Amsterdam, Schipol Airport, Gate F52 – 10:15am
I spent my time waiting for the connecting flight to London window shopping and feeling just a little lonely. Every now and again, a fellow traveler caught my eye. I can fall in lust a dozen times a day when I travel; young ladies, mature ladies, ones with captivating expressions, ones that have that lost and vulnerable look.
I am a slightly nervous traveler; I like to be, wherever I have to be, early. I went through to my gate as soon as it opened, breezed through security and sat waiting patiently for the boarding to start.
I watched my fellow travelers come through the security check; most were docile and their faces were deadpan.
She was different! She wasn’t stunningly beautiful, but she was certainly attractive. Her expressive eyes were framed by a curtain of long straight hair that was cut off straight in crisp, sharp bangs. Her body was trim, her movