Females in Uniform (2)
The First Class lounge. The buffet.
He was pleasantly filling his stomach on caviar canapés when two tall, slender flight attendants came toward Woo-joo from the entrance. Hands folded neatly at their navels, they bowed with a courtesy that went well past ordinary manners.
“Would you be Mr. Seo Woo-joo?”
“Yeah. That’s me.”
One wore her hair in the tight bun peculiar to stewardesses, and the poise of it was exquisitely refined. The other had a bob dyed a relatively bright brown, and a mature, city-bred allure seemed to breathe off her.
“I’m Hwang Hye-rim, the Assistant Purser who will be attending you today.”
“I’m Yoon Ji-ah. We’ll be in your care.”
The two of them, having bowed so scrupulously, simply stayed bent at the waist and waited. They looked prepared to hold the posture until Woo-joo answered, or until he separately gave them leave to stop.
“Hye-rim and Ji-ah, huh? Look after me.”
Only when he finally said it, still mumbling around the cracker in his mouth, did the pair straighten. He noticed belatedly that both Hwang Hye-rim and Yoon Ji-ah were beautiful. In an age like this you weren’t supposed to expect anyone to look like her profile photo, and yet these two belonged to the rarer sort whose real faces were better.
“Yeah. Looks like I picked the bitches I actually want to fuck.”
Woo-joo said it after running his eyes up and down bodies that had been cut to a fine shape. Their looks were, just as the words claimed, outstanding. They had not been sifted out of all those women for nothing.
First, Yoon Ji-ah, striking for her modest breasts and a waist pinched thin as an ant’s. The rookie who had earned her degree early and been hired the moment she came of age was a beauty of a slender build. Hwang Hye-rim, by contrast, was a triumph of breasts and ass so large she could not hide the way they swayed with every step. The Assistant Purser was nowhere near fat, and yet the thought of a sow rose on its own; she was a proper demonstration of what a voluptuous body meant.
“An honor far beyond our station.”
“Until you reach your destination, the Assistant Purser and I will serve you so that you want for nothing.”
The two females, each with a charm of her own, said they could only be grateful that he looked on them kindly. Even under a rather blatant appraisal they did nothing but smile, and the sight was a truly dramatic contrast of elegance and abundance.
“Departure is nearly upon us. What would you like to do?”
“A delay is entirely possible, according to Master’s will. You need only give the command.”
Woo-joo took a can of cola from beside the liquor refrigerator and shook his head. The title of the world’s second-best airport had certainly not been handed out for nothing. The First Class lounge itself, as a matter of course, boasted a coziness that made a man want to settle in and rest for days.
“Let’s just go. I can eat on the plane, can’t I?”
But he still had important work left. He popped the tab, took a swallow of the sharp fizz, and threw the rest of the can on the floor.
“Yes. We’ll proceed to Gate 130.”
Perhaps it was only natural that pretty-faced bitches like these came rich in protocol. Ji-ah slipped a step ahead, as if the route were familiar, and led the way. Hye-rim matched Woo-joo’s stride and drew him into conversation so the walk would not grow dull.
“Both of you are married, aren’t you?”
“Yes, that’s right. I’m in my tenth year of marriage, and Ji-ah is a newlywed of not very long.”
“Then I’d better creampie you plenty before I hand you back to your husbands.”
“Master’s pleasure-soaked discharge is the very reason we exist. Should we be fortunate enough to conceive, we will raise the child as a lifelong secret from our husbands.”
It was a public place, crowded with people hurrying past. Even so, Woo-joo paid the eyes around him no mind at all and struck the sow twitching along at his side. Her flesh had plumped so richly that his palm sank deep into that luscious ass—and he did it twice.
“Kyahn—haah…!”
“Good girl. Later I’ll stuff that pussy properly.”
The Assistant Purser, startled into a flinch, flushed an awkward red. A few passersby, jolted by the sudden noise, glanced around, but not one of them, even after witnessing blatant molestation carried out in the open, moved to object or to report it.
