It's Gaelic for Freedom

“Even in Dublin!” Philip didn’t know whether to laugh or to throw something at the television. It was his last night in the capital of the Irish Republic and he had hoped to settle in for a quiet drink and some television in his hotel room before taking a cab to the airport; and the best he could find was UK Channel 4’s World’s Greatest Television Advertisements of the 1990s. Philip left the television on since anything was better than silence in the room, (and the stuff on RTE was all rubbish), and stood up, intending to fetch his last can of Harp from the fridge. His attention was drawn by the voice of Greg Norman and an old ad for Qantas. The Shark was standing by the boot of his car as he spoke about the latest share-float offer for Australia’s newly privatised national airline while a hotel employee packed his bags into the boot: the boy reached for a bag of golf-clubs and Greg said “hey, this is not a business trip!” Philip laughed, “if only it were!”

Philip James was ready to go home. Four and a half days in Dublin, all of them sitting in seminars and “networking opportunities” had left no time for golf. Still, since it was now Thursday he’d be home in time for a round on the weekend: a chance to blast out the cobwebs and the hum that comes from too much listening. England awaited only half an hour’s taxi and an hour’s 737 flight away.

The size of the crowd snaking around check-in at the Aer Lingus counters was ridiculous. Philip had expected trouble flying out of Heathrow, (the instruction to not carry liquids had seemingly bypassed most of the travelling fraternity of England’s capital), but the chaos in Dublin had come as a complete surprise. He’d been in the queue for over an hour, and had still not made it to check in. Fortunately he’d allowed plenty of time, his flight was not due to depart for a further ninety-six minutes, but his patience was sure to depart well before then.

“S’a bloody hold up Cobs?”

The voice behind Philip had been bothering him the whole time, but now it seemed to be directed at him. “I’m sorry, were you addressing me?”

“Ehp, well anyone atcherley. S’a bloody hold up?”

“Are you suggesting you’re trying to rob me?”

“Yer-what?”

“Did you say ‘this is a hold up’? There’s Garda everywhere you know, I dare suggest an international airport is not the place for a robbery.”

“No ya stupid Pom, I said ‘what’s the bloody hold up’? I’ve got a connecting flight at Hif-frow ta go ta Sinney.”

Philip smiled, an Australian. A Qantas share-holder no doubt.

“I mean, what’s the farkin point in having a ‘One World Alliance’ for frequent fliers if you can’t even farkin fly nowhere? Aer Lingus, Air farkin Idiots you ask me, farkin stupid poms!”

“I think they’re Irish actually, but yes it is rather annoying.” Philip was actually enjoying himself now, no doubt the Australian was rude, but it made the wait entertaining.

“Farkin micks then. You far- what? WHAT!”

An announcement interrupted the distressed Antipodean “mid-fark”. Aer Lingus were regretting to inform passengers that check-in was closed due to unforeseen circumstances and would all passengers mind waiting in their queues for further information. Aer Lingus regretted any inconvenience. Philip thought about saying something un-British, but didn’t need to as the Australian beat him to it.

“I hope you don’t miss your connection to Sydney because of this,” Philip offered sympathetically. “Are you going home?”

“Yeah, I farkin hope so. I’m getting married, my fiancé is already there and the wedding is Saturday week.”

“Oh, I hope you get there then, good luck! By the way, my name is Philip James; it’s been my absolute pleasure to meet you.”

“Onya Phil, please tameecha, I’m Louisa.”

“It’s a bloody shambles that’s what it is.”

“I’m sorry sir, it was unforeseen.”

“Unforeseen nothing, there is no excuse for check-in to end up like this. Bad enough anywhere, but Aer Lingus at Dublin International? We’re laughing stocks.”

The conversation was not going well behind the wall behind check-in. Undoubtedly the check-in staff had done their best, but with the baggage conveyors broken it had made checking in luggage all that much harder for them, and then with so many Irish leaving to attend the rugby match at Murrayfield in Edinburgh, (and clinch the Triple Crown), the situation had truly got out of hand. Finally, security had backed up so far that check-in staff were being asked to delay passengers.

“You can’t ask Aer Lingus staff to delay our passengers just because Security are low on staff.”

“I’m sorry.”

Louisa had been shuttled away soon after her conversation with Philip; passengers with connections to make in London were being processed separately. Such are the advantages of Qantas Club membership, (and liberal use of “fark”).

“I’m jolly glad that frightful young lady has gone, such a mouth on her.” The voice of the passenger who had replaced Louisa behind Philip in the queue broke Philip’s reverie. “In my day such behaviour would have warranted a jolly good hiding.” Philip smiled, she’d been a pretty young thing, red haired, green-eyed; a proper little “Colleen” but for her distinctly Antipodean mouth. “Yes indeed,” returned Philip to the man behind him, “I shouldn’t have minded volunteering my own hand for the task.”

“Indeed.”

Just then a man in the green suit of Aer Lingus, and the yellow tabard of airport-workers internationally, approached Philip. He had heard the two Englishmen exchanging their views, but had not understood the reason for their displeasure, and after introducing himself he explained that he had chosen to ask Philip for his assistance in a “certain matter”.

“Rule G19.8a. It’s a rather unorthodox idea Mr Killian.”

“Yes, but I think it might just work: it’ll be entertainment nonetheless, and let us hope a small amount of ‘vicarious retribution’ might allay the rising tide of emotion.”

“Yes, I should think so.”

“So you agree then? Good. Now, to choose a lass.”

“Allison? Allison!”

Allison was leaning back in her chair talking to Sarah and had not heard Mark’s voice.

“Allison?”

“Oh, sorry Mark, did you want me?”

“Come through please, Mr Killian has asked if you’ll be prepared to do something for him.”

“Of course, anything to help the situation.” Allison smiled at Mark as she stepped around the conveyors and assorted chairs in the booking island. She saw Mark was looking flushed, almost embarrassed.

“Thank you Ally, I knew I could count on you.”

“Allison, my name is Allison.” Allison had never seen Mark look so upset, but then this was a rather unusual situation.

“Allison, wait.” Mark took her arm. “You don’t have to agree to this. They’re going to ask you to do a G19.8a, you’re completely free to say ‘no’ with no negative consequence.”

“Mark? Okay, purely voluntary. What’s G19.8a anyway?”

Mark gulped. “I’ll let them explain.”

Allison walked into a small office off the main concourse to find Seamus Killian waiting for her. She knew he was one of the senior managers of the day-to-day running of check-in for Aer Lingus, but had never met him before. He asked her to sit down.

“Allison, thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”

“Of course sir, glad I could help.”

“Yes, yes. Did your manager tell you why you are here? I want to employ a little known people-management technique known as G19.8a and believe you are the person best to help me.”

“Of course sir, what shall I do?”

“Allison, you don’t mind if I call you Allison?”

“No sir, it’s my name.”

“Right, good. Allison, we have a bit of a situation as you know. What we would like to offer our passengers is a bit of a distraction; something to both ease their frustration and their rightful sense of indignation at what is going on, as well as providing what I can only describe as a bit of entertainment, although that is certainly the wrong word in this case. G19.8a provides for this.”

“Sir I’m prepared to help in any way I can, but I must say I’m intrigued.”

“Look girl, Allison,” Seamus Killian was getting flustered, “here’s the manual I’ve been using. G19.8a is there on page 217. I’ll leave you with the book to read it over, and be back in ten minutes. I want you to have a good think about this.”

Allison took the book. “Of course Mr Killian.”

Philip could not believe what he was hearing. “You want me to do what?”

“I realise it’s a little odd Mr James, but we do have procedures in place that allow us to…”

“Allow you to offer up your check-in girls as virgin sacrifices.”

“Well, it’s not exactly that Mr James. Am I to assume you’re declining the offer?”

