(This is the second in a series of vignettes about a D/s couple's long-distance relationship and how it evolves over the course of a year. Although their dynamic is fairly new, it has started to deepen. Readers should assume they have already shared those important discussions about limits, consent, and safe practices.)
She'd never been a fan of flying. Her anxiety made it difficult to relax, although she was better than she used to be. Still, even when she conjured up every reassuring fact she'd read, and remembered to breathe and focus, she barely managed to hang on from Point A to Point B. One reason she always tried to book non-stop flights was because she worried that if she got off one plane, she wouldn't be able to force herself onto another one. Not immediately.
She sighed, waiting in line for the security check. Maybe it would be better this time. It would be better this time, she corrected herself. She hadn't flown since...well, since things had changed in her life. After years of imagining what it would be like to become a sexual submissive, she'd recently taken steps to find out. She'd been lucky enough to find someone online -- Sir, to her -- who had been wonderful, taking her bit by bit into the playground, instead of standing on the outside, looking through the fence.
Sir knew she was anxious about taking such a long flight. They had spent New Year's Eve together in her city two nights ago. Once he had learned about her last-minute work assignment, he had rearranged her flight (and rebooked his) so that they were flying together on the first leg. From there, he would leave her and fly home, while she headed to Europe for her management training.
She knew that Sir had put thought into their shared flight. She trusted him -- and whatever he had planned -- to provide some...unusual...distraction for her. Her kink was being controlled and humiliated. And Sir was subtle and wickedly on-target. The tasks he'd give her would, she was sure, press her buttons as surely as if his finger was pressing her clit.
As the security line slowly lurched forward, her breathing ratcheted up. She knew Sir's intent was to engage her mind so that she didn't have time to wind herself up about the flight. But honestly, between the flight and the...the other things...she felt she'd be lucky not to go into cardiac arrest.
God, the whole humiliation thing was so very different in real life than in her fantasies. For one thing, he had her in a near-constant state of arousal with all the things, large and small, that he required of her. Edging herself, sending him photos in humiliating poses.... And now, she suspected that things would be taking a decidedly more public bent. Especially since she had specifically asked him to take more control.
The thought of those things made her squirm. She knew her face was already flushed; she was sure that others could see the heat radiating from her in waves.
They cleared the passport check, Sir following just behind her. She grabbed a tray for the security screening. Shoes off, laptop out. She lifted her small rollaboard onto the belt, her heart in her throat as it went through the scanner. Sir whispered something in her ear, making her redden further.
She stepped briskly to the metal and Plexiglas cage, posed, walked through. All the time darting glances at her bag's progress. The man studying the screen looked bored as hell, slouched in his seat, one hand on the computer control, the other tapping the counter. Her bag went through. She breathed a sigh of relief as she grabbed it and slipped her shoes on again.
Thank all the gods. She'd double-checked that bag about three times to make sure nothing in it would trigger any alarm. Even the hint of an alarm. Why? Because Sir had ordered her to put her dirty panties -- the ones she'd edged in for the past three days at his command, right on top. If her bag was opened and searched, no one could miss them. Silky blue with a bit of lace -- and covered with the tell-tale signs of what a filthy little slut she was, how wet she got when she edged herself.
There would be an unmistakable fragrance as well. She'd crammed everything into her purse that she might need for the flight so that she wouldn't have to crack open that case, risk someone identifying the scent, linking it to her. Bad enough that the clothes inside -- the ones she'd planned to wear for the first couple of days in case her larger bag was lost in transit -- would smell like pussy. It would be subtle, once she aired them out, but she knew that she would smell it, would know what it was, even if no one else did.
She drew a breath as she waited for Sir to join her, the memory of what he'd said in her ear reverberating through her taut body.
"Go ahead and tremble," he'd whispered. "You can't hide what you are if they open that bag. They'd drag you off to that far corner -- or maybe a vacant room -- and you'd have to tell them the embarrassing truth about yourself. They might even want to check for themselves...."
She knew it was all a bit of a mind game. Still, her knees felt weak. And her panties...well, they were drenched. A self-fulfilling prophecy, she thought wryly.
Together, they headed downstairs to wait for the automated train that would take them to their concourse. It pulled up with a hiss of brakes. They boarded the train, dragging their carry-on bags behind them, heading for the last concourse. When they reached it, there were fewer people around. The biggest crush of flights had departed for the day.
They found seats near the gate. Seeing the plane through the window rekindled her anxious thoughts. Before she could wind herself up, she heard Sir clear his throat pointedly. She blinked and turned her head toward him. He nodded at her legs. She parted them obediently, feeling herself get even wetter as he exercised his control in public. As his eyes roamed over her, they took on a gleam that meant he was thinking of some subtle way to punish her for that lapse.
But for now he gave her a smile and clasped her hand with his, settling them both in her lap. A seemingly innocuous gesture of affection, except that he used his fingers to slowly work the zipper of her pants down until he could slide a couple of fingers inside, stroking her silky panties under cover of holding her hand.
She had to steel herself not to squirm away or react. Pretending to reach for purse, she scanned the area quickly from beneath her fringe of bangs to see if anyone was watching them. The gate area was still somewhat empty, and no one seemed to be looking in their direction. She let out an inaudible sigh.
Only to gasp slightly as his fingers probed the damp cleft under her panties. A paralyzing pleasure blazed up in her. She couldn't keep from thinking about some of the things they'd done last night: things he'd done to her, things he'd commanded her to do for him.... Even a month ago, the thought that she'd willingly do such things would have seemed impossible. But now, she couldn't wait to do them again.
She closed her eyes as he continued to tease her pussy. "Who's a good little fucktoy?" he leaned in close and asked. It wasn't a rhetorical question; he expected an answer from her. Never mind that he talked to her as if she were a rambunctious puppy.
