Fly Girl Ch. 04

Fly Girl IV: Traffic Pattern Entry

Al rose, dressed and reached for the door just as his cell phone rang. It was his partner calling from Miami.

"Hey, buddy, got a second?"

"Sure," Al replied. "I'm heading out to meet with Tom. Says he has something for me."

"Yeah? So do I."

"Okay," Al said as he settled behind the wheel. "Tell me while I drive."

Thirteen minutes later Al strode into the same room at the airport where he met with Steven and Patsy. Tom sat at the conference table drinking coffee. He eyed the Agent.

"Hey. You look a little better."

"Thanks. Sleep helped. So, what's up?"

"Been thinking about the body, the second one."

"You mean the kid?" Al prodded.

"Yeah."

"And you're not buying that he was a 'mule'—"

Tom tilted his head, mouth poised.

"Not an official mule?" Al finished.

Tom's mouth hung open.

"You think maybe he was 'carrying' on his own?"

Tom nodded, still mute.

"You're thinking it's human trafficking. Not drugs."

Tom sat there with his jaw down, working it just a bit, as Patsy's cousin stole all of his thunder. But his voice continued to elude him. Finally, he asked, "How'd you fig—?"

"C'mon, man. You think the FBI's just a bunch o' dumb shits in suits?"

Tom shook his head.

"Good." Al cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah, my partner told me."

Tom took a second to digest the information before he burst into hearty laughter. Al grinned with him.

"He made a trip to, well, south, and met with the Florida Coalition Against Human Trafficking. They let him know that they've been watching the activity through this region and it's been heating up lately. The kid was just a weird coincidence, but it suggested something else."

"Yeah, no shit it did," Tom agreed, pensive. "I saw it happen back in the day." Then he hastened to add,"'Fore I reformed, now, ya know."

"Yeah, I don't wanna know 'bout before. I just want to believe you're a good guy—for Patsy's sake."

Tom was about to speak, but snapped his lips together instead and just nodded.

"Look,' Al admitted, "I just told you way more than I should. And since you and Steve have been helpful in all this mess I figure it's sort of 'quid pro quo'. But now, is there anything else you can tell me? You can call this 'the interrogation,' if you want. But if you have anything . . .?"

"Well," Tom began, eyes darting around the room, "I use to know about a couple of places where you could get a plane into. Even a good sized one, too, if you were a decent stick-and-rudder guy . . ."

Since the case had gone from "a little drug running" to one of human trafficking it became a greater priority. The Florida Coalition Against Human Trafficking had pressed the FBI—they insisted Al's partner to meet with them—and now they pursued their advantage, even influencing the Director himself.

During the next week Al and his partner would run down Tom's leads. It was a lot of territory to cover and required a certain finesse. But the work would get easier; more field agents and local law enforcement were being mobilized every day.

Tom and Patsy lay together, sweaty and breathless from a shared climax. Clothes dotted the floor, including a very bright red bra. Their night was just getting started. Patsy trailed her fingertips around Tom's chest. He smiled, eyes closed, and she felt his hand running up and down her spine.

"That tickles," she chuckled. As she dodged from the contact, her body pressed tighter against his. Her pubic bone ground against his hip and her well-worn clit made her entire body convulse. "Yikes, guess I'm not ready for round two."

"Does that mean I win?" he grinned, eyes still shut.

"Hell, no!" Her hand ran down his midline, past his waist and through his curly triangle until she took hold of his cock. Tom jerked and his eyes flew open when she squeezed him. "Gotcha," she announced. Patsy's grip morphed into slow rhythmic stroking.

She had dragged Tom to bed as soon as he got home. Now with her immediate physical needs met curiosity got the better of her. "So, what'd Al say? And what'd you tell him?"

"Your timing sucks!" His hand found her ass and kneaded her flesh.

"Hmm, interesting idea." She closed her teeth on the skin of his shoulder.

"Please?" she asked, holding him between her incisors.

"Oh, okay," Tom relented. "I was going to, mmm, I like that—"

"Focus," she told him. She continued her play, knowing he would have to work a little extra to keep his focus. She adored Tom and enjoyed pleasing him, especially since he always took care of her needs, too.

"I was gonna tell 'im, oooh, that's good, doll. –-Tell him that I thought it might be people smuggling." He sighed.

"Human trafficking?"

"Yep."

