Flight SH123 to Corfu

This story is written by David, please send comments and appreciation to voondave@yahoo.co.uk

Danny Dawson and his three former school pals, all of them eighteen-year-old school leavers with no job or training to go to upon their leaving education and, (would-be) 'career claimants', had duly reported to the location of their placements, as assigned to them by their local Job Centre.

The recently elected Authoritarian Female Party government, led by their very attractive and highly charismatic leader, Caroline Flint, had promptly introduced the placement scheme and, in their being applied all over Britain, these placements were the key feature – the cornerstone – of the A.F.P.'s Work Motivation Programme.

The A.F.P.'s radical, new-way-of-thinking initiative, was highly innovative and, although its introduction and speedy implementation had been highly controversial – causing protests, street marches, outrage and uproar, from the Human Rights lobbyists – it was well received by the great majority of the British people. Warmly welcomed, in fact.

For, the Work Motivation Programme was specifically designed, with the express purpose of giving the lazy-bones, workshy, job-dodging malingerers; many of whom, were long-term unemployed, and second, even third-generation 'career claimants', a none-too-gentle nudge in the right direction – towards gainful employment.

As instructed, in their Letters of Notification from their local Job Centre, the four workshy school leavers had duly reported to the Information Desk of the popular budget travel company, Sunshine Holidays, at Manchester Airport – Terminal 2 Departures. There, they had been received by Chief Stewardess Julie Davies, who had formally taken charge of them.

And now, they were about to discover what they were going to have to do, if they were to continue to qualify for their Unemployment Benefit payments. About to discover just what, exactly, their duties as Air Purification Technicians would actually entail.

The Sunshine Holidays jet-liner that Danny and his three former schoolmates now found themselves aboard, was fitted with 200 passenger seats and, due to its having a rather long and narrow fuselage, people in the air line industry had nicknamed this model of aircraft, as the 'Flying Pencil'.

The 'Flying Pencil's passenger seating arrangement, was that there were fifty rows of seats. There were four seats per row, with two seats on either side of the aisle.

The window-seats and aisle-seats on the port (left) side of the aircraft cabin, were labelled 'A' and 'B', respectively. The aisle-seats and window-seats on the starboard (right) side of the aircraft cabin, were labelled 'C' and 'D', respectively.

The two platforms, upon which the port side seats and the starboard side seats were bolted down, were elevated above the aisle floor by about two feet.

Chief Stewardess Julie Davies had, to her immense relief, managed to shepherd her four confused and concerned charges aboard the aircraft just in time for its take-off slot. And it was to the great relief also, of her three air hostess colleagues – Carol, Ann and Diane – who had been trying to reassure the worrisome Captain Simon (Buck) Rogers that the senior air hostess would arrive in time.

Now though, time was tight, and Chief Stewardess Julie Davies and her three colleagues hastened about their duties; the Sunshine Holidays jet-liner, bumping and jolting gently now as it taxied towards the runway.

Danny and his three fellow Air Purification Technicians looked on bemusedly. Completely at a loss, as to just what, exactly, was actually going on. And, as they stood by and watched the urgent, yet calm and efficient activities of the four air hostesses, they cast questioning, and increasingly concerned glances at each other.

For, Chief Stewardess Julie Davies and her three colleagues were busy opening the four panels that were situated behind the rearmost row of seats; situated behind the two elevated seating platforms – two on the port side, two on the starboard side: behind seat numbers 50 'A', 'B', 'C', and 'D' – that gave access to the under-seat space of the Flying Pencil's fuselage.

As Danny and his three nonplussed former classmates looked on, exchanging befuddled, 'What, the ...?' glances, the four air hostesses spun free the quick-release wing-nuts, and removed the four panels from behind the two elevated seating platforms, thereby opening four entrances to the aircraft's under-seat space – an add-on, yet integral, under-section of the climate-controlled aircraft cabin.

Caroline Flint, Prime Minister and leader of the recently elected Authoritarian Female Party, had, that very morning, cooed over the aircraft's modifications, lauding them as "A remarkable feat of improvisational ingenuity." And: "A great credit, to all concerned."

In fact, taking great pleasure in scissoring the logo'd blue-and-yellow ribbons draped across the entrance doors of the Sunshine Holidays jet-liner, the new Prime Minister had been cock-a-hoop, in personally presiding over the Air Purification Technician inauguration ceremony.

Addressing the large gathering of air line industry workers before her, Caroline Flint had quipped, "I really hope that this ... pilot scheme, takes off." When polite chuckles had subsided, she went on, "As it is my own, personal brainchild, I would like to see this particular Work Motivation Programme scheme introduced generally, nationwide. And with as many compatible British Air Lines as possible, taking part in this groundbreaking, and – I have no doubt – extremely efficacious, endeavour ... And after all, there is no reason not to. No reason at all, why compatible Air Lines shouldn't do their bit, for the country – for hard-working, solid-citizen tax-payers, like yourselves – since all aircraft modification costs will be met by government subsidy."

As revealed by the four air hostesses, in each of these four entrances, placed upon grooved rails, were the four ... contraptions, that were the Air Purification Technicians' Service Vehicles: Service Vehicles A, B, C, and D.

The Air Purification Technicians' service vehicles looked, at a casual glance, very much like ordinary poolside recliners. Made of a hard, plastic-type material, they were about six feet long, two feet wide and, just like many ordinary poolside recliners, the forward, upper-body section was adjustable, thereby conveniently enabling the occupant's torso and head to be raised and lowered.

But, apart from these otherwise seemingly unremarkable contraptions being castor-wheeled, they differed in appearance from ordinary poolside recliners in another, and rather more obvious way: They were fitted with five sturdy leather straps – restraints. For the occupant's wrists, ankles, and neck.

The four air hostesses now pulled forward these four, castor-wheeled service vehicles from their storage bays. And as soon as they had done so, they peremptorily ordered their four dumbfounded charges to lie down upon them; on their backs, and with their heads facing towards the front of the aircraft.

Turning to Danny, Chief Stewardess Julie Davies addressed him brusquely, authoritatively. Nodding meaningfully, at the hard-surfaced, complete-with-restraints contraption she had just pulled forward from behind starboard window-seat 50 D – Service Vehicle D – she impatiently hectored Danny, "Come on, then! What are you waiting for? On you get, Dawson, onto your service vehicle ... Well, go on then, get on with it – don't take all day ... Dawson, you cretin! I. Said. Move yourself!"

"Er ... don't you get it yet, Dawson?" inquired Chief Stewardess Julie Davies, of the stunned and incredulous Danny. "This is what you are here for, you idiot! Capiche? You, and others like you. You don't want to go to work and earn a living – like respectable people. No ... you'd rather sponge – from people like me! Wouldn't you, Dawson? So now you are here, instead ... Now, do as I tell you, Dawson. And do it now – or else! Lie down on your service vehicle. Lie on your back, with your head at the front – see, Dawson; there's a rubber lining there, it'll cushion your head, and keep it in place during turbulence, so you'll be all nice and comfy," the senior air hostess told Danny, with mock solicitousness.

When, in sheer incredulity, Danny merely continued to gaze blankly back at her, Chief Stewardess Julie Davies purposefully stepped right up to the hapless Danny.

