Hard Landings Tales From A Professional Flight Attendant

By Chance Chastenet

Tania Adair, a tall, toned single Mom to a teenage daughter has been flying for a decade. For fun, she makes do with occasional romantic interludes with the pilots on her infrequent layovers. A chance meeting changes all that. She enters the kinky world of BDSM and finds, much to her surprise, that she loves it. She hones her talents, her skills until her victim is totally at her mercy. She even meets and falls in love with her dream, her doppelganger, for twice the excitement. Her victim won't know what hit him when they both descend on him. Or is he everything he seems? Find out when you reach the thrilling finale!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chance Chastenet
• Release date: Nov 25, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005925833

Chance Chastenet

Thirty-something, self-employed writer, traveller and reviewer for good food guides under another name! I love food, tattoos and skin. I have all of these and more in my collection of erotic stories. Please join me on some of my journeys.

Book preview

Hard Landings

By Chance Chastenet

©Bangkok2023

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Some of the business locations are real. This book contains graphic and detailed descriptions of adult sexual behaviour. All characters are over eighteen.

One

Stop crying, Boy. What are you? Are you a baby? Have you been a bad boy again? Did you wet the bed? Did your Mummy punish you again? Did she tie you up like a bitch and smack your skinny ass? Like this? You are a miserable excuse for a man, really. I don’t know why I waste my time and energy on you. If you didn’t pay me I wouldn’t be here. You do know that, don’t you? you pathetic baby.

The subject of her derision hung from the steel hook a foot above his head. He sagged under the noose, his neck taking most of his weight. Subservient, gagged, eyes glaring at her face as she moved around the room, following her every move as she strutted, swirled and danced to the music filling the room. His legs and arms were tied with a series of well crafted knots and loops to keep him suitably restrained.

His backside twitched from side to side as the tall, well-toned woman brought the leather switch down hard on his reddened flesh. Occasionally, the woman made sure the flailing tip reached the crack of his ass and slapped hard against his hairless testicles. They hung exposed, red and swollen, begging for release. The man groaned through the wet cotton cloth binding his mouth. His sweating head rolled from side to side as he followed her.

Flicking the switch with practised ease at his backside, a muffled yelp of pain escaped from the gagged mouth of the gasping man. Bringing the whip around hard on his left cheek, another thin red welt appeared. He yelped once again and muttered through the cloth. The almost naked woman wasn’t interested in his responses, only that he suffer the humiliation he so richly deserved. ‘Thirty-seven,’ she muttered out loud. Continuing, ‘thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty.’ Growls and muffled cries filled the room. Pausing for a moment, the woman spat a few more venomous insults at him.

You call yourself a man? You’re pathetic. Your skin is like white paper. You are skinny and hairless and weak and I can’t stand your fucking whining noises and crying. Shut up, you weak little baby. If you want me to please you then you have to suffer like a slave, not whimper like a fucking little baby. Now shut the fuck up and let me finish.

Whipping him again, and again, thwack! ‘forty-six, crack! forty-seven, whack! forty-eight’ the woman put more effort into her task. His wailing grew louder as her strikes became more powerful. Blood oozed from the weals on his backside. She struck again, twice more, hard, viscous uppercut blows right between his cheeks. His ball sack shook with the impact of the leather switch. Blood spatters spread from the woman’s wrist to her stomach and down her legs. Blood flew each time she raised the switch, splattering on the ceiling and wall behind her. She knew better than to take care not to splash the paintwork. He was happy to let her make a mess of his den. Hence the sawdust on the wooden floor. The walls were painted with a high gloss finish, easily wiped clean. He would clean it later.

Fifty! she shouted in triumph.

George Padden groaned and shook, his sobs loud in the poorly lit cellar. The woman changed her gloves from elbow length black leather to surgical pink latex. Now came the final act in the pain-giving process, a ritual the woman had come to adore. She uncapped the spray bottle and applied the spray to his back, his buttocks and all around his penis. She listened as his screams grew louder, more intense, more shrill even behind the ball gag and cloth covering. The screaming grew in volume as the liquid flowed down and across his backside. She replaced the spray bottle on the armoire . Standing next to Padden, the woman leaned closer to him and spoke in a quieter voice.

Right, you useless baby. Get ready to show me how much you appreciate all I have done for you. You’d better be generous or this will be the last time I come here, you bastard waste of space. Do you want me to finish this for you? Do you? Nod your fucking head if you want me to finish this for you. Right then, be ready and no more fucking noise, no more complaints. You should be thankful I am so generous and forgiving. Now shut the fuck up and stop your whimpering, Boy.

Reaching across her body, she grasped his engorged member with her right hand. Her left got busy probing his anus. Six minutes later and it was all over. The well practiced and now twenty-one times repeated ritual was complete. Padden was done, exhausted, depleted, weak and useless for anything as she unhooked the noose from the hook. Padden collapsed to the floor. Untying his wrists and elbows, she allowed him to roll on his side and groan with relief. The woman stepped into the shower, removing her harness as she stood under the warm water. Minutes later, dried and dressed, she left the room. Replacing her black leather feathered mask ensured she could not be identified. She slammed the door shut and went up the flight of stairs to the hallway. Snatching at the white envelope on the hall table, she left, closing the front door more gently than the cellar door.

