A Mote in the Maelstrom

We got the plane into the hangar just as the rain really started coming down. I closed the squeaky hangar door, while fat droplets splashed up at my coveralls. It was getting dark as I watched; the airfield lights lonely amongst the gathering dimness.

Betty’s tail twitched. The aviatrix was businesslike, checking her plane was secured and undamaged. However freewheeling these hotshot pilots seemed, they took their planes seriously. Sometimes to the extent of actually listening to the mechanics. 

“I’ll have a look at the engine, Miss, if you’d like,” I said.

“Mmmm,” she said, cat-like purr beneath her voice. She ran a hand over the Bad Kitty’s veneer monocoque. “A quick check, tomorrow. She was misfiring a little, but I reckon the air pressure was just wrong for the fuel mix.” She chuckled. “Well, the other way around, I suppose.”

The rain was hammering on the roof of the hangar now.

“Yeah,” I said. “It caught us all out. But it’s not the worst storm you’ve flown ahead of.”

She gave me an appraising look.

“Oh, yes?” she said innocently. She took off her aviatrix cap, flexing her ears.

“Honolulu, 1928?” I said.

She laughed again, showing sharp teeth. “Honolulu, 1928,” she repeated. “Well, ‘ahead of’ isn’t quite right.” She took a step closer. “It chewed me up and damn near spat me out.”

“I’d… I’d love to hear more about it,” I stammered. “I’ve read all about it.”

Betty smiled. “Mmm. Stick with the written version, cutie,” she said. “It has much less of the redoubtable Miss Betty swearing fit to shock the saints. Say, aren’t I supposed to sign in somewhere?”

Oh right, yes. “Sorry, yes,” I said. “The gaffer’s office. This way.”

I lit the hurricane lamp as I led her into Archie’s office in a corner of the hangar. He’d gone home, same as most of the staff, but the log book was easy to find. The rain was bucketing down against the small window. The rest of the airstrip was invisible; vanished in rain and darkness.

The log was easily filled in; I didn’t even make a splodge with Archie’s precious fountain pen.

Betty popped the collar of her leather jacket. “Right. Going to need the shortest directions you’ve got to a bar, honey,” she said.

“You’re going out in that?” I exclaimed.

“Flying is thirsty work, cutie,” said Betty. “I’m not looking forward to getting soaked in order to get blotto, but needs must.”

“Um…” I said. “Well…”

I moved over to the filing cabinet, opening the one-from-the-bottom drawer. The gaffer’s stash; bourbon, whisky, gin, several bottles of beer. “Archie won’t mind.” As long as I pay him back.

Betty raised her eyebrows. “Ah well, cutie, you’ve got me there; it isn’t just liquor that I’m going to a bar for.”

Despite saying this, she reached for a beer; knocking the cap off on the edge of the table in one smooth movement. She perched on the edge of the desk and took a long swig from the bottle. I watched her throat move.

“Sit down, cutie,” she said, nudging the gaffer’s chair. I was standing awkwardly by the filing cabinet, so I sat in Archie’s chair instead. It was distractingly close to her.

“The other reason I need to find a bar is…” Betty took another swig of her beer. “Flying isn’t just thirsty work. It’s lonely work. Do you know what I’m saying, cutie?”

“Um,” I said. “Like, fellowship?”

She laughed. “Not fellowship, dear.” She put her foot on the chair, between my legs. “I mean, flying, it’s just you, alone in the sky. You might think you were the only person in the world. You wonder whether you had imagined ever hearing girls laugh. And gasp.” She leant over. Her foot rocked the chair slightly. “And all the time the Bad Kitty is vibrating; thrumming through your entire body.” She pulled her foot back, and I breathed out. She shucked her canvas flats off and put her foot back. “Sometimes you think you’ll go crazy; all that trembling on your own.” She slid her foot forwards, bringing it in contact with my coveralls, pressing lightly over my girldick. “So when I land, I go to a bar, find a girl and… work it all out. Do you understand now, cutie?”

I couldn’t find any words. The warmth of her foot was distracting; though it was through several layers, she must feel the increasing rigidity of my girlcock. On the desk there was a photo of Archie, his wife, and their pups; they looked like they were judging me. I managed to nod.

She drained the bottle and dropped it casually in the wastepaper bin.

“So, is that the kind of thing I need to go out in the rain to find?” she asked.

I shook my head again.

She leant closer. “Words, cutie.”

“N–no,” I said.

“Mmmm,” she said, flexing her foot against me. “Good girl.”

She moved her foot down again, and—reaching forward for my collar—pulled me to my feet. She inclined her face towards mine. I was taller, but she seemed to be in charge. 

“Can I kiss you, cutie?” she asked. 

I nodded again.

She kissed me, delicately, on the mouth. She smelled of beer, of airplanes, of sweat; perhaps it should have been unpleasant, but it made my heart catch.

She began unbuttoning my coveralls. I jumped, as her tail ran up my leg.

