven going to school here.”

She counted the folders she was holding. “No I have seven,” the Principal said, “seven folders, there are only seven students here.”

Mrs. Jacobs said, “I have Beau’s folder right here.” Holding it up.

“Yes…” Said the Principal, as she took the eighth file folder from the secretary. “Right, eight students…”

She looked like a deer in a set of automobile headlights.



As I walked through the kitchen on my way to pick up the children from their school, Kristin was making Guisado de Puerco con Tomatillos, Pork Stew with Tomatillos. She was dicing the pork shoulder, rolling it in flour and browning it. Later it would go into a big pot with diced tomatillos, some chopped onion, diced jalapenos, and chopped green chilli peppers. Kristin was making us a wondrous stew, perfect for a wintertime feast.

Dinner was to be at six as it had been every night for the past five years. I was the beneficiary of that monotony tonight, I had the seven o’clock fight to Carbondale and Evansville. Punch had the nine o’clock to Cape, Jonesboro, and Little Rock. Jamie had the eleven to Springfield and Malden, so she got to play with Lillian George Eva and Kristin.


The rectangular clock on the dashboard of my little red Karmann Ghia read six-fifty-five in the morning. Dawn was just breaking as I pulled out of the parking büyükçekmece escort lot by the old Flying Tigers building and onto Banshee Road. Soon I was home and getting into a hot shower. When I stepped out Lillian was holding my padded black leather cuffs and a ball gag. George had a red enema bag with a white hose and nozzle. They were both naked and they were both smiling.

I straightened my hair and Lillian slowly, gently put the gag in my mouth. Once buckled it kept my hair out of my eyes. Then she put the soft cuffs on my wrists. George handed her the bag and clipped my cuffs to the hook in the ceiling. Then he reached down and started playing with my four labial piercings. Folding the big lips over and over, and into their smaller neighbors. He was gently tugging on the stainless steel studs while pushing on the little balls at the end of those studs. My body was responding to his skilled fingers by creating moisture, lots of it.

Lillian took her loving fingers and transferred some of my plentiful juice from my cunt to the nozzle at the end of the white tube. She got on her knees in the stall and pushed the nozzle into my butt. She gently licked at and then aggressively ate my twat as George unclipped the clamp on the hose and my intestines began to fill with soapy water. I came before I was full, and Lillian continued to work on my cunt, slowing down her tempo just a little. Eventually George refilled the bag and I took a second quart.

Lillian removed the nozzle and lovingly held me and my brother in place so that we would not slip. George slid his penis into his little sister’s soppy wet cunt. As his strokes slowly came faster and faster, harder and deeper I was right on the edge. Lillian saw that look in my face she slapped me on the ass and said “release.” I relaxed, dumping the liquid that hadn’t already leaked out and I came very, very hard almost simultaneously with that release.

My vaginal muscles clenched in the throes of my orgasm, grasping my big brothers penis, and he released. He held me and kissed me, over and over and over again. Lillian took a little bit of the soap that smelled of almonds, and lathered the outside of my body, and then she lathered George. George returned the favor, lathering his best friend’s wife. After we rinsed George released me from my cuffs and I removed the gag while Lillian patted me dry.

We walked to the bed, Lillian laid down and I spooned against her back holding her stomach and breasts. George spooned behind my back and wrapped his longer arms around both of us. We just laid there wordlessly for a while until the ever present clock started to ring and we put robes on and went to help get the children ready for school.



My alarm went off and I struggled out from between Jamie and George. Out of my lovers sleeping embrace, out of the warm sleeping bags that were lying on the brand new carpeting of mom and dad’s guest bedroom. Groggily, George and Jamie got up and joined me. We unzipped the three bags from one another and rezipped them as three single person bags before rolling them up.

