The two shapely women, Helen and Carlotta, remained in Conference One. Helen wore her uniform. Carlotta wore her stockings, leaving unclothed everything that a man would like to see – her pert up tilted breasts, her dark neat bush, her slender but adequate hips, her firm buttocks, her odd but attractive face.
Looking at her more closely, Helen saw more than Latin in her face. Behind the olive skin and along the cheekbones lay a hint of ancient native blood. Carlotta had had an ancestor among the tribes of South America who built great temples and engaged in human sacrifice and the deflowering of virgins with stone lancets known as the lingams of the Gods.
Carlotta strolled to the bar. Helen found the view of her back and her swaying buttocks quite disturbing. The long black stockings looked like something left over from an indescribable debauch.
Carlotta went to the bar, made two margaritas. Not everyone has seen a super-naked woman work at a bar. The effect is fascinating. Carlotta knew this. She knew, too, that she was not fascinating a man but fascinating a woman. This required technique.
Carlotta was simply a Buenos Aires specialty – a woman who knew how to take care of all the varieties of sex.
You name it, she supplied it. But although, on occasion, she might round up a corps of girls to provide some bored rich man with a bacchanal, she preferred more intimate scenes. Whatever was to be done along the highways and byways of sex she preferred to supply by herself.
She had fucked her friend Hank Hastings with hot and lively expertise. Called upon to provide suck, she had sucked him over the rainbow and back again.
Now she had caught his signal and she was going to get to work on Helen Troy. Carlotta could switch from heterosexual to homosexual without thinking twice about it.
Moreover, she had seen something in Hank and Helen, when they had been so briefly together, that made her think they ought to be together more often and all alone. Being a woman, Carlotta was a matchmaker.
But now to the problem of the moment. This Helen had been given a bad time by a female passenger and had been left in a state of nervous tension. Carlotta knew the medicine to apply.
She brought the margarita to Helen and clinked glasses. She let half the drink go down Helen's throat and then she reached for Helen's hand.
"Shek," she said.
Helen nodded. Yes, her hands were shaking. Carlotta touched delicate fingers to the pulse in the side of Helen's throat. "Queek," she said.
"My heart is still beating fast, I know," Helen said, pleased with Carlotta's sympathy.
Holding her drink in one hand, Carlotta bent, reached casually up beneath Helen's skirt and pressed her hand firmly upon the twat she found. She could not reach its skin but she felt it adequately through the fabric of Helen's minipanties. She also felt, as she smiled quietly, the shaking response that ran through Helen's entire form.
"Shek," said Carlotta. True enough, Helen's cunt had been quivering and now quivered even more strongly. "Wet." Carlotta smelled her own fingers. "Ah! In middle." She tried to find the English words but could not. "Lost," she tried. And "Not mek feenish."
Helen marveled. "You can tell by the smell of my cunt that that bitch Cleo left our sex job unfinished, even though I polished her off so well?"
"Ah-hmm, yes. Now. Do."
Again Helen watched the provocative ass cheeks, made even more so by the black stockings, retreat a couple of yards to the button that controlled the bed. Carlotta deliberately made her breasts twitch when she lifted a hand to press the button in the wall.
The bed came down softly, invitingly. Carlotta smiled to Helen and pulled back the bedspread.
She came to Helen and removed the hostess's uniform jacket.
Without hurry she unbuttoned Helen's blouse.
She showed her approval of the revealing bra. She ran her lips along the edges of the bra, tracking its outlines along the quivering, warming tissues of Helen's breasts.
She unhooked the bra and retreated a foot to get a better view. She nodded her approval. She put a hand beneath each breast and felt their weight and nodded further approval.
She invited Helen to feel her breasts, and turned sidewise to show their outline, the up tilted nipples that made a kind of ski-jump for an exploring finger. She made the motion of using a bow and arrow.
Ah! One had to have Indian blood in order to have breasts of that enticing shape.
"Men like, ho-ho-ho!" said Carlotta, smiling.
She helped Helen out of her skirt and half-slip but motioned that she should leave on her stockings. Oh yes, thought Helen, while all her juices flowed in eager expectation, let's play whore!
Being a woman, she had a hidden desire to be a whore. But Helen's sexual desires ran in too many directions and she never knew which direction to call the way home.
Anyway, if one were to play whore, where were the men?
Who needed a hairy brutal man when one had a silken-skinned, gentle woman?
Carlotta again fondled Helen's breast, pressing the nipples inward and letting them spring out again. She then cupped her hand upon one breast while she bent her lips to the other.
She approached Helen's nipple in the suck-off style, with her lips drawn over her teeth. When she had the enticed, erect nipple between her lips, it gave Helen only half the sensation she had tremblingly expected. She wanted moisture. She wanted tongue.
