Keep Busy

46.

"Another drink, sir?" Emily said, dressed as a flight attendant. She was smiling ardently and looked totally fake.

"Why yes, thank you," Frank replied to the Emily caricature, turning away from the small oval window where he'd been watching the earth below burn—a beautiful swirling mass of glowing electric orange, red and black.

Emily nodded, reached down, pulled up her flight attendant skirt, used two fingers to spread her labia and shot a stream of hot piss into Frank's face.

It tasted like ginger ale.

"I'd like one too," Jane said, lifting her head from Frank's lap where she'd been hungrily sucking his dick. Frank registered the cooling sensation on his penis as it left the wet warmth of Jane's mouth.

Emily directed the stream at Janes face. It splashed and bubbled as Jane suddenly shifted into slow motion, relishing in the warm golden shower, shaking her head back and forth, tendrils of wet hair slinging piss around the cabin.

It was beautiful. It all felt so comforting and peaceful.

But then, the luminescent yellow piss changed to a deep red. Jane was still whipping her head around. Emily's delicate pink vagina changed into a slashed throat, jaggedly torn and frayed, spraying a deluge of thick blood.

Frank still felt at peace as it splashed his face and soaked his clothes. Jane had stopped the slow-motion swimsuit model routine and had gone back to the fellatio. The sounds issuing from Jane's efforts were sloppy and loud. Frank used two fingers to scoop back some of her soaked hair so he could have a better look at the process. He deposited the hair behind her ear and noticed the beard-stubble along the jawline, saw the deep pores and grey wrinkles and dull brown eyes. The face turned to look up at Frank. It was Roy, with Jane's hair, he was chewing on Frank's penis like it was extra tough jerky, crushing it between his bloody teeth. Frank felt no pain but was overcome with a deep but brief disappointment.

Emily was still pissing blood all over the place, now screaming and whooping like a rodeo cowboy. "Fuckin' take that, ya cunt-faced bitches!" she was shouting. Frank shook his head with a knowing grin. That girl, he chuckled inside his head.

That was when he noticed the front of the airplane was missing. Insulation and aluminum panels were violently flapping in the wind where the cockpit area had been ripped away. In-flight magazines and random papers shot around the cabin like angry birds. Everything shook and blurred but still, Frank was calm and placid.

Emily was struggling to keep her feet as she bounced down the aisle, stopping at each passenger and whispering something into their ears—blood still pouring in a great rush from between her legs.

When she got back to Frank, he noticed through the hole at the front of the aircraft, he could see the singed ground fast approaching. They were getting close. Soon it would be over.

Emily got close and steadied herself between the rows of seats, wedging her thin arms between opposite headrests. She looked at Frank, then at the bobbing head in his lap.

"I don't know what you see in him," she said.

"Strong jawline. Knows how to treat the ladies. Gash in his throat for easy reverse blowjobs," Frank replied.

Emily stood there being jostled around by the turbulence and considered Frank. "You're just as sick as me." She smiled. "Maybe I should have fucked you," she said.