For the next five days, Vladislav Baryshnikov seemed to have no need of his private jet and so the forty three million dollar Gulfstream did nothing except cost its owner fifteen hundred dollars a day in hanger fees while its crew did what anyone else would do if they found themselves on a tropical paradise island with time to kill: they went on holiday. They checked into a swish hotel overlooking the turquoise and beach-fringed waters of Nonsuch Bay where Matt and Dieter took beginner windsurfing courses while Maria showed them how it should be done, and just how good a blue and white polka-dot bikini could look as she took it skimming back and forth across the bay with elegant carve gybes at either side. They toured round Falmouth and English Harbour, looked at the all the millionaires’ yachts and considered how much less polishing and scrubbing was required of the crew of a millionaire’s plane. They drank cocktails in Nelson’s Dockyard. They chartered a boat and the men fished for wahoo, mahi-mahi and tuna, while Maria sunbathed and wondered if the boat could make it as far as Barbuda. And when it was Sunday they went up to Shirley Heights to dance with the locals to a steel band and drink rum punch while the sun set and the lights of Guadeloupe and Montserrat appeared across the sea.

 

And of course they had sex. Lots of it. Maria was on a mission to erase the memory of the anonymous captive on the plane who had taken such a hold of her, and to convince herself that she was a one hundred percent heterosexual woman, and if being a nymphomaniac slut was the way to do that, then that was what she intended to be. She let Matt and Dieter do things she had never allowed before, she let them fuck her in dangerously public places, she let them take her out to dinner with a rope tied through her crotch, she let them tie her up and sodomise her, and she thought a lot about the black leather straitjacket that was still sitting in the sports bag on the plane. And in keeping with being an über-slut, when she left the party at Shirley Heights it was in the pimped up pick-up truck of a local guy with whom she had danced, snogged, and firmly intended to be fucked by.

 

It was not until lunchtime the following day that Maria made it back to the hotel where she found Matt had left her a message saying that they would be flying out the next day and he and Dieter had gone to the plane to get it fuelled up and checked over. And so in the afternoon Maria went shopping for food and booze to stock up the plane and got a taxi to take it round to the hanger where she found the plane sitting outside, fuel and Reggae flowing from a tanker, and two pilots and a tanker driver soaking up the sun in deckchairs while the stiff trade wind made short work of dispersing some dubious smelling cigarette smoke.

 

“So would it be asking too much for some help getting the shopping on board?” asked Maria as the taxi drove off.

 

“I dunno Diet. What do you think?” said Matt, peering over his sunglasses at Maria.

 

“I think it would be asking a lot. Especially when the person asking went off and abandoned us just because we didn’t have a pick-up truck.”

 

“Huh. It wasn’t his truck I was interested in.”

 

“Well in that case I think it would be asking too much,” said Matt. He pushed his sunglasses up his nose and settled back into his chair.

 

“Oh, do I detect disapproval at me enjoying someone else’s company? Jealousy even?”

 

“Jealous? Us?” said Dieter. “Live and let live, that’s our motto. No matter who it is.”

 

 “Well his name was Kareem, and he was better equipped than any fly boys around here.”

 

“Well now someone’s definitely carrying her own shopping.”

 

“Suit yourselves. Just hope I don’t put anything unsavoury in your dinners tomorrow. Where are we off to anyway?”

 

“Don’t know. Boss man just said to be ready,” said Matt. “And I wouldn’t really watch you carry your own shopping. Dieter, give the lady a hand there’s a good chap.”

 

“The lady? Where’s there one of those round here?”

 

The shopping made it out of the tropical sun and into the air conditioned cabin of the plane before it spoiled, and Maria stowed it in the galley and behind the bar. She then went through the cabin, tidying, cleaning and vacuuming anything that wasn’t immaculate. She came to the seat where Short Blonde had sat and paused beside it. The Envirosorb had gone, as had the plastic cover, and the ivory coloured Ultra-Leather showed no sign of anything special having been sat on it five days earlier. But for all her antics of those five days, the image was still burned into Maria’s mind. The woman in that seat, the shape of her body, her folded arms and bare breasts, and the black hood of anonymity. Maria pulled herself away and cursed the woman for getting into her head and disrupting her carefree life. She continued cleaning until the cabin was spotless and turned her attention to the head. And there once again the image of what had happened filled her mind as she looked at the toilet and remembered what she had done. She felt her body respond to the memory. She felt the longing for it to happen again. She felt ashamed.

 

The plane lurched slightly and pulled Maria from her trance. Matt and Dieter were pushing it back into the hanger with the tractor while the tanker drove off. Maria polished up everything in the head, as if trying to wipe away any trace of something, and then went back through to the cabin. Despite the air conditioning she felt hot and flustered. She went to the storage locker behind the galley to stow her cleaning stuff, and there she saw it. The black sports bag. It seemed that everything on the plane was conspiring to remind Maria of her hooded captive for whom her heart was still longing.

 

She took the bag into the galley and opened it. The first thing she saw inside was the straitjacket still wrapped in its tissue paper. She unfolded it, shook out the paper and held it up in front of her. It was more than just a few pieces of leather sewn together. It was a symbol of something, of imprisonment and helplessness, and it stirred Maria’s loins again.

 

“Perhaps now would be a good time to hold you to your promise.”

 

Maria spun round to find Dieter standing at the front of the cabin.

 

“I know it’s not anyone’s birthday,” he continued, “but it might save us having to send out a search party if anybody with a pick-up truck happened to come by.”

 

Maria flushed with embarrassment, but then recovered her composure.

 

“I suppose I have been a naughty girl haven’t I,” she said coyly. “Perhaps I should be…”

 

She opened a drawer under the galley worktop and took out a small wooden chopping board which had a handle at one end. She’d eyed it up several times before as something that might be suited to more than just its intended purpose.

 

“Perhaps you might use this on me,” she said and she bit her lip a little.

 

Dieter stepped back to the cabin door and leaned out of it.

 

“Are we done for the day Skip?” he shouted.

 

“I think so,” came Matt’s reply. “Shall I phone for a taxi?”

 

“Not just yet,” shouted Dieter. “A bit of cabin fever to attend to first.”

 

He walked through the cabin to Maria and she handed him the chopping board. He swished it through the air a few times.

 

“Are you sure?” he asked.

 

“No,” she replied. “But I won’t have a choice if I’m wearing this, will I?”

 

She put the straitjacket down on the worktop and stripped off her skimpy top revealing her bra-less breasts.

 

“These could perhaps do with feeling that board,” she said, and then she turned round and pulled down her skirt and panties, presenting her bottom to Dieter. “And these, these definitely need to feel it.”

She stepped out of her skirt, turned around and held her arms up, inviting Dieter to put the jacket on them. She wanted it. She wanted to feel its embrace and to be confined inside it. And she wanted Dieter to thrash her with the chopping board. She wanted the pain and the humiliation. She wanted to cum in agony. She wanted everything in the cabin to remind her of something other than that hooded body and what she had done to it. Perhaps then she would be able to exorcise it from her head and go back to being a sexy hostess and a carefree slut.

 

Dieter slid the sleeves of the jacket up her arms. They were snug fitting and the leather was lined with something silky feeling. He moved behind her and lifted the jacket onto her shoulders and pulled it together at the back. Maria felt a zip being done up and then the three straps being tightened across her shoulders. She looked at her black, handless arms as Dieter placed the strap down between her breasts and secured its ends behind her.

 

“Ready?” he asked.

 

Maria nodded and folded her arms below her breasts. She felt Dieter fasten the strap behind her and then he pulled it tight. Her hands were drawn round her sides and pulled against her lower ribs and she felt the excitement of becoming helpless. When he was done behind her, Dieter fastened the little strap that pinned her forearms to her chest, completing her restraint.

 

“How’s that?” he asked.

 

She wriggled about and revelled in her inability to escape, but there was still a little statement that she had to make, just to show who was really in control.

 

“It’s lovely,” she said, “but can it go any tighter? I can still wiggle about.”

 

Dieter obliged her and tightened her arms until she was tightly hugging herself. Maria felt deliciously helpless and also satisfied that she had removed any element of submission from the scene. Dieter was doing her bidding. And her bidding was now to get herself thrashed with a wooden chopping board. At that moment Matt appeared in the cabin and to Maria’s disappointment he didn’t seem surprised or impressed at what he saw. She walked into the isle and posed for him, pouting and pulling at her arms.

 

“Doesn’t look right without the shoes,” he said coolly.

 

Before she had time to consider his comment, the sandals from the bag arrived on the cabin floor beside her. She looked at Dieter who had put them there, and then stepped into them. He bent down and buckled the ankle straps.

 

“Now you look like something,” said Matt. “Something worth getting excited over.”

 

“Something that wants this,” said Dieter holding up the chopping board for Matt to see.

 

Maria looked at the board and shuddered at the thought of how it might feel. She considered asking to be gagged to make sure she wouldn’t let herself down and scream for mercy, but that seemed like a step too far. And besides, with two men available, she was hoping for a little action at both ends.

 

Despite the considerable and delightful distraction of the green vibrator which Dieter took it upon himself to add to the scene, the thrashing was quite the most painful experience that Maria had ever endured. She had thought that she knew what it would feel like, having swatted herself a few times in the past out of curiosity, but she hadn’t reckoned on the cumulative effect of blow after blow, each one tenderising her buttocks and making the next one hurt even more. But she was Maria, the sexiest hostess in the world and she was determined to win, determined to outlast them and to use them for her pleasure. It got easier when Matt provided her with something to suck on and with which she could distract herself from the raging forest fire that was spreading across her bottom, although it was hard to avoid biting down when the chopping board landed on her. She achieved Matt’s satisfaction and as she detected Dieter’s arms were tiring and slowing down she let herself go and exploded into the most intense climax she had ever had. Somewhere the beating stopped but the orgasm just kept going and going and Maria lay helplessly on the galley floor, squirming about, cumming, panting and dribbling while the two men looked on in disbelief.

 

“Did you ever see anything like that?” said Dieter as Maria finally wore herself out.

 

“Never did.” replied Matt. “If we could bottle and sell whatever it is that’s got into her we could have our own plane just like this one, that’s how rich we’d be.”

 

“Perhaps we should keep her in that jacket for a while if that’s what it does for her. Wherever we’re off to tomorrow it’s going to be a good few hours to kill. And it would make sure she doesn’t go AWOL again tonight.”

 

“Do you know Diet, I think that’s a cracking idea.”

 

Maria only half heard the conversation as she slowly recovered her senses. Her euphoria faded to be replaced by unease as the two men seemed to be getting ready to leave and were making no signs of releasing her from the jacket.

 

“Okay boys,” she said trying to remain cool and not spoil what she considered to be her victory over them. “What’s going on? Am I getting let out of this or what?”

 

“Actually no,” replied Matt. “We’re going to leave you in that jacket until we’re at least, what, twenty thousand feet up tomorrow. Keep you out of any more mischief.”

 

“What! Come off it. You can’t keep me tied up all night. Dieter, tell him.”

 

“Sorry Maria, but Matt got sucked, you got off big time, and I just got a sore arm. So I’m thinking maybe tomorrow should be my turn. And then you can have the jacket off.”

 

“Fuck! Come on you bastards, let me out. You can’t just leave me here all night.”

 

“I’m afraid we can, can’t we Diet. Don’t worry, we’ll check you out of the hotel and pay your departure tax for you. Wouldn’t want to leave a Caribbean island without paying departure tax. All sorts of trouble if you come back.”

 

“Taxi’s here Matt,” said Dieter. “See you tomorrow Maria.”

 

“Ciao Babe,” said Matt smugly. “Have a good night.”

 

“Fucking bastards! I’ll get you both for this. You’ll be getting phlegm sauce on your dinners for months.”

 

Maria’s threats had no effect and she was left alone on the galley floor. The light dimmed as the hanger doors were closed and the subtle night lighting of the cabin took over. Maria wriggled herself up into a sitting position but immediately realised that sitting on her so recently abused bottom was not an option. She lay back down and feeling like a slug, she slithered out of the galley and onto the soft cabin carpet. She felt filthy. Her mouth was full of the taste of cum and her crotch felt wet and slimy. And she couldn’t do anything to clean herself, not even wipe her nose. She raged at the dirty trick that had been played on her.