While Carlotta let Helen go on wanting a wet nipple, she released the other breast and glided her hand down Helen's belly into the bush. She combed the bush with her fingers, and this sent a delighted shiver through Helen's body.
Carlotta touched the cunt, below; once, twice, three times, each time lingering longer while her lips continued their odd, drawn-down exploration of Helen's nipple.
All at once, Carlotta grabbed Helen's cunt and at the same time opened her mouth wide and took the nipple and the corolla and more into her wide open mouth that flooded with moisture.
Helen made a small, soft, delighted shriek.
She didn't expect what happened then.
Carlotta hooked a finger into her cunt and drew her along that way.
It didn't hurt. It didn't not-hurt. It hurt just a bit, just enough to be exciting. The finger had its grip merely in the outer lips, resting against the clitoris. Helen could have gotten away. But why? Smiling in tender wonder, she allowed Carlotta to draw her along as though she were an Indian maiden led along by the Incan hook made of twisted feathers that could tickle a girl almost into madness before they sat her upon the stone lingam for her defloration.
Helen didn't know all that. She only knew she was having a wonderful time. And that her much abused cunt, signaled to expect an orgasm, was responding with heat, juice, and a delightful aroma.
They sat upon the bed and engaged in tongue writhing soul kisses and rubbed each other's pussies.
They fell back on the bed, stretched out together, excited, contented, more excited than contented.
With a naughty grin, Carlotta got up on her knees between Helen's thighs as though she were about to take a man's place. But what she really wanted was to rub her remarkable nipples around and around Helen's. She thus signaled that, yes, she certainly had peeked at Helen and Cleo when the two had been sporting in this same bed.
Cleo slapped Helen gently on the hip and made a signal: turn over.
Gloating upon Helen's gluteus maxiumus, Carlotta nibbled and nipped with her tiny teeth. She made Helen keep her legs apart so that, simultaneously, she could sometimes nibble and nip down the ass-cleft, which led her along a trail of torrid fun down to the back of the crotch. With a quick motion, Carlotta reversed her position and, almost standing on her head, got at the part of Helen's cunt that her tongue could reach. She whipped it with her tongue, held the lips apart and got her tongue in almost to the fuck tunnel.
To Helen, this was both delightful and frustrating. She wanted it from the front, the tongue slapping the clitoris. Of course, Cleo had planned it that way.
But Helen waited, hoping Cleo would return to the delightful nipping of the ass cheeks that excites so many nerve-ends and sends such delicious sensations coursing through the body.
Cleo knew this want and she supplied it once more.
But she kept a hand on that cunt.
Helen lay on one arm and thought that even if the plane crashed down into the ocean, right now, she would want Carlotta to go on making love to her.
Now came the signal: Turn over!
On her back, Helen drew Carlotta to her for more soul-kisses. She did not let the lithe Argentinean go until her tongue grew actually tired.
The humming and quivering remained delightfully in her mouth when Carlotta switched ends again and they played female sixty-nine.
As they both knew, sixty-nine is easier to play when at least one of the partners has a long, hard prick. When two women do it, it takes a lot of stretching the neck. But both Helen and Carlotta were young and active. They went at each other, tongues flickering eagerly.
They found the right angle and they went to work.
Helen soon realized that her experiences with other woman had not given her anything like Carlotta's cunt-licking expertise.
Carlotta knew the nerve centers, not only in the cunt, but along in the delicate areas on either side of the outer lips, where cunt meets thigh.
While Helen was seeking honey in the depths of Carlotta honey pot, Carlotta was giving her certain preliminaries that had been brought to Spain by the Moors in the tenth century, and had been used heavily by the harem women who had had little to do all day beside cunt-lick. Also these techniques had had time to become perfected since then.
Like the South American snake that lonely women often use for sexual excitation, Carlotta's tongue made its sinuous way along the outside of Helen's cunt lips. By the time that wise tongue had made a circumnavigation, Helen was getting so overcome with sensation that she hardly could make her own tongue go.
Then Carlotta settled down to tonguing Helen's clit.
Helen gave up. She couldn't go on doing her own tonguing while this wonder of wonders was happening to her. She did not know that Carlotta was tongue bating her clit according to a mathematical formula worked out by the ancient Mayan astronomers in their lonely towers. Provided with women, boys, female llamas or whatever else they needed to keep them happy, they had discovered more about sex than the average American whorehouse madam would ever remember, let alone believe.
So Carlotta went a secret number of times clockwise and a secret number of times counterclockwise around Helen's throbbing clitoris. She then felt for a certain pulse at the other end of the cunt, and did it again, but counter-clockwise first.
By now she had twisted her lithe body around once more and was able to concentrate better. Having Helen firmly in control, she went from the hostess's clit to her yearning fuck tunnel. Here she did something simple; that is, simple to someone who has studied a certain art most of her life. She simply drove Helen wild.
When her twisting, searching tongue had caused slow rings of heat to march up and down the length of the fuck tunnel, and Helen was holding her own breasts, actually digging her nails into her breasts in her excitement, and moaning, "Uh, uh, uh, uh," Carlotta turned her attention to the areas of Helen's sticky cunt that she had not yet dealt with. These were, first of all, the outer lips.
But in order to give them her full attention, Carlotta wanted a position called the Buenos Aires Angle.
Forsaking Helen for a moment – but with a whispered promise to return immediately, and a loving nip at the ear for reassurance – Carlotta got a cushion off the couch and seated herself on it, kneeling at the edge of the bed.
She then worked the wildly humping Helen around, and got her settled with her legs up over her own shoulders. This presented Helen's cunt in a highly approachable position.
"Shhh," she said fondly, trying to control Helen's abandoned thrashing. "Now the come."
By lifting one of Helen's legs, then the other, she altered the angle of the cunt so that she could go at it sidewise and with her clever lips pull the outer lips, first the right one, then the left, as though, if she pulled farther, she would make the lip cover the cunt with a kind of weird modesty.
Rather than try to pull that tender cunt apart as the rapist had done to Helen as a high-school girl, Carlotta was putting its parts more closely together. This of course concentrated the heat and Helen felt as though she had been brought to the Equator and displayed, legs spread, to the tropic sun, whose penetrating heat run all around her pelvis and up her spine to her head and back again.
Carlotta mouthed the outer lips well, lingering where she knew the nerves came together in sensitive junctions.
She gave the fuck tunnel another quick flip and penetration and then put her finger down into it and made her finger vibrate. The muscles inside grabbed at her finger convulsively.
Carlotta now slanted her finger to one side, thus making room for her face, and slithered her tongue at the inner lips, feeling meanwhile the vibrations rising. Yes, her new friend, whom she really liked, was approaching the time of the Pampas Wind, the great tempest that carries all before it.
Slanting her finger to the other side, Carlotta was about to get her tongue in there again when she felt the tiny spasms inside Helen's fuck tunnel give way to great surges of sexcited flesh.
"Good, good," murmured the expert, and did not mind Helen's heels beating her back while the other woman humped and moaned and thrashed her arms in the ecstasy off her long delayed climax.
When Helen had recovered somewhat, she bent her own face into Carlotta's twat and made sure that marvelous woman achieved her own climax.
Then they rested in each other's arms.
"Who needs men, my darling, my darling," murmured Helen, gently kissing Carlotta's nipples.
Carlotta whispered, "Shhh. We see about this. We see."
"Well, Captain," said Cleo Prentice as she came out of the short-wave phone booth, "you might like to know that one of your hostesses is a lesbian. Caught her at it."
"Yeh?" said Hank, suppressing an urge to hit the smugly smiling woman in the tweed tailleur.
"Here are my credentials, by the way."
"Yeh, yeh, you're one of Security's undercover cunts."
"Really, Captain! One supposes that a Chief Pilot has regard for the welfare of Wanderlust Airlines!"
"Sure. I fly the planes safe. Hey, wait a minute. Weren't you a Wanderlust hostess yourself, once? And didn't you get fired for fucking women?"
Cleo Prentice drew herself up and glared at him. "That is a very crude way of putting a most subtle matter. Merely that any intelligent woman can come to realize that she has been making a mistake. I consider it now my sacred duty to cleanse Wanderlust of lesbian trash."
"Yeh," choked Hank, forcibly keeping his clenched fists at his side.
"Now, Captain, you ought to be getting a message from Security at any moment, covering the Helen Troy matter."
He turned his back and walked away. He presented a thundercloud face to the passengers. In the cockpit, he snatched away the copilot's newspaper and shouted, "Goddamit, you're in command here when I'm out!"
"Sure, Hank, but what am I going to do while the computer flies us in a straight line and no red lights or buzzers are sounding?"
"Well, ACT busy!"
Slamming into his seat, slapping on his headphones, Hank Hastings shouted back at the communications man: "Get the printout on that message that's just coming in."
"Kayrist," said Sparks, handing him the printout two minutes later. "Security sure has a bee up its ass."
The message, addressed to the Chief Pilot, requested him to order the Chief Hostess to require Hostess Helen Troy to surrender her duties to another hostess and remain off-duty until the plane reached Buenos Aires, at which time Hostess Helen Troy would report for disciplinary action in regard to reported lesbian activity. Hank Hastings growled at Sparks, "Tell Snarly Mollie to come up here." He handed the message to Snarly Mollie, who read it and snarled, "Hah! I knew it! She always had a sneaky way about her!"
"Get the hell out of here," Hank Hastings said.