Directly confronting him and, to better enable her to enforce her will, without the further wastage of any more precious time; like an overbearing Dreadnought bringing to bear her formidable array of weapons against a mere, bobbing-on-the-waves, one-man dinghy, she delivered her uncompromising, non-negotiable ultimatum. Her eyes, fixing upon Danny's with an unsettling, disturbing – fear-inspiring – expression, and blinking, as though flashing messages by Aldis lamp, the senior air hostess said menacingly, "Dawson, have you forgotten, already, what I said to you earlier? About your Satisfaction of Conduct report? You are already in enough trouble ... So you had better do what I tell you. And you had better do it now – immediately!"

Danny then complied accordingly: lying down exactly as Chief Stewardess Julie Davies had instructed him, upon the poolside-recliner-like contraption – Air Purification Technician Service Vehicle D.

"You too, Wallace!" ordered air hostess Carol, sharply addressing Danny's former best school chum, Al. "Come on! Chop chop! Get yourself onto this one, next to Dawson," she snapped, pointing to Service Vehicle C. "Come on, Wallace! Quickly – we haven't got all day!" she said waspishly.

And, following air hostesses Julie and Carol's authoritative examples, air hostesses Ann and Diane similarly supervised Eric Pierce and Kelvin Costello onto their service vehicles, too.

Alan, having enough sense to know there was no point in resisting; that no possible good – only harm – could come from his rocking the boat, followed Danny's example, quietly and without fuss. "Yes, Miss Carol," he replied compliantly.

And Eric and Kelvin followed suit: showing respect, and quietly submitting to the authority of air hostesses Ann and Diane, giving them no more trouble than Danny and Alan had given, to their ... handlers.

After all, what would be the point, in their showing dissent? In making things unnecessarily difficult for the air hostesses? In annoying, their ... handlers? They certainly didn't want Chief Stewardess Julie Davies blotting their copy-books for them. They didn't want her making due note; officially recording, in fact, their lack of cooperation, resistance – outright obstruction, even – when she wrote up their Satisfaction of Conduct reports.

Not that it had been easy, for Danny's three former school pals to respectfully comply with the orders so peremptorily issued to them, by the bossy, standing-for-no-nonsense, power-going-straight-to-their-heads, air hostesses.

For, listening to his friends' strained, through-gritted-teeth voices, Danny knew just what their servile obedience; their meek compliance, must have cost them.

Danny knew that, under their breath, Alan, Eric and Kelvin would be cursing the air hostesses. Under the surface, they would be seething with indignation; boiling over, with maddening, impotent outrage, as they obeyed the harshly issued orders of the air hostesses: as they lay down on their backs, upon the slyly-inspired contraptions that awaited them.

Being ordered about, bossed around, snapped at and talked down to – bullied – by these strict, no-nonsense, authoritative air hostesses, Danny was actually finding the whole experience rather exciting. To his astonishment, Danny found that he was actually enjoying himself.

With an air of brisk, economy-of-movement efficiency, Chief Stewardess Julie Davies and her three colleagues set about firmly securing Danny and his three former classmates onto their service vehicles; tightly restraining them with the five sturdy leather straps, by their wrists, ankles, and neck.

Crouching beside Danny, and looking down on him, with a smile of pleasure and gratification, Chief Stewardess Julie Davies firmly pressed a strip of adhesive tape over his mouth – almost fattening his lips for him from the deliberate excess of pressure she applied to the task. Experimentally, with her forefinger and thumb, the senior air hostess pinched Danny's nostrils firmly closed ... Then, after a few seconds, at Danny's bug-eyed and panicky reaction of, "Nnnnn! Nnnnnnn!!" she let go, satisfied that she had sealed Danny's mouth airtight. Smiling even more widely now, she patted Danny's cheeks with her fingertips and said pleasantly, "Have a nice flight, Dawson."

Now, after having securely strapped Danny aboard Service Vehicle D, by his ankles, wrists, and neck, and having sealed his mouth airtight, Chief Stewardess Julie Davies gleefully consigned Danny to his fate.

With the leather sole of her right, uniform issue, two-inch heeled, dark-blue pump shod foot, the senior air hostess pushed Air Purification Technician Service Vehicle D, now bearing the securely strapped-down, taped-over-mouthed Danny, back on track – back, onto the grooved rails that ran along the under-seat space of the Flying Pencil's fuselage.

Task accomplished, the four Sunshine Holidays air hostesses looked at each other, and smiled – in pleasure and gratification – upon a job well done.

Each of the four Air Purification Technician Service Vehicles were dedicated to serving their own line of passenger seats: lines A, B, C, and D. Each line, comprising of 50 seats.

There were four system keypads. Each numeric keypad, controlled one of the lines of 50 seats. The four keypads were individually lettered: A, B, C, and D. And they were numbered from 0-9.

And, when a green light came on and glowed softly, on each of the four keypads, the faces of the four air hostesses glowed softly, too – with pleasure and gratification. For, the four green lights indicated to them that the recently installed S.A.P.S. – 'Supplementary Air Purification System' – was now activated, and fully operational.

The S.A.P.S. was designed so that, by the simple means of a push of a button (located under the right armrest of every passenger seat), female passengers could summon the services of an Air Purification Technician.

At his being summoned, the Air Purification Technician would arrive just as soon as he became available – subject to the in-sequence order of demand – and he would then remain in service at that particular seat location, for a fixed-period duration of ten minutes.

Then, after this ten-minute, fixed-period duration was up, via the S.A.P.S. computer, the Air Purification Technician's service vehicle would then automatically convey him to the seat location of his next female summoner.

For instance: upon an air hostess seeing that seat 27 A was occupied by a male passenger, she would simply press numbers 2 and 7 on system keypad A, and then press the red 'Deactivate' button.

And, air hostesses Carol, Ann and Diane had performed this routine procedure, whilst awaiting the arrival of Chief Stewardess Julie Davies – and, of course, the four Air Purification Technicians.

It was almost pitch-black, in the under-seat spaces of the Flying Pencil's fuselage, and Danny and his three fellow Air Purification Technicians could hardly see a thing, as the Sunshine Holidays jet-liner continued to trundle towards the runway ... Until Chief Stewardess Julie Davies pushed the S.A.P.S's lights 'ON' button, and then a number of bare, low-wattage light bulbs, that were affixed to support spars, and spaced at about twenty-feet intervals along the under-section of the aircraft's narrow fuselage, began to emit their dismal, almost ineffectual glows.

Danny's eyes slowly adjusted to the dim lighting of the under-seat space of line D and, what he could gradually see, of the shadowy, cramped – claustrophobic – confines of the Flying Pencil's gloomy nether regions, didn't exactly make for a pretty sight. In fact, at beholding the bare workings of the modifications ("A remarkable feat of improvisational ingenuity."), in the austere – dungeon-like – bowels of the aircraft, Danny almost wished that the string of weak lights hadn't come on at all.

Danny tried to move his head to his right. He wanted to see his former best schoolmate, Al, beside him, who was occupying Service Vehicle C. And he also wanted to see across to his other former school chums, Eric and Kelvin, over on the port side of the aircraft's cramped fuselage, who were occupying Service Vehicles A, and B, respectively.

For Danny's head was firmly secured by the contraption's sturdy leather neck-strap; the top of his head, tightly enclosed by the rubber lining ("to cushion your head, and to keep it in place during turbulence, so you'll be all nice and comfy."), at the front of Service Vehicle D.

Suddenly the note of the Flying Pencil's two engines began to rise, rapidly escalating in pitch to a screaming crescendo as Captain Simon Rogers ("Good old Buck!") boosted them to their full throttle, take-off power.

