[Runesmith]

The stewardess uttered a yell of surprise and struggled to get up. The man kept a tight hold on her, grinning triumphantly. "Sir! Please, stop! Stop now! This instant!" yelled the stewardess, both anger and fear raising her voice to the high notes. There were steps down the aisle, and the man in the black suit, whom the slave had tagged in her mind as the "bodyguard", appeared in the doorway.

The slave, still sitting on the floor, looked up expectantly. The stewardess, noticing the figure in the doorway, pleaded, "Help me, help me, please!"

The man came inside, shut the door and leaned against it, watching on silently with a porker face that showed no shred of compassion. Her hopes dashed, the stewardess began to sob, as the old man's right hand brutally yanked down her sheer tights, tearing them in the process. "Do something, please!" pleaded the stewardess, looking directly at the slave. The slave sat on the floor, staring at the bed, not moving, saying nothing. What could she do?

When the fact that she will not get any help from people around her dawned on the stewardess, she began to struggle in earnest, pushing up with her hands and knees and struggling to get off. The man responded by sitting up straighter in bed, pushing the struggling woman off balance, rolling her on to her back. With amazing spryness for a man of his apparent age, he pulled his legs from under her body, and in one fluid movement got on top of her, with his weight pinning her down. "No, no, no...stop it, stop it," screamed the stewardess, as the man secured her wrists at her stomach level and held them with one hand, using his body weight on top to keep her from pulling them out, and yanked at the front of her uniform blouse. Buttons popped and landed on the carpet. The stewardess bucked and rolled, her tattered blouse falling open, but the man stayed on top of her like a rodeo rider on an enraged bull.

Grabbing a bra strap, the man pulled it off the stewardess' shoulder, pulling the cup down with it, exposing a large milky white breast with skin as fine as porcelain, a dark pink nipple crowning it like a maraschino cherry on top of a scoop of vanilla ice cream. The man's lips fastened on the nipple, biting and sucking. The stewardess' face turned bright pink with the Nordic temper finally bursting through her fear, like her Viking berserker ancestors cleaving through a Saxon defense line. "You bastard!" she yelled, "you goddam fucking bastard! Get off me, you dirty fucking asshole!"

With all the force she could muster, the stewardess rolled to her side, nearly pushing the man off the foot of the bed. Her knee crashed against his side with a dull thud, and her manicured fingers raked upwards, seeking to make minced meat out of his face. The man deftly avoided her arms, grabbing and pinning them to her sides. Rolling her back to on to her spine, he sat astride her stomach, knocking the wind out of her. His hands fastened around her neck and squeezed hard.

The stewardess' mouth gaped wide, struggling to breathe, and her hands, now freed, went to her throat, trying to pry the man's hands apart. The slave watched the stewardess' face turning red, veins bulging, and eyes wide open and darting. If this continued, the man could easily kill her.

The slave stood up on her aching legs and stumbled towards the bed. Behind her, she could hear the bodyguard stirring.