"But what about—"

"The kid? We think he was trying to play 'mule' on his own. A little entrepreneur, ya know? The bad guys prob'ly didn't know anything about it. Then the plane—he saw his chance with the distraction an' all, and tried to run for it. But one o' the bags must've come open, maybe even before the shooting started. He didn't make it." Tom softened in her hand.

"Shit. None o' that sounds good."

"Yeah, well, Al knew all about it already. He and his partner figured it out. Okay, that's enough," he said. He rolled to face her and took her succulent ass in both hands. He squeezed and massaged her, digging his fingers into her muscles.

"Oooh, so gettin' a little rough, huh?" She licked her palm and applied a wet stroke to his tip. He twitched and hardened once more. "Mmm, I want you inside me again, baby," she hissed.

He mounted her. She guided his cock to her wet cleft and sighed as he slid into her pussy. Tom moaned, pumped in and out, and Patsy shook each time she felt him plumbing her depths.

"Oh, fuck, I'm never gonna get tired of that gorgeous cock, baby. Mmm, yeah, and I love that," she moaned as Tom swallowed a large mouthful of her left breast. Each time he stroked her he ground into her fat clit. Each touch of his tongue, lips and teeth sent ripples of electric heat radiating from her tit to her pussy. She lay back and let him ravish her for several minutes as her excitement built. Her fingers tangled in his hair and she clung to him as he went from one nipple to the other and back again.

"Oh, fuck, baby, your mouth feels sooo good. And your big cock is driving me crazy!"

"Mmm, umph," Tom mumbled around her mounded flesh.

"God, I need to ride you!" She rolled him over until he lay beneath her. As Patsy pushed herself from his chest her saliva-soaked titty slipped from his mouth with a quiet "pop." She straightened her arms and arched her back. Her hips tilted forward and the delicious pressure against her clitoris increased. When she rocked back Tom's thick tip bobbed within her twitching wet grip, scrubbing deep inside her cunt. "Oooh, fuuuck," she groaned.

"Goddamn, you're beautiful!" His hands gripped her hips as she ground herself onto his pelvis. The hair around her face was plastered to her skin by the sweat of her aroused exertions. Her breath came in uneven pants and gasps.

"Play with . . . my titties, shoog."

He reached up and caressed the heavy globes, so warm and supple in his hands. His fingers pulled and rolled both nipples and the flesh of her areolas puckered and wrinkled. Her hands imprisoned his against her nipples and she rocked a little faster. When Tom pinched her bursting tips she shook and shoved herself onto the very base of his shaft.

"Yeees, ooohfuck, now, baby!"

"Oh, damn! I'm—"

"Now, baby, shoot your, cum, now, deep in . . . side . . . meee!"

Her body shuddered as her pleasure came in huge, implosive jolts. She felt Tom's swollen cock dance within her, felt his rhythmic contractions as his orgasm joined and sharpened her own. Patsy went rigid as every muscle convulsed. Her eyes rolled back and closed, and her head thrashed as she drenched Tom and the sheets with droplets of sweat and pulses of her hot cum.

The vibrations of every nerve ending in her body faded from shudders to quivers and finally to tingles. She could breathe again and her mind could think again. Then, as their peaks subsided, she sagged to lie on his body. Her tender nipples dug into his chest and fired off a few errant sparkles of pleasure. She listened to his heartbeat as post-coital ripples nibble on her. Patsy sighed, smiling.

Damn, I could so fall for this man, she thought.

She felt Tom's body soften until his breathing deepened. She knew this would only be a nap and that they would awaken and fuck a few more times before dawn. Patsy snuggled into his shoulder, his softened member still filling almost half of her satiated pussy, and joined him in slumber.

Stephanie reached for the phone at least twice a day. But she never dialed more than three or four digits before she lost her nerve. She did not know what she would say, anyway. She could not see herself opening up any more than she already had with Steven, but it was not enough for him.

He's a guy, she thought. Shouldn't he be satisfied with regular, hot sex? I would be if I was a guy. Hell, I'd like some right now anyway. Oh, Steven. In her mind she knew she sounded like a whiny school girl. But she hurt and she missed him. How she sounded was meaningless. She only knew she needed Steven in her life.

When Steve was not flying he took to sitting in his little block building. And he was flying less all the time. Worse yet, he started drinking more, and earlier, every day. Then one day he realized he had no flights, and he cracked a beer instead of brewing the morning coffee.

