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"Martin, just this once, you have the chance to dig us out of a mess even Douglas can't fix", Carolyn huffed, exasperated with her Captain. "Please tell me you are not going to let us all down. We can't stay here on this godforsaken island forever."

Martin looked down at his feet, feeling himself capitulating even as he prepared to argue with his boss. "But, Carolyn, it goes against the rules to let a passenger in the flight deck, even if we don't take off. And why doesn't he want anyone else on the plane?"

Douglas chimed in, saving Carolyn from pulling her hair out - or punching Martin - both equally likely scenarios. "Look, Martin. The chap is clearly an eccentric - all that money he is offering just for a few hours in Gerti. You of all people must be able to appreciate someone obsessed with planes, and you are obviously the one of us most qualified to give him the full tour.
"If we don't get this money, we won't get home any time soon. I'll miss my weekend with my daughter, Carolyn will miss a trip to the opera with Herc, Arthur will probably miss something or other, and you will miss how many van jobs?"

Six. six van jobs lined up over the next three days that would give him this months rent money. Martin closed his eyes as he accepted defeat. "Fine" - the word came out more hissed than he would have liked - he'd been aiming for calm and confident.
"Fine, I'll give Mr Windham a tour of Gerti and show him all the controls."

"Excellent. I'll let him know you're ready whenever he wants. Oh, and Martin?" He looked round at Carolyn. "This is a significant amount if money, which will pay our debt at this dratted airfield, pay for our fuel, and leave us enough to buy lunch for the way home. You will do nothing to jeapordise this - is that clear? You will be the perfect host to the strange man - give him whatever he wants - understand?"

"Yes, Carolyn." Martin sighed. "Understood."

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'Welcome on board Mr Windham" Martin announced as the man stepped onto the plane. "I thought we could start our tour at the aft, and work our way forward, what do you think?"

"Martin, is it?" Mr Windham interrupted as he closed the door behind him. "I had a special type of tour in mind - and your employer has assured me you will 'cater to my every whim'".

"Yes, yes, anything you want, of course. What - what do you want?" Martin was feeling very nervous to start with, and it had gotten worse since the door had shut.

"Well, first, I want you to take off that ridiculous uniform." Mr Windham ignored Martin's squeak of indignation, "and then I want to fuck you against every surface on this plane." The noise Martin made at this was really more of a whimper.

"Mr, M-Mr W-Windham, I, I know I said anything, but, but, but you c-can't want, I mean, I can't, I, I"

"I think you'll find I can. I have the money you need, and this is what I want in return. Your employer assured me that you would do whatever I asked..." He left the sentence hanging, its implication clear.

And, yes. Martin had to accept Carolyn had said that. Had extracted the promise from him not to mess this up, and had specifically told him to give Mr Windham whatever he wanted. Had she really meant for him to whore himself out? He felt light-headed at the thought, that she could think so little of him, that she would treat him like a commodity.

But she did that already, didn't she. He was nothing to her but free labour, he was already whoring himself out to her in exchange for the chance to fly - this was just a bit more literal. And they did really need the money, and he couldn't miss all those jobs. And he couldn't make Douglas miss his weekend with his daughter. And he couldn't let them down.

Lifting his head up to meet Mr Windham's gaze, he gave his assent.

"Good. Now strip."

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Martin flushed as he started to remove his uniform, starting with his hat. He laid it carefully on the nearest passenger seat - 3A - usually the best spot for passenger derby winners. He took off his jacket and folded it neatly before placing it next to his hat. It occurred to him that this was something else he wasn't very good at - striptease, as he realised that Mr Windham wasn't even paying him attention, but was instead rummaging in the bag he'd bought with him. And then he wondered what was in that bag.

"Keep going" - Mr Windham's brusque command made him realise he'd stopped with his shirt half undone, his fingers in the middle of pushing a button through its hole, and he forced himself to continue, the shirt joining his jacket, leaving him bare chested, and nervously fumbling with his belt by the time he found himself the focus of Mr Windham's attention again.

Being watched by such a predatory gaze was not helping him to remain steady, and it took him several attempts to get his belt undone. He pulled it through the loops, and coiled it up, placing it with his other clothes. Drawing in a breath, he dropped his hands back to his flies, undoing the button and the zip surprisingly smoothly, before pushing his trousers down to the floor. It was at this point he noticed his mistake of not removing shoes first, and had to endure an awkward moment of toeing them off with his trousers round his ankles, trying not to fall over. Once he had picked the trousers back up and folded them neatly with his other clothes, he pulled off his socks, balling them up to put in his shoes, tucking them under the seat.

Standing there on Gerti in his pants, he looked up at Mr Windham, cheeks flushed red with embarrassment as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband. He had to look away from the man's intense gaze though, as he finally pulled off this last garment, and placed them on top of the trousers.

"Hmm" Mr Windham's voice cut into the silence. "You certainly live up to my imagination, Martin. Now turn around for me?" Martin complied - his stomach flipping at the thought that he would be doing nothing but complying for who knew how long now.

"Good, now here. Pop into that toilet there, and get yourself sorted out. But don't take too long." Martin gladly escaped into the loo, and it wasn't until he'd shut the door that he looked at what had been thrust into his hands. He flushed even redder at the sight of the douche, and had to swallow down a panic attack. How could he do this? He'd never done anything like this before - not so much as kissed a man before, though he had thought about it a few times. But this?

He steeled himself eventually, calming his thoughts by reciting flight procedures to himself, and managed to get through the business of cleaning himself out with minimal freak-outs. Still, he lingered in the loo for as long as he thought he could get away with, until he realised he was just prolonging things. Opening the door he walked out with his head high to meet his fate.

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Mr Windham was sitting in one of the passenger seats, turning something over in his hands. "You took your time, I was about to come and fetch you" he said, standing as Martin approached. "Now, rules. You will not speak, unless asked a question, which you will answer. You will address me at all times as Master, or Sir. You will do what I tell you, when I tell you, and you will not look away from me when I am speaking" he grabbed Martin's head and pulled it up to meet his gaze "is that clear?"

"Yes, sir" Martin replied, his voice barely audible. Oh god, what had he got himself into here? Part of him wanted to run, get as far away as possible, Gerti and Carolyn be damned. But he knew he couldn't do that, and he tried to focus on getting home to his attic as Mr Windham, 'or Sir as I am privileged to call him' he thought rather hysterically, hearing Douglas' mocking tones in his head, attached the collar he'd been holding around Martin's neck, shortly followed by a pair of rubber cuffs he used to fasten Martin's hands behind his back.

The collar had a lead attached, and Mr Windham used it to pull Martin along into the flight deck. "I thought we'd start here" he said, taking a seat in Martin's chair. "Kneel" he ordered, and Martin did so, sinking to his knees without hesitation.

"You have a beautiful mouth", Mr Windham said, running his finger around Martin's lips. He unzipped his own trousers, pulling his cock out, and running his hand along it. "Have you given a blow job before Martin?" He asked.

Martin, who had frozen at the sight of another man's semi-erect penis, forced himself to answer, shaking his head,"no, Sir".

"Ah, a pity and a blessing. Just open up for me." Martin did as asked, as his head was pushed down to meet the head of the cock before him. He felt the warm smoothness of it as it was brushed against his lips, then the foreskin was drawn back and he was ordered to lick it. He did his best, putting the strangeness out if his mind, and trying to focus on following the instructions Mr Windham gave, licking and taking as much in as he could, and bobbing his head to the rhythm dictated by the forceful hand in his hair. A few times he let it hit the back of his throat, and couldn't help but gag, though by the fifth time it happened, he could manage to control it. He slipped into a trance like state around this time, as if nothing existed but him and this cock. It felt like both years, and no time at all had passed when Mr Windham pulled his head away, and told him to kneel up straight.

"That was very good Martin. I would love to have come down your throat, watched you drink it all down, but there are other things I want to do to you." Martin said nothing, just looked at Mr Windham, as he'd been told. He was finding it was making the ordeal much more bearable, the feeling that he had no control, otherwise he didn't know how he would go through with it. If he stopped to think what he was doing he started to panic.

A tugging at the leash pulled him up to his feet. "Stand up, Martin, there's a pet". If Martin could have gone any redder he would have at this - he wanted to argue he was no-one's pet, but that was hard to do when wearing a collar and lead.

"Now then, face forward, there, a nice view out of the windscreen. Now, just bend over the instrument panel." Mr Windham's voice was soothing as he guided Martin into the position he wanted, bent precariously over the instruments, the air speed indicator right by his nose. His legs were nudged further apart, and he felt his heart rate climbing again as he felt the brush of fingers down his back and over his buttocks.

Mr Windham paused to rummage in his bag again, and Martin concentrated on calming his breathing, and tried to ignore the sounds of items being withdrawn, and things being opened. It was a pointless attempt, though he gasped at the shock of feeling cold slick fingers massaging between his cheeks. "Sorry, should have warmed it" Mr Windham said, sounding completely insincere in his apology. Martin said nothing - it hadn't been a question after all.

The probing fingers became more insistent now, rubbing over his hole with a little more force until one finger pushed its way inside. It felt huge, an invasion of his person, and he couldn't help but flinch away, and cry out "no, stop".

The slap against his arse was loud in the quiet cockpit, and the sting of it shocked Martin into stillness, the second and third coming harder, he found his head feeling fuzzy, his breath echoing in his ears. Mr Windham sounded annoyed as he scolded Martin, "you do not speak without permission, am I going to have to gag you?"

"No, Sir, s-sorry" Martin gasped out, and tried to relax as Mr Windham returned his attentions to insinuating his fingers into Martin's arsehole. There were two of them now, slick with lube, pushing in and out, and twisting. Though they felt uncomfortable, when they were removed Martin felt empty, and it was an effort not to whimper. He wasn't left empty for long though, he heard a squirting sound behind him, and the fingers were back - with more cold gel, and this time three of them being forced into him. He swallowed hard at the thought of what was to come, it already felt so full.

Martin didn't know what to do when the fingers finally left him. He wanted them gone, but he also wanted them back, he didn't want what would surely replace them, yet at the same time part of him did, the empty feeling, the pain and the fear were giving him conflicting feelings. Of course, he didn't actually have a choice anymore - it was clear saying no wasn't an option. He couldn't help but tense at the feeling of being stretched, filled with more than he could take.

"Relax, Martin, pet", Mr Windham moving the hand that had been holding his hip to stroke soothingly down his side. "It will all be easier if you just relax." Martin tried his best, but he kept tensing up. It didn't really seem to bother Mr Windham too much though - he just kept the pressure up, pushing himself in and in until he was fully embedded in Martin, and he stopped. Martin felt so full, it wasn't painful, but it wasn't comfortable either. Then Mr Windham moved again, pulling back, and forward swiftly, and the pain hit him, a deep stabbing feeling inside, and the cry was ripped from him, barely aware it was his voice, as his vision greyed out around the edges.

"Quiet!", Mr Windham sounded angry now, and oh god, Martin did not want him to be angry. He swallowed a whimper as another smack was delivered to his right buttock, and bit his lip to keep from making any further noises as Mr Windham started moving within him again, building up a rhythm. Martin was being crushed against the instruments, and he tried to keep his attention on the gauges in front of him, to calm himself with technical specifications and procedures, but he kept losing focus as the thrusts became rougher. Finally Mr Windham's grip on his hips tightened further, and he moaned as he spilled himself into Martin, then slumped on top of him, squashing him further onto the panel.

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Martin found himself sitting on the floor of the cockpit, not sure quite how he had got there. He felt sore and bruised all over, and didn't dare look down at himself. His hands were still bound behind him, the collar still in place, so he assumed Mr Windham was still here, but he wasn't on the flight deck. He hoped he hadn't just abandoned him - the thought of being found like this by Douglas filled him with horror. He felt shaky and cold, and couldn't keep hold of his thoughts, so he was relieved when Mr Windham returned and started telling him what to do again.

"Stand up, Martin, that's good." It didn't feel good - his legs felt unsteady like he might fall back to the floor any time soon, but Mr Windham's hand around his upper arm kept him from doing so, and he allowed himself to be led out through the galley to sit in one of the passenger seats. A glass of water was pressed to his lips, and he drank sips until he was feeling a little better. He looked up at the man sitting beside him.

Mr Windham was still fully dressed - all zipped back up, and looking unruffled, as though nothing had happened. Martin hated to think how he must look - debauched, dirty, disheveled, if he looked anything like how he felt. He had been hoping it was over, that the way Mr Windham was taking care of him meant he was done, but the look in the man's eyes did nothing to support that hope. It was possessive and greedy and lustful, and Martin wasn't sure he'd survive this. He found himself shaking his head, but Mr Windham tutted at him.