In the aircraft's under-seat space, the ensuing vibrations were terrific; the tremors, rattling the runners under Danny's and his fellow Air Purification Technicians' service vehicles – almost rattling the feckless foursome's very bones, as they lay supine upon the unyielding, hard plastic surfaces of their cruelly-conceived contraptions.

With the combination of the hellish noise, his sense of rocketing acceleration, and his sense of orientation all out of kilter, Danny's heart was in his mouth.

And, as the jumps and bolts and jolts of the aircraft's wheels grew ever more alarming as it hurtled down the runway towards take-off speed, he wondered if his three former school pals were as scared-half-to-death as he was. Of course, none of them could speak – the air hostesses had seen to that: sealing their mouths shut with adhesive tape – but he would have bet his first week's Unemployment Benefit payment, that they were!

A few highly anxious – hair-raising! – moments later, Danny felt the tilt of the aircraft as the nose-wheels left the runway and, a moment after that, the alarming jumps and bumps and jolts ceased altogether as the Sunshine Holidays jet-liner finally became airborne; the Flying Pencil beginning to climb towards its cruising altitude for the flight to Corfu – 30,000 feet.

Danny wasn't able to look at his watch, and so he didn't know how much time had elapsed ... maybe ten minutes, he guessed, when of a sudden, both his and Alan's service vehicles started to move ... began to trundle forward.

And Danny immediately concluded, that the priorities of the designers of the Air Purification Technician Service Vehicles, had obviously not been with the comfort of the occupants of their wicked invention. Or, on second thoughts, mused Danny ... maybe that was the point: maybe it was at the top of their list of priorities – dis-comfort, that is.

For, the wheels – or castors – of the contraptions jolted and clattered over the joins of the runners and, with nothing to absorb the resultant shock and vibration, transmitted the full, decidedly uncomfortable effect of every jolt and clatter straight through to the supine, strapped-down bodies of the hapless occupants of those heinously-conceived devices ... Just one of the products, born of the imaginations of the Authoritarian Female Party's ingenious, diabolically inventive think-tank.

A few seconds later, when Danny's service vehicle jolted to a halt and was locked in position, he heard, and saw in his peripheral vision, Service Vehicle C trundling on, conveying Alan further on towards the front of the aircraft.

Danny could also hear the more muted rumbling of Service Vehicles A and B, that were taking Eric and Kelvin on their travels on the port side of the Flying Pencil's dim and dismal fuselage.

And then Danny's sense of disbelief – of unreality – grew tenfold as, via the S.A.P.S. computer, the almost silent hydraulics on the front section of his poolside-recliner-like service vehicle began to automatically raise his upper body; his head, being angled towards the one-foot-square opening. This automatic elevation continued, until Danny's head was actually protruding through the opened panel – into the foot space of seat 48 D.

When Danny's vision cleared, he saw a woman looking down on him. She was aged about thirty, Danny guessed. And she was quite attractive, thought Danny, with bobbed, sandy-highlighted brown hair.

The woman was smiling, as she looked down upon Danny's conveniently positioned, mouth-sealed, fixed-in-place face. And it was a smile, of pleasure and gratification.

In the seat next to her – seat 48 C – sat a man with a 'designer' beard, who Danny took to be the woman's husband. He was smiling too. Smiling widely. But in a different way. His smile, was one of amusement. Great amusement. Barely controlled hilarity, in fact.

And then Danny saw a widely grinning, dark-blue uniformed man lean over and look down at him. The man was wearing a black, peaked cap; the pilot's uniform cap of his Air Line – Sunshine Holidays. He was Captain Simon (Buck) Rogers.

Addressing the woman in seat 48 D, Captain Rogers said warmly, "Congratulations, Madam, upon your making aviation history – ha ha ha! Congratulations, upon your being the very first female passenger, to avail herself of the services of a Sunshine Holidays Air Purification Technician!"

Smiling happily, the woman looked down on Danny; her eyes, gleaming with an inner light. Gleaming, with anticipation ... Heavens! thought the history-making woman. I wonder if I'll get my picture in the papers? In magazines? Be on the telly! With the Air Purification Technician! Ha ha ha ha! Just think of it: me – Lucinda Loveday – actually on the Box. Famous! Ha ha ha! That would certainly give Bob something to tell his mates at work!

And then, in a gesture she obviously thought befitting to this historic moment, the woman in seat 48 D – Lucinda Loveday – made a big show of hovering both feet over Danny's disbelieving face, and she performed a fanfare, heel-slapping ceremony with her bright-green, yellow toe-posted rubber flip flops, before letting them fall from her feet to the floor – bouncing off Danny's fixed-in-place face, en route.

Immediately, the celebrity-wannabe loosely cupped the toes of her right foot around Danny's nostrils. She then rested her left foot on top of her right; the extra weight, pressing firmly down onto Danny's captive face, and ensuring that he had no option, but to inhale her in-between-the-toes foot stink.

"Ha ha ha ha!!" laughed the highly amused Captain Rogers, upon seeing Danny go bug-eyed with shock. "Again, Madam, my congratulations!" Captain Simon (Buck) Rogers then returned to the cockpit, laughing uproariously, all the way.

Transmitted through the soles of her pressing, possessing, clammy feet, Danny could actually feel the history-making woman shaking; vibrating, from the effort of suppressing her silent, delighted – incredulous – laughter.

Well, the way that she wanted to laugh, the way that she wanted to let go, to really let rip – to just throw back her head and laugh, and laugh, and laugh ... well, it just wouldn't be lady-like.

An ... an 'Air Purification Technician'? marvelled the woman in seat 48 D. Surely ... someone, somewhere, was having a laugh. A right old laugh. And she was laughing right along with them! Ha ha ha ha!

Lucinda could see the joke. Oh, yes! A wonderful, deliciously naughty joke. A practical joke. A practical joke – yes, but with the emphasis on 'practical'. 'Practical', in that it was of sound, good sense and reasoning. That it was logical. And, somehow ... fitting.

After all, Lucinda mused, what better motivation could there be, for the benefits claimants – such as this one! (Lucinda squeezed her nostril-covering toes harder, in umbrage) – to get up off their lazy, smelling-in-bed, fat behinds, and get out there and find a job? Because, if there was a better motivation than this ... (she gave Danny's nose another, even harder squeeze with her toes), she certainly didn't know what it was!

An 'Air Purification Technician'? further pondered the flabbergasted woman, in seat 48 D. Oh yes ... this little set-up had the fingerprints – or, should that be the 'footprints', ha ha ha! – of the Authoritarian Female Party, all over it. Oh yes ... This would be the kind of thing – exactly, the kind of thing – that Caroline Flint would dream up. She was that kind of a gal! Ha ha ha ha!

Oh! Lucinda was glad – so very glad! – that she had voted for the A.F.P. But then, almost every female of voting age had done so, hadn't they? Well, why wouldn't they, if they knew what was good for them; if they knew which side their bread was buttered? It was a woman's world, now ... It was the women's turn, to rule the roost. It was the women's turn, to call the shots. It was the women's turn, to hold the whip hand – to say how things were gonna be!

Danny could see the helplessly shaking and vibrating woman's 'designer' bearded husband – Bob Loveday – as he leaned across. Could see his wide-grinned, greatly amused face, as he proudly watched his wife – his history-making wife – gleefully avail herself, of the singular services of an Air Purification Technician. Gleefully avail herself, of him – Danny!