 

But Maria was surprised and a little uncomfortable at how quickly her rage subsided. It was indeed a dirty trick, but she had to admit it was a sexy dirty trick. And had the trick not been played because she had won the game with the straitjacket and the spanking? She had made it through undefeated. Her arse had outlasted Dieter’s arm and she had cum like never before, and she had even sucked Matt dry along the way. She had not submitted, she had challenged them, and she had won, and in some considerable style too. And now it seemed like she was in for a long and uncomfortable night with the prospect that sucking Dieter off would be the likely price of release in the morning, but she knew that she would prevail over that challenge too. She was indeed the sexiest hostess in the world.

 

Maria pulled at the straitjacket. She knew it wouldn’t come undone but she pulled at it anyway. She looked at her feet, trapped inside the sandals and hobbled together by their chain. But her feet surely looked good in those sandals and she reckoned the rest of her must be rocking the straitjacket. She decided she wanted to see herself and how amazing the sexiest hostess in the world must be looking. With much grunting and cursing she got herself kneeling and then rocked backwards onto her feet. She stood up carefully and made her way to the head where there was a full length mirror. She moved slowly, taking short, hobbled steps, the chain on her ankles jingling just like the hooded women’s chains had done. Maria wondered if she was living her dream a little. She didn’t want to be hooded and abducted to the other side of the world, but to experience being bound and restrained was something rather delightful. It became even more delightful when she made it to the head and looked at herself in the mirror. Definitely the sexiest hostess in the world and probably in the whole fucking galaxy.

 

Maria began to amuse herself with little challenges. She practised walking up and down the cabin with the short, mincing little steps that were all the hobble chain would allow. She enjoyed the feel of the chain as it brushed against her feet and the incredibly high heels of the sandals. She got to the cockpit door and found it closed. Like most aircraft doors the handle was recessed so that it couldn’t hurt anyone who might be thrown against the door by turbulence or by an over-enthusiastic pilot. Maria looked at the handle and the challenge it now represented. After much trying she got the door open by lying on the floor on her back, lifting her feet to the handle and using her stiletto heels to turn it. Another challenge bested and Maria was having fun. She went back to the galley, managed to turn the tap on with her nose and got a drink of water. Sitting on the worktop was her handbag and inside it, behind the considerable barrier of the bag’s zip was her phone. It took a lot of determination but eventually her teeth got the bag unzipped and the phone out onto the worktop. Then there was a lot of swearing and prodding of the phone’s screen with a long wooden salad spoon held in her mouth, to send the text ‘YOU UTTER BASTARDS’. A few minutes later a reply came. ‘SLEEP TIGHT MARIA. VERY TIGHT.”

 

The novelty of being trussed up began to wear thin for Maria after a couple of hours. It had made her feel sexy for a while, but what was the point of feeling sexy when there was no one else around? And she couldn’t even do much to herself from within the confines of the jacket. But as she began to long for release and curse her situation, her inability to do anything about it continued to arouse her, and the two feelings seemed to feed off each other. Frustration begot arousal, and arousal in her helpless state begot more frustration. Eventually she lay down on the cabin sofa and managed to turn her emotions down enough to drift into an uneasy sleep.

 

After a long and uncomfortable night which included another challenge from a trip to the head to pee, and an unsuccessful attempt to get some food from the fridge, Maria was woken by her phone bleeping away on the galley worktop. She ignored it until it annoyed her enough to struggle off the sofa to silence it. She got herself to the galley and with the salad spoon once again held in her mouth she managed to prod her phone’s ‘on’ button and got her PIN entered on the third attempt. Stabbing the spoon’s handle onto the messages icon revealed the cause of the bleeping, a text from Matt that shook the sleepiness from Maria and replaced it with terror and adrenalin.

 

“THIS IS NOT A JOKE. HAVE JUST FOUND OUT THAT BARYSHNIKOV’S WIFE ARRIVED LAST NIGHT ON A YACHT AND WE’RE FLYING HER HOME. SHE’S HEADING TO THE AIRPORT NOW. FOR FUCK’S SAKE HIDE UNTIL WE GET THERE.”