Philip did not have to think about it, as far as he was concerned this was his lucky day. “No, I’ll assist you in any way possible. Even this.”

“Mr Killian, I’ll assist you in any way possible, even this.” Allison had thought about what she had read and, to be honest, the idea thrilled her and appalled her at the same time. How dare her employers suggest such a grossly sexist, perverted thing of an employee; yet how could she resist the opportunity to fill one of her deepest fantasies, (and be paid a bonus to do it)?

“God bless you girl.”

“Less of the God part please sir, I’m not certain The Good Lord would approve of this. I’m sure my priest won’t. As for my trade union, well…”

“And you understand what will be expected of you?”

Allison smiled. “Yes sir.”

Seamus Killian swallowed hard. “Bless you young lady.”

Philip was taken across to a row of seats in the area between the check-in desks and the money changing booths. Around him stood roughly five hundred disgruntled Aer Lingus passengers, as well as interested spectators from some of the other airlines. To Philip’s immediate left stood a gaggle of Aer Lingus staff, a small pocket of solid green in a sea of colour. The women were weeping, aware of what Allison had been asked to do on their behalf. Philip surveyed the crowd, Louisa the Australian bride was not present, but he recognised the old man from the queue. “Pity it isn’t that little colonial brat,” he’d remarked to Philip when Philip had confided in him what was to take place.

Allison was lead through the crowd, specifically arriving in front of Philip via the Aer Lingus clique. She stood with Sarah as Seamus Killian stepped forward to explain what was about to happen.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Aer Lingus and the Dublin Airports Authority sincerely apologise for the inconvenience tonight’s closures have occasioned. Aer Lingus regrets to inform that all check-in is now closed for the night, and only those passengers who were checked in previously or put through fast-track will board tonight’s flights to New York JFK, and London Heathrow. All further flights have been cancelled. Any passengers not flying tonight will be accommodated at DAA expense in Dublin hotels. Prior to your departure for Dublin city, or indeed for London or New York, Aer Lingus wishes to offer its sincere regret by allowing one of its check-in staff to be … to … that is to say she will be …”

“… that according to condition G19.8a of the operating charter a nominated passenger, here Mister, I’m sorry I don’t know what your name is sir?” Allison had stepped forward and was now addressing Philip.

“Philip James.”

“Thank you sir, Mr James here has been asked to administer a spanking to me on your behalf. We are sorry about tonight’s mess up of your travel plans and we hope that this action will convey both our regret, and contrition at the situation. Mr James, are you ready? My name is Allison.”

“Thank you Allison. Bend over young lady.”

Allison walked around to stand at Philip’s right hand side. She paused to look around the crowd, wasn’t this how it had looked in her dream? Hundreds of people watching her bend over a male stranger’s knee for a smacked bottom, a smacked bottom she did not deserve. How unfair, how embarrassing, how delicious! “I’m so sorry ladies and gentlemen. I’m very sorry sir.” Allison turned to face Philip and saw the sea of green behind him. The Aer Lingus staff had deliberately placed themselves where Allison would be able to see them as she lay across Philip’s knee: she would see their faces and they would not see her bottom. Allison smiled at them bravely, “thank you girls.” Sarah nodded and waved her hankie.

“Allison.” Philip patted his lap.

“Yes sir.” Allison took Philip’s offer of a supporting arm and lay herself across his knees. “I’m ready sir.”

Philip looked down at the shapes and colours in his lap. His eyes clouded, and then returned to focus: it was as he had thought, this was not an illusion. The images combined to form the shape of a young woman, Philip guessed her age at twenty-four, (incorrectly as it was, Allison was twenty-seven), dressed in the uniform of Ireland’s only intercontinental airline. He paused to survey the scene, brown court shoes connected to an emerald-green knee-length skirt and suit jacket combination by a pair of shapely calves in glossy, flesh-coloured nylon. Left of the jacket was a crown of reddish-blonde hair which extended in waves to hang forward past the woman’s face, and in a neat strip down her back as far as the lowest point of her shoulder-blades. Extending past the draped hair were two arms in emerald green with white blouse cuffs, and two well shaped hands which were flat to the floor. There were rings on the feminine fingers, but none in the place where Louisa wore a diamond. Allison was pretty, single, and had willingly bent herself across his knees. Philip could feel himself rising beneath her, and hoped that she did not. He felt the weight of the woman’s form across his thighs, groin, and stomach. He placed a hand in the middle of the woman’s back and both saw and heard her flinch. “Senses of sight and touch in place, only sound to go.”

Allison was almost lost in the moment herself, drawing deeply upon the experience of living out a fantasy. She opened her eyes again, looking directly at the tiled floor she recognised as being “at work”. The floor was between her hands, and her view was blinkered by the curtain of soft red-blonde hair. She tipped her head back so that she was looking straight ahead. She couldn’t see faces, but the row of green skirts and court shoes in front of her confirmed her status; she was facedown at knee-level somewhere in the airport, and her friends were watching her. Watching her being spanked: or at least they would be if any spanking were actually taking place.

Philip raised his hand: Allison lowered her head.

Philip brought his hand down in a fluid motion, curving his wrist at the last minute to make best contact with the rounded shape in front of him. The dome of emerald cotton flattened under his hand, and bucked forward slightly as the woman’s head lifted again and released a loud “ooh-ouch!”

“I’ve done it,” thought Philip.

“Ooh he’s really doing it,” thought Allison.

More spanks ensued: blow upon blow of open palm upon upturned skirt. Philip’s hand made a tour of Allison’s bottom, slapping under and around the curve as well as upon the summit of the mound. He was certain she could feel his own mound beneath her, and spared a thought for what his trousers would look like when the woman was finally allowed to stand, but he quickly returned focus to fulfilling the requirements of G19.8a.

More squeals ensued: gasps and moans and cries of pain, and thinly disguised pleasure. Allison acutely felt the embarrassment of her predicament, and the growing soreness of her bottom, but surrendered herself to fulfilling both Aer Lingus’ side of G19.8a, and her own role in the fantasy. Was he enjoying it as much as she was? Of course he was, he was an Englishman!

Philip was uncertain of how many spanks were expected of him, but Allison seemed to be unconcerned. The faces of the watching crowd suggested the usual mix of men and women wishing it were they in the scene, but hoping no-one else saw this, and those disturbed by what they saw. Mr Killian was red in the face, and the group of Aer Lingus staff were sobbing.

Allison began to cry, a mixture of embarrassment and the release of pent-up desire.

“Oh Allison, poor thing!” Sarah heard the sobbing of her friend and took a step forward. Philip turned and looked up at her. “Oh please sir, she’s crying now. Isn’t that enough?” Philip delivered another firm spank to the curved surface, then another.

“Yes, that will do.”

Allison heard Philip’s voice: it was ended. But then it wasn’t. Philip delivered six further spanks to the same spot, six very hard spanks. Allison squealed loudly and collapsed in sobbing tears.

Philip knew he had to stop, he was close to exploding and knew that that wasn’t becoming. He let the final six spanks be an end to it and lay his hand upon Allison’s bottom. He heard Allison say “thank you sir,”, but was unsure whether the thanks were for stopping, or for the spanking itself.

***

Seamus Killian sent Allison home immediately, and allowed her the following two days off. Allison spent the first day trying to find out where Mr Philip James was staying, knowing that his flight was one that had been held up, before settling down on a soft cushion with the latest Kirsten Ellison novel.

Philip James was surprised to find that he’d been fast-tracked for boarding and made his flight back to London after all: in fact on an almost empty plane he was upgraded to First Class. He was invited by several of the cabin crew to spend fifteen minutes of the flight sitting on the forward crew jump-seat with a certain foul-mouthed young Australian woman over his knee.

He is now a member of the Aer Lingus frequent flier programme.