Angelica Arsan

by Arthur Graham on March 10, 2018


Image credit: InCase

Angelica Arsan is a memoirist and pedlar of smut from Marseille, France. The youngest daughter of a respectable family gone astray, she was educated in art, philosophy, and literature before leaving university to become an airline hostess, finally fulfilling her dreams of freedom and independence. “Crew Girl: Secrets of a Lusty Airline Hostess” is her true-life account of a decade’s worth of debauchery, drama, and delight in the airline biz.




Chapter 2: Fiesta
Here we are, I say to myself, looking down to the glittering sea below us, pushing the trolley down the aisle.

Spain… After months of travelling to cold, dull destinations, I’ll finally be able to enjoy the lovely climate of the seaside. No sooner than we’ve landed in Barcelona, my mood hightens at the sight of the city and the beauty of its architecture. And, of course, I’m also looking forward to exploring its legendary nightlife as well.

The company taxi takes us to our hotel after a short drive through the suburbs. It’s a nice summer evening; my colleague Emily and I are fidgeting in the backseat, planning a night out on La Rambla. This sexy brunette from New Zealand has been on this route for years, so if anyone knows how to have fun in this city, it’s her.

After a quick dinner we’re ready to go. We both look gorgeous: short dresses revealing bare shoulders and cleavages, red lips, high heels — the works. Two smiling hostesses transformed into sexy creatures of the Spanish movida… with a whole day off tomorrow to recover from its excesses, as well.

We arrive at the beach club at around midnight. The place is so diabolically crowded we can’t even see the entrance, but it isn’t long before a bouncer spots us and beckons us forward. We push our way through throngs of barely dressed teenage girls and muscular guys in tight T-shirts (aptly pushed forward by their hands on our bottoms) until the bouncer has us both by the waist, pulling us tight against his hips.

Once he’s made sure we’ve both felt the bulge in his Levi’s, he stamps the back of our hands and lets us in. Emily and I steal glance at each other, a glance meaning: Yummy… let’s keep him in mind for later, just in case.

Emily was right: this place is really cool. Enormous mirrored balls suspended over the dance floor, red velvet curtains, lights flashing all around. Boys and girls are drinking, making out against the walls, dancing — all of them looking young and sexy and wasted.

We reach the bar and get our drinks, sipping them beside the DJ booth, where this very good-looking guy (black Stetson, white swimsuit, jackboots… and nothing else) is smiling at us. I smile back and he gets closer. He’s holding a mojito.

“Hola,” he says. Long fair hair, a ring in his left nipple. Maori tattoos adorn his bulging biceps and perfect abs.

“Hi, cowboy. Speak English?”

He laughs. “A little. Estudiantes? Are you students?”

“Oh God, do we look like students?” Emily protests, saying ‘students’ as if she were saying ‘whores’. “We’re airline hostesses, darling. Off-duty and looking for fun.”

“I see…” His drinks us in with his eyes and subtly licks his lips. “You’re in the right place, then,” he says. “My name’s Carlos. Wanna dance?”

Not waiting for an answer, he leaves his mojito on a table and grabs us both, dragging us out onto the dance floor behind him. Primal Scream’s “Come Together” is blasting at full volume. I position myself between Emily and him, and he wastes no time in pressing his sexy body firmly against mine. His hands begin caressing my hips as I slowly grind back into him. Meanwhile, Emily is holding me by the shoulders, our mouths getting closer and closer. She teases me, licking my lips with the wet tip of her tongue.

Oh Christ, these two will bring me to absolute ecstasy… Come together, indeed!

I can feel Carlos getting hard already beneath his skimpy trunks. I’m too turned on to stop now: I grab Emily’s ass and pull her body close, and we start making out hard. The tiny piercing on her tongue is driving me wild, as it always does… especially when she licks my clit.

I can feel Carlos lifting my dress, slipping his hands between my thighs, and it seems we’re about to fuck right there on the dance floor when we’re suddenly startled by a deep voice from behind.

As Carlos backs off, I turn around to look, and what I see leaves me utterly speechless.

The tallest woman I have ever seen is standing there, fabulous and cross-armed before us. Long blonde hair, luscious lips, glittering black dress and stiletto heels… all topped off by a Nazi cap upon her head. A 6-foot-6 Marlene Dietrich. She barely looks at Carlos, who mutters something in Spanish before disappearing off in the crowd. Turns out it’s me she’s interested in, and at first I don’t know whether to be enamored or afraid.

It is then that she disarms me with a smile, spreading out across her… well, HIS face.

“Waiters are not for sale, honey,” he informs me, in the same deep voice as before. “They’re supposed to carry trays and pick up empty glasses. Only Frau Eva is allowed to enjoy their attention…”

As for Emily, she is far too pissed at the interruption to be astonished by this amazing creature. She pushes me aside and snarls: “Hey! Mind your business, you fucking freak! Why don’t you just fuck off and…”

Frau Eva laughs, baring white fangs instead of teeth.