"Ha ha ha ha! 'Air Purification Technician'!" bellowed the designer-bearded man, tickled pink by the very notion. "Ye Gods, Lucinda! What an ab-so-lute corker! Who in hell dreamed that one up? Ha ha ha ha! Give her a medal! Unbelievable! Ha ha ha ha!!" he guffawed; his eyes tearing up with mirth, at the very idea of the hilariously absurd concept.

Widely grinning, the designer-bearded man watched, avidly, as Danny efficiently vacuumed up his nearest-and-dearest's horrible – oh, he knew! and so too, now, did Danny! – foot scent, from in between her now joyfully wiggling, and triumphantly splaying toes. "Go on, Luce! Give him hell. Ha ha ha ha!" Bob Loveday enthusiastically encouraged his beloved better-half

Laughed, as he watched Danny breathing in, and absorbing into his lungs the dreadful, appalling, highly offensive stinky-feet fumes – that, if left 'unfiltered', would otherwise taint the quality of the air inside the aircraft cabin – so that the Sunshine Holidays passengers wouldn't have to.

And Lucinda's husband laughed, too, because he knew there was no prospect of respite ... Unless his dear, lovely wife chose to show mercy. And, if he knew his wife's character; if he knew the love-of-his-life's heart – if he knew his darling's true colours – even half as well as he thought he did ... well, that was just never gonna happen.

This certainly warmed the cockles of his designer-bearded heart to see. Oh! She was enjoying this, the missus! Really, really enjoying it! He could tell! My, but she could be a bit of a vixen, his lovely Lucinda – given half a chance! he thought fondly.

On the contrary. To Danny, Lucinda's foot scent was like some tantalising, delicious aroma that had him unconsciously flaring his nostrils in trying to capture as much of it as possible. In fact ... he couldn't get enough of it.

Oh, the designer-bearded man could laugh. Could laugh all he wanted. Could laugh, until his stupid beard fell off. But, his wife's stinky foot scent, only served to invigorate Danny – to bring him alive.

It was as if ... as if he'd previously been living his life, insensate. In some kind of a stupor. Might as well have been comatose. With God knows how many leads and lines and cables and wires hooked up to him – and yet experiencing nothing.

Because, his humiliation, as acute as it had been, had then been counterbalanced— no: outweighed, far outweighed – almost banished – when his incredible, fevered excitement; his rip-roaring, ecstatic exhilaration, came surging through him. Taking over him.

It was the awesome feel, of the thirty-year-old, history-making woman's soft, warm, clammy soles, resting upon his face; her toes, gripping his nose, covering his nostrils – and him, unable to do anything about it.

It was the incredible smell, of Lucinda's pungent, in-between-the-toes foot stink. Her clutching, imprisoning toes, ensuring that her powerful-smelling foot odour was all he could breathe in. Making him inhale her noisome foot scent, without respite, sniff, after sniff, after sniff – and him, unable to do anything about it.

It was this combination of ... 'thrill factors'; the amalgamation of all of these individual, excitement-fuelling components that, mixed together, was a potent, magical cocktail that was blowing Danny's mind ...

It was looking up, and seeing the face of the woman; the smug, serene – superior – face of the woman, who was looking down on him, and 'obliging' him to sniff her stinky feet. As if enthroned! As if enthroned, and looking down on him, as if at a mere nothing; his conveniently positioned, fixed-in-place face, simply her taken-for-granted footstool. And him – unable to do anything about it.

It was seeing her patently obvious, enormous pleasure, in 'regulating' his breathing, and 'monitoring' his ... status – and him, unable to do anything about it.

It was seeing her revel, in the experience. Seeing her ecstatic, in her unfettered, nothing-to-stop-her, total domination of him – and him, unable to do anything about it.

It was the beetroot-red, shame-faced, brink-of-tears humiliation, at being the figure-of-fun object of Lucinda Loveday's withering scorn. At being so scathingly, so derisively laughed at, by her. At being so derided, so ridiculed – so diminished – by the woman in seat 48 D. And him – unable to do anything about it.

It was this combination of thrill factors, this cornucopia of separate, individual, amazingly aphrodisiac ingredients – this magical cocktail – that was turning Danny on.

Danny didn't know why he so enjoyed these sensations; why he was so wonderfully overwhelmed, by these ultra-powerful emotions – only that he did; and that he was.

Danny wanted to pay his solemn 'devotions'. He wanted to make his sacred 'sacrifice' ... To Lucinda. To his thirty-year-old, sandy-highlighted brown-haired Goddess.

And, Danny wanted to pay his ... respects, to Lucinda, now. Now! Now, in the here-and-now! Now, in real time – in the moment! – and not have to wait until later, when he got home, and replayed in his mind, the ...

Via the S.A.P.S. computer, Danny's head was then automatically lowered from the floor opening, and the one-foot-square panel directly above his face closed, sealing off the foot space of seat 48 D.

And, after the bright lighting of the cabin's interior, the sudden reinstatement of the near-darkness of the under-seat space of the Flying Pencil's fuselage was shocking.

The smiling, history-making, helplessly shaking and vibrating woman's stinky feet, and her widely grinning – foolishly-grinning – designer-bearded husband, in seat 48 C, had disappeared from Danny's sight.

Considerately, her husband leaned across her. "Allow me, love," said Bob Loveday, with his wide, cheesy grin as he pushed the button located under the right armrest of his wife's seat. The button that would, eventually (if time allowed), re-summon the Air Purification Technician.

Re-summon him, to once again sniff up and absorb into his lungs, the nauseating, highly offensive, appallingly pungent fumes from between his beloved's toes – that, if left 'untreated', would spoil the quality of the air inside the aircraft cabin – so that the Sunshine Holidays passengers wouldn't have to.

There was a sharp jolt and, via the automatically controlled S.A.P.S. computer, the diabolically conceived contraption bearing Danny trundled on again ... then, after travelling for about twenty seconds, Service Vehicle D again stopped with a jolt, and locked in position.

Once again, via the S.A.P.S. computer, Danny found his upper body being automatically elevated; his head, being directed towards the one-foot-square gap created by the opened panel. A moment later, and his head was protruding through the opening – into the foot space of seat 35 D.

Again, Danny had to wait a moment, while his eyes adjusted to the relatively harsh light inside the cabin. His eyes adjusted more quickly this time, though, apparently becoming more accustomed to these sudden extreme variations in the brightness of lighting.

She was not smiling – far from it. In fact, she was rather dour-looking, thought Danny, as she looked down on him in great disdain. Danny wondered if she might be sucking on a lemon. After all, thought Danny, what else could be causing her such distaste?

Swivelling his eyes to his right, Danny was able to see another, older woman in the next seat – seat 35 C – who he took to be the younger woman's mother. Danny guessed she was aged about fifty. She was leaning over, and she was looking down on him, too. She was not smiling, either – far from it. Similarly dour-faced, and also looking down on him with great, sucking-on-a-lemon disdain, she was definitely the younger woman's mother, thought Danny: like mother, like daughter.

The two women, thought Danny, actually looked very much alike: same long, raven-black hair, same thickly-applied make-up. And they dressed alike, too: same black top, same knee-length, black skirt.

Together, the two unsmiling, dour-faced women silently looked down upon Danny's mouth-sealed, fixed-in-place face, disdain and contempt, all too evident upon their starkly made-up faces.

Just like her mother, the twenty-five-year-old, unsmiling, dour-faced woman who had summoned Danny, had the look of a Goth, about her, thought Danny. She had long, straight, raven-black hair, dark-brown eyes, and pale skin. Her thin-lipped mouth was a humourless, compressed slash of vivid red lipstick. The lids, brows, and lashes of her eyes, made-up darkly with mascara. The overall effect, making the rest of her face appear almost milk-white.

