Flight 12

Flight 12 – a serial novel by Travis Creel

CHAPTER ELEVEN: BIRTHDAYS

Previously, at the Phallic Tower:

• Leo, the son of the British knight Ed, having arrived during a thunderstorm, leaves his clothes under a rock overnight to let them dry, and borrows clothes from others to cover himself.

• Paul awakens dressed only in a jockstrap, and confesses to Harry that he was unable to remove it and was forced to piss through it.

• Harry and Seth discover that the dodecagon is now augmented by numbers near the outer edges. They seem to be the first eleven prime numbers, plus the number 1.

Underground:

• Barry, under Hamish's control, is put into a sling on the night of his arrival and fucked by seven of Hamish's `lieutenants'.

In a flashback:

• Seth attended Abe's birthday party a year ago, on Friday, December 1.

• • • • • • • • SUNDAY, DECEMBER 2 * * * * * * * *

THE PHALLIC TOWER – HARRY

After this startling revelation from Paul, I needed to talk to Seth. Not seeing him outside, I guessed he was still inside the Phallic Tower, and headed inside. He was talking to Dai, one of only two people who weren't out enjoying the sunshine. The other was Augie, sitting by himself.

• Seth, can I talk to you? Something just happened.

• About?

I looked nervously over at Dai. True, last night I had encouraged Seth to be upfront with everyone about everything. And yet I wanted to talk to him privately. Dai noticed.

• (Dai) Do you want me to leave?

• (Seth) No. Harry, I trust Dai. You can share your information with him.

• (Dai, grinning) Unless it's about me, of course.

• It's not. It's about Paul.

• (Dai) If it's about Paul, I want to know about it.

Yesterday Paul had, under the influence of a dodecagon, stripped and tried to kiss Dai. This morning Dai had admired Paul's comely ass. Was there mutual attraction there?

Before I could divulge the news about Paul, Leo rushed in, still dressed in the hand-me-downs that others had donated yesterday while his own clothing dried.

• (Leo) My clothes. They're gone.

• Didn't you put rocks on them so they wouldn't blow away?

• (Leo) The rocks are still there. My clothes aren't. But I found this instead.

He handed Seth a piece of paper. Seth whistled. I'm not sure I'd ever heard someone actually whistle in reaction to surprising news, but Seth did exactly that.

• (Seth) Where did you find this?

• (Leo) Under one of the rocks. Like someone had picked it up, stole my clothes, and put this there instead.

• (Dai) Well, it wasn't any of us – we were locked in here all night.

• (Leo) Sure about that? We got out this morning. Maybe somebody managed to get out last night.

• Why would they do that?

• (Leo) Because they're assholes. I don't know, maybe my father's been spreading lies about me, somebody thought they'd punish me.

• (Seth) No, the door handle was missing until this morning. I can swear to that.

• (Augie, apparently eavesdropping) It had to be someone from outside. Which means someone else is on this island. Someone who could rescue us.

• Someone else IS on this island, Augie. But I'm getting the feeling they don't want to rescue us. Quite the opposite, in fact. Would a good Samaritan take Leo's clothes?

• (Leo) No. It was one of you.

• (Augie) Maybe somebody from outside needed clothes and thought the tower was unoccupied, so they just took them.

• (Dai) Oh, to be that young and innocent.

• So what's on the paper? You had quite a reaction, Seth.

• (Seth) Take a look at this, Harry.

He handed me the sheet of paper. I whistled.

• (Leo) What?

• It's the flight manifest. List of passengers.

• (Leo) Oh. Big deal.

• (Seth) I think it is a big deal, actually.

• I'm with you on that one, Seth.

• (Dai) Why? What made you guys whistle when you saw it?

I showed him:

MANIFEST – FLIGHT 12 – BARRY RUSSELL, PILOT

Adena, Jasper New York, NY December 29, 1989

Eton, Paul Richmond, VA December 2, 1999

Fallon, Timothy St. Louis, MO December 23, 1997

Heidekker, L. Ernest Chicago, IL December 5, 1988

Mancini, Harry Philadelphia, PA December 17, 1995

Niemann, Edward Boston, MA December 13, 1974

Niemann, Leo Atlanta, GA December 3, 2004

Omi, Daisuke San Francisco, CA December 7, 1990

Onslow, Gary Kansas City, MO December 31, 1996

Stapleton, August Dallas, TX December 11, 2003

Torrance, Victor Minneapolis, MN December 19, 1997

[Author's Note: to correspond to the ages of the respective characters, this story must be set in December 2023, even though the days of the week are incorrect for the 2023 calendar.]