“Awwww,” he says high feminine voice, “that really hurts me, dear… it really does!” Then, in his deep masculine tenor, “Wash your mouth out, sister. Or shall I do it for you?”

I elbow Emily in her side. “Listen, Eva,” I say, “we want no trouble, okay? We were just…”

“Oh, stop it,” she says. “Have a drink with Eva. And tell that cheeky little bitch that mi casa es su casa. No hard feelings, pretty girls: welcome to my club. I’m Eva Braun, the one and only Queen of Barcelona.”

She leads us into an alcove behind red curtains, red candles and a bottle of Jim Beam on the table. Orchids are scattered everywhere, and the strong scent of pot coming from the other ‘privés’ makes us deliciously dizzy.

Eva sits between the two of us, Emily’s legs stretched over his and my head resting on her shoulder. Soon we’re chattering like old friends and, predictably, the subject of our conversation turns to sex.

“A hostess’ sex life must must be quite interesting,” Eva says, stroking my hair. A dozen bangles tinkle on his wrist. “I mean, that ‘fuck-and-go’ attitude toward sex intrigues me a lot… You take your pleasure and leave everything behind the next day, huh?”

“Precisely,” I reply. “You’ve got nothing to lose: no jealousy, no disappointment, no expectations… because nobody knows you. Basically, there no need to be respectable.”

“That’s what my wife always says: ‘Eva, I married you to give up being respectable. It was just too tiresome’. Ha ha ha!”

“You have a wife??” Emily and I exclaim in unison.

“Claro que sí!” Eva replies. “A nice, pretty housewife. She just loves sucking on my tits…”

I consider this for a while, sipping my bourbon. Well, he does got wonderful tits… and a divine ass, to boot. A wicked thought is already taking shape within my mind, probably with the help of all the booze and joints being passed around.

“Well, I’d probably like it too, you know…” I begin to say. “I mean, I’ve never had sex with a transsexual guy before, but it must be something, that’s for sure. Sort of a threesome, like being fucked by two people at the same time.”

“Oh, Angie,” Emily giggles, “you’re such a slut!”

“So neither of you girls has ever gotten laid by a pre-op transsexual? Ooh, that’s a shaaaame!” Eva mimics the hysterical tantrum of an old queen. “That’s unconceivable, you nasty cunts. Unconceivable!”

“You know what?” I say to him, “You’re right.”

Running my hand up under the glistening fabric of his skirt, soon I’m palming one of the biggest cocks I’ve ever come across in my life.

“Hey, I suspect your wife enjoys your lower half too!”

Eva smiles, laughs, and says, “Wanna try it for yourself, young girl?”

“She’s only teasing you, Eva,” Emily laughs. “She won’t really let you do it…”

“Shut up, bitch,” I say, slapping her legs away as I climb unto Eva’s lap. “I’ve never lost a challenge in my life! Come now, Eva — let’s show my friend here what Mademoiselle Arsan is made of…”

I kiss him long and deep. He responds in kind and, soon enough, I’m grinding upon his magnificent erection.

Eva pulls my thong to the side and starts fingering me from behind, making me hot and wet. I’m dying to feel his enormous tranny prick slide all the way up inside me. I glance down at Emily, who’s caressing my ass with one hand while touching herself with the other, her eyes wide with astonishment.

As Eva begins to hike up her own dress, I rustle in my purse for a condom, opening it with my teeth and expertly rolling it down onto his big, fat cock. He lifts me by the ass and lowers me down onto it, penetrating me slowly, so I can feel just how long and thick it is. He starts thrusting into me then, hard and deep, making me delirious with delight. I take his nipples in my mouth and suck them eagerly, saliva dripping from my lips, enjoying the incredible sensation of both pleasures.

With Eva’s strong, warm hands gripping my ass cheeks, it’s almost more than I can stand before Emily slides a finger in between them. This is the point of no return, where I really lose control. Eva senses that I’m close to climaxing and keeps fucking me harder and harder; I’m  moaning, almost coming, when suddenly, she stops and pushes me off of him.

“Turn around,” he commands.

He shoves me down onto the table. I feel his cock, drenched in my juices, sliding up my ass. I cry out loud, as he pins my arms behind my back, fucking me mercilessly now. Soon I’m coming and coming in spasms, an endless climax that makes me scream, but he’s not finished yet. I’ve almost fainted when he comes too, in a final thrust that leaves me breathless and trembling. I look over at Emily, her eyes shut tight, shuddering with pleasure as she comes as well.

When the taxi pulls up outside the club, we are both drunk and staggering, laughing uncontrollably. Our dresses are a mess. I vaguely realise that I’ve left my thong back in the alcove.

“I knew you were a dirty bitch, Angie… but THAT was…”

“Fucking amazing, Emily! Believe me. You should try!”

“You know what?” she says. “I will. I will, you… you… awww, you sexy bitch!”

And she kisses me right in front of the driver.




From “Crew Girl: Secrets of a Lusty Airline Hostess”, by Angelica Arsan, forthcoming from HST Press.



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