The twenty-five-year-old, Gothic-looking woman had a tattoo, just above her right ankle. This tattoo design seemed familiar to Danny. He thought it reminded him of something he'd seen in art class at school: an Indian Goddess. The tattoo was of a brown-skinned, fierce-looking, warrior-like female who was victory posing: standing over, and placing the sole of her bare foot upon the chest of the man she had so evidently comprehensively conquered and, seemingly claiming ... 'rights', over him.

She wore on her feet, what used to be white – but now, with the evident accumulation of the scuffs and scratches, dirt, grime, and foot sweat of too many years – dirty-grey, extremely well-worn, thin rubber-soled flip flops.

The unsmiling, dour-faced, twenty-five-year-old Gothic-looking woman then slipped her feet from her dirty, grimy flip flops and, bringing the soles of her almost equally dirty feet to a hover, just above Danny's astounded, fixed-in-place face, she scrunched her slender toes, displaying to Danny her cut-short, glossy-black painted toenails.

Danny's eyes were like saucers as he stared up, enraptured, at the Gothic-looking woman's up-close, in-his-face, dirty bare soles. He had never seen anything like them!

Quite obviously, mused Danny, she liked to walk about barefoot. Her rather rough-skinned soles; especially the balls of her feet, and her hard-skinned, almost flat-bottomed heels, readily lending further credence to Danny's supposition – to his, at-no-notice, on-the-spot assessment.

Her grimy soles were rather long and narrow. Long-toed, rather high-arched, and her almost flat-bottomed heels were quite prominent; as if jutting out, proudly.

His mind and body in turmoil, Danny stared up, enchanted, at the incredibly exciting, extreme-close-up sight of the Gothic-looking woman's dirty bare feet, hovering right above his wide-eyed, incredulous face. And Danny greedily drank in every single, fascinating, awesome detail of her grubby, grimy soles.

Well, there was just so much to feast his hungry – ravenous – eyes upon! So much to absorb. So much to commit to memory. So much for him to remember, later, when he got home, and replayed in his mind, the ...

Danny would have wagered a months' worth of Unemployment Benefit payments, that the Gothic-looking woman had never even seen the inside of a pedicure salon. As his dad would say, when putting his money on some hopeless nag that was somehow masquerading as a bona fide race horse: it was a 'Dead cert'. But, his dad would be right this time. Ruddy hell – her feet seemed strangers even to soap and water!

Danny thought that she might at least have made a bit of an effort ... Hell – after all, she was one of 200 air passengers, sitting in a jet-liner with her mother, and flying off on her holiday to Corfu!

But Danny was glad that she (very obviously!) hadn't. Very glad, indeed. For her grimy soles were an incredible— and, yes, beautiful, sight to behold. The dirt, somehow serving to enhance – to emphasise – the shapes and contours of the exciting-to-look-at features of her soles.

Yes, the Gothic-looking woman obviously preferred to walk about barefoot, whenever possible; favoured the 'natural look', thought Danny. Her glossy-black painted toenails, her one concession to vanity ... Unless, of course, her dark adornment wasn't vanity; was some sort of ... dark statement.

Danny wondered, just what it would be like, to sniff those dirty, grimy soles. He wondered what it would be like, to actually inhale, deeply, their in-between-the-toes foot stink – but he wasn't wondering for long!

The Gothic-looking woman's mother, in seat 35 C – who Danny thought was an almost mirror-image of her daughter – said excitedly to her look-alike offspring, "Go on then, Miranda! The clock's ticking! What are you waiting for, girl – you've only got ten minutes! Give him what for, while you can – let him have 'em! It's all well and good, sticking your dirty stinky feet right into his stupid face, Miranda – but make him sniff 'em, girl! Make him sniff 'em!" she urged her younger-version-of-herself daughter.

Danny couldn't believe his ears. He was shocked, at hearing the Gothic-looking woman's mother's mean-minded, malicious exhortations – but he was incredibly excited, too.

The Gothic-looking woman's mother then opined, in regretful tones, "Oh, it's just a pity we're not allowed to uncover their mouths, and make the lazy little sods lick the soles of our feet clean for us, Miranda ... I bet they would soon find a job then, heh heh heh," she chuckled abominably.

Not me, Madam! thought Danny. I'd lick the soles of your feet clean for you any time! Any time! Danny earnestly wanted to tell her. But of course, he couldn't – because Chief Stewardess Julie Davies had sealed his mouth shut with adhesive tape.

For the first time, Danny saw the Gothic-looking woman – Miranda – smile. And her smile, was of pleasure and gratification ... This smile was becoming very familiar to Danny – he was seeing rather a lot of it today!

Miranda smiled, as she lowered the soles of her rather long and narrow, dirty, grimy bare feet onto Danny's mouth-sealed, and conveniently positioned, fixed-in-place face. She smiled, as she curved her rather deep arches around his cheek bones; the pads of her toes, pressing into his forehead for extra grip and stability. She smiled, as she relaxed in her seat, settling her soles and toes firmly into place, in a comfortable, possessive caress ... Miranda, was duly claiming her 'rights': For ten minutes, he – the Air Purification Technician – was hers. He was all hers – Yes! Yes!! gloated Miranda.

Miranda was glad – oh, so very glad! – that she had voted for the Authoritarian Female Party. Prime Minister Caroline Flint, she believed, was a woman after her own heart. And now, she – Caroline Flint – was actually running the country! And hallelujah to that!

Caroline Flint and her all-female member government would soon turn Britain around; soon sort out the country's scrounging, sponging ne'er-do-well's, of which there were far too many – such as this lazy, workshy, job-dodging good-for-nothing, under her feet.

At the very thought of it – at the very thought, of actually having one of those worthless work-dodgers; one of those shiftless, can't-be-bothered idlers who wanted to live off her hard-earned tax-pounds, right here, under her feet – in her righteous anger, Miranda exerted more, and then yet more pressure upon Danny's helpless, fixed-in-place face.

Yes! thought Miranda exultantly. Yes! Yes!! Under my feet! Under my dirty, stinky feet! And under other female passengers' feet, too! Where he should stay – until he gets a job ... Oh! I feel like giving his stupid, dole-claiming face such a stomp! thought the highly indignant, grossly offended Miranda. Oh, yes, such a painful, crushing – humiliating – stomp. Make him cry! He deserves it! And more! Much, much more! Oh ... I just wish there was another opening down there, so that my feet could get at his ... If it was up to me, I'd ...

Miranda looked at her now wickedly smiling mother, who was still impatiently awaiting the arrival of Alan – Air Purification Technician Wallace – aboard Service Vehicle C. "I can't wait for mine to get here, Miranda. Trust me: I'll certainly be giving mine, a bit of what for! Rules, or no rules ... I'll have him bawling for his mammy!"

Miranda, the twenty-five-year-old, Gothic-looking woman in seat 35 D, continued to look down on Danny resentfully, and sneering nastily all the while as she vented her spleen ...

"He's putting me in a bad mood, Mum. A very bad mood ... The thought, Mum, just the thought, of him living off my taxes; just staying at home and doing nothing all day – except watching the telly!

"The thought, of having to get up early for work in the mornings; scraping ice off the car in winter, and sitting in traffic jams – while he lies in bed, until God knows what time!

"Air Purification Technician? 'Air Purification Technician' ...? I'll give the ruddy little runt, 'Air Purification Technician'! I'll give the ruddy little git; the ruddy little job-dodger – the ruddy little parasite! – something to ruddy well purify: Here – 'Air Purification Technician' – purify these!"

A moment later, Miranda was relishing her moment. The undersides of Miranda's long, begrimed toes were roving over Danny's nose, and then covering his nostrils.

Now, Danny was again doing what was necessary – doing what was required of him by his local Job Centre, under the Authoritarian Female Party's new Work Motivation Programme – to continue to qualify for his Unemployment Benefit payments: Fulfilling the obligations of his assigned placement, as an Air Purification Technician.

For, Danny was being 'obliged', to inhale Miranda's ghastly, repulsive, in-between-the-toes foot stink. Being obliged, to sniff up and absorb into his lungs, the revolting odours; the profoundly offensive stinky-feet fumes – that, if left 'undiluted', would otherwise contaminate the air quality inside the aircraft cabin – so that the Sunshine Holidays passengers wouldn't have to.

Danny felt as though electrified. As though someone had plugged him into some kind of fantastical power outlet and now – like a latter-day Frankenstein's monster being sparked into sentient existence – he was being jolted to thrumming, crackling, sizzling life.

Hitherto unknown – undreamed-of! – feelings and sensations, pulsed, flowed throughout his entire being, as if from a steadily applied feed of high-voltage power. His body sizzled and his mind crackled as, physically and mentally, he was rocked to his core.

Rocked, by the galvanizing upheaval of the exquisite sensations, the overwhelming emotions, that relentlessly assailed his rapidly overloading senses ...

It was the awesome, exhilarating, extreme-close-up sight, of Miranda's long and narrow, long-toed, rather high-arched, proud and prominent heeled, dirty bare feet!

It was the exciting, thrilling feel, of the warm, slightly gritty flesh of the Gothic-looking woman's grimy bare soles, resting, firmly planted – possessing – his disbelieving, fervently adoring face!

It was the smell, of them! Oh, the smell of them! The incredible, mind-shattering, penis-expanding odour, of Miranda's in-between-the-toes foot scent.

It was the sound of Miranda's dour-faced, look-alike mother's voice, urging her daughter on with malicious glee: "Go on then, Miranda! Give him what for, while you can – let him have 'em! Make him sniff 'em, girl! Make him sniff 'em!" And: "Oh, it's just a pity we're not allowed to uncover their mouths, and make the lazy little sods lick the soles of our feet clean for us, Miranda ... I bet they would soon find a job then, heh heh heh."

It was Miranda's derisive, sneering, exquisitely humiliating command: "Here – 'Air Purification Technician' – purify these!" as she covered his nostrils with the undersides of her toes; placing the toe pads of both feet together, and tenting the undersides of her toes right over Danny's nostrils, thereby committing her heinous olfactory assault upon him. 'Obliging' him, to sniff up and absorb into his lungs, her dreadful, noxious, in-between-the-toes foot stink – so that the Sunshine Holidays passengers wouldn't have to.

But, Miranda; ably assisted by her cruel-minded, malicious-mouthed, look-alike mother, had pushed— no, had propelled, Danny over the edge. Sent him plummeting, so that Danny thought he was falling, tumbling, deeper and deeper, into a fathomless abyss of unparalleled pleasure. Miranda's dirty, stinky feet, taking possession of Danny's conveniently positioned, sealed-mouthed, fixed-in-place face – and well and truly conquering him.

After all – how could he? How could he have envisioned such a thing? How could he have ever imagined, that fantasy, that the fantastic, that the stuff of fantasy, would one day actually manifest itself, in real life – in his life? It was beyond Danny's imagination. But yet – it was, actually happening. And it was happening, to him!

Danny wanted to pay his solemn 'devotions'. He wanted to make his sacred 'sacrifice' ... To Miranda. To the twenty-five-year-old, Gothic-looking woman – his Goddess with dirty feet.

And, Danny wanted to pay his ... respects, to Miranda, now. Now! Now, in the here-and-now! Now, in real time – in the moment! – and not have to wait until later, when he got home, and replayed in his mind, the ...

Once again, via the S.A.P.S. computer, Danny's head was automatically lowered from the opened panel, which then closed, sealing off the foot space of seat 35 D. And plunged Danny, once again, into the near-darkness of the Flying Pencil's cramped, dim and dismal fuselage.

And the twenty-five-year-old, Gothic-looking woman – Miranda – with her rather long and narrow, proud and prominent heeled, glossy-black toe-nailed, grimy-soled, stinky feet, had disappeared from Danny's sight.

There was then another jolt and, via the S.A.P.S. computer, Service Vehicle D, bearing the over-excited Danny, automatically trundled along on its runners again ... and then stopped, with another jolt. Right alongside Service Vehicle C, occupied by Alan Wallace – Al, Danny's former best school pal ... but now, his fellow Air Purification Technician.

Once again, via the S.A.P.S. computer, Danny and Alan's upper bodies were automatically raised; their heads, angled towards the opened one-foot-square panels.

When Danny's eyes had once again readjusted to the bright light of the cabin's interior, he saw that, looking down on his conveniently positioned, sealed-mouthed, fixed-in-place face, was an exceptionally beautiful girl of about his own age. She had blue eyes, and long, white-blonde hair. She wore bright-yellow, flexible, thin rubber-soled flip flops, and her toes were painted in the same attractive colour. Her shapely, beautiful feet, were suntanned to a golden perfection ... And, to Danny's sense of acute disbelief – of utter amazement – he realised who she was. Realised, who those lovely, unforgettable feet belonged to.

For, she was actually Marie! Marie – the ravishing Marie – whose captivating flip flop feet had so enthralled him this morning, at the airport bus stop. Danny couldn't believe it. He just could not believe it! It was just too ... too incredible!

Danny knew Marie would be boarding Flight SH 123 to Corfu, yes. But still – what were the chances? he wondered. The chances, of actually finding himself under her lovely, sexy feet?

Looking down on Danny, the ravishing Marie gave no sign – absolutely no sign at all – of recognising him from earlier that morning, at the airport bus stop.

Quite evidently, thought Danny, he was a complete and utter stranger to her. Apparently, Marie had no recollection, of her snapping Danny's heartstrings, one by one. No recollection, of cracking his heart wide open, so that more and more of his adoring feelings for her could come pouring in.

But, why would Marie remember him? thought Danny dejectedly. Danny knew, that the likes of her; the likes of the ravishing Marie, didn't notice the likes of him. Ever. It was a fact of life – of his life, anyway.

But, Marie was noticing him now! She had summoned him, hadn't she? Summoned Danny to her magnificent presence, to 'attend' her. Summoned him – an Air Purification Technician – to come and sniff up the fumes from her stinky, flip flop feet. Hadn't she? Yes, she had – so that the Sunshine Holidays passengers wouldn't have to.

Marie's bright-yellow, flexible, thin rubber-soled flip flops, just like her sister Lisa's – oh! they were all wearing flip flops today, it seemed to Danny – were slap-slap-slapping away against the bottoms of the heels of her playful, happy feet.

Marie smiled happily, as she looked down on Danny – as she looked down on the conveniently positioned, taped-over-mouthed, fixed-in-place face that was peering up at her, bug-eyed, from the hole in the floor.

From Service Vehicle C, alongside Danny, Danny heard Alan's "Nnnnn! Nnnnnnnn!!" of outraged protest and acute distress, as Marie's almost-as-attractive sister, Lisa, began 'obliging' Alan to sniff up the highly disagreeable fumes, emanating from the soles of her stinky, flip flop feet – so that the Sunshine Holidays passengers wouldn't have to.