"Holy shit, what the fuck're ya doing?" He poured it down the drain. "That's enough of that shit, Steve, ole boy. Let's get the Hell outta here."

He got dressed, gargled mouthwash, threw together a quick peanut butter and jam sandwich for the road and headed south.

Twenty minutes later he walked into the kayak shop.

"Steve! Hell, man how long's it been?"

"Hey, Annie. Damn, girl, you look great."

"Doing about seventy five, eighty miles a week." She flexed her upper arms, and came around the counter. He stared at her jostling chest.

"Yeah, lookin' good," he told it.

"Up here, Flyboy!" She grinned at him then gave him a bear hug. He returned it out of self-defense to keep her from cracking one of his ribs.

"So, it's true, huh?" she asked as they parted.

"What?"

"'What?' Good one," she teased. "Remember this's a small town. That, and I can read your face. Remember? So, li'l Miss Curly Cutie? Why else would you be here?"

"Aw, c'mon, Annie. We just hit a rough spot."

"Uh, huh. If you say so."

"Still got my old boat?" He changed the subject with neck-snapping speed and she humored him.

"You kidding? If Jock ever tried to sell 'er I'd slap the livin' shit outta him. Wanna paddle 'er?"

"How's the tide?"

"Cancha tell?"

"Nah, outta practice."

"Lightweight! Nearing peak. You planning 'bout two hours?"

"Maybe three."

"Then you have your choice. West'll get you with the tide out and back. East, if you wanna fight."

"Okay. Gimmy the 'Coho' for three hours, with gear."

"East, huh?"

He smiled.

"You know, if you end up single I'd let you turn me."

"No, you wouldn't. Besides, what would Sue say?"

"Yeah, uh 'we just hit a rough spot' . . . 'bout three months ago."

"Sorry."

Annie shrugged. "Hell, we were in rough water more'n outta it anyway. She and I are better apart. Still go out drinking sometimes an' we're gettin' along pretty okay now. It's all good."

He believed her. "Well, thanks for the ego stroke anyway—"

"Yep, Ah aim ta please!

"—But Steph and me're completely different."

"Uh huh. On second thought, if she's single . . . ."

He grinned at her. "Yeah, give it your best shot and lemme know how that works out for ya, 'kay?"

"She that straight?"

He nodded.

"Oh, well, can't blame a gal fer tryin'." She flashed him a small grin. "You need a hand with anything? Want a 'paddle buddy'?"

"Not unless stuff's been moved. And I kinda need the 'me' time, ya know?"

"Okay. Nothing's moved. Make yourself t' home. I gotta finish some paperwork anyway."

"Good to see ya, Annie."

She looked deep into his eyes. "You, too, Steve-o."

Steven made his way to the boat house. He donned a vest and helmet, grabbed a paddle and checked its length. He picked up another instead and hoisted the wooden boat from its rack. A short walk had him at the dock where he put in and took a few moments to get his hips moving with the kayak. It has been too long, he thought. Can't read the tide and can't get my hips right. Shit, what's next? But within minutes he regained his balance and was stroking steadily through the marsh grass.

He rounded a blind corner and stirred a great blue heron who had been hunting the shallows. The animal flapped, emitting a surprised call that sounded somewhere between a duck and a goose. Steve heard the rush of air over its broad feathers, and felt the downwash as the bird launched itself and angled toward safety.

He made it to the main river channel in just over an hour. The marsh grass suddenly opened like parting stage curtains. Here the river was several hundred feet wide and he could see the ocean two miles downstream.

After the tight rivulets in the marshes, the contrast was breathtaking. Fish darted. Sometimes he would see their backs or they would leap clear of the surface before splashing back into the murky river. Sometimes he would only see their wakes rippling the smooth waters. In the distance a manatee nosed up for a lungful of air and disappeared again.

He let the trim wooden vessel coast for a while. Its momentum decayed until it matched the drift of the current. He wished Stephanie could . . .

Shit! So much for my peaceful "me" time. He just could not keep her from his mind for long.

Am I pushing her too hard? Is it so bad to keep what we have? A gorgeous—young—woman wants to share your company, fly with you, sleep with you, and you have to screw it up by trying to drag a commitment out of her? Are you that insecure? What in Hell's wrong with you, you fucking penisaurus?

