Author's note: this is a work of fiction. It never happened, and likely never will. My thanks to my muse for her careful editing. And to all my many readers for your support over the years. I hope some of you like this.
*****
His heartbeat quickened as her beloved shape emerged into International Arrivals. Smiling, he grabbed her roughly and kissed her brow. Moved back, still holding her, as she tried to pull his mouth to hers. She looked a question at him but knew better than to ask it.
- Welcome home darling. I hope you have your slave-collar handy, as I instructed you?
His face was smiling, but his eyes were not.
She fumbled in her bag, produced the new collar.
- Put it on.
She gasped:
- Not here, please?
- Put it on.
- But I thought...
- I didn't tell you to think, I told you to put it on.
She knew it was her right to refuse. The agreement was that it was her choice to become his slave. Blushing, she hung her head to bare the neck of her long hair, fumbled to fasten the collar.
- Thank you. Now the leash, please.
- NO. You... I... can't -- she glanced around nervously -- not here, please...
- The leash. Now. You can't refuse. You're my slave.
- Jesus, I never imagined...
Her blush spread down her neck, shoulders, the tops of the tits exposed by the slutty dress he'd told her to wear for the long trip. Her hand shook as she handed him the dog leash. He clipped it to her collar, gripped the luggage trolley. She was dragged after him through the crowded airport as he strode for the car park, folks staring. Humiliation she'd never felt before. Her so-called lover -- what the fuck?
- Darling, what... what is this?
- Shut up bitch, you put the collar on yourself.
She bit back a response, said nothing till they arrived at the car. Noted that it was in a corner on its own in a car park emptier than normal. He dropped the leash to load her things into the vehicle, then abruptly lifted the slutty dress to feel her cunt.
- Good bitch, no panties and very wet. Get in and fuck the gearstick.
- Jesus sweetheart...
- Not sweetheart: Lord. Now do as you're told.
His glare told her of his seriousness. She manoeuvred herself nervously into the winter-cold car, knelt gripping the backs of the seats, lowered her groin till her cunt touched the large knob on the head of the gearstick.
- Do it. Be thankful I was kind enough to lube it when I parked.
She slid down onto the cold slick plastic. She was aware that he was leaning half into the car, watching intently. She started to move her cunt on the stick. The knob was much bigger than any cock she'd had in her. As big as a stallion's cockhead, flashed through her mind. Christ... She eased herself down on it, arousal building as she shut her eyes and fantasised.
Then he was in the back of the car, his cock prodding her mouth insistently as she crouched toward the rear seat. She took him in obediently, felt his fingers slide down the front of her slut-dress as he fucked her face. The agonising thrill as fingers gripped her nipples, tugged, twisted.
Her cunt spasmed round the stallion's cock. Her lover withdrew from her mouth and slapped her cheeks, one blow on each, hard enough that her head swayed wildly.
- Good bitch. Now we can go home. Pull your slut-dress right up so that everyone can see your leaking cunt.
She obeyed, sat trembling and exposed, utterly humiliated, for the half-hour ride home through the snow.
*****
Inside the flat, he closed and locked the door. Began stripping her clothes off in the hall. She made to speak, remembered the slave collar, remained silent. When she was naked he lifted a black silk burka from the coat-rack and slid it over her head. Just slits for eyes and mouth. Then dragged her to the living room.
- Tea for the slave, I think?
Her nod was barely perceptible. Her head swayed as he slapped her face again, twice.
- Yes, mas... Lord. Your slave would like tea. Thank you Lord.
He strapped her to the chair, round her waist, so tightly the belt bit into her stomach through the silk. He fussed in the kitchen.
- So, slave -- placing a mug on the table beside her -- how was the flight? I bet the slut outfit got a few folks interested in you?
He was smiling now, his real warm smile, full of love. Her confidence rose for the first time since she met him at the airport.
- Um, yes.. Lord. I had some expressions of interest, especially when changing planes at Schiphol. I thought about your instruction to let a man fuck me in the toilets. But... I couldn't. Sorry... Lord, just couldn't. Went on my own and wanked, thinking about you.
- I didn't think you would. That's OK -- he laughed -- I didn't ask you to wear your slave-collar for the flights. If you had chosen to wear it and you had disobeyed my instruction, you would know the force of your Lord's wrath now. Now, drink your tea like an obedient slave.
She lifted the mug, sipped through the slit in the burka; noticed the different taste, raised querulous eyes to him over the mug.
- It has valerian in it to help you sleep now. You need to rest for a bit.
She didn't see the lie in his eyes. Sipped again, then took a gulp. The mug fell from her hand, emptied on the table. She slumped forward. He unstrapped her from the chair and carried her to the bedroom. Pulled the burka up above her glistening cunt and slid the new vibrator into her. Switched it on full. Cuffed her to the bed. Then pulled the duvet up, turned on the baby alarm so he'd hear her wake, and returned to the living room to read the paper. He knew she'd not be out for long, his medic friend said the anaesthetic lasted less than an hour. The vibe batteries would run much longer.
*****