 

Maria was still trying to take in the message and its implications when light suddenly began to flood into the cabin through the windows. The hanger door was opening. Maria stared out of the window at the rising door, praying that it would be Matt and Dieter and not Mrs Baryshnikov, but it was not a typical mini-bus taxi that was revealed as the door got higher. Instead a white Mercedes limousine sat outside, and worse, drove in when the door was high enough. Maria suddenly snapped out of her horrified paralysis. She had to hide, but where? The head or the store behind the galley were the obvious options, but they offered no way for Matt to rescue her once Mrs Baryshnikov was in the cabin. The only other place was the cockpit. The owner’s wife would not go in there and if Matt could get her clothes to her then she could get dressed and emerge into the cabin as if she’d come in through the main door. It had to be the cockpit. It was only a small plane, she could make it before anyone was even out of the limo.

 

She set off from the galley on her dash to hide but immediately saw her clothes from the day before lying on the cabin floor, discarded in a way that just seemed to scream about passionate sex having happened there. She couldn’t leave them. Cursing, she knelt and grabbed her top and skirt in her teeth, but as she lifted them her panties rolled out of her skirt back onto the floor. Desperately she tried and managed to scoop all three between her teeth. She saw her trainers by the seat but knew they would have to stay. A pair of shoes on the floor was untidy, but innocent. She rocked back onto her feet and stood up. She could hear voices outside in the hanger and car doors closing. The sanctuary of the cockpit was only six metres away and she took off towards the door as fast as she could, forgetting completely about the hobble chain that linked her ankles. Unable to put her arms out to break her fall, Maria crashed down onto the soft carpet of the cabin floor. Desperately she tried to decide which would be quicker, to struggle back to her feet or just to slither like a slug to the cockpit. She went for the latter. She wriggled along and got to the end of the cabin carpet. There was only about two metres of the rubber matting of the entrance lobby between her and the relative safety of the cockpit. She wriggled again but caught her skirt under her chest and pulled it from between her teeth. She dropped her face to the floor, got hold of the escaped garment and lifted her head to resume her wriggling.

 

But the way to the cockpit was now blocked by a pair of stylish red and black stiletto heeled peep-toe shoes. Rising out of the shoes was a pair of fishnet clad legs that disappeared into a knee length black skirt. Tucked into the belted waist of the skirt was a red, silk-looking blouse and above that the face of Mrs Baryshnikov looked down at Maria with an expression that looked like simple surprise, but Maria knew it meant the end of everything. Her hedonistic sex games had finally caught up with her. Her life was over.

 

Maria’s face dropped back to the floor in despair. As it did so she noticed another pair of high heels appear at the top of the steps. She realised her grip on reality was fading when she wondered why anyone would wear thigh length black boots on a tropical island, but then decided that the sort of places these women frequented would probably all have air conditioning. Maria lay with her face on the grooved rubber matting. She couldn’t bring herself to look up into the faces of her employer and her friend. For what seemed like an age nothing happened, and then the two women started talking to each other excitedly in Russian. Maria felt hands take hold of her shoulders and she was helped to her feet and back into the cabin.

 

“My dear Maria,” said Mrs Baryshnikov, “what happens to you?”

 

“I’m so sorry Mrs Baryshnikov,” sobbed Maria. “I can explain. It was just a bit of fun. We didn’t know you were…”

 

“Now now, relax my dear. It is all okay for you now.”

 

Mrs Baryshnikov guided Maria to a seat and helped her to sit down. She then sat in the seat opposite and looked into Maria’s tear filled eyes. Her booted friend produced a hanky and Mrs Baryshnikov wiped away the worst of the tears.

 

“Why not you tell me all about it?” she said comfortingly.

 

Maria wondered what she could say. That they had found the stuff in the sports bag and were just fooling about? But did Mrs Baryshnikov even know about the sports bags and the ‘special passengers’ that her husband’s plane carried about? She looked into the face of the woman in front of her. It was somewhat comforting to see a gentle and friendly smile rather than anger or outrage in it. It would have been much more comforting if she or her friend had made some move to undo the straitjacket, but they just looked at Maria with unnerving coolness.