"No sense changing your mind now, is there Martin? Letting your friends down after all? What will they think of you?" As he spoke, Mr Windham brushed his fingers through Martin's hair. "Now then, silly to come this far and stop, hmm?" Martin nodded, unsure whether that had been a proper question.

"Good, come on then, round two." Mr Windham unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers again, pushing them down a bit to give himself more room, as he pulled his cock out. Martin stared at it, unsure what he was expected to do.

"Up you get, Martin, I want you to sit on me this time - I shouldn't have to do all the work." Martin frowned, the logistics of this beyond him, he couldn't take that thing again, could he, and there was barely enough room on the seat for one person, let alone two.

Mr Windham obviously knew what he was doing though, as he first slicked himself with more lube, then guided Martin up and turned him around so they were facing. He got Martin kneeling up, one leg squashed either side of his own, as he shuffled down a bit in the seat. Eventually everything was arranged to his liking, and he pulled Martin down, holding his cock with one hand and guiding Martin onto it with the other.

Martin winced as he impaled himself, but managed to suppress any noises. It felt much more intimate doing this so he could see the other man, and knowing that Mr Windham could see his face. He tried to keep his expression blank, but knew he wouldn't be able to keep it up as Mr Windham grasped him around the waist and encouraged him to start moving. It was very strange - he was on top, but not in any position of power - he was still being taken, still being controlled.

It was easier this time, though he was still sore from the first go, he was also still stretched, so it was a different sort of pain. He gasped suddenly, as Mr Windham tilted him backwards, something had just felt very good. Oh. It did it again.

Mr Windham suddenly laughed, "that was your prostate, pet, don't look so shocked!"

Martin swallowed down another wave of embarrassment as he realised that he was getting hard. It hadn't been an issue the first time, everything had been so painful, but this pleasure was something else, he'd never experienced anything quite like that before, and he couldn't stop his body reacting to it. Mr Windham seemed pleased by it though, and redoubled his efforts, practically bouncing Martin up and down in his lap now.

Martin couldn't hold back a moan as a hand wrapped around his cock and started stroking him. He felt so precariously balanced, but there was nothing he could do about it, but finally let go, and he came over Mr Windham's hand and jumper, the orgasm exhausting him, as he continued to be pulled down onto Mr Windham's cock - the man was thrusting up as he pulled Martin down, and his movements became more erratic as they had earlier, so Martin knew he was about to come too.

Martin cried out with pain as Mr Windham bit into his shoulder as he thrust up one last time into Martin's body, it felt like he was ripping out a chunk of flesh with his teeth. He risked a glance down as the man relaxed back into the seat, and was relieved to discover that it wasn't that bad though he had drawn blood. He allowed himself to be lifted up and off Mr Windham, and settled back into the seat, vaguely worrying about stains as he leant back.

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Mr Windham took a cloth from his bag and cleaned his hand, then wiped ineffectually at his jumper.
"I'd punish you for that, except that you looked so beautiful when you came." He threw the cloth down on the ground, then picked up the end of the lead that was dangling from the collar and gave it a gentle tug. Martin was pulled toward him by the motion, and found himself leaning over the arm rest, which dug painfully into his already-bruised stomach. 

"I did, however, tell you to look at me when I was speaking to you" Martin whipped his head up to look at Mr Windham at this, "so I get to punish you after all" he finished, and Martin felt a trickle of dread at what Mr Windham would consider punishment.

"Up!" Martin was pulled to his feet by the lead, the collar digging painfully into his neck. He stepped into the aisle, and then was directed to kneel. "Now, come along pet" Mr Windham walked forward, forcing Martin to shuffle along awkwardly on his knees, feeling as if he would topple over forwards any moment as he tried to keep up fast enough to keep the pressure from the collar.

Mr Windham walked them up and down the aisle twice, pausing only once, when Martin did fall forwards onto his face, unable to brace himself with his hands fastened behind him. He managed to turn his head so as not to hit his nose on the floor, but he was sure he'd get a bruise on his cheek. Finally Mr Windham stopped dragging him around like a dog. They were in the galley at that point and Mr Windham flipped down the folding seat and sat down.