It was already daylight outside. We looked out the window at the glistening water of Lake Houston, and the hazy out of focus trees of its western shore in the far distance. Chrissy, mom and dad’s realtor and our little brother Lou’s friend, had done a great job finding this place. Designed as a vacation home with two master suites separated by a great room, all three facing the green lawn and blue lake beyond. It was a perfect place for two old truckers tired of being on the road.



It was an interesting experience flying in the daylight after five years in the dark. The trees were green, the beaches were a golden tan, and the water was a lovely blue green. Puffy white clouds floated in the blue çapa escort sky, and the sun’s bright yellow sphere was a more constant companion than the moon’s white sliver, quarter or sphere.

The Curtiss C-46 Commando I was flying this morning was six times as heavy, and could fly three times as far, at twice the speed using engines four times as powerful as the Beech I had flown in Saint Louis. It was a real two pilot aircraft, so I traded the left seat and my four stripe epaulettes for three stripes and the right seat, at least for a little while.

Flying it wasn’t that different, it had a big fat fuselage that blanked the rudder, so directional control was by differential power. It only had two more flight instruments than the Eighteen. A Vertical Climb Indicator displaced the clock on the Pilot’s side. A Turn and Bank Indicator graced the area above my left knee on the right. Neither of those instruments were even necessary.

We flew around to the different Dutch Islands from Curacao. There were seven hour round trips to Sint Maarten or to Sint Eustis, and ninety-minute round trips to either Aruba or Bonaire. We always had beautiful flying weather in the ABCs and unless there was a tropical storm brewing in ‘Hurricane Alley’ it was generally just as nice in the SSS Islands.

Sam’s corporation had taken over a bloated inefficient feeder operation for Caribisch Lucht the government carrier of the Netherlands Antilles. We had a couple of experienced pilots who went out with us every flight and taught us the ins and outs of the airplane. Pretty soon we would all five be Type Rated and able to fly about without parental supervision.

After I got up so that Mimi and I could switch seats, I stretched my legs by walking back into the airplane’s cabin and checking on our cargo for today. Mail and express were carried up front right behind the cockpit; all of the boxes were in the very back. In between was something new for us, living breathing human passengers.

Curacao and the Caibbean were terrific, but I did miss our old house. That big venerable victorian in Saint Andrew with its two servant’s rooms far away from the children’s bedrooms upstairs. I was certain that in time we would figure out a new arrangement, but for the moment I missed the games we could play in there.

A well intentioned neighbor gave us a copy of Frank Asch’s ‘Goodbye House.’ It was intended for a younger audience than our children. But it was cute, and we seven adults had fun with the book’s premise: that a home is filled as much with intangible memories as with as tangible possessions. As we disassembled our playrooms and said “goodbye house” all of us had mixed emotions.

On that day, George had taken a huge screwdriver and twisted each of our substantial hooks from their places in the ceilings and baseboards, and tossed them into a cardboard box. We would need them again. Kristin took a wide putty knife and spread spackle into the holes they left behind. I wiped a damp sponge across the drying spackle a couple minutes later. Working together, in fifteen minutes we erased the evidence of some of my favorite moments in the ‘Loo.

I thought about the times I was shackled and hooked to the ceiling over the king sized bed in the rectangular room; my lover Lillian toying with my helpless being. Eva licking me, fingering my cunt or asshole, Kristin ravenously eating me, before they fisted me. I thought of being fucked in the shower while attached to its now missing ceiling hook, or giving one of my sisters a big enema in there.

I recalled being restrained in a standing spread eagle, near but not against the wall opposite the paired windows with the aluminum horizontal blinds. In my mind I was fisting my love Jamie while licking her glans while she was restrained in the exact same position. I thought of being bent over that big bed and being buggered by Punch, or my brother George. Or even better by Punch and my brother, taking turns on me. Three wonderous rooms, four including the marble countertop in the butlers’ pantry, being eaten while sitting upon its cool surface.

“Goodbye house,” I said to myself. A little white touch up paint, and the new tenants will have no idea of the fun we seven once had in here.


Lisa Ann

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