textfiles/sex/EROTICA/F/fancy.txt

Flight of Fancy


Luggage, carts, coats, newspapers, books, laptops and people, lots 
of them, occupied the terminal's small, littered maw. With 
visibility below minimums, Air Traffic Control was rerouting all 
incoming and holding all departing traffic. But there was still 
hope for those who were travelling and those awaiting incoming 
flights. And so, they waited.

The people-watcher had no difficulty sorting out the A- from the 
B-type personalities. The As were ranting, whining, their body 
language aggressive. The Bs were accepting, very much into their 
que sera frames of mind.

At 8:30 a female voice on the PA system announced: "Everyone with 
tickets aboard any carrier, kindly check with your carrier's ticket 
counter. Because of inclement weather, all flights have been 
cancelled this evening. Again, check with your carrier." The woman at the microphone, undoubtedly grateful 
she was out of sight, repeated the message, then clicked off.

The people-watcher, reclining on his chair in the corner, watched the 
commotion her words had created. Everyone, it seemed, was saying 
more or less the same things. "What'll we do now?" ... "This is 
preposterous" ... "I'll never use such-and-such a carrier again" ... 
"What are we supposed to do, sleep here all night?", and so on.

He was amused, a little superior and he knew he was being smug. He 
could afford to be. His company car was in the nearby lot, his 
trip wasn't urgent and the motel up Route 9, just three miles from 
the airport, was owned by a friend. His inconvenience would be minimal.

People were on the move, to ticket counters, to hail cabs, back to 
their cars. Activity was the key word. 

Except! 

Except catercorner to where the people-watcher was making his 
observations. The woman there possessed a relaxed body language and 
a facial expression of detachment. She practically reposed, long legs 
crossed, people watching. 

"Ah," he thought, "a fellow traveller, as it were." Her eyes caught 
his the precise moment his thought ended. He smiled the approving 
smile usually given to strangers whose predicaments and methods of 
handling them are in sync. She returned the smile, raised her hand, 
and wiggled her index finger in the universal "come here" gesture. 

*****

Her smile held as she said, "You're about the cockiest man in the 
whole building, aren't you?".

"I wont deny it, but maybe that's because I've been who those people 
are. Now I know enough not to cry about things I can do nothing 
about. But you, you're of a mind frame very much approximating my own. Why?"

"Because as much as I want to get home," she responded, "there's no 
way I'll impose my need on the aviator's sense of safety.  Besides, 
I like dense fog.  It's almost sexual."

The people-watcher's flare for snappy repartee deserted him.  He was 
at a loss.  He said nothing.

"Where are you going?" she resumed.

"New York," he said. "And you?"

"Home to Milwaukee.  Is New York your home?"

"Yes, but I'm here in Greensboro every week on company business.  
They've given me a car so I just leave it in the lot when I go."

"So what are you going to do between now and tomorrow morning?"

He explained about his friend and the motel, that with his car here 
he'd have no problem being rested and relaxed during his wait for 
clear skies.  "And you?" he asked.

"I'd made up my mind to just sit but, I must say, the idea of a warm 
room is very appealing."

"My Name is Roy Davis," he said.

<EFBFBD>Nice to meet you, Roy. My name is Sandi Jones."

"Well, Miss Jones. Would you care to accompany me?"

"I'd be delighted," she said.


****

He drove slowly, the fog allowing minimal vision. Miss Jones was 
relaxed and confident. Davis was alert and tense.

"Mmmm," she said, her hand reaching to touch his knee, "I love the 
way this weather makes me feel."

He hadn't been aloof to her charms. In fact, Davis's reaction to her 
touch caused a little movement in his pants. Miss Jones, herself an 
experienced observer, didn't allow the spectacle to escape her 
attention.  She slid her hand up his leg directly to her target, 
applied small pressure, feeling him and something else.  That 
something else provoked her to squeeze just a little harder, evoking 
a small moan.

"Did you put it on or was it put on for you?" she asked.

He was slow to respond, even as she held and squeezed. He sighed and 
admitted it was a remembrance device snapped shut three days earlier 
by his sometime Mistress in New York.

"Sometime?" she asked. "What does that mean?"

"We don't have a permanent understanding.  We get together 
occasionally. That's all.  She asked that I not remove it until I 
get home."