"Over my knee then" he said to Martin, patting his thighs. Martin stared at him for a moment, realising that his punishment was not over, and for a moment considered refusing. But Mr Windham had been right, earlier - no point suffering through all this only to give up now. And if he did, what would he say to Carolyn? Or Douglas. Or even Arthur? He could endure a little more - there couldn't be much more, surely. Mr Windham would tire of him soon, and besides, Carolyn wouldn't hand over GERTI indefinitely. He shuffled forward on his sore knees, and Mr Windham helped him get settled over his lap, the cloth feeling scratchy against his skin.

"Alright, Martin, we'll start with ten and see how we go." Mr Windham stroked his hand over Martin's back, which he actually found quite soothing, in a disturbing sort of way. Martin hoped he wouldn't earn extra punishment for not looking at Mr Windham as he spoke, but it was quite impossible in the position he was in. The first stroke was quite gentle - certainly not as hard as the smacks he'd received earlier, and Martin decided he'd be able to get through nine more easily enough. The second hit came harder, and the third and fourth came down hard in the same place. 

Martin's buttocks were starting to feel quite warm, and his head had started to feel fuzzy again. He couldn't quite decide if he liked the sensation or not, but since he had no choice, he let himself sink into the feeling. He felt surprised when the blows stopped and Mr Windham announced that ten had been reached. He felt his head being lifted up and turned so Mr Windham could look at him - he tried to focus on the man's face, knowing that was irritant for some reason, but he couldn't decipher the expression he saw.

"Very good, pet." Mr Windham praised him, as he ran his fingers through Martin's hair, the nice words and soothing gesture relaxing Martin further. He felt himself eased to the floor, and heard Mr Windham move away, then the zip being opened on the bag that had been left by the passenger seats. More footsteps indicated his return, and Martin tried to gather his thoughts, not knowing if the punishment was over and he would be being shagged again, or if there was more punishment to come.

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"They've been a while." Carolyn looked over as Douglas spoke up from his position lounging on the sofa across from her, book held in his lap. "Do you think we need to rescue Mr Windham? His brain may have melted under the onslaught of Martin's over-enthusiastic explanation of probably every switch, lever and individual screw on board."

"God, no. He's paying enough - he should get his money's worth!" Carolyn scowled at her first officer. "I'd much rather leave Martin to deal with it all, and just swoop in at the end to collect the cash."

"Hmm, fair enough" Douglas shrugged. "But I'm getting bored. Arthur?"

"Yes, what is it Douglas?" Arthur popped his head up over the castle he was building with the various books and magazines and whatever else he'd found that the pilots lounge had to offer. "How can I be of assistance to yourself?"

"I was just wondering if you, and your mother, were up for a game of some kind?" Carolyn looked surprised at Douglas - he really must be bored if he was suggesting a game with Arthur.

"Ooh - yes. How about charades? I've been practising!" Arthur sounded so excited that Douglas almost agreed. 

"No, I think the ban on charades still stands, Arthur. I have a pack of cards here."

"No, no gambling of any kind, Douglas." Carolyn interrupted. "Can't you think of one of your word games?"

"Oh, I suppose so. How about, films with places we've flown to in the title? From Russia With Love, for example."

Carolyn smiled, she'd be good at this one. "Alright, Last King of Scotland."

"Ooh, Coming to America!" Arthur shouted, then "Team America: World Police, Captain America, Air America, ummm, ummm..."

"This could have been a mistake" Douglas said, and Carolyn rolled her eyes.

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 "You know," Martin snapped his head up at the sound of Mr Windham's voice, "you take all this so beautifully. I thought you would when I saw you, and you've proven me right, you were made for this, pet, and you didn't even know it, did you. I'm the only one who's ever had you like this." Mr Windham was looking at him so intensely that Martin wanted to look away, but forced himself not to - at least until Mr Windham looked away from him. 

"Kneel up, now" a hand tugged on his bound hands, encouraging him to pull himself up from the floor. Once he was kneeling, Mr Windham took hold of the leash, and led Martin back through to the passenger seats. The arm between two of the seats had been folded back, and Mr Windham told Martin to kneel up on the one by the window. He did so, with some difficulty, his bound hands affecting his balance. 

