Our Little Secret Ch. 05

Joel told blonde #1 to stop tongue fucking her friend, and crawl up face-to-face over top of blonde #2, and suck Joel's cock. He pulled out of blonde #2's upside down mouth when blonde #1 was in position, and blonde #1 was thankful for the change of venue, as her tongue had become sore with constantly sticking it out as far as she could. Blonde #1 took Joel into her loving mouth, and sucked him heartily, even better than blonde #2 did. Joel knew it would not be long now.

Joel knew he was about to burst, and he rolled his head back and growled. His balls unloaded, and he pushed deep into blonde #1's mouth, but apparently she was not a deep throater like her friend. He blasted liquid seed into the back of her throat, and she continued sucking him hard as each contraction fired another salvo into her eager mouth. When Joel finally dumped his last cum load into blonde #1's mouth, he pulled out, and commanded her to kiss blonde #2, who was lying face-to-face below her, and share his spunk with her.

They kissed long and lovingly as they tongues pressed against each other, swirling his liquid seed all around their oral cavities. Joel commanded them both to swallow what they had, and then he pulled on his clothing.

As a parting gift, Joel commanded them to masturbate each other to orgasm, one at a time, and when they were finished, they could get dressed and come back downstairs. As usual, he commanded them to never discuss this incident with anyone. He shoved both their bras in his pocket for keepsake.

When Joel left the room, blonde #1 was still on top of blonde #2, and she had her hand between blonde #2's legs, and she was gently massaging blonde #2's clit while blonde #2 kept her head hanging over the end of the bed. Joel opened the door, which caused the center lock button to pop outward. He re-engaged the button, left the room, and pulled the locked door shut, giving the girls privacy to enjoy their lesbian delights.

Joel walked back home to his apartment, and went to bed. As he waited for sleep to take him, thoughts of Jenny filled his head, but he didn't jerk off this time.

- - -

On Monday morning a convoy of three black SUVs pulled up in front of Christina Carroll's house at precisely 0800. The middle SUV was a stretch version with an extra pair of doors. Three men from the lead SUV, and three more from the tail SUV stepped out. They looked exactly like Secret Service agents, complete with ear pieces and wrist microphones. Shocked on-looking neighbors immediately appreciated these men were not to be trifled with.

The security detail scanned the street in all directions for threats while a seventh armed guard stepped out from the middle SUV and walked up the driveway to Christina's house. He was followed closely by two of the six other armed guards, while the four remaining guards held their ground at the motorcade. Neighbors watched with intense curiosity as Christina was escorted by three men to the middle car. The lead security officer went forward and opened the door for Christina. She ducked into the stretch SUV, and the security officer closed the door once she was in. The guards returned to their vehicles, and the convoy pulled away and repeated the entire process in front of Kelsey's house, where both Kelsey and Mary joined Christina in the stretch SUV.

The girls excitedly chatted among themselves inside the stretch SUV with equal measures of exhilaration and intimidation. Two bench seats faced each other, allowing the girls to easily talk among themselves. None of them had been in a stretch limo before, let alone be in a motorcade with armed escorts. Sitting among them inside the SUV cabin was the armed guard who had gone to their respective doors. A dark panel separated the interior cabin from the front seat, where the driver sat.

At ten o'clock Joel went to McTavish, Taylor, and Strong to review and sign the contract to engage the law firm for the girls' defense. He took a copy of the signed contract to his bank, and asked them to set up an escrow account in accordance with the terms of the contract he just signed. It took nearly an hour to set up the account. When it was ready, Joel transferred $350,000 from his multi-million account into the escrow account. He left the bank building at 12:30. Joel sat in his car in the bank parking lot, and called Terrance Strong's office on his cell phone. Terrance's assistant answered the phone. Joel asked her to tell Terrance the escrow account was in place with the full $350,000.

As he finished the call, Joel received an email on his smartphone. It was from Captain Paul Granger. The entire email was two words long followed by a hyperlink:

Another one?

The link pointed to a YouTube video. Joel clicked on the link, and after a few seconds of buffering, the video appeared on his smartphone screen.

