The Mile High Club (12 page)

Wet and full and embarrassed in a way that just made her more horny, she looked around as if her few fellow passengers could see the screen of her phone before she listed the pervert-able objects in her purse.

Good girl,
came the quick reply.
Love you and good luck.

Love you, Master
, she texted just before the little plane started boarding.

 

Small as the plane was, the flight wasn’t full. Thank god. They’d be in the air just over an hour and during that time, Celia’s orders would take her to the bathroom several times. At least this way she wouldn’t end up standing on line too often.

She shifted in her seat as they taxied, enjoying the feeling of fullness, the stickiness from the lube she’d slathered on the toys, the slight discomfort that wasn’t truly discomfort.

God, she’d needed this, needed this fullness and this pleasurable torment, needed to be under Dan’s sexual command again, even indirectly.

Not that she’d had time to think much about sex during five long weeks of doing her only-child duty, helping her mother get back on her feet after a nasty car accident. She’d missed Dan every minute she was gone, missed his laugh and the safety of his arms, the comfort of knowing she was cared for and protected, the pleasure of serving him. But from the time of the first terrifying call about the accident, it was like someone had flipped her sex switch to
OFF.
She’d just been too worried and stressed to care.

Dan must have sensed that, because he’d held off on suggestive talk and raunchy emails and the small, naughty tasks he’d normally assign her when they had to be apart. Only in the last week, when her mom was almost herself again, though still limping, and was just waiting on the okay to drive again before sending Celia home, did her sexuality reawaken.

Somehow Dan knew before she told him, before she even really knew it herself, and started sending her emails and texts designed to keep her mind in the gutter.

Of course, being the sadistic bastard she knew and loved, he revved her up long-distance, but told her she wasn’t allowed to come until she got home.

Complying had been curiously pleasurable. It was also frustrating, of course, but this opportunity to be a slave again, to focus on his orders and his pleasure, to obey without question (or at least without too much questioning—she was only human and damn it, sometimes a woman just wanted an orgasm or six!) was a relief after weeks of taking charge in a messy, nerve-straining situation, of dealing with a tangle of doctors and insurance providers and a wheelchair-bound mother who was addled
on painkillers half the time and miserably cranky with pain the other half.

When she begged for permission to come, he made it clear that he had a purpose. “You need to remember what it feels like to obey,” he’d said. “I’ve had to back off and let you do what you needed to do, and it’s good to know you can still be that take-charge woman when you have to be. But at home, you have to be able to yield to my will, and this will help you ease back into it. Best I can do long-distance without making your mom wonder why you’re calling me to ask what’s for dinner.”

And she’d clenched and melted and thanked him at the time.

When she was ready to leave, Dan sent a list of very explicit instructions for the flight home, instructions that would make sure she arrived home as a wet, yielding, obedient slut.

And again, she’d thanked him.

That was before she thought it through, though, and realized just how hard it would be; before she’d begun to follow his instructions.

Wet, she was managing just fine. The yielding and obedient part, though, was getting harder by the second. The toys were supposed to be a slow tease that built throughout the flight, but she was getting aroused too fast. She could clench a few times and come right now, in her seat, with no one the wiser.

Not even Dan.

And as the plane began to move, jouncing a bit on the runway and jouncing the toys that filled her, that sounded tempting. It had been so damn long.

Right now, she wasn’t obeying because it was the right thing to do, or because she wanted to please him, but because the payoff would be worth the wait. One hands-free orgasm now would help take the edge off her frustration, but it wouldn’t be anything like the amazing welcome-home kinky
sex that he’d promised her in loving, explicit detail.

And she probably wouldn’t get any if she screwed up now. She knew she’d confess to her failing—she’d never been able to keep a secret from him, even when it would have been in her best interest—and then Dan would punish her. This would mean his doing something like jerking off in front of her without giving her any pleasure, even the vicarious pleasure of touching him, until he relented days later because his own lust was getting the better of him.