"Good, Martin, pet, now turn so you are looking out of the window" Mr Windham seated himself behind Martin on the second seat. Once Martin was in position, Mr Windham stroked his hand down Martin's back, pushing his upper body down until his face was almost pressed against the window, then lingering over his buttocks, the pressure bringing the pain back into focus. 

"I'm going to need a few more minutes before we have another round - but that's no reason for you to have to wait." Martin shuddered at the threat of more, but he didn't really understand what Mr Windham meant - at least not until he felt the object being pressed inside him. It was cold and hard and felt quite uncomfortable - some kind of dildo, but it felt so big as it entered him, it felt like it would never stop, though eventually it did. The feeling wasn't entirely pleasant, but not entirely unpleasant either, and after a minute he started getting used to the incredible fullness. That was when Mr Windham started to move it, slowly pulling it out a little, then thrusting it back in. 

Martin couldn't bite back the whimper, but that only seemed to spur Mr Windham on, and he began rocking the dildo in and out of Martin faster, until Martin was being pushed and pulled back and forth, his face pressing against the window as he tried to move forward and away, though there was nowhere to go. He was dimly aware of people moving about outside the plane, and he hoped none of them would see him.

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"You're doing so well, pet" Mr Windham soothed as Martin moaned when finally the dildo was pulled out of him. Presumably a few minutes had passed, because as soon as it was gone he felt Mr Windham pressing his cock inside him again. In some ways it was a relief after the cold and unyielding material of the dildo, but he was getting really quite sore now. Mr Windham wasn't bothered by that though, thrusting into him with as much energy as before. 

It felt like hours before he felt the man come inside him, his own cock was showing a vague interest in proceedings, after a few hits of his prostate, but Mr Windham hadn't touched him this time, and he had no way to help himself. 

As Mr Windham pulled out Martin hoped that that was it, that it was over. He was very sore now, and his arse cheeks were smarting from the spanking, and he was tired, his neck had a crick from where his head was pressed against the window, his shoulders were aching from having his hands tied behind his back, and his knees were sore from all the kneeling and crawling. 

"Such a good pet" Mr Windham said, carding his fingers through Martin's now sweaty hair. "You did so well. If only I could keep you - I could have you properly trained up in no time, and we could have so much fun. Maybe I'll see if your boss would be interested in a deal." Martin felt a chill run through him at the words - the thought of being kept as property by this man, trained by him in who knew what. Carolyn wouldn't actually sell him, would she? He wasn't hers to sell, and besides, she needed him to fly her plane. Though Mr Windham was clearly crazy and rich - maybe he'd offer her enough money that it would be worth her while. 

Martin was so shocked by the thoughts that he only realised it was over and Mr Windham was freeing him when the pain from the blood rushing into his unfettered arms hit him. 

"Now then, pet, I've got to go and see your boss about the payment for this little arrangement, it shouldn't take too long. You might want to clean yourself up a bit - you look thoroughly debauched." Mr Windham smiled at Martin unpleasantly. "Might want to clean your plane up a bit too." He winked, and Martin shuddered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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 He remained where he was, slumped on the floor in the aisle, until Mr Windham had left the plane. Then he eased himself up, stretching out his cramped arms. He shuffled up the aisle to the third row where his clothes were still neatly piled, and took them with him into the toilet, where he suffered further unpleasantness removing all traces of Mr Windham from his body. He was torn between being thorough and being quick, not knowing how much time he had before the others returned.

Once he deemed himself as clean as he was going to get - and trying not to acknowledge the thought that that would never be clean enough - Martin dressed himself with his usual care, and was satisfied when he looked in the mirror that he only looked slightly flushed and not at all like he'd just been, well, what he'd been.

A slight feeling of panic grasped him as he left the little cubicle to survey the state of the plane. There were very obvious stains on the seat by the window, and more on the other seats they'd - occupied. Those first, he decided - he'd deal with the flight deck later - at least if he hadn't finished that when they came back he could lock himself in. 

Luckily, due to the Arthurishness of their steward, GERTI came equipped with plenty of cleaning supplies. Grabbing some cloths and a couple of bottles of Stain Devil, Martin set to work on removing the evidence of the last - how long? He glanced at his watch, and was shocked that only three hours had passed. It felt like it had been days since he left the others. 