“Se-hee, was it? I handed a list to the bitch who helped me with the tickets earlier. Did it all go through?”
“Of course. Every one of them is counting the seconds until Master’s arrival.”
“Even if it’s empty flattery, it’s nice to hear.”
“If I may be so bold, it’s sincere. We reorganized the entire duty roster from the ground up, so only the bitches who please you will catch your eye.”
Stepping onto the moving walkway, Woo-joo tossed in that he was looking forward to it. Unlike ordinary passengers waiting in a long line, he sailed straight through every tedious procedure—baggage drop, security, all of it.
Until they reached the gate, the only thing he did was amuse himself by kicking the ass of Ji-ah, walking ahead of him, good and hard.
“We’re here. This way, please.”
At last, one block on, the sign for Gate 130 came into view. Beyond the wall of plate glass, the jet bridge of his flight to New York was just mating with the passage.
Honestly, he felt light. Lighter still for being able to skip the inspection entirely, and for not even having to show a ticket. But the sight that impressed him more than any of that came after he had passed the concourse and stepped up to the gate.
“Welcome to Stargate Airlines, your companion on a beautiful journey.”
“Uniform Master, first passenger aboard flight SG-081—is that correct?”
“We, the cabin crew now paying our respects, are the females who will help you to a comfortable and pleasurable release throughout this flight. We will attend you with all our heat and devotion.”
Twenty-six stewardesses had formed ranks to either side and bowed as one. It was a moment that pulled a gasp out of him unbidden. And these were bitches bound to obey his every word, so Woo-joo felt anew the worth of his privilege.
“Haha. This is seriously insane.”
A first-class passenger on a commercial flight boards the aircraft ahead of everyone but the crew. Said the other way around, it meant Woo-joo was the only guest inside this sealed corridor. Push that a step further, and it meant something else as well.
A little time to spare before the other business and economy passengers board.
A chance that could not have been better. A mean little game occurred to him, and he tossed it at the women so busy performing their humility.
“We are deeply sorry that the narrowness of the space prevents us from offering a full kneeling bow. We beg you to look on us with generous indulgence.”
“Forget that crap. All of you, take your underwear off.”
“Yes! Everyone, Master has commanded that all underwear be removed—!”
The flight attendants, splendid in uniform, snapped the order back in a posture of rigid discipline. Bowing with both hands gathered politely at the navel was not enough; they caught their skirts and lifted them. Bras and panties in a scatter of colors came fluttering off, and they waited for the next command.
“Why is the dress code such a mess with the staff here?”
“Ah… might we ask which part felt lacking…?”
Woo-joo sneered. With the handpicked females right in front of him, he put on a deliberately lukewarm face and turned his back. Not to call to account the staff waiting on the jet bridge, but Hye-rim and Ji-ah, who answered directly to him.
“Hye-rim.”
“Y-yes. Please speak.”
“All of them have their pussy hair in a mess.”
It was an absurd nitpick. Even so, the face of Hwang Hye-rim, the Stargate Assistant Purser famous for being crisp and exact, drained white at once. Just as Ji-ah, standing a step behind, confirmed the thick pubic hair of her colleagues and squeezed her eyes shut, the common sense of a stewardess’s deportment—poured into her in real time—made Hye-rim shudder.
“Ah, I—that’s…!”
Stargate Airlines’ summer uniform for flight attendants was famous for breathing well, and equally famous for how thin the cloth was. The top was short-sleeved and the skirt shorter than at other carriers, enough that the women were forever falling victim to illicit filming.
Someone out in the world would scold that as the harm of base sexual commodification. And yet. Woo-joo drove them point by point, as if even that much were not enough.
“Are there razors stocked on the plane? If not, go out and get some. Now.”
“J-Ji-ah? You heard Master, didn’t you?”
“You’ll shave it into a heart, immediately, in front of me.”
“I’ll be right back—just a moment…!”
Fortunately, as he had noted, there was still time. Time, that is, until the business and economy passengers waiting outside were brought aboard.
Set against the airport’s tight schedule, what remained was about ten minutes.
The flight attendants—twenty-six, and two more besides—had to groom their pubic hair into the designated shape inside that brief span, however they managed it.
“First class even runs its own separate corridor, doesn’t it?”
“Y-yes…”
“Then the only ones with anything to lose are you bitches. If those seats sit empty, I’m not the one who’s screwed. Until that filthy pussy hair is shaved clean, not a single one of you leaves here. Understand that.”
The women, cold sweat breaking under their distress, forced smiles and nodded. Whether they did or not, Woo-joo waited for Ji-ah, who had bolted out in a rush, and in the meantime demanded a few more constraints.
“Oh, and throw the underwear you took off out there. You don’t need to wear that anymore.”
He had Hye-rim collect every piece the others had stripped off. He had her throw it in the trash beside the concourse. Bored, he had them all spread their legs and masturbate. He told them to be careful that not a single drop of pussy slick splashed. And so on.
“I-I found disposable razors and shaving foam!”
The women, tormented without mercy until Ji-ah returned from turning the nearby duty-free and convenience stores inside out, took the tools without so much as a moment to breathe. Frantic, beside themselves over the little time left, they shaved in unison.
Scritch, scritch.
All through the bridge reserved for First Class passengers, the sound of pussy hair being shaved rang back on itself. The flight attendants had their skirt hems clenched in their teeth, frantically trimming the shape, wholly absorbed.
Underwear forbidden.
Pubic hair groomed.
Exposure maximized.
At last the females who had satisfied every regulation raised their hands, one and then another. It was so that Woo-joo, watching the alien spectacle with satisfaction, would inspect them.
“Master, flight attendant Lee So-yoon. Shaving complete.”
“Pass.”
“Park Da-in, reporting shaving complete.”
“Pass.”
“Kim Ye-eun. Just finished!”
“Pass.”
The women who bowed with such courtesy each took a blow—across the cheek, the breast, or else the ass—as the mark of having passed. Before long the deep handprints flushed red, and it looked for all the world like a brand being stamped on livestock bound for shipment.
“Um… Master…?”
“What?”
By then the colleagues who had wiped the leftover foam away with their hands and patted themselves dry were nearly all gone. Hye-rim and Ji-ah, whom he had assumed were simply staying put so they could escort him to the end, hemmed and hawed, then carefully opened their mouths.
“The Assistant Purser and I usually keep it shaved clean…”
“We are terribly sorry, but a heart would be difficult to make…”
The two of them quietly rolled their skirts up and flushed, as if ashamed. It was not because they had bared pussies smooth as silk, without a single stray hair. It was guilt at having failed to carry out Uniform Master’s order.
“Puhaha. Both your husbands into that?”
“We’re sorry…”
“If you’ll give us a few months, we’ll grow it out and send you proof photos.”
“Me too. I promise to keep it, for life, in the shape you decide.”
“Yeah, whatever. You’ll do for graffiti.”
Of course Woo-joo felt nothing like regret over fuckholes he meant to play with for a single night. This way simply seemed like more fun. He borrowed a boarding-check marker from the flight attendant posted at the mouth of the jet bridge and, in a pretty hand, wrote across the pubic bones of the bitches with their skirts hiked.
“There. Done.”
Cum-Dump Hwang Hye-rim
Toilet Yoon Ji-ah
What pleased him especially was that the ink was oil-based, and would not come off easily. Like carving his own name into a prized possession, Woo-joo designated what the two of them were for, and then immediately drilled it in.
“From now on, when I say cum-dump or toilet, you know I’m calling you, and you come running. Got it?”
Even on the flight to come, he told them—thirty thousand feet in the air—they were not to forget their place.