• (Dai) Wow. We were all born in December. What kind of coincidence is that?

• It's not a coincidence. It's design. Twelve of us, on Flight 12, all born in the 12th month.

• (Seth) And we all have birthdays coming up.

• Look, Paul's is today.

• (Dai) And he got a jockstrap for a present?

• Seth, could I talk to you outside for a moment?

THE PHALLIC TOWER – SETH

I went out the door with Harry. He held the manifest in his hand.

• Did you take a good look at this?

• (Seth) Yeah, sure. All December, all birthdays coming up.

• You didn't notice anything else unusual?

• It's just our half of the plane.

• Correction. It's ALMOST our half of the plane.

• Are you referring to my notable omission?

• I am. Is your birthday in December?

• Well now, that's an interesting question.

• It's a rather straight-forward question. Either you were born in December or you weren't. Unless you don't know when you were born, is that what you mean?

• No, I know. My birth certificate says January 1, but the doctors say I was born exactly at midnight, so kinda halfway between December 31 and January 1. My mom and I were on TV news – local stations always run those `first baby of the new year' stories. They claimed I was the first baby in the entire country, though they couldn't prove it.

• Okay, so just our half of the plane, you're not listed, all of us born in December, what else?

• They list the pilot but no other crew members.

• Good, what else?

• Lucas is listed as L. Ernest. And he doesn't go by Ernest, like I don't go by Seth. Why use his middle name when he doesn't use it?

• You'll pardon me for saying so, but what is the importance of being Ernest? And yet, that's not the most significant thing. Look at the dates.

• The 17th, the 2nd, the 29th, the 7th. OMG. They're . . .

• All prime numbers.

• The same numbers that are on the tower floor.

• Exactly. That's the reason there's no number 37 there – there are only 31 days in the month. Obviously, no one was born on the 37th. But. . .

• But what?

• The number 1. It's on the wheel. But if you weren't born in December, then nobody was born on December 1.

I knew someone born on December 1. But he was sitting on the left side of the plane, across from me.

THE THRONE ROOM – BARRY

• So did you enjoy your birthday present?

• I didn't tell you it was my birthday.

• December 1, 1982. I know a lot about you, boy. I thought I arranged a rather nice birthday present for you. Which fucker did you enjoy the most?

• . . .

• Boy, answer me.

• . . . None of them.

• Oh, dear. I do so want to please you. I guess I'll just have to try others until we find one you like.

• No!

• Excuse me? Did you say `no' to your master?

• No. I mean yes, I said no'. If you want to please me, don't let anyone fuck me.

• You're telling me what to do.

• No, no, I'm – well, if it's my birthday present, I should have gotten what I want. And that's not to get fucked.

• Dear me. It looks like you need a lesson in respect. Perhaps I should send you over to Mac for some humility training. Do you like having teeth?

• No! I mean, please, sir, please don't do that.

• Oh, he won't knock them all out, Barry. Not unless you truly deserve it, which you don't, at least not yet. He'll just bring you in touch with your feelings. A couple of hours with Mac and I think you'll be plenty humble.

• I'll be humble. I promise, I'll be humble.

• I'll be humble, what?

• I'll be humble, sir.

• Try again.

• I'll be humble, Master.

• That's the one.

• I'll be humble, I'll be obedient, I'll be cooperative, I'll be respectful, I'll –

• Oh, do shut up, Barry. Your words are very nice, but right now that's not what I want from your mouth. Now open up.

• Yes, Master.

• Open wide. We magicians have very large cocks.

• Gmmmk!

• Yes, it is big, isn't it. But don't worry, I know you're not experienced at this, you're allowed to gag.

• Gmmmk!

• Just don't bite. If you bite, well, I might have to send you to Mac. He could make sure you don't bite next time.

• Nmm! Mm wmmm bmmm!

• Of course you won't. But if you do, and we have to have Mac work on you, it's not the end of the world. You can still chew food without your front teeth.

FLASHBACK: BARRY (SANTO DOMINGO) – May, this year

• So do you do fire play?

• Never learned it.

• Want me to teach you?

• Yeah, sure. It will add to my repertoire, increase my client base.

I took both men and women as clients. More women than I would have wanted, but my services didn't include sex unless they paid extra. I was technically bisexual, though I much preferred playing with balls over playing with twats.