A British Racing Green Mini Cooper sat outside the front door of the mansion, waiting for her. Sitting inside, she strapped herself in and started the car. Making a selection on her smartphone, she smiled in anticipation. A folded pink towel covered the grey cloth seat. Selecting first gear, she eased forward out of the exit gate of the elegant suburban house. The quiet, tree-lined street had just a little traffic and a few kids playing on the wide side-walks and in the open plan front yards. Driving slowly, the Lovense inside her pussy throbbed and buzzed, her spare hand pushed hard against her clitoris as she brought herself closer to her much needed orgasm. Pausing briefly to change gear did little to interrupt the steady climb to her first orgasm. Sliding her middle finger into the wet slit of her pussy, she pushed it deep inside next to the pink antenna. She pulled her hand up hard and relaxed, pulled up and relaxed. Sometimes her orgasm ripped through her in less than a minute, before she reached the highway just a mile from Padden’s house. Other times it lasted until she left the highway to enter her own suburban complex. She had three hundred dollars in her purse, money she set aside for her daughter’s college fund. She delighted in the fact that he paid without arguing or dissent. That would reduce the humiliation, he explained. It had to cost him money or it would not be so effective.

She now knew George Padden, the highly respected Chief Training Captain in Centreline Airways, had endured the same and worse at the hands of the few women he had found who would fulfil his outlandish fantasy. He explained to her that his need for humiliation superseded every other emotion in his life, his love of pain knew almost no bounds. He had total control of his job, a senior position in the airline’s management team and a training budget of several million dollars. Admired and sought after at training seminars, Padden exuded confidence, lionised by his fellow pilots as an accomplished aviator and genuinely good trainer. His private persona was the complete opposite. He depended on a select few expert women of his acquaintance for his sexual gratification, his release. Nothing else would do.

Early on, during her first visit to his home, he had explained to Tania that he had tried so many different ways to obtain a satisfactory sex life, all had resulted in abject failure. He had been abused and used as a child. A life full of pain and humiliation were all he knew and understood. Two or three orgasms and beatings a month were sufficient for his needs. Besides, he needed time to heal between beatings. He could do nothing without the help of a powerful, dominant woman. Finding one so compliant and respectful of his wishes had been one of the greatest days of his life.

Two 

A year ago, Tania Adair found out by chance about George Padden’s kink over a few drinks during a night-stop in the hotel in Dallas. Senior Flight Attendants held a position of some authority in the airline, and especially so since Tania had become a trainer a year earlier. It was only natural that she converse with the Flight Training Manager on one of his rare layovers. They had discussed line training, grading, checking, proficiency and safety training over dinner. The crew ate at one of Tania’s favourites, close to the hotel. Now, they relaxed back at the quiet hotel bar, drinking mostly beer to settle the huge Indian meal they had eaten. George, who flew less than he wished since assuming his management role some years ago, had perhaps had a little more to drink than was wise since they were flying again tomorrow afternoon. They had been to Miami and back and were now in Dallas, staying close to DFW airport.

Sitting alone at the bar, she studied the tall, grey-haired but still quite handsome man. She guessed he was about fifty-five. His neat, grey mustache gave him the look of Sam Elliot but slightly neater trimmed. The others drifted off to their rooms. He had bought one last drink, a scotch and soda this time and sat next to her on the now vacant stool.

So, Tania. How long since we last flew together?

About a year or so. I seem to remember we did an LAX layover about this time last year. You need to do more flying.

I wish. Management pilots are getting about three hundred hours a year. I used to do around nine hundred as a line pilot. I sometimes wonder why I bothered taking the job but the money is good.

Yes, there is that. Cheers!

They raised their glasses and touched them together. Tania placed her drink on the cardboard coaster and innocently asked him, simply being polite,

So, George. What do you do in your spare time?

Padden smiled and sipped his drink. He swirled the ice, clinking the cubes together. The soft lights from behind the bar sparkled in the amber liquid. Lounge music played softly in the background. He took his time framing a response.

I have a few things that keep me amused, Tania. I write poetry in the evenings when I have the urge. I walk or jog with two elderly neighbor’s dogs to keep me fit. The neighbours are elderly, not the dogs. I do shopping once a week for the same two neighbors since they are both now housebound, and Missus Gardner visits whenever she can.

Tania smiled, pleased to have elicited such a comprehensive response.

And what does Missus Gardner do for you? she asked.

Once again, the response was slow in coming. He smiled and looked her in the eye, as if considering his options.

You don’t want to know, believe me. It’s consensual and highly entertaining and it keeps us both amused. Let’s leave it at that, shall we? What do you do when you’re off?

Tania chuckled. He was deflecting. She decided there was no harm in sharing a few home truths, after all, she had nothing to hide, no skeletons in any closets.

I have a fairly large house to run, a teenage daughter and not as much spare time as I would like. Shopping, chores, laundry, some gardening, an on-line game at night and lots of sleep to catch up on.

Is there a man in your life?

Occasionally, when the mood takes me. What about you, are you married?

Yes, but we hardly see each other. She has been bitten by a religious bug and spends her days and many nights on retreats and raising money for some weird church group. I might as well be single, hence Missus Gardner.

I see. What makes her so special then? Doesn’t she have a husband?

Padden looked closely, evidently coming to a decision. His hesitancy continued. He sipped his drink once again and carefully placed it on the bar next to her beer.

"She does. He’s at work in Chicago from Monday to Friday and comes home only for the weekends. He is apparently too tired or has lost the will to amuse Missus Gardner any more so that’s where I