 

“You do not recognise me do you,” said Mrs Baryshnikov eventually.

 

“I… Of course I do, Mrs Baryshnikov,” stumbled Maria.

 

“Yes, I am Nadia Baryshnikova, but you don’t recognise me. Perhaps if I were to show you little more of myself.”

 

Mrs Baryshnikov unbuttoned her blouse a little and pulled it open to reveal an expensive looking, lacy balcony bra. She reached into it and lifted out her right breast.

 

“You recognise me now?” she said calmly. “Or do I need to take skirt off too?”

 

Maria looked at the exposed breast. A wave of panic rushed over her as she realised she did recognise it. The shape of the areola and the pert nipple were just as they had been almost a week earlier when she had kissed them and sucked them into her mouth.

 

“I… I’m so sorry,” she stammered. “I had no idea it was you. Ple…, please forgive me.”

 

“It is quite all right my dear,” replied Mrs Baryshnikov. “How would you know? Perhaps I should introduce to you my friend and personal assistant, Svetlana. Perhaps you recognise the colour of her hair? I believe you were calling her ‘Ginger’.

 

“But... You… Why?”

 

“It is little hobby. We do it for fun. Is that not correct Svetlana?”

 

Svetlana shrugged and smiled, but Maria thought the smile hid something sinister.

 

“And the other three?” asked Maria.

 

“Well, it costs lot of money to run aeroplane like this. My husband insists I recover cost of hobby.”

 

At that moment Matt came in through the cabin door with Dieter behind him. He looked at Maria and the two other women with a desperately worried expression.

 

“Ah Captain, Good Morning,” said Mrs Baryshnikov. “I am most sorry for arriving unannounced like this, but you know how it is with these yacht captains. There is always some tide or weather that makes them want to leave at stupid time of day and we found ourselves abandoned at harbour. I hope we do not inconvenience.”

 

“Err… no. No inconvenience at all Ma’am,” said Matt unsurely.

 

“Good. Aeroplane is ready to go?”

 

“Yes Ma’am. Err… Where to?”

 

“Home to Sochi please, Captain.”

 

“Err, About six thousand miles to Sochi Ma’am,” he said hesitantly. “We’ll need a refuelling stop, probably in France or Spain.”

 

“Can we go as far as Serbia for fuel?” asked Mrs Baryshnikov. “My husband’s contacts will smooth our passage there.”

 

“I think so,” said Matt. “Right on the edge of our range though.”

 

“Svetlana will make some calls and arrange things.”

 

Svetlana’s phone was out and being dialled on with the speed of a gunslinger’s draw and she wandered off to the back of the cabin with it.

 

“Very good Ma’am. I’ll request traffic routing,” said Matt. He looked at Maria and she made a ‘what the fuck?’ expression back at him. Matt and Dieter retreated to the cockpit leaving Maria alone with Mrs Baryshnikov.

 

“Now, where were we?” said the blonde Russian woman.

 

“I’m so sorry about what happened,” Maria suddenly blurted out. “I didn’t know it was you. It was just… I got overcome by it all. You know. The whole captive thing, it just…”

 

“Shush my dear. Shush. It is all right. I understand. Captive thing is indeed very exciting is it not. I and Svetlana have done it many times now. At first we could only manage short flights, but then we added hoods and gags. It is only when there is no choice and no possible resistance that it becomes possible to endure for many hours. Then experience is very special. And is something I would like to give to you.”

 

“Give to me? What do you mean?” asked Maria nervously.

 

“You gave me something on previous flight. I would like to give back, if you allow me.”

 

“But that was just… I got carried away by it all. You don’t need to…”

 

“I remember you said you loved me. Was that untrue?”

 

“No. I mean at the time I did, but I didn’t know who you were.”

 

“And does it make difference now you know who I am? Am I to be offended that you loved me when I was in hood, but now you see my face and love me no more? Am I so ugly?”

 

“No. No of course not, but…” Maria was starting to panic. It seemed like whatever she said was being twisted into something else.

 

“Please relax Maria. I am not evil person. I do not wish to hurt you or force you to do anything. What happened on aeroplane is between you, me and Svetlana. No one else is knowing and no one else will be knowing. And that will remain no matter what you want now. You have choice. I can release you from jacket and we fly home as usual, or you can fly home as captive slave and I will pamper you just as you pampered me. Is that not exciting thought?”

 

“It is an exciting thought, and thank you Mrs Baryshnikov, but what you’re asking, I couldn’t bear it.”

 

“I am not asking Maria. I am offering, and that is all. You only do this if you want to. And if you do not want then I will be sad, but I will understand. And you will not have very special experience. Perhaps I might be as good as you. Have you thought of that?”

 

Maria’s head churned with confusion. Ever since she had first seen the ‘special passengers’ she had wondered about them, about what they went through and how it must have felt. Now she was being offered just that experience and with the added prospect of being ‘pampered’ by the very body she fallen for. But it was all too much. She thought about her own attempts to endure with a vibrator and how quickly she had had to end them. There was no way she could cope with hours and hours of it, and in a hood and gag too and strapped to the seat. A voice within her screamed to say ‘yes’ and to accept, even embrace it, and to experience something unique. It was a challenge and once she accepted, it would become a challenge she couldn’t fail at, for she would have no option to fail, no option to admit defeat and beg for release. She realised the challenge was in the acceptance itself and everything afterwards was just consequence, but it seemed like a challenge too far for her. She could not bring herself to accept it.

 

From the back of the cabin Maria heard Svetlana’s voice become raised and animated as she shouted Russian into her phone. She stomped down the cabin and held her phone towards Mrs Baryshnikov.

 

“Viktor,” she said with contempt in her voice.

 

“Viktor?” replied Mrs Baryshnikov. “Please excuse me Maria, I need to speak with someone.”

 

She took the phone from Svetlana and walked off towards the galley with it. Svetlana sat down in the seat opposite Maria and stared at her with a pair of malevolent looking eyes.

 

“I am Svetlana,” she began in an icy cold sounding accented voice. “I am personal assistant of Madam Nadia. Anything that Madam Nadia is wanting, is being my job to be getting for her. Svetlana is very good at job. You are Maria yes?”

 

“Yes” replied Maria nervously.

 

“And you are liking job on aeroplane?”

 

Maria nodded again.

 

“If you are wanting to keep job on aeroplane, Svetlana can be arranging that. And Svetlana can also be arranging that you are never working on aeroplane again. Any aeroplane. Is only taking one phone call.” She paused and let her words find their mark. “We have bargain, yes?” she added.

 

Maria looked at the woman in front of her. Everything about her looked tight. Her tight black thigh boots, the short tight skirt above them and the tight fitting leather top above that. Even her hair was tightly slicked back and tightly plaited into a long pony tail that hung down the front of her left shoulder. Maria had no doubt that she meant what she said. She tried to convince herself that a few hours of discomfort, pain, and whatever else it would be, was an easy price to pay for not just her job, but her whole career. She lowered her eyes and nodded to Svetlana.

 

“Good,” said the Russian woman. “I am glad we are having understanding.” Her coldness seemed to leave her and she smiled warmly at Maria. “And if you are getting head into correct way of thinking then you will be having lot of fun. Trust me, I am knowing.”

 

Mrs Baryshnikov returned from the back of the cabin. “Viktor khoroshiy,” she said, handing Svetlana’s phone back to her.

 

“Spasibo,” replied Svetlana, standing up and offering the seat to her employer.

 

“Now, where were we?” said Mrs Baryshnikov as she sat down. “Oh yes, you were considering little offer I made to you.”

 

Maria looked up at Svetlana who nodded almost imperceptibly and tapped her phone with a long, black-varnished fingernail. Maria thought about what she was doing and what was at stake. She only had to find the resolve for a few minutes. Once she was gagged and hooded then the deal would be irreversible. There would be no way to back out. She would survive and her job would be safe, but it was so much to ask. She began to pant and shake.

 

“Yes please,” she managed to blurt out.

 

“Yes?” replied Mrs Baryshnikov calmly. “Is that yes, you want to be captive?”

 

“Yes,” said Maria, hardly able to get the word out.

 

“You are sure?”

 

Maria saw Svetlana place the black sports bag on the seat opposite. She opened it and pulled out the Chamois leather pads, the Vetwrap and the hood.

 

“Oh God, of course I’m not sure,” stammered Maria. “Just get the hood on me quickly before I change my mind.”

 

Maria shook uncontrollably, but did not resist as her mouth was stuffed with the leather pads and sealed with the Vetwrap.

 

“You have made good choice Maria,” said Mrs Baryshnikov as Svetlana held the hood above Maria’s head. “You will enjoy yourself. I and Svetlana will make sure of that, will we not Svetlana.”

 

“Ya zhazhdu oshchutit’ vo mne yazyk shlyukhi,” said Svetlana.

 

“She says she likes you,” said Mrs Baryshnikov with a friendly smile.

 

And then Maria’s world went black. As Svetlana laced the hood tight, Maria heard Mrs Baryshnikov’s voice drift in through the creaking leather.

 

“So it is six thousand miles to Sochi, perhaps twelve hours in air. Plus hour on ground for fuel. And then another from Sochi to home if Svetlana can arrange helicopter. If not, then four hours in car. A long time to be strapped to seat, unable to move and with vibrator going. But do not worry Maria. I will be your hostess and will make sure you have interesting time, just as you did for me.”

 

With the hood finally tightened, Maria felt herself being lifted up and then laid chest down on the seat. Cold drops of something slippery dribbled onto her bum and Svetlana’s evil sounding voice filtered through the hood.

 

“When I am being captive, this next part is favourite of whole experience.”

 

 

 

Epilogue  

 

Svetlana Tsolkovskaya smiled an acidly insincere smile as the English hostess bitch served her a glass of Shiraz. She was not happy to have been usurped from her position as Nadia Baryshnikova’s number one love interest, or at least number two if her husband was included. A whole new wardrobe, including several new pairs of her trademark thigh boots had failed to recapture Madam Nadia’s attentions, and Svetlana had even taken to wearing a corset to improve her already impressive figure, but to no avail. Her mistress’s heart had gone. And gone to a jumped up servant who was so stupid that during that flight from Antigua she had actually believed Svetlana’s little joke, whispered through that leather hood, that she had been tricked into being trussed up and was going to be sold as a slave when they got to Russia. So typical of an arrogant Westerner to assume that Russia was so backward and lawless that they still kept slaves.

 

But Svetlana had to admit that the bitch had been a good sport about it and had thrown herself completely into the role of a captive slave, responding with great enthusiasm to the attentions that Madam Nadia and Svetlana herself had lavished upon her during the flight. And when they took her hood and gag off at Nikola Tesla Airport in Serbia she had shown Svetlana exactly what it was that had driven Madam Nadia to that special place during the flight out. Svetlana was not a woman who could be satisfied easily or quickly but the English woman surely had some special skills. And what a party had followed. How they had all laughed and how the Champagne had flowed. And of course the captain and his mate had had joined in and they hadn’t been able to take off again, which had forced them to stay the night and continue the celebrations. But Svetlana envied the hostess for what she had experienced on the flight. For many of those ten hours she genuinely believed she was being abducted into slavery, something Svetlana had only ever played at. And the English bitch refused to say what it really felt like.

 

And ever since then Madam Nadia seemed to want to fly everywhere. No excuse seemed too flimsy to justify being on the plane so she could spend time with her hostess slut. And to add insult to injury, Svetlana would be called along to be fixer and gopher while Madam Nadia cavorted with the servant. But it was proud Tsolkovsky blood that flowed in Svetlana’s veins and the insult would not go unpunished. Just because they didn’t keep slaves in Russia didn’t mean there weren’t other, less civilised parts of the world, and Svetlana knew a guy called Mirsky who had this swanky dacha deep in the forests of Belarus and close enough to Chernobyl that no one uninvited ever went there.

 

“Smile girls,” she called, holding up her phone to take a picture.

 

Madam Nadia and the hostess looked into the phone and posed together. The phone flashed and the image was captured on its screen. A beautiful blonde woman in a stylish Terekhov dress drinking Jasper Hill Shiraz from a glass held by a black-haired air hostess in a clingy jacket and a silly hat with a veil. Svetlana smiled to herself and messaged the picture to Mirsky.