Incredulous, she said, "Asked?  Only asked?"  She squeezed harder. He 
whimpered. "If you were mine," she said, "your balls would be tied 
and separated. And I wouldn't be asking. What's more, I'd want the 
thong-ends coming out of your fly so I could play by pulling and 
torturing them at whim."

"So, you stand for sensual female domination," he said.

"Absolutely. I'm no stranger to the harness you're wearing and, by 
the way, you'll be showing it to me in more detail later on." 

Miss Jones released her grip, turned in her seat and rested her back 
against the door. Raising both legs from the floor, she positioned 
them in his lap. "Keep your eyes on the road, slave, at least the 
part you can see."

"Yes, Mistress."

She pressed down heavily.

He was as much aware of that "slave/Mistress" exchange as he'd ever 
been about any conversation in his life. And it excited him.

"From this moment on, you will address me not as Miss Jones but as 
Mistress Sandi."

"Yes, Mistress Sandi."

****

Mistress Sandi and Davis checked-in without difficulty.  She was 
sitting at the table enjoying a nightcap.  He - his ankles and wrists 
bound with his ties - knelt on the floor, eyes cast downward. She'd 
had him disrobe and assume the position just minutes after they'd 
entered the room.  Then Mistress Sandi bound him.

Peripherally, he saw the purse in her lap and her hands undoing the 
various fasteners.  It took only a moment before the harmless, black 
leather purse strap became a standalone object of discipline. She 
stretched it between her hands, played with it for a moment or two, 
then stood and stepped the single pace separating them. 

"Open your mouth, slave," she said.

She placed it between his lips, commanded that he hold it for her and 
remain still.  The head of his cock glistened.

Davis, the people-watcher, followed her with his eyes. Mistress Sandi 
opened her carry-on bag, retrieved a pair of black, 5" stiletto pumps, 
a pair of stay-ups and her make-up kit, then moved to the bathroom. 
She left the door open but his position didn't allow him to see.  

When she emerged ten minutes later, he was stunned by the radical 
makeover.  Now Mistress Sandi's lips were bright red, her eye shadow 
pronounced, her business suit was gone replaced by a black bra, black 
panties, black stay-ups and those 5" spikes.

She took the strap from his mouth, observed the <20>lumber' her 
appearance provoked and resumed her seat on the chair.  Crossing her 
leg, she snapped her finger, pointing to the floor directly beneath 
her.  He crawled as best he could, reached the spot, knelt upright 
with eyes lowered to her feet,just as he'd been taught.

Mistress Sandi recognized his training but this wasn't her training. 
"Face down, slave. Your holding position with me is entirely 
prostrate, your lips on the toe of my shoe."

"Yes, Mistress Sandi.  Thank you, Mistress Sandi."

"The transition pleases me, slave. Your "cock of the walk" attitude at 
the airport is now more appropriate, don't you think?  I much prefer 
your bound cock on the carpet." She nudged his lips, "Lick."

Davis abandoned himself to the task, laving the leather before his 
eyes  in great strokes.  The more he licked, the greater his 
submission became.  And, consequently, the more enthusiasm he gave to 
his worship of her shoe.   His mind belonged to her.  Mistress Sandi 
raised her foot, offered her spiked heel to his mouth and commanded, 
"Suck it, slave. Suck and lick my heel.  Worship it.  Adore it.  Make 
me know how much you need and want my special attentions.  Show me how 
much you want to serve.  That's it.  I love watching your cheeks 
compress like that.  You remind me of a squirrel.  Give me your 
passion, slave.  Right now, my shoe is the only thing in the world.  
You adore it.  You respect its power, my power.  Give my heel the 
respect it deserves. Good boy."

Davis's mind was aflame.  She'd taken it to complete subservience.  
The Mistress in New York was entirely negated.

"Stop," she whispered.

So involved in the foot worship the command took seconds to reach his 
intellect.  He breathed a huge sigh and obeyed. 

"Get back up on your knees, dog.  I want to inspect your harness."

His pre-cum hung cock to floor and she was pleased.  Reaching out and 
down, Mistress Sandi gathered it upward on the ends of her fingers 
and offered them to his mouth.  "Lick, slave.  I want your mess 
cleaned up."

His tongue working her hand caused her a sentimental stir, the motion 
reminiscent of a favorite pet gently taking his treat.  But that's 
what he'd become already, she realized, a pet.  Her pet. Her dog.  
And she wanted to keep him, owning him body and soul.