The boat drifted toward the ocean proving the tide had indeed turned. It was time to fight his way back. He rounded the Coho and paddle hard against the outgoing current.

When he was "doing business" her long tenure with him granted her special privileges. She could avoid some of the work the other girls had to do before they were moved. And she did not have to deal with any of the men left to look after things. Some of them were beneath her and she ignored them. Others tried intimidation and she could handle that, too. The arrangement fell short of ideal, but it suited her for now.

Another privilege was that she could sample any of the merchandise she desired. At the moment she desired Lucinda—again—as she had for days. After the three-way, when he let the new girl know how things were, Maria spent much of her time settling Lucinda into what became their new routine. Though expected to live with the other girls, for all practical purposes she and Maria had become roommates.

"That's good, little one. Ah, you are getting so good at that. Yes, your tongue, ay, yes right there."

Lucinda's eyes fluttered open and gazed up at Maria's face. Maria was watching through wide pupils and her sensuous lips wore the hint of a smile. Lucinda smiled back, closed her eyes, and swirled her tongue around the top of the young woman's cleft. Maria's rosy clit wriggled under the girl's soft, rapid licks.

"Ay, baby," she gasped. Her hands gripped the back of her lover's head, tangled in the cascade of dark hair, and pressed her tighter to her salacious task. "I am growing close. Ah, yes, yeees, ay, baby. Put your fingers inside. Yes, like—Ay! Ah . . . ah . . . ah . . . ayayay!"

There was a perfunctory pounding on the door an instant before it swung open. Lucinda squeaked in alarm and jerked the sheet over herself, even though she was fully clothed. Maria lay there with her legs still spread and her skirt above her waist. Her eyes burned and she shouted, "How dare you, Pedro, you shit! Get out!"

"He wants you," he said in a flat voice. He wore a smirk and his stare never left Maria's crotch. She pulled the skirt down to rob him of the view and rose, all with a dignity he instinctively loathed.

"Not you." He pointed to the girl. "You. Now!"

"Come, baby," Maria told her, offering a hand. "It will be all right."

"Not you—just her." Pedro repeated himself. He enjoyed spreading humiliation. His woman would never behave the way this one did, he thought. And when Maria became his woman he would make sure she understood that.

The girl's shocked eyes were wide and brimming with terror. Maria gave her a stern look and a single nod then stood aside.

When she still did not move, Pedro stepped to the bed and grabbed the girl's arm. He weighed nearly one hundred kilos and Lucinda less than fifty. He yanked on her with such cruel strength that her feet were practically out of the room before they touched the tile floor.

"Noooo!" she shouted. The door slammed shut behind them and muffled her receding cries.

Maria dried herself with her skirt and paced the room.

Before she left home she had dreamed of a life in the new country, a dream of modest comfort with someone special. They would share a small house, someplace safe away from people, with a whitewashed fence. They would raise chickens and have a garden with tomatoes and peppers and beans and some beautiful flowers.

But she ended up here, with him. When the realization had dawned that it would be longer and more difficult than she was led to believe Maria locked her dream safely in her mind and spoke of it to no one. She would visit it every day of the intervening years, but it remained her very private escape.

She could see everything so clearly in her dream world, except the face of the man she would marry. Later, after the first year or so in this place, she came to know the nature of men. Maria could not remember exactly when it happened, but she now believed her love and her partner would not be a man at all. Still, the face remained indistinct. Until last night.

Last night, Maria had herself scissored between Lucinda's legs as they stroked against each other. This was not the coarse, selfish sex that she had come to expect from men. Everything was slow and ethereal. She had heard about two people "making love," and thought it must be like this.

No, she corrected herself, it must be this!

Her lover's delectable, turgid sex rubbed against Maria's sopping vulva. Tingles of red-hot pleasure pulsed and coursed through her entire body. She looked at Lucinda's face, not exactly sure what she would find. She knew what a man's expression would reveal, at least the man she knew most intimately. But as they made love the girl's eyes looked so soft and kind and . . . caring? She could not be certain for it was something completely foreign and unknown to her. Nothing in Maria's history—

No, she realized with a shock. She had seen that expression, but so long ago that she had forgotten. She had seen it in her mother's eyes the last time they held one another. It was a gaze filled with patient acceptance and unquenchable love. It was neither carnal nor conditional—it was simply "love". And she now found that same expression in the deep chocolate brown irises of a young woman from a tiny, nameless village.