asked, her giggling tone, the almost belittling way she spoke of his beloved wife. God, part of him wanted to gasp in horror, slam the phone down, run home and throw his arms around Anne, cover her body up with his like a shield. Why, oh, why then did he do nothing of the sort? Why did he not only submit to her questions, but also feel himself getting hard over them, as though divulging the most intimate details of his relationship with his wife, such a depraved and disloyal act, were in fact the most intoxicating aphrodisiac? Mistress’s desire to learn about him was voracious, like she was eating him alive. He felt that. Or that in answering her he was ripping himself open and laying his insides out for her to casually peruse and then choose something to examine.
He dutifully responded to everything.
And then she named him. His name was not Paul. But she named him SubPaul. He could not help but wonder if it was because it sounded like ‘sub par’.
Chapter 4
‘We’ve got a lot of time to kill here,’ Mistress said. ‘Let’s play twenty questions!’ Mischief and cheekiness radiated from her beautiful face like warmth from the glow of a fire. ‘Tell me how you feel about spanking.’
Sitting next to her, he could barely endure the sweet torturous mixture of arousal and struggle he always felt in her presence. In combination these two polarising impulses seemed to converge, conflict and compel the feelings to multiply in a seemingly never-ending vortex of lust and desperation.
‘What’s the matter, sweetie? You’re so quiet! Are you not excited about our trip?’ she chirped, opening a blanket and spreading it over them. He was by the window, she the aisle. She lifted the arm-rest between them and snuggled demurely into his side, making his heart-rate elevate as he simultaneously caught a faint whiff of her gloriously unique feminine scent and a flash of cleavage from her low-cut dress. Following his gaze she giggled and whispered, ‘I never wear a bra on a long flight. Too uncomfortable. Especially on a red-eye like this.’ He smiled wanly. Well endowed as she was, he had never seen her go bra-less in public. But the dress she wore was tight and seemed to hold her in. The effect was mind-blowing and now he understood why his eyes had been drawn to her as if by magnets. He’d been even more mesmerised than usual by her figure, her breasts, as he’d watched her while they were waiting in the terminal. No bra. No bra lines. Nothing between his arm, which her chest now pressed against, and those exquisite mounds of flesh he so coveted; nothing but the soft fabric of her royal-blue dress. She often wore green; it was probably her best colour, contrasting so strikingly with her crimson hair. But today it was blue and it gave her a lovely quality of the elements: fire and water.
‘Anyway, I asked you a question, love. Do you like to be spanked?’ she asked, a little too loudly.
‘No, Mistress,’ he murmured, eyeing the other passengers. ‘I never really understood the appeal.’
‘Is that right?’ she said. And smiled. The way she smiled melted him down. A smile that made his heart keen and his cock drip. It was a smile that said she could see all the way into his psyche, back to his lonely childhood, down to his core, a smile that made him feel small and helpless and cared for, all at the same time. A smile that made him, above all, desperate to please her.
‘Well, we’ll just see, won’t we?’ And she arched one gorgeously manicured eyebrow.
Laughter across the aisle drew their attention. They both glanced back to the centre seats one row behind, which were a mass of giggling, hair and perfume that wafted over to where they sat. An entranced young male flight attendant stood in the aisle proffering bottles of wine and little bags of snacks like sacrifices to the goddesses of cool. ‘I am predicting we might have trouble getting any attention on our side of the aisle tonight,’ Mistress said. ‘Then again –’ she leaned back over to him, giving him another peek down her dress ‘– you might like it better if less people see what we get up to,’ she purred into his ear.
His prick had been growing steadily since she first pressed her soft curves against him. Now heat warmed his face as it continued to grow. His mind, like the needle on a skipping record, could not fit in a groove to play out what plans she might have in store for him on this five-hour flight. He couldn’t seem to form any thoughts; his brain just spun and spun on the sights she flashed him, the words she fed into his brain. He could only swallow and sit in patient torment.
Watching him try to work things out, she reached over and rumpled his hair. ‘Sweetie, you’re so cute when you’re horny and petrified!’ She drew her hand down the side of his face, gazing into his brown eyes with her jade-green ones. God, she was beautiful. His heart stuttered in his chest and he suddenly had to gasp for breath. ‘Goodness, my darling, what’s the matter? You’re working yourself into a lather!’
But she knew. He knew she could see his brain wildly trying to imagine all the torturously awful and wonderful things she could do. She read him like the proverbial book, or Penthouse Forum letter, remembering what came before. Dear Penthouse, I’ve never written a letter like this but I have a Mistress who likes to control me. God. She could make him want something almost more than life, but then force him not to want it, to struggle against it with everything he had. She was always weaving her precise words around him, securing him just as she wanted.
More giggling drew their attention again. Noticing the flight attendant and his growing obsession, Mistress remarked, ‘I know you’re a talented architect, my sweetie, but I can’t help but think how much you would enjoy working in the service industry. I know it hardly pays the big bucks but we know how you like to serve.’ Her eyes fell on him at the last word and he blushed hard. He jumped a bit as she slid her hand beneath the blanket and squeezed his ever-stiffening prick over the loose trousers she’d instructed him to wear. ‘Aw, one of those darling little things has her shoes off and her feet stretched out. You’d like bringing her and her friends drinks, now, wouldn’t you?’ she said. She squeezed his now fully erect cock. ‘Well, my goodness! I have barely done anything and your tiny stick is practically bursting out of your pants! What’s gotten you all excited, horny boy?’ He stammered and, seeing that no answer was forthcoming, she went on. ‘I mean, if you’re horny over serving them, massaging their feet, I could probably arrange it. They might like that! And I know you would. Shall I ask them for you, darling?’ she said.
‘Oh, God, no, Mistress!’ he protested and she squeezed his shaft harder. You, only you, he thought, as he remembered her slender, succulent foot in his lap as he caressed it, her shoe in his hands as he knelt at her feet to slip it on. He did like to serve, but serve her, because to be used by her, to be her tool, her plaything, her slave, was his bliss. She could lean over and ask those girls; it would not be out of character for her to actually do it. Oh, God! The shame. She mustn’t! ‘Please, Mistress! I only ever want to serve you.’
‘Aw, that’s sweet.’ She patted his knee. ‘OK, love, calm down. I won’t ask them.’ She giggled and began stroking him over his trousers. ‘Now, my darling, how does that feel? Do you like that?’
Did he like it? There were no words.
He squirmed in his seat as he remembered her humiliating lecture, two weeks before, when she’d made him establish a ‘baseline’. As he stood in front of her with his trousers around his ankles, she made him start his watch and stroke for as long as he could without coming. Of course, with her watching, teasing him all the while, his performance was even more pathetic than usual. He’d only managed a minute and forty seconds the first time and she laughed hysterically while he hung his head in shame, his loins burning with lust. She made him do it over and over, each time getting shorter and shorter. By the time she was done with him he was as horny, frustrated and submissive as he’d ever thought it was possible to feel.
‘Your