Well! thought Danny, of Al, his former best school pal: You are in trouble, mate. If you can't even cope with Marie's sister, the drop-dead-gorgeous Lisa ... God help you, then, when you arrive at seat 35 C, and Miranda's mum gives you "A bit of what for." Because then, you'll know about it! Then, you'll have something to complain about! ... In fact, I wouldn't be a bit surprised, if Miranda's mum ("Rules, or no rules ...") actually uncovers your mouth, and ...

Oh! thought Lisa, this was so much fun! Ha ha ha ha! It was such a hoot! A real scream! Ha ha ha ha! It tickled like crazy! That was almost the best part ... almost, the best part.

What was better; what was a lot more enjoyable, thought Lisa, rather darkly, was seeing the Air Purification Technician's pathetically imploring eyes, and feeling his captive, squirming face under the soles of her dominating, tormenting, stinky bare feet.

Even so ... Alan was squirming a bit too much for Lisa's liking; insistent, upon his futilely trying to escape her stinky, nose-capturing, nostril-covering toes. Becoming irksome. Spoiling her relaxation. It was almost an insult!

Oh! How tiresome, he is, thought the easily annoyed, short-tempered Lisa in her rapidly increasing dissatisfaction with the Air Purification Technician she had summoned. How dare he? thought Lisa, in angry indignation. I will not tolerate this! And why, in Heaven's name, should I? How dare he, attempt to shirk his ... obligations? Well, I won't have it!

In fact, Alan wasn't only being irksome; wasn't only being tiresome. He was now actually becoming 'boring' – Lisa's Number One unforgivable offense.

Lisa put her foot down – literally. Raising her right foot, Lisa slammed the bottom of her bare heel down on Alan's nose; three times, in quick succession. Stomp stomp stomp. "Behave, you! Keep still!" commanded Lisa imperiously – just in case Alan hadn't got the message.

Immediately, Alan's eyes began to water, from moderate pain and acute humiliation. But Alan immediately behaved; ceased being irksome, ceased his tiresome squirming – stopped being 'boring'. He had got Lisa's message.

Oh! Lisa didn't know or understand a single thing about stupid, boring old politics. Lisa didn't care a jot, about the silly old thing. Couldn't care less, about the old duffers; the ancient fuddy-duddies who squabbled like unruly school children about God-knows-what at Prime Minister's Questions, in the House of Commons.

But, she was glad – oh, so very glad! – that she and Marie, on the advice of Mum, had both voted for Caroline Flint and her Authoritarian Female Party. After all, they did such fun things – for politicians! – if this was anything to go by!

Sitting next to Lisa, in seat 22 D, Marie also was availing herself of the services of the Air Purification Technician she had summoned – availing herself, of Danny.

Marie was following the example of her sister Lisa: placing the soles of her bare feet upon the perfectly angled face of the Air Purification Technician, whose conveniently positioned, fixed-in-place, taped-over-mouthed face protruded into her foot space. Marie's toes, cupping Danny's nostrils, and thereby obliging him to inhale; to sniff up and absorb into his lungs, her stinky, in-between-the-toes foot fumes – so that the Sunshine Holidays passengers wouldn't have to.

And, just like her sister Lisa, Marie started laughing and giggling with abandon, too. Well, she couldn't help it! The feel of that nice, refreshing little breeze blowing between her tootsies, as she obliged the Air Purification Technician to sniff between them. Ha ha ha ha! Sniff between each and every toe! And to sniff all five toes – and all ten toes – all at the same time! Lisa was right: it did, tickle like crazy! But it was nice, too. Very nice! So lovely.

Oh, it felt lovely ... having this helpless boy's face, right under her stinky feet! It felt so— oh, I don't know ... empowering, thought Marie exultantly, as she latched onto the exact, suitable word.

Yes! That was the word: empowering ... Knowing, that her prisoner couldn't move! Knowing, that her captive was unable to do anything about it! Knowing, that the Air Purification Technician had no choice – no choice at all! – but to sniff; to inhale, deep into his lungs, the fumes from her stinky, stinky feet!

She and Lisa had smelled both their own, and each other's feet, and they had agreed: they both had stinky feet – but Marie's feet were stinkier! Ha ha ha ha! In fact, Lisa had said it was "No contest!"

Oh! Marie was glad – so very glad! – that she and Lisa had listened to Mum, and voted for the Authoritarian Female Party, led by Caroline Flint. Just like her sister Lisa, Marie didn't care about, or know anything about boring, silly old politics – it was strictly for the Old's. But now, she knew all that she needed to know: Come election time, vote A.F.P. That was all she and Lisa needed to know!

Marie couldn't remember, when she had ever had such an amazing laugh, and so much awesome fun. Mercilessly tormenting the Air Purification Technician with her stinky feet, was an absolute riot! In fact, she was already looking forward to the return flight to Manchester, in two weeks' time!

And Marie was already wondering: would she possibly get the same Air Purification Technician, then? It was a heck of a long shot, yes – but she hoped so! A pity it couldn't be arranged ... or maybe it could! She would ask one of the air hostesses about it. The Sunshine Holidays air hostesses were all very friendly to talk to. Especially air hostess Carol, who kept making her laugh – though she did say some serious and sensible things, too.

Yes: she would ask one of the air hostesses, Marie decided, when she was leaving the aircraft at Corfu ... And, at the same time, maybe ask if Sunshine Holidays were recruiting, at the moment!

Anyway – what were the chances? The chances of her actually getting him again, on her flight home from Corfu? Even if it was, only for ten minutes. After all ... he was kind of cute – and, he did tickle her toes like crazy with his mad sniffing! ... Anyone would think, that he was actually enjoying – yes, actually enjoying – sniffing these stinky feet! Ha ha ha ha! And ... what if he does? What if he does, actually like it? ... In fact, I'm sure he does! I know he likes it! Ha ha ha ha!

Even more intensely exciting, than the ten minutes he had spent at that twenty-five-year-old, dour-faced, contemptuous, disdainful woman's long and narrow, glossy-black toe-nailed, high-arched, prominent heeled, dirty, stinky feet.

Marie was cupping Danny's nose in the undersides of her toes; switching frequently, from foot to foot. After all, she had an endless supply of smelly foot fumes that she wanted the Air Purification Technician to sniff up and absorb – so that the Sunshine Holidays passengers wouldn't have to.

Marie wanted Danny to sniff up; to inhale deeply, all of her stinky foot fumes. She wanted him to sniff them all right up, right into his lungs. So that his lungs could absorb them, like ... like two super-absorbent sponges. Ha ha ha ha!

Marie refused to feel guilty, about subjugating the Air Purification Technician that she had summoned, in such a demeaning and degrading, soul-crushing fashion. She refused to feel remorseful, about humiliating him in such an appalling, heinous, hideous way.

Because she didn't see it like that. Not at all! Marie's conscience was clear. Marie saw nothing wrong, in her mercilessly inflicting upon him the awful fumes from her stinky – stinky-feet-contest-winning – feet.

Well, after all, that was what he was here for, wasn't he? Exactly, what he was here for! He was an Air Purification Technician – and that's what they do! Carol, one of the air hostesses – the funny one – had told her so!

In fact, she had learned quite a lot, from air hostess Carol. A lot about this boy, too! Dawson, was his name, she said. Funny ... but Lisa had a friend, called Elaine Dawson. I wonder if ... Oh! I'll have to find out! thought Marie excitedly.