Davis's hands remained tied behind.  She unsnapped the leather band 
around his penis, then the one around his scrotum, releasing him from 
the bondage.  

"Turn around," she demanded. "I'm going to release your wrists and 
re-do them in front.  I need your help for something. Stay on your 
knees, slave."  It was true, she did need his help.  But there was 
another reason for tying his wrists in front.

"Do you remember what I told you in the car about your balls?"

"Yes, Mistress Sandi.  You said if I were yours, you'd want them tied."

"What else?"

"Tied and separated, Mistress Sandi."

"Lift your cock out of my way, slave.  Your balls are mine and tied 
and separated is the way I want them."

She'd taken a shoe lace from a sneaker in her carry-on luggage. 
Doubling it, she made a small noose and slipped the lace over his 
balls, then tightened it at the fleshy base. She brought one end 
right down the middle and encircled his bag with it, then did the 
same with the other lace on the opposite ball.  A knot quickly 
followed, leaving about 6" of dangling she laces with which she 
could hold on to.

His testicles looked like small balloons attached to strings in her 
hand.  Davis's harness had been reasonably comfortable. The shoe 
lace was another story.  Mistress Sandi had done the job well.  He 
suffered a dull ache.

"There," she said.  "You look much prettier now, don't you, slave?  
What do you say?"

"Yes, Mistress Sandi.  Thank you, Mistress Sandi."

"You may alternate, at your choice, between my full name or simply 
<EFBFBD>Mistress'."

"Thank you, Mistress."

Davis continued to hold his cock out of her way and released it only 
on her command. It stood tall.

"Put your head in my lap, slave," she said, spreading her legs.  
"I want to feel the bridge of your nose right on top of my clitoris. 
Do it."

Davis was adept. The nub of his nose did battle with the nub 
of her essence.  It was a short struggle.  The nose vs. clit 
match was a first round decision . . . For the clitoris.  Mistress 
Sandi screamed her pleasure.

****

"And now you pay for the pleasure of bringing me to orgasm. 
Head on the floor, ass in the air. Your hands won't be getting 
in my way now, will they?"

"No, Mistress."

"Kiss it."  She held the strap to his lips.  He obeyed.

She stood beside him, strap in hand, and meted out her own brand 
of discipline. He moaned, loudly.  Stepping from her panties, 
she balled them, ordered his mouth open, and jammed them 
inside.  The gag was effective.  No one in the adjoining rooms 
heard a thing.

She loved his movements, his straining, his whimpering, the 
raising of his buttocks to meet the punishment.  She alternated, 
cheek for cheek, until they were crimson from the top down to 
just above his thighs, then she stopped.

"Kneel up, slave.  Show me your face."

His eyes were red and his cheeks bloated from the makeshift gag.  She 
held her hand to his mouth and retrieved the panties he offered her.  
Brushing a tear from his eye, she quietly said, "I'm very proud of 
you, slave. Now," she said as she resumed her seat, "thank me for 
disciplining you and taking you under my control."

He bent to her shoe, kissing, licking and offering his thanks 
for her domination of him; her understanding of him; her 
majestic presence.  And then he was quiet as his tongue 
continued its worshipping ritual of his Mistress' footwear.

She released his wrists and ordered he take his cock in hand, that he 
show her how desirable she was.  Davis's strokes were long and slow 
at first but, at her instigation, his hand became a blur.

"Ask me, slave. Beg me."

"Please, Mistress Sandi. Please allow me to cum. P-p-l-e-e-e-a-a-s-e!"

"On the toe of my shoe, slave. I want it all there. Shoot it for 
me. Let me see all that lovely slave-cum. Do it. Now!"

She made him lick her shoe dry, swallowing his cum in several gulps, 
before releasing his ankles.  The shoe lace remained in place.

****    

The day dawned bright.  He awoke her as she'd instructed, by lifting 
the blankets at the bottom of the bed and revealing her feet.  Davis 
knelt beside the bed, extended his head, and gently licked, sucking 
her toes.  

Her eyes slowly opened and she smiled.  "Good morning, slave."

"Good morning, Mistress Sandi." 

They sat beside each other on the commuter flight to Atlanta where 
they'd catch their respective connecting flights home.  He'd spread 
the airline blanket over himself, having earlier complained to the 
flight attendant of a chill.  Mistress Sandi held the ends of the 
shoe lace the entire distance, giving one long, sensual, painful tug 
just as the plane's engines wound down at the gate.