That would be miserable, humiliating. And worse yet, it would make Dan just as miserable as it made her, so she’d have the torment of seeing his frustration on top of her own, and knowing it was her fault for being disobedient.

The plane took off with an abrupt force that pushed her back in her seat and sent tantalizing waves of pleasure from her ass and cunt through her body and for a tempting second she almost let herself fall.

She breathed deeply and touched the fine gold choker that was her public collar.

Soon it would be replaced by the stainless steel one that locked in place.

Soon she would be with Dan again, her love and her master.

She could be patient. She would be patient. She would honor him with the obedience he deserved.

But damn it, it wasn’t going to be easy.

Especially when her body asserted itself every time the airplane bounced or jounced—and it was jouncing and bouncing like the clouds were a country back road laced with frost heaves and potholes. It would have to be stormy today, wouldn’t it?

Finally, the FASTEN SEAT BELTS light went off. Carefully, holding the seats against sudden turbulence, Celia made her way to the bathroom.

First she used it for its intended purpose.

Then she used it as Dan wanted her to.

She pulled two plastic clothespins from her purse and tugged her sweater up.

Under the sweater’s loose, casual cotton, she was braless—pantyless as well, which was usual when she was with Dan. For a few seconds, she looked at her bare breasts in the tiny, spotty mirror, trying to see them as Dan did. To her, they seemed merely average, but Dan loved them, loved to caress and praise them, loved to bruise them, loved to hurt them and then kiss them better again.

They’d be ready for kissing better by the time she got home, although she imagined there’d be more hurting first. Lucky her.

She grasped one nipple between thumb and forefinger, and stifled a gasp at how sensitive they already were.

Then she pinched the erect nubbin in the grasp of a green clothespin, repeating the procedure on the other side with a red one.

Pain radiated out from her abused nipples. No, not pain—it was hot and tortured and made her want to whimper and made her pussy and ass tighten on the toys that filled them, but it wasn’t pain in the usual sense. Her nipples craved that feeling, had missed it for five weeks. Before long, her nipples would scream for relief, yet she’d drip moisture past the SmartBalls, and if anyone had offered to release her from the torment, she’d have begged to keep the clips on just a little longer.

Dan would remove them when she got home, or maybe when they got to the car. It would hurt like the devil by that time, hurt like someone had clamped her nipples in a vise and then set them on fire.

And if Dan let her, that pain would make her come.

Celia glanced in the mirror again, and this time she admired what she saw: breasts marked PROPERTY OF DAN. They were
owned territory, his territory, and beautiful as a result.

Dan hadn’t told her to run her thumbs over the sensitive tips that protruded from the clips, but he hadn’t said she couldn’t either.

The touch jolted through her entire body. She swayed, caught herself…and then realized it wasn’t because she was lust-limp. The plane was pitching, caught in another patch of turbulence that made it hard to stand.

Once she staggered back to her seat, the damn turbulence made it hard to sit as well. Each bounce and swoop tugged at Celia’s clipped nipples and shifted the balls just enough to arouse her further. Her skirt was damp and sticky beneath her, and her whole body felt as swollen and sensitive and flooded with pleasurably painful sensations as her ass and cunt and nipples.

She’d never make it at this rate.

She opened her book, hoping to distract herself, but the print danced on the page and she found she couldn’t care who the serial killer was or whether the clever female FBI agent could catch him before he struck again. Maybe if the serial killer captured the agent and tied her up and started doing dangerous, sadistic (but disturbingly sexy) things to her, or if she turned out to like a good whipping to clear her head…

That would be bad. A plot twist like that would keep Celia’s interest, but it would only make her hornier.

She shut the book and pulled out a glossy travel magazine she’d picked up at the airport for just such emergencies. Pictures were good. She could handle pictures and gushing articles about pricey vacations, although each jolt and bounce made it harder to care about hotels in Morocco or biking in Bordeaux.

After what seemed like hours to Celia’s hungry body, they made it through the turbulence and the FASTEN SEAT BELTS light went off again.

She checked her watch. Time for the next task.

The bathroom seemed more cramped this time, darker, and the smell of disinfectant seemed more pungent than before—not the sort of place that made you think sexy thoughts.

That didn’t matter.

She hiked up her skirt, sat on the tiny toilet, and touched herself.

She was drenched.

She pulled the balls partway out—despite the name, the toy was shaped more like a three-dimensional eight, two ovals with a short, flexible rod connecting them—and then reinserted them.

Ten times, counting under her breath, each more excruciating than the last as she shuddered with the effort not to come.

With slick fingers, she then circled her clit, backing off at the last second from three potential orgasms.

The last time, she bit her lower lip hard enough that she tasted blood. The taste of blood added to her arousal.

He’d see her swollen lip and ask her why, and she’d tell him why she’d bled for him. And he’d say, “Good girl,” and bite the tender lip himself, and then fuck her mouth ruthlessly as a reward for her good behavior.

Jesus god, let this flight land on time!

This time, she couldn’t even focus on the travel magazine’s vistas of sunny resorts and snow-capped mountains, let alone follow the articles. All Celia could do was breathe deeply, as if she were doing yoga, and glance obsessively at her watch.

Finally the announcement came on: they’d be landing in fifteen minutes.

She had just enough time to hit the bathroom for more wonderful self-torture. Remembering Dan’s instructions, envisioning Dan’s face, she tapped the base of the butt plug until it resonated. She felt like a ringing bell, quivering and vibrating,
especially when she stroked her clit at the same time, pretending Dan’s hands and not her own were teasing her.

She could almost smell him, almost hear him chuckling affectionately at her ecstatic distress; could feel, even miles away, the love between them.

But even in her fantasy, he denied her orgasm. And gritting her teeth, worrying at her already tender lip, she obeyed.

Finally, trying to put herself into his hands even as she tortured herself, she put clothespins on her slick, swollen outer labia, one on each side of her dripping pussy. The first one made her wince, but it was a pleasurable wince. The second one just plain hurt, as though her overstimulated body couldn’t take any more. Her whole pelvis ached with need and pain and her nipples felt like they might explode and when she tried to call upon her love for Dan to keep her going, keep her from taking out the toys, ripping off the clips, and either coming or not, but at least not suffering anymore, all she could find was resentment.

Resentment would do, though.

She’d be damned if she gave in and let that sadistic bastard win. (Granted, she loved him partly because he was a sadistic bastard, but logic didn’t have much place right now.) She’d show him—and the best way to show him was by enduring what he must have meant to be an impossible challenge.

Someone pounded on the bathroom door. She pulled herself together and somehow made it back to her seat.

As she fought the building pain and arousal, Celia found herself whispering the Lord’s Prayer under her breath. She wouldn’t even call herself nominally Christian these days, but at times of stress the words learned in childhood would slip into her head and the rhythm, the old-fashioned familiarity, soothed her.

Then one phrase caught her:
Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.

And wasn’t that what this was all about?—Dan’s will, and her will to do Dan’s will, not mindlessly but mind
fully
, choosing to hold out, to endure, to do what he wanted to bring them both pleasure in the end.

Thy will be done.
The prayer narrowed to that one line, repeated over and over. She wasn’t talking to God, she certainly wasn’t thinking about God, and the part of her that remembered Sunday school and Easter services was appalled at the blasphemy, but in those words, repeated like a mantra, she found stillness, peace, strength.

The bouncing when the plane touched down bobbled her breasts and brought tears to her eyes, but Celia neither came nor cracked. Thy will be done. Obedience.

As soon as they were allowed, Celia pulled out her cell phone and called Dan. “I’m waiting for you, love,” he said, his voice going straight to her tortured nipples, her swollen clit. “How did you manage?”