Air hostess Carol, thought Marie, seemed to have a very poor opinion of the Air Purification Technicians. Especially this one, Dawson! Air hostess Carol said he almost made us miss our take-off slot! And she said he was nothing but a shameless, shiftless, work-dodging sponger and, until he got up off his lazy, good-for-nothing fat backside and got a job, this was going to be his way of earning his Unemployment Benefit payments: Sniffing up the horrid, nasty, stinky-feet fumes, that would otherwise sour the air quality inside the aircraft cabin – so that the Sunshine Holidays passengers wouldn't have to.

And, after all ... it did make perfect sense, when you really, really thought about it, thought Marie. Just why, in Heaven's name, should the female passengers on this – or on any other flight – have to breathe in their own stinky feet fumes, when the Air Purification Technicians could do it for them?

Marie was driving Danny totally, absolutely nuts. He thought he was going to lose his mind; succumb to delirium, from a massive overdose of pure happiness.

The sweet, sublime sensations of Marie's touch ... The wonderful feeling, of her bare soles upon his face, set his mind and body; his very 'self', tingling with exquisite pleasure.

Marie was firmly rubbing the bottoms of her heels and the balls of her feet into Danny's enraptured face. As if she had an infuriating itch that she was trying to get rid of. Or, more likely, thought Danny, to make his face absorb even more of her foot-stink.

And, if so; just as if it was some sort of Gentlemen's eau de Cologne, it was a scent that Danny would be delighted to have Marie apply liberally upon his face. For Danny would be more than happy, to wear the perfume of her heady, madly intoxicating foot-scent.

And then, to Danny's consternation, for long moments he found himself unable to breathe: his mouth, sealed shut with adhesive tape, by Chief Stewardess Julie Davies; his nostrils, cinched closed by the powerfully clutching big and second toes of Marie's right foot.

Through his teary eyes Danny stared up, into Marie's beautiful blue eyes. Her beguiling blue eyes. Her glinting, blue eyes ... The windows of her soul.

Was it glee, shining out from Marie's beautiful, beguiling – glinting – blue eyes? Was it glee, that Marie was exhibiting, at her seeing Danny's tears – at her making him cry?

And, was it glee; glee, with just a ... soupcon, of cruelty, that Marie was displaying, at her denying the Air Purification Technician she had summoned, his vital, life-giving air supply – for which, he was quite obviously growing more and more desperate, with each and every passing second that she continued to deny him?

And then Danny was gratefully inhaling a great, lung-filling gulp of desperately needed air, as Marie's toes were cupping his nostrils again ... Permitting him to resume breathing, so that he wouldn't miss any more of her horrid, nasty, stinky-feet fumes. None of them!

"Oh, no!" exulted Marie, speaking to Danny for the first time. "There's no escape for you! Not for you, my little man! Come on! Sniff! Keep on sniffing! After all, this is what you are here for, isn't it ... Dawson? Exactly, what you are here for! You won't go out and earn your living, will you? No! No you won't. So, don't you dare stop! Keep on sniffing my stinky, stinky feet!" Marie gleefully commanded Danny – as she gave him absolutely no choice in the matter.

And Danny was only too happy to obey Marie. Obey her spoken commands – for Marie had actually spoken to him! And somehow, she had found out his name ... She had spoken his name, too! Marie, to Danny's astonished delight, had actually acknowledged his existence, as a ... person.

And Danny would never forget her voice; her sweet, honey-toned voice. He would never forget her words, her commands; and the way she had said them – to him!

To him – Danny, who he himself regarded as being no more significant; no more noteworthy, than a mere lump of space debris in a glittering, star-spangled universe in which she, Marie – the ravishing Marie – adorned brilliantly and gloriously, as a Goddess.

And, Danny would never forget Marie's eyes. Her beautiful, beguiling – glinting with glee – blue eyes, as she had so enthusiastically availed herself, of his ... services.

As she had 'obliged' Danny, to do what was required of him; expected of him – demanded, of him: To fulfill his obligations, as an Air Purification Technician.

Marie was driving Danny crazy ... Danny just couldn't take much more, of Marie's sensational feet. Feet, that were playing with, toying with, his captive, taped-over-mouthed face.

He couldn't take much more, of her delectable, exquisite, moist and stinky toes; now cupping; now closing off, his desperate-for-air nostrils. He just knew, he couldn't. Especially that now, Marie had actually spoken to him – had actually said his name! Had actually acknowledged his existence, as a ... viable being.

Danny felt more alive; really alive – vitally alive – than ever before. Alive, with need. Alive, with an ever-growing, and rapidly overwhelming craving.

Danny wanted to pay his solemn 'devotions'. He wanted to make his sacred 'sacrifice' ... To Marie. The ravishing Marie. His blue-eyed, white-blonde haired Goddess.

And, Danny wanted to pay his ... respects, to Marie, now. Now! Now, in the here-and-now! Now, in real time – in the moment! – and not have to wait until later, when he got home, and replayed in his mind, the ...

But, he couldn't! Because Chief Stewardess Julie Davies, had restrained him – had denied him! She had secured his wrists to his service vehicle – and denied him!

And the one-foot-square panel directly above his face closed. Once again consigning Danny, to the near-dark environs of the Flying Pencil's under-seat space.

The exceptionally beautiful, blue-eyed, white-blonde haired, Marie – the ravishing Marie – with her flexible, bright-yellow, thin rubber-soled flip flops, and her truly sensational, madly intoxicating, "Stinky, stinky feet," had disappeared from Danny's sight.

During the remainder of the three-hour-long flight to Corfu, Danny had actually lost count, of the number of times that the one-foot-square panels had opened ... and closed ... Opened ... and closed ... directly above his face.

Danny had lost count of the number of times that, via the S.A.P.S. computer, his sealed-mouthed, fixed-in-place face had been automatically inserted into the foot space of the next female passenger to summon him. Each and every time, bringing the still incredulous, over-the-moon Danny to yet another awesome, penis-expanding experience.

With a fixed-duration, ten-minute time limit, and taking into account his 'travelling time', Danny estimated he had probably been attending about five summonses per hour, for three hours. A bit longer, as it turned out, due to the headwinds that Captain Simon (Buck) Rogers had spoken of.

And there had been no waiting time, to speak of. Danny had always been either in service, or he was in the process of being automatically conveyed to the location of the seat number of his next female summoner.

And, even though Danny knew for a fact, that most – the vast majority! – of the female air passengers that he had 'attended', had tried to re-summon him to their foot space, he had not been conveyed to the same seat location more than once.

There were, Danny concluded, to his delight and astonishment, actually even more female summoners, then, who had also been pushing the button located under their right armrest – only for the Air Purification Technician never to arrive at their feet ...

Maybe those unfortunate Sunshine Holidays female passengers would have better luck, mused Danny, when they flew home from Corfu on their return flight to Manchester.

But, these incredible, awesome, undreamed-of experiences – these amazingly thrilling 'adventures' – that brought Danny to such mind-blowing heights of ecstasy, came at a price. And a terrible price.

Danny would replay, in his mind, the incredible experiences of the day – recount his 'adventures' – as, eyes watering, in sheer rapture, he would pull his penis, in worship ... and solemnly make his sacrifices, to his Goddesses.

The (very differing!) ordeals of Danny, and of his three fellow Air Purification Technicians: Alan, Eric, and Kelvin, were – albeit, briefly – on hold.