I couldn't believe I was sitting on a plane bound for New Orleans, in first class, with a man I'd met just 26 days ago, a man who was going to whore me out to dozens of dicks. Dozens? I wondered if I'd maybe break 100. :-)
The rest of that morning, after he had me audition by fucking him, five strangers, and six hotel staff, he sat on a stool to eat his breakfast, while he fed me like a dog, passing bits of food down to pop it in my mouth. I was still so buzzed from all the sex, I really didn't care. He talked about the cruise. It was hard for me to focus. Some sort of swinger cruise, so no kids on board, everyone primed for lots of sex. Nudity OK by the pool and in the play rooms. First class all the way. He'd connect me with a stylist, which at first I thought was for my hair but later realized was for clothes.
"You'll need good slut-wear for the trip. High quality. I'm paying for everything so don't freak out at the price tags. You'll also need themed clothes."
I think I just nodded. I was so exhausted. It made sense the next day, when some woman named Miranda called and said we needed to set up some time as soon as possible to get me set. The next few weeks were a blur -- getting time off work, digging up my passport, getting someone to take care of my cat.
The one thing that really etched into my memory from that morning was the last time he fucked me. Or tried to. He'd had them include a dish of yogurt with the breakfast order. After he fed me bacon and eggs and pancakes from his hand, I thought he was going to feed me the yogurt, too. Instead, he got out some sort of rubber bag with a nozzle. He mixed the yogurt with some water from the sink and filled the bag. He ordered me over to the bed and stuck the nozzle in my cunt. I felt myself fill, overflowing, a stream of milky whiteness coming out. He was semi-hard. He climbed on me and started pumping away, but after like ten minutes he gave up. He said that trick worked sometimes, especially when the cunt was crusty with actual cum, but this time it just wasn't happening, that he really needed that cream pie snatch. Or maybe I had drained his balls enough.
-------------------
The Flight
-------------------
I didn't see Sir again until he came by to pick me up for the ride to the airport- and yes, he told me to address him as Sir all the time. There was a driver, but not in a limo, just a really nice sedan. I wasn't sure how we were going to fit all my suitcases into the car. I wasn't sure why Miranda had me packing so many clothes when I figured Sir was going to make me walk around naked a lot. And most of the ones Miranda did pack were so small and slinky, I didn't think they'd add up to much. But she also gave me a ton of accessories and makeup, and drilled me in how to use it. I wasn't bad with an applicator, but she got me nailing the smoky, smoldering look, and at least 5 different shades of red lipstick, from relatively demure to "hey, sailor, you can buy me for the whole fleet tonight for one dollar."
Today's makeup was the demure style, though the skirt of my navy blue dress was barely covering my ass and the push-up bra had the girls climbing out of the deep v-cut neckline. Both the panties and bra were as red as the whore lip color, so I was fidgeting, constantly checking to make sure my undies weren't flagging everyone. The shoes were also bright red. Every pair of shoes Miranda got me for the trip was inches higher than what I usually managed. Fortunately, she trained me for hours in how to walk in them, including how to sashay my ass around like a pro.
Sir had me show off my walk for him and the driver as the driver put my suitcases into the trunk. Sir let the driver grope my tits and ass and even stick his fingers in my cunt for a few minutes before we started the ride, and then Sir made me sit with my panties off and my legs spread wide the whole ride to the airport. I saw the driver sniffing his fingers all through the ride.
Even though it was early, the airport was busy, and I think I caused at least a few luggage collisions from guys who were paying more attention to my revealing clothes than anyone else. Even the woman who checked us into First Class was checking me out. She winked at me as she handed me my ticket, and seemed to emphasize the "have a GOOD trip" line.
When Sir settled us into our seats, he insisted I take the aisle. Before they let everyone else on, he pushed my tits even higher and my neckline even lower; it was practically nipple city, especially when you added in the chilled air jets pointed at me. He also had me put the window-side foot on the footrest, with the aisle foot on the floor, making my skirt ride up even more. Sir gave one more tug on my dress as the first other passengers began to fill the front of the aisle as they waited for the other First Class passengers to clear the way. Of course the first one in line was a guy, probably a frequent flier. His eyes locked on my tits. I peeked down and realized the lacy edges of my red bra were clearly visible, and then as his eyes dropped lower, I realized the configuration of my legs let him see "all the way home", so to speak. I started to adjust myself, but Sir gave me a Look and I stopped. He leaned in close to my ear, and his voice gave me chills.
"There's nothing wrong with this level of display. If they want to look, they will. I want them to look. I want them to enjoy looking at you. I want them to wish they were me."
Sir glanced over at the frequent flier guy and smiled, then put his hand on my thigh. The hemline was so high on my leg it barely covered anything. Frequent Flier tore his eyes away from me and moved on down the aisle, but the scene was repeated several times with other men, and even a few women.
The rest of the trip was uneventful. When the car service picked us up at the airport, Sir settled me in the back seat with my tits totally popping out, all the way to the nips, and hiked the skirt up so I was sitting in my undies on the seat, with my legs spread as wide as I could manage. I could see the bulge in Sir's pants; I assumed the driver had a matching one up front.