But, since I'm not exclusively gay, I wound up getting married and having a kid. Biggest mistake of my life, except for the kid. Paloma began as a client, and she paid extra, so you know what that meant. I got spontaneous, which meant – stupid me – no condom.

So naturally she got pregnant. Her Catholic family demanded that she not only carry the baby to term – with which I had no quarrel – but that the child not be born out of wedlock – with which I did. And demanded that I relocate from Miami to her home in the Dominican Republic.

I kinda liked the idea of having a kid, and Paloma said I would never see it unless I married her. I finally consented, under two conditions: (1) we never again had sex, and (2) I was free to carry on with my clientele in the basement – recognizing that most of my clients were men and that I liked fucking them.

She was horrified. Somehow it had never occurred to her that any of my subs were male, much less the vast majority. But she also couldn't afford not to be married if she wanted to stay connected to her family, and so Rafa was born five months into our marriage. A little boy. The light of my life, a reason to come upstairs and focus on something other than Paloma. Who had turned out to be a first-class bitch.

After the inevitable divorce – she waited a full year for the sake of optics – I realized I could no longer afford to go back to Miami, so I set up business in Santo Domingo. My income wasn't as robust as it had been in Miami, but the cost of living was lower. Nevertheless, more income was preferable to less income, and I was anxious to learn new tricks that would appeal to sexy young Dominican lads. Fire play was just the ticket.

I'd met this guy in a bar, and we hit it off. At first, I thought he was hitting on me, but he spotted me as a fellow dom and we just struck up a friendship. I thought, maybe I can learn from this guy, maybe we could play together sometimes. Before I could utter that thought, he suggested it himself:

• Have a client Friday night?

• Yeah.

• Boy or girl?

• Boy.

• Good. Bring him to my place. I'll have a boy, we can have fun with them together and I'll show you how to do fire play.

• Do you fuck your clients afterwards?

• Only if they ask me not to.

He grinned at that in a way that made me unsure of whether or not he was kidding. There was something slightly sinister about Hamish DiSalvo that made me uncomfortable. But I guess some doms were genuine sadists – they were the dangerous ones, the ones you should arrange a safe call for. But they also made a lot of money, and if he could show me ways of increasing revenue I was all for it.

My client's name was Martín and he was nineteen years old, medium brown skin with black braided hair. Into bdsm since he was sixteen, he'd been arrested twice for paying for sex – and being underage, to boot. He'd been arrested for other things, too – robbery, selling drugs – and had spent time behind bars. Behind bars, he was very popular, if you know what I mean, and he loved every minute of it. He tried to get the guards to beat him up, provoking them but they were wise to his act and refused to take the bait.

I'd happily beat him up, but he'd have to pay for it. I took him to Hamish's place. Hamish had a Dominican named Felix. Lovely boy with a lovely ass. Coal-black skin, muscular, buzz cut and no hair on his body anywhere else. Absolutely my type. I wanted to plunder his butt the moment I saw it. My cock was pressing against my leather codpiece when I realized I wanted to trade partners with Hamish.

We played jointly. We tied the two boys together, mouths touching, cocks touching, feet touching, and hung them from the ceiling while we blistered their asses with canes. I love the swish of a good cane, it so terrifies them when they hear it NOT hitting their ass. And then when it does – if you do it right – you get this sharp intake of breath like a reverse hiss that is oh so pleasing to the ear. Later on, you get the panting, which, in this case was amusing, because they had to pant into each other's mouths.

We plugged their asses and then swung a leg backwards, pulling the foot up close to their head like a figure skater doing a Biellmann spin. They didn't like that. So we gagged them to shut up their complaints, especially Martín's. While they were in this vulnerable position, we put clothespins on their balls and then flicked them off with whips. It was a fun time.

Finally, we lowered them from the ceiling and put them face down on the table. It was time for the fire play demonstration. Hamish liked to do it with the boy tied down, though you had to be careful not to get the flame too close to the rope or it might catch fire. He secured both boys with ropes around their necks, wrists and ankles, then turned his attention to Felix.

He rubbed a liquid over Felix's back and passed a flame over the boy, immediately smoothing it with his free hand. Felix wriggled with joy. Hamish let me feel the sensation on my arm – first painting a swath of alcohol, then passing the flame over it and immediately smoothing it. I felt warmth and a slight momentary tingle that was actually very pleasing. It wasn't sadism at all – it was actually quite nice.

It gave me a thought.

• This would be a good way to transition into aftercare.

• Aftercare. You do aftercare?

• Of course. It's essential. Don't you?

• Hell no, Barry. I just fuck them.

• Are you going to fuck Felix?

• No. Felix won't be fucked. And he won't need aftercare.

That remark remained mysterious as he told me to sit in a chair in the far corner of the room.

• Now for this next effect I don't want you too close.

That statement was somewhat worrisome, but I did what he asked.

I watched him pour a generous amount of fluid over Felix's body as the young man moaned with pleasure.

• (Felix) Eso se siente bien.

• (Hamish) Seguro. Pero no por mucho tiempo.

He stood back and tossed a match onto Felix's ass. Flames immediately leaped into the air and quickly spread across his entire body. Felix started to scream.

I leaped up.

• Hamish, what are you doing?

• Relax, Barry, he'll be fine.

• Fine? You're burning him.

• Not quite enough.

And he poured more alcohol onto the hapless youth's body.

• Hamish, you're going to kill him!

• Yes, I know.

I listened to Felix's screams and cries for help until I could stand it no longer. I looked around for something to throw on top of him – water, or sand – or some large cloth I could use to beat the flames down. Nothing.

• Don't bother, Barry. There's nothing you can do to put the flames out. I want it to stop too, I know it's annoying to listen to.

• Annoying? You're burning this boy to death.

• That is exactly what I've been paid to do.

• He wanted to commit suicide?

• Oh, no. HE's not paying me. There are certain criminal enterprises in this city, and certain street gangs who have cause to want one of their competitors removed from the scene. They're who's paying me – well he is, too, posthumously, whatever's in his wallet – but it's what I do to improve life in this city. Remove some of its scum. And have fun at the same time.

• You call burning a young man to death fun?

• Yes, aren't you hard?

• No!

• A shame. I could listen to him scream all day. But for your sake, I'll put an end to this.

Hamish picked up a revolver and shot Felix in the back of the head.

• (Hamish) And now, Martín.

• What? Oh, no, Hamish, this is my boy, he's not your client, nobody paid you to get rid of him.

• That's a valid point. You want to fuck him?

• I do, but – Martín, do you want me to fuck you?

Martín shook his head violently. He couldn't speak – Hamish, knowing what he was about to do to Felix, had gagged Martín in advance, so he wouldn't be protesting as the body next to him was burning.

• (Hamish) Oh, very well. Let's just give him a good oil massage and then we'll let him go, eh?

• Thank you.

• (Hamish) You want to do the honors?

I approached the quivering body and freed him from the gag.

• Relax, Martín. Hamish – he was paid to do that to Felix. Nobody paid to do that to you.

• I'm a witness!

• So am I. I'm not going to say anything. And you're not going to say anything, are you, Martín?

• (Hamish) Sir Barry has your credit card. We can find your address.

• (Martín) No, no of course I won't say anything. I mean – I know the gang he's part of. I know what they are. They're terrible people. I'm not sorry he's dead. Only - that was pretty brutal.

• (Hamish) Life is brutal, Martín.

All while this was going on, I was pressing my hands into Martín's meaty flesh, spending a lot of time kneading the two gorgeous orbs that constituted his ass.

• You've got a pretty body, Martín.

• (Hamish) Here, make him smell nice. Rub this into his skin.

He handed me some fragrant oil, which I then rubbed into every crack and crevice of the sexy young man's skin, lingering as I probed his asshole, which made him gasp. This was aftercare as it should be done. But I admit that I longed to follow it up by fucking the daylights out of him.

• (Hamish) Come here for a minute. I want to show you something.

Hamish was about twenty feet away, near a metal box that was standing open. I presumed that what he wanted to show me was inside, perhaps a collection of dildos I could insert into Martín's shapely rump.

But when I reached him, I heard screams.

I turned around. Martín was in flames. I started toward him but Hamish grabbed me and held me back.

• He's scum, too, Barry, good riddance. Besides, I wanted to give him a nice birthday present. You should always die on your birthday, don't you think?

• How did you know it was his birthday?

• You didn't look through his wallet?

• But how did – you were over here – there was no match – he just burst into –

• I'm a magician, Barry. Don't forget that. I'm a magician.

[COMING UP NEXT: CHAPTER TWELVE – APPAULING DEVELOPMENTS]