With one final bump to indicate that the pilot didn't really know what he was doing, the Airbus came to a stop at their gate. After some moments, the tired voice of the flight attendant came over the intercom and informed them that they could unfasten their seatbelts.
It had been a very long flight.
Ethan stood, smoothed his shirt, gathered up his book and jacket, and stepped out into the aisle. Beside him, Jen rose to her feet, careful to move slowly lest the tiny swatch of black cloth ride up and expose her nude form beneath. Running to just high mid-thigh, the mini skirt hugged every inch of her, its snug fit quite translucent in certain select places as its micromesh fabric stretched to accommodate her form.
Of course, those most intimate of places the mini skirt barely covered were those most often ogled by passerbys.
Panties were so long gone from her world that she'd never even though to ask, despite the knowledge that they were going to be traveling.
Whether hungrily surveyed by men, or scornfully dismissed by women, since her ascension into Master Ethan's house Jen's lush body -- in this case, her taut, if well-rounded, ass -- was now on permanent display.
Master Ethan had made a point to deny her even the barest whisp of underwear. He'd made it known to her, by word and by riding crop, that he expected she be ready for him at all times; thus, no panties. This demand that she be able accommodate his hungry, seeking shaft at a moment's notice left her in a semi-perpetual state of self-conscious arousal. It was easier when they were at his estate, since she knew then that no outside party could interrupt his desires, whereas in theory even Master Ethan had to adhere to some social norms regarding modesty, nudity, and sexuality whenever they went anywhere outside the grounds of his estate.
And yet his behavior to date told her that he would readily spurn those social mores if it meant pushing her training a little farther. The memory of an afternoon's drive through the country on his motorcycle came to mind, not least for the way that the wind had felt on her nude body. Two citations later he'd finally let her put on a pair of cut offs and tiny bikini top, but by then she learned to extent to which he was willing to go.
Ethan believed that if she had to wear clothing then she would wear only what was required to pass a casual inspection. Should some more observant person really look, Jen's body was to be readily observable.
She'd never dared to ask him what drove this requirement; he'd simply told her that as a slutslave, her body was to serve as an instrument of pleasure at all times, hence the display. Frankly, if it weren't for airport security, she was sure he would have made her wear some sort of vibrator, the better to constantly remind her of her sexual status.
Even so, the wide-eyed look the security worker had given her platinum collar was enough to start their trip out in the right context and remind her that her true place in Ethan's life was on her knees.
Not that that self-awareness of her status didn't fill her every waking moment.
She knew what she was, what she'd become.
She'd been a lady once, someone who'd hosted dinner parties where learned minds mulled over the nuances of Soviet foreign policy over glasses of fine wine; who'd given lectures to undergraduates on the particulars of human rights; who'd read Kierkegaard and Schopenhauer; who'd written books.
Now she spent her days and nights moaning out her lusts beneath the crop, seeking only to please so that she might taste the cock of her master.
She had been a lady; now she was a whore, a slut, and a slave.
All by her own hand.
Times had certainly changed for the bookworm from southern Texas.
As she stood there in the small space between their seats and the next, contorted backwards by the pressure of the cushion against the backs of her knees, Jen could feel herself being scrutinized by everyone around her.
She endured the withering glare of the heavyset businesswoman opposite them, she could feel her pussy throb with the sheer sin of being out in public thusly displayed for public consumption, of being everything that the businesswoman, in her off the rack grey suit and matronly heels, was not - wanton, open, available ... utterly sexual.
The woman removed her belongings and, with one final, matronly look of disapproval, moved off towards the exit, hissing with disdain at the way Jen presented herself.
A group of three young men, probably college students, followed her, their eyes roaming freely over her body, and not without approval. They left, murmuring to each other, likely boasting at the sexual prowess they would possess, at the things they would do to her.
Jen smiled, drinking in their lust like fine champagne. Being so openly admired was new to her; she knew Ethan wanted her, but a small part of her still wondered whether some of that was driven by their past association in graduate school.
Was his desire driven by a hidden affection for her?
Or did he simply revel in controlling her because he'd known her in their other life, because they'd once just been two lovers in grad school?
She couldn't tell. He rarely gave her any clues. It wasn't that he wouldn't talk to her -- since Kami's fall from grace, Jen often found herself his conversation companion -- it was that there were aspects of his life that he wouldn't discuss with her. She assumed this meant that he didn't trust her enough to let her into those places of his heart yet, although the fear that she simply wouldn't ever be worthy of such trust clawed at her.
