The sun set Monday on our trip to the left coast. Mistress is bronzed from all that sand and sun. Slave is splotchy red in parts. And the sun really did set on us there - we took the red eye home so as to get an extra day of sun.
Of course there is a certain price to pay for that extra day on the beach - that long sleepless night in those narrow seats. But, amazingly the air travel gods conspired in our favor. When slave checked in, I actually got an upgrade.
Of course, so slave worth his salt would take the upgraded seat in first class, and consign his loving Mistress to that narrow middle coach seat she drew from Delta. I chivalrously handed her my boarding pass, and then went to the guy at the desk to see what he could do, explaining our plight. Of course he would sell me a first class seat for $350 more. (Sorry dude). But for free he found me an aisle seat, which turned out to be one of those "comfort" coach seats - that came without the nails embedded in the cushion. Better yet it was right behind first class, so I could see Mistress in aisle 3, chatting up some younger red headed guy sitting next to her.
Then lightning really struck. A fairly attractive , 40 something stewardess saw me sitting by my lonesome in aisle 10 and seemed confused. She consulted her print out (ues they still have those) and seemed to think I didn't belong there. I explained why there was a "Mick" in the seat, rather than a "Molly" and my act of chivalry. Before we took off, she came back and sotto vocco told me that in light of my good deed I could take one of the remaining first class seats once the pilot turned off the fasten seat bell light.
That freed Mick to move up to aisle two once we were somewhere over the Sierra Madres. Sadly, by then Mistress was fast asleep, ans so was Mr. red head. I took my seat, watched a little TV, drank some of that free red wine, and nodded off some where over Nebraska. Mistress didn't realize I was sort of across the aisle from her until she woke during landing at about 6 am.
She seemed a little surprised. Particularly when I explained how I got there.
"I was a little worried about whether that red headed guy would come onto you Mistress. So I offerred that cute stewardess some oral sex in the restroom on return for an upgrade. She thought I did a pretty good job. I told her I was 'well trained'."
I think Mistress really believed me, at least for a while.
Mick and Molly have survived the trip home, and a day back in the fetid air of this Midwestern River Valley. As I type this, Mistress is upstairs, enjoying a “date” with her Master. In anticipation, she required me to unpack the Hitachi and make sure it was plugged in next to the bed, ready in case she was required to put it to use.
And while I look forward to being called on to provide the hard cock she likes after her sessions of smutty talk and forced orgasms, I might as well fill you in on the events of our trip home to pass the time.
Not long after we left our mountain hideaway, Mistress asked if I would mind her calling M to get her morning fix of his compelling voice. There seems to be a mutual addiction between them.
Of course, she had no need to ask me. And I could only say “no problem, Mistress.”
As they talked, Mistress quickly shifting into that flirty, deferential voice that characterizes their chit-chat, I rested my right hand on her thigh. She was wearing one of those short tie-dye dresses she fancies. And my roving fingers discovered she was wearing the black lacy panties that I find particularly fetching.
“M, you should know he’s fondling my thigh….he can’t keep his hands off of me when we talk…..”
“ I recall doing this on that late night drive up here, Mistress….when you were NOT talking.”
(Yes, I probably should only speak when spoken too, but sometimes it’s hard to stifle my wise ass comments.)
“M says you are just asserting your possession of me, Slave.”
Could be.
In any event, after Mistress lost her call to M along a mountain road particularly stingy with AT&T service, my hand became a bit more persistent. And soon Mistress was squeezing my hand between her thighs, bucking against my pushy little fingers, as I squeezed an orgasm from her needy, clean shaven cunt. No doubt her talk with M had helped to prime the pump.
As we got closer to the airport, and Mistress’s I-phone came back to life, and she giggled over a a text message from M.
“He says that I have to refrain from any orgasms on this trip, Slave. He wants to think of my cunt squirming on that airport seat in frustration.”
Well, that horse was already out of the barn. But it still might be a long day for Mistress if she obeyed his requirements.
“How does that make you, feel, Mistress?”
“Well ….. I can see that it might be frustrating, Slave. Knowing that I’m not allowed might want me want it even more.”
“I suspect that’s exactly what he’s thinking.”
But before we boarded the first of our connecting flights, M showed the arbitrariness of a skilled Master.
“Now he says he wants me to come in the plane, Slave.”
Why. Mistress?”
“He says I have been a good slave and should be rewarded.”
“And are you doing it in the restroom, or otherwise?”
“He wants you to help, Slave.”
“I will take that as an order, Mistress.”
And so I did., pleased to be his minion in getting my Mistress/ his Slave off. It was on the last leg of our trip, on one of those tiny-toons planes that passes for an airliner these days. Tight seating, narrow aisles, but at least we had two seats together with no one too close at hand to work around.
The lights were down, and with our little tray-tables blocking the sightlines across the aisle, it was easy for me to worm my fingers back between Mistress’s legs.
To add a little fuel to the fire, I asked Mistress to consider what it would be like to visit M’s mountain cabin for a few days, and how he might systematically train her to come at his command. Soon Mistress was humping my hand, stifling her moans into my shoulder.
I was happy to help her fulfill her Master’s requrements.
But then later, as we began our approach to River City, Slave and Mistress got a little too greedy.
“Spread your legs again, Mistress,”, I said, leaning across her, acting as if I was looking out the little port hole window at the bright lights of our “Big” City.
She was accommodating, and my fingers pressed inside the lace of her panties, finding her oh so wet and squirmy.
But then I heard Mistress whispering to me.
“What’s she looking at?”
I turned a bit to peer over my right shoulder, and there was this grandmotherly flight attendant eyeballing us with a judgmental eye.
I straightened up , chastened, pulling my hand away. But I was determined to be undeterred. For the next 5 minutes or so, as the plane drew ever closer to the runway,we played a bit of cat and mouse with this busybody crone (really no older than me I suspect). She kept tromping up and down the aisles, causing me to pull away from Mistress each time she passed by, eyeing us with a certain nosey curiosity.
Finally, she spoke –
“do you have your seat belt on?”
Hmmmm……well, I guess that had slipped my mind.
So I buckled up. And she finally parked herself for landing. And Mistress got to come one more time just as we plopped down onto the runway.
Now she could report to M she had fulfilled his instructions.
Not long after I finished this, Mistress came down stairs,, that look of ditzy bliss on her face. Smiling. Asking me if I had been lonely.