It was amateur footage taken from inside a single aisle aircraft. The videographer was sitting in a right aisle seat near the front of the aircraft, looking forward. Joel could tell by the background noises and the vibration the aircraft was in flight. A flight attendant was standing at the front. She looked to be in her late thirties. She was average height and build with jet black straight hair. She wore too much makeup.

The flight attendant pulled the white phone off its cradle near the main door – the same phone Joel used to call Captain Granger. She pressed the public address button, and took two steps to the middle of the aisle with the coiled white telephone wire stretching behind her. The flight attendant faced toward the back of the plane to make an announcement. She brought the microphone part of the handset to her mouth, and let the ear-piece end hang off to the side.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the flight attendant's amplified voice could be heard above the aircraft noises as she spoke into the handset, "may I have your attention please. My name is Mary-Jane Elizabeth Parsons, and I would just like to say that, as a flight attendant, I have been an unprofessional bitch, and I have been very mean and rude to some passengers. I just want to apologize for my unacceptable behavior, and to say I should be fired. Again, my name is Mary-Jane Elizabeth Parsons, and my personal cell phone number is 223-417-7503." She repeated the phone number, this time slowly. Then she turned around stepped toward the bulkhead, and returned the phone to the cradle. She turned and faced the cabin again, this time with a stricken expression of embarrassment. The flight attendant leaned her back against the bulkhead, and slid down the wall, collapsing into the jump seat. She dropped her face to her hands, and started sobbing. The video ended.

Joel watched the entire video again. He analyzed its meaning and realized several things. First, the person who shot this video had to know the flight attendant was about to make this announcement. Nobody films the crew all flight long hoping to catch an interesting moment. The person started recording just seconds before the flight attendant picked up the phone. Whoever shot this video either knew what was about to happen, or was commanded to shoot it, which is more likely. That's what Joel would do – he would command someone else to shoot it, and then command her to post it on YouTube. That way there is no way to identify who the puppet master was behind this act of career sabotage.

Second, whoever commanded the flight attendant had been practicing. This was not his first fumbled attempt. It was well executed and considered.

Third, Joel thought she vocalized the announcement as if it were a memorized script. It sounded rehearsed, not at all spontaneous. Did the puppet master write it down, and command her to memorize it and then deliver it? Joel had never tried that.

Fourth, it was likely, but not certain, that the puppet master was on the flight. He could have arranged everything ahead of time, but that would require access to both the flight attendant and passenger before they boarded the same flight, maybe before they arrived at the airport. That was a long shot at best. It was more likely it was a crime of opportunity – the puppet master became upset at the flight attendant, and conjured up this revenge on the spot.

Finally, her facial expression and weeping at the end clearly showed she was aware she had just committed career suicide. Joel wondered if that was part of the puppet master's torment, or if a commanded woman is always aware of the consequences of her own forced actions as she performs them.

Joel sent an email back to Paul.

We need to talk.

Paul's reply came in a minute.

LAX, DEN, MIA today. 2300 MIA Hilton?

Paul sent his reply.

2300 MIA Hilton today OK. Will cnfrm on arr. Pls cnfrm dep time DEN.

Still sitting in his car at the bank parking lot, Joel retrieved his presidential frequent flier card from his wallet, and called the number on the back of the card. He explained to the American Airlines agent he was on his way to the Boston airport, and needed the next flight to Miami. She said that flight was at six o'clock and arrived at ten, but unfortunately was full. She could not guarantee Joel would get a business class seat. Joel said fine, and booked the flight.

Joel had enough time to go home, pack, and drive to the airport. As part of his packing, he took the Shopping Mall Channel listing of the top performing Personal Valet customers, and packed it in his laptop case, along with his laptop. He guessed Miami was a rich hunting ground.

At five o'clock on Monday afternoon Joel was sitting in the business class departure lounge in Boston waiting for his Miami flight. Sadly, he had not received a business class seat, but his presidential frequent flier's card still gave him access to the lounge. He phoned Christina Carroll, and asked how her first day went at the law office. Christina said she was overwhelmed, between the security, the lawyers, the reams of paperwork, and the PR firm – her head was still spinning. They didn't need to go back to the law office the next day – in fact, for now, the three young ladies simply had to wait for the wheels of justice to slowly churn. They were going to the PR firm on Tuesday, and the cars would come back in the morning to pick them up. She understood that would involve new clothing and a makeover to project the proper image, which excited all three girls immensely. She thanked Joel again for arranging everything, and hung up.

Joel's flight to Miami was fine, if not a bit cramped back in cattle class. How quickly we forget, he jested toward himself, for it was less than a month earlier when Joel was flying economy on the catnap flight. The media buzz around that infamous flight had all but faded in the intervening month, but the airline flight attendants still recognized Joel when he boarded, and smiled warmly at him every time they passed him in the aisle.

He touched down shortly after ten o'clock in Miami. When he turned on his phone, he picked up an email from Paul, who had departed Denver on time, and would see Joel within the hour. He sent an email back saying he had just landed, and would meet Paul in the hotel Bar. On his way out of the airport, Joel bought a prepaid phone with a Miami local number from a vendor in the airport. He used cash to pay for the phone.

Joel checked into the hotel without a reservation. He didn't command a comp room this time, but the nice lady behind the check-in counter was delighted to offer Joe an upgrade to an executive suite for the price of a basic room. He dropped off his suitcase in the room, but held on to his laptop case with the Shopping Mall Channel listing. Joel guessed that listing was worth more than the whole hotel he was staying in. He went down to the bar and ordered a beer, and waited for Paul.

"There's a sight for sore eyes!" Paul called as he crossed the bar to Joel and extended his hand warmly. Paul was still wearing his pilot uniform.

"Good flights?" Joel asked as they sat down.

"Yeah," Paul shrugged, "same old, same old. I just drive the bus," he smiled.

"How long is your layover?"

"I have the two o'clock to JFK tomorrow afternoon," Paul flagged the waiter/bartender as he answered. The bartender came over and Paul ordered a beer, and Joel refilled his.

They chatted idly, knowing they were not going to discuss business in this public forum. "I saw Melissa Ferry," Paul said. "She was on my Chicago / San Francisco flight last week. She says hi." Joel nodded. They paid their tabs after a half hour of chat. Joel suggested Paul change and come over to his room when he was ready. He retreated to his room with his precious laptop case.

"No doubt about it," Joel said to Paul. There were sitting at his round dining table in his upgraded executive room. They had just watched the video together for the third time.

"Could it be the same guy as those three girls?" Paul asked.

"No way to know," Joel shrugged.

"How are the three girls?" Paul asked. Joel explained how he hired the best law and PR firms in town for them.

"You just can't help but be the hero," Paul smiled.

"I'm so pissed off, Paul," Joel bristled. "You should see these girls. They're shattered. Their lives are totally ruined. All I'm doing is window dressing. Even if they get off all the charges, which I hope they will, it's not going to change a thing. Their naked pictures and videos are out there everywhere. They can't go to Starbucks. Paul, they can't go out their own front door without an armed escort. They are nice, young girls that live with their mom and dad, taking those first big steps out in the world, and now they'll never get jobs except as strippers."

Paul was taken aback by Joel's outrage. He stayed silent. "I mean Jesus, Paul, if you want to fuck them, take them somewhere and fuck them. Make them fuck you, suck you – whatever – all night long. That's not what this was, Paul. This wasn't sex. It was cruelty for sport."

"So how do you measure honor among thieves?" Paul asked. "Who's to say he's wrong and you're right? How do you know you're both not wrong? Where is the line? You seem to know, but I don't."

"What if we are a new race, Paul? What if that ball of light was Michelangelo's finger of God, and when it touched us it turned you and me into the new Adam? Or if not God, what if it was Arthur C. Clarke's obelisk that turned us apes into something superior? Do we just rape and pillage our old stock? Do we pretend it never happened, and ignore the one true thing in our lives that qualifies as a miracle? Or do we strike a middle ground and develop a code? We can say 'Yes, we're superior' but we don't have to crush them."

"I'm not disagreeing with you, Joel. I'm just asking who is to say where we draw the line. Who defines this code you're talking about?"

"I am," Joel pronounced. "I am saying, what he did was wrong. Maybe what I did was wrong, and you should strike at me. And I would understand that. But there is no doubt what he did was wrong, and he must pay. Same goes for the guy who got that flight attendant fired."

"She's not fired," Paul said. "For all its faults, one thing this company understands is how stressful the job is. She is on full pay sick leave until she returns to work."

"Which may be never," Joel pointed out. "Even if she wants to, the liability lawyers are going to go ape-shit the next time she steps on a plane."

"She may have to be reassigned," Paul agreed. "But for now, the company has taken a stance – she is ill, and she has a job when she gets better. It's not so much altruism as it is good business. Turnover is already high among flight attendants, especially women, and burnout and stress leave are a problem. If the company doesn't back her up on a high profile case like this, they're worried a lot of people will leave."

"Still, what that guy did was vindictive and cruel. It crossed a line."

"So you're what – a vigilante now?" Paul challenged.

"Who polices the people that are invisible to the police?" Joel answered a question with a question.

"So tell me," Paul said, "do you have a plan now? Last time you were out of ideas." Joel nodded, and explained the details how to punish the guy who made Christina, Kelsey, and Mary strip on the bar. Paul's smile grew wider as he heard more of Joel's plan. "That's risky," Paul finally said.

"Not if I do it right," Joel countered. "But first I need the manifest for the catnap flight."

"And you shall have it," Paul proclaimed. He had brought his flight bag with him. He opened the top flaps of the large rectangular case, and retrieved a printout, and pushed it across the table to Joel. "Courtesy of a sweet young lady at American," Paul smiled.

"You old devil, you!" Joel ribbed him.

"Like you said," Paul shrugged, "can't think with the old brain anymore." Joel looked over the list. It was significantly more comprehensive than he expected. It had names, addresses, phone numbers, emails, assigned seat numbers, and frequent flier accounts.

"Can you get the one from the flight attendant?" Joel asked.

"I can try," Paul nodded. "I don't know how many times I can go to that well before someone else starts asking questions."

"I think it's important," Joel pressed. "If I'm right, there will be one name common to both lists."

"That sounds about right," Paul nodded. He thought for a moment. "How are you paying for all this – lawyers, PR firms, employees?"

"I'm thinking with my new brain," Joel smiled, but didn't offer anything more. "Hey!" Joel called, changing subjects with a gleam in his eye, "whaddaya say you and me go down to the bar and find us two or three girls?"

Paul studied Joel for a long time. "Fuck, why not!" he smiled. Paul left for his own room to drop off his flight bag, and said he would meet Joel in the lobby.

"No shit!" Joel yelled over the music to the two girls across from him. "Your name is Brandy," he pointed to the one on the right, "and your name is Sherry," he pointed to the one on the left. "Let me guess ...," Joel said to the one sitting beside him "... you're Bailey?"

The hotel bar had closed by the time Paul and Joel rendezvoused, just after midnight. They left the hotel and found a steak house with an upscale bar across the street. The three girls were sitting in a booth with bench seats that allowed six at the table. Brandy and Sherry were beside each other, and the yet unnamed girl was across from them. After a quick recon, Joel and Paul agreed this was their best prospect, and they walked up to the table.

"Invite us to sit down and join you," Joel commanded, and the three girls politely offered for them to sit with them. Joel sat beside the single girl, and Paul sat beside Brandy and Sherry. "Now," Joel commanded, once he was seated, "you think my friend here and me are the most interesting guys around, and you're dying to talk with us." Instantly the three girls' faces lit up with intrigue and excitement, and they chatted eagerly with Joel and Paul. The bartender had witnessed the exchange from behind his counter, but he couldn't hear what they said. After seeing a thirty-something and fifty-something year old men sit down with three girls in their early twenties, he made a point of wandering over, and he asked the girls if everything was ok. They giggled and smiled, and assured him everything was fine. Joel ordered a beer for himself and Paul, and another round of whatever the girls were having.

They were in the middle of introducing themselves, when Joel interrupted them and yelled "No shit! Your name is Brandy, and your name is Sherry. Let me guess ... you're Bailey?"

She was not Bailey. "I'm Shannon," the girl beside Joel introduced herself.

"Yes!" Joel cried out loud. "Shannon Irish Cream! Three for three!" The girls found that hysterically funny. Paul just smirked.