Hearing Helen open the door, they had hidden their clothing and themselves by snuggling in the armchair between its overstuffed wings, hoping that whoever had entered the conference room would soon go away.

And then they no doubt had peered at the lesbian fun that Helen and Cleo had had with each other, although, of course, it was Cleo who really had had the fun and had left Helen in a dreadful state.

Now Hank's lover's inquiring face appeared next to Hank's. The woman – girl, really – had a Latin face. A quizzical, not unfriendly expression.

Of course Hank had been sitting there with his pants and underpants off and the girl had been sucking him while he fondly watched her dark head bob back and forth between his thighs.

Helen knew Hank Hastings.

And now the fellatrice stood up beside the chair and revealed herself to be quite naked save that she wore long stockings, right up almost into her twat. This was an old whorehouse trick. Long stockings worn with nothing else whatsoever make a naked woman seemed nakeder than naked.

Hank waved a big hand negligently. "Helen. Carlotta."

"Hi."

"'Allo."

"Carlotta's from Buenos Aires. Treat her politely. She uses Wanderlust a lot." Hank said it WanderLUST, and winked.

"I see," said Helen, flushed and unhappy.

"Ah, don't take it so hard," said Hank. "If women didn't finger-fuck themselves now and then, they would drive the men crazy trying to satisfy them. Or the women," he added with an innocent look.

"You heard what that bitch did," cried Helen. "I gave her such a magnificent come and then she walked out and left me hanging!"

"One of the passengers? Well, she would have to be, of course, since she isn't one of the crew. Nothing we can do about it. If we call her a nasty cheating twat, she might take her business to another airline."