“So frightened, cutie,” she said. “Are you sure you’re a human, not a mouse?”

I tried to nod again, and she kissed me; harder this time, nibbling my lower lip. At the same time, she unbuttoned my coveralls with remarkable dexterity.

“I’m,” I said, as we broke apart, “a follower of your adventures.”

“Oh swell,” she said, kissing my neck. “I do like a good follower.” She pulled the coveralls off my shoulders. I was concerned that my bra was a bit grubby, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“There’s a couch outside,” I said. “In the mechanics’ rec area.”

She leapt onto me, wrapping her legs around me, arms around my neck. She was surprisingly light, but strong. I could feel her girldick pressing into my stomach.

“Lead on, follower,” she said.

I started to walk towards the door out of the office.

“Ooh, wait, back up,” Betty said. She guided us over to the filing cabinet, and—gripping my arm with one hand—dipped backward. I staggered, bracing myself. She came back up, like a dancer, lightly gripping the bottle of whisky. 

“Onward,” she shouted, gesturing with the whisky bottle like it was the Olympic torch.

I staggered out and to the rec area, over to the battered couch. She jumped off me gracefully. “Would you believe my mama wanted me to take up ballet?” she said. She took off her leather pilot’s jacket, threw it on the couch.

“But you always preferred the airplane,” I said. It was in her biography. 

She chuckled, pulling the cork out of the whisky bottle with her teeth. “Take it off,” she said, gesturing to my partially discarded coveralls. I removed them, a mixture of haste and embarrassment.

Betty watched, a green glow in her cat’s eyes, taking a long swig from the whisky bottle. She handed me the bottle, and then unbuttoned her shirt, and stepped out of her flying breeches. I just stared, unmoving, holding the bottle. The glow of the hurricane lamps traced the outline of her small and pert form.

She stepped closer, enveloping me in her scent. “Aren’t you going to try some?” she said. Her tail brushed the back of my leg. “The whisky, I mean.”

I took a sip; coughed. I didn’t much like spirits.

She chuckled, taking it off me, and taking a long swig. She kissed me again, lips burning, tongue against my teeth.

She pushed me back into the couch, making me sit. “So, you’re already a fan, cutie?” Betty said.

“Y-yes,” I said.

“Well, the support of my followers has always been important to me,” she purred, dropping to her knees. She put the whisky safely out of the way.

“Of course, Honolulu in 1928 was not an easy place to land...” she said, moving my panties so that my erection popped free. She put her hands around it. “Now, there were no real runway lights back then, and the few lamps had been damaged by the typhoon,” she whispered, moving me like a joystick. “So I was almost on top of the makeshift strip before I realised. I gripped that stick for dear life, and went down...” She licked my girlhood; rough, cat-like tongue. I moaned.

She took me into her mouth, lips encircling me. Hands around the base, she sucked on the head. I moaned again, hands gripping the couch. 

The rain was still hammering on the hanger roof; a storm, wild and unpredictable, fierce. 

I threw my head back, jerking. Betty was relentless, sucking, tongue wrapping, her hands firm. I finished, crying out, and she lapped.

As my breathing got back to normal, she kissed my inner thigh, then climbed up into my lap, kissing my breasts and collarbone. Her girldick was erect, surprisingly big considering her petite frame. I put a hand out, stroked it softly with my fingers.

“Do you want it, cutie?” she growled into my chest. 

“Please,” I said. “Yes.”

“Turn around, honey,” Betty said. 

We manoeuvred so that I was on my front, butt in the air, panties discarded. She ran her hands across my ass, massaging, scratching.

“Are you sure, cutie?” she said, positioning herself.

I nodded frantically into the couch.

I felt her girlcock press against my ass. Then she slowly guided it inside; a velvet pressure, slow but remorseless.

“I flew into the eye of a storm once,” she said, her voice breathless and broken. “I turned the engine off. To be in stillness, but surrounded by chaos. It was mighty strange.” 

She pulled herself out slightly, then plunged herself in. I gasped, quivered.

“And then I turned the engine on,” she said, thrusting. “Single-row, nine cylinder, direct-drive radial engine,” she murmured, thrusting again. “I felt like I was part of the storm,” she said. “A mote in that maelstrom.” She got into a rhythm; strong pressure followed by exquisite rescission, and then slamming pressure again. I felt like I was in that storm, being buffeted, anchorless and free, a puppet for those heavenly forces. 

The storm rolled on.

“There was lightning and wildness, a mad confusion of air and water,” she whispered, voice strained and raspy. With a final thrust and a tiny meow, she finished, filling me, making me moan again.

A little while later, I turned onto my back, and she climbed up into my arms. “And then I was out, storm behind me, sea and sky blue and bountiful ahead of me,” she said, and kissed me softly. I held her.

In a few hours, I would have to put Archie’s booze back and work out some way to make the couch usable again. But for now it was enough to lie here, Miss Betty falling asleep on my chest, and listen to the weather outside. A safe landing.