The next hour passed in a fevered rush of scrubbing at upholstery and peeking out of the window to see if the others were coming yet. Finally just as he was wringing out the cloth in the galley sink he heard Arthur's voice calling him as they entered the plane. He felt suddenly sick, the idea of seeing any of the others felt wrong. He wasn't sure how sure he was that Carolyn hadn't actually known exactly what she was selling him to Mr Windham for. He was sure that Douglas would know something had happened - though possibly not the details. But hiding in the flight deck or the toilet would only make things worse. Nothing else for it then, he stepped forward.

"Hello Arthur."

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Arthur bounded up the stairs to the plane, eager to see Skip and share with him the brilliant news that he had actually beaten Douglas at a word game! His mum and Douglas were trailing behind him, neither seemed quite as impressed by his achievement as he thought they should be, actually they'd both been rather quiet for the past hour, his mum only perking up at the reappearance of a pleased looking Mr Windham bearing lots of money. 

There had followed a long boring bit while they went to pay the airport manager the money they owed him, then went to arrange for refuelling, then Douglas had had a 'quiet word' with his mum while he had to pretend to look at something else, but then finally they could go back to GERTI.

'Skip!' He called out as he entered the plane, beaming as Martin stepped out from the galley and greeted him.

'Hello Skip! Did you have a good time showing Mr Windham round GERTI? He seemed very happy and gave Mum lots of money, which was brilliant. But not as brilliant as my news. Do you want to guess? I beat Douglas! At a word game! Oh, except I didn't give you a chance to guess. Sorry. But it was brilliant, and I knew loads of films with places we've been to in the title. And I won!'

Skip smiled back at him, though he didn't seem quite as excited by Arthur's news as Arthur had hoped. 
'Well done Arthur. That is brilliant. I'm glad you beat Douglas.'

'Oh, are you now?' 

Arthur and Skip both turned to see Douglas standing in the doorway. Arthur grinned at him and turned back to Skip, who looked uncomfortable. He was a bit red in the face and he was looking down rather than at Douglas. Arthur had learned about this in Ipswich - it meant Skip was embarrassed. 

'Well I suppose it was about time somebody did, I can't be perfect all the time, it is very tiring.' Douglas smirked at Martin, ignoring his discomfort. Arthur was about to say something cheery, but his interruption was interrupted by the noise of a vehicle outside.

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Martin had thought he'd be ok when talking to Arthur, whose babbling had started to relax him by its sheer normality, but then Douglas had arrived and managed to make him feel awkward again straight away. Not that that wasn't normal too. He didn't know where to look, he felt like if he looked at Douglas the man would be able to see it in his eyes.

'The refuelling truck is here, Martin. Did you want to deal with them? Martin?' It took Douglas raising his voice for Martin to realise he'd been asked a question. 

'No, you deal with them Douglas, I'll be in the flight deck.' It felt a little bit like running away as he shut the door behind him, but mostly like relief to be put of everyone's view. Standing there, where just less than an hour before he'd been kneeling, and naked. He felt like he still was, like Mr Windham had left a brand on him, that everyone would be able to see what he'd done. 

He stared at his chair, then the cockpit floor - the stains had cleaned off, but the upholstery and carpet were still damp. He couldn't let Douglas see until it dried, so he'd have to keep him out of the flight deck as long as possible, then sit down and not get up again until they landed. And just hope he didn't look at the floor. He was lucky that the passenger seats were leather, as it had made them easy to clean and dry.

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Douglas shared a meaningful glance with Arthur. Or, meaningful on his side, at any rate, you could never be entirely sure with Arthur. 

'Is Skip alright Douglas?' Arthur asked, proving that he had indeed noticed something amiss. 'Only he usually looks after the refuelling. And he wasn't paying attention, which isn't like Skip at all! It's quite like me, Mum's always telling me off for not listening, but'

'Yes, Arthur, it does appear that our dear Captain is not feeling his usual cheery self. I'm sure it's nothing though. Perhaps Mr Windham was rude about GERTI. Or Martin's hat. Why don't you make him a coffee while I go and deal with the fuel?' Douglas was sure nothing rude had been said about GERTI, as Mr Windham had had nothing bad to say when he coughed up all that money. His plan was to wheedle whatever was wrong out of Martin on the flight home.

'Righty-o, Douglas.' Arthur replied cheerily, and headed off to supply his Skip with caffeine.

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