The plane ride had been sweet so far. I was dressed as He had instructed me, which made sure my thoughts were solely on what was to come. He had promised me a very special weekend. He had also told me not to speak, to anyone, no matter what happened. It was part of a lesson He was teaching me on obedience.
Sir had bought for me a short, draping skirt, which ended just below the curve of my cheeks. For the trip I wore with no underwear, and a embroidered and jeweled bra with only a sheer blouse over it. The bra had removable tabs over my nipples, and Sir had instructed me to sew the rough side of velcro on the inside of the tabs, so that every move caused them to rub roughly over the tender skin. I found myself breathing harder from the arousal, which caused the velcro to stimulate me even more.
A large ben-wa ball was nestled deep in my cunt, and the muscle control needed to keep it there made sure I was warm and moist. I knew the sage and musk odor of my pussy was evident, for the poor gentleman in the seat next to me was beginning to shift uncomfortably from a hard-on that was so obvious, I struggled not to stare. He finally leaned over me, brushing my breast with his arm, as he pulled a magazine from the seat pocket in front of me. "Whoever you're meeting," he whispered, "must know how to take care of you." I smiled and made a note to tell Sir the comment. He liked it when other men wanted me.
But as the man leaned back, his hand lingered on my thigh. I looked at him and shook my head. His hand didn't move.
"You're a slave, aren't you?" he whispered.
My eyes widened, then I nodded.
He grinned. "And you can't speak." He began rubbing my thigh, running a finger along the top of my thigh high.
I squirmed and tried to push his hand away, without creating a scene. I looked around, but it was not a full flight. The seats across the aisle were empty.
He brushed my hand away, and pushed his fingers under my skirt. I stared at him and shook my head desperately. He grinned. "I'm a friend of His," he said quietly. "He wants you really wet when you arrive, and I'm to report if you make so much as a whimper."
He slid his fingers up, caressing my mound, squeezing it. "He also told me that I could try to make you whimper. But that you're not allowed to cum." His other hand closed tightly around one breast, grinding the velcro into my nipple.
I closed my eyes, beginning to pant, as he pushed two fingers into my cunt, exploring the tender folds. His nails raked over me, then closed down hard on my clit. I writhed in my seat, trying to get away from his punishing fingers. Each pinch was making me flow, and keeping the ball in place was becoming harder and harder.
Suddenly, the attendant started down the aisle, making her last minute check before landing. With a grin, he pulled his hand away, licking his fingers. "He'll be pleased." Then he laughed and put a magazine over his lap.
I was a bit drier by the time the plane had landed, but my fight to keep the ben-wa ball in place made my hips sway sassily. And, walking through the airport, I knew other men were looking, and I was proud Sir had dressed me so well. The four-inch heels exaggerated my walk, and the thigh highs peeked out from under the skirt as it swayed.
I had only one carry-on bag, so I went straight out the door, where Sir was waiting with the limo, as He had promised me.
He was in the back seat, and watched me get settled before telling the driver to move off. "Are you ready for me?" He asked. I nodded, and He smiled. "Show me."