Did he use her simply because she was there, and not because he wanted her?
She didn't know.
She couldn't know.
All evidence, however, pointed to the fact that he craved her. Kami still occupied his bed, but he came to her often. His attentions to her were frequent, and seemed, though she had little sense of time, to be more frequent of late.
And yet somehow, despite her total devotion to him, which was as genuine as anything she'd ever given to any man, knowing other men found her attractive pleased her in a way no amount of his attentions could.
Sometimes in the quiet of her days, when he was absent, she wondered what it would be like to have another man touch her.
Did that make her wicked?
Did it make her a bad slutslave?
She knew it did.
And yet ...
Ethan turned to her, his brown eyes locking hers, and looked at her for a moment. She shivered, wondering if he somehow knew she was at that very moment mulling over the peculiarities of her imagined infidelities.
He held her gaze just long enough to completely unsettle her -- just long enough to convince her that yes, he did know that she craved the touch of others, if only affirm her sense of self-worth -- and then smiled to show her all was well.
She raged inside at the thought that his mere gaze could have such an effect on her. Then, with a light kiss on the tip of her nose, he stepped out and walked down the aisle, leaving for the jetway, throwing a "get our bag, please" over his shoulder as he left.
Another passerby hissed with disdain, though this time Jen knew it was for the way he'd ordered her about. The woman simply didn't understand, she thought to herself as she smoothed her skirt once more.
It wasn't an issue of male versus female roles. Ethan didn't command her because he was a man; he simply owned her every moment because he was Ethan.
Not everyone could be so enlightened, she realized.
What that woman didn't understand -- couldn't understand -- was the sense of freedom that Jen enjoyed. Prior to coming to Ethan's house, she'd been adrift, trapped by her financial obligations, starved for affection, and overwhelmed at the circumstances of her career. He'd changed all that, setting her right in a way she hadn't dreamed possible. Prior to becoming his, she'd only ever considered submission as a purely sexual thing, something for the bedroom only.
He'd taught her that total submission was just that: Total.
Once she'd come to accept that, once she'd gotten over first the thrill of being his sexual plaything and then the sobering reality of her servitude to Ethan and Kami, everything had clicked. Since she had no choice, her life was utterly devoid of responsibilities. If he wanted her to get his bag, then she would get his bag, safe in the knowledge that he would deal with whatever consequences.
Even if those consequences meant she got arrested for indecent exposure.
He had such faith in her that she wondered at it.
Without being there, he knew she would obey him, even to the point of putting her body on display for the entire plane. He knew she wouldn't think to ask another passenger for help.
Knew she wouldn't defy his wishes.
Knew she wouldn't defy his wishes even as her own insecurities about her body clawed at this wanton display in such a public forum.
Granted, seven months of servitude had physically transformed her body into something far more desirable than she'd ever known, but her inner demons still insisted that her body couldn't be a thing of desire.
She fought those demons everyday.
And, with his typical disdain, Ethan refused all her entreaties to accommodate her insecurities; to the contrary, Jen was quite certain that he went out of his way to overexpose her.
She'd even gone so far as to tell him once about her discomfort at being thusly displayed, but that episode had only ended in heartache. He'd become quite angry at her, and shunned for a week. The result was devastating; his absence was more painful than anything else she could have imagined.
Blushing bright red, she turned and reached up to open the overhead bin, acutely conscious of the fact that the bottom of the skirt was rising rapidly. Another half inch and her shaved pussy lips would be on display.
Her pert buttocks were already half exposed, and she hadn't even reached up any great deal yet.
She sighed. She simply wasn't tall enough.
So she either had to ask for help -- which wasn't really the point of Ethan's command -- or she had to completely expose herself in order to get their bags. The dilemma hadn't even occurred to her when they'd boarded; Ethan had simply put their bags up in the storage bin and then sat down.
She put her arms back down and smoothed out the mini skirt, blushing furiously as the other passengers filed past. Tears of frustration crept into her eyes -- not from the prospect of her public nudity, but from the idea that she was failing him. Ethan would be so disappointed if she didn't bring the bags out soon, and since he couldn't get back onto the airplane, she had to solve this problem herself. And soon.
Truth be told, Jen's ability to truly revel in the elevation of her body to such a design was still evolving. It was one thing for him to forcibly reveal her form to others; she had no say in that. it was something altogether different for him to leave and ask her to do the same without him there to bolster her resolve. At the end of the day, no matter what manner of public displays she might have indulged in with Ethan at the Auction House, she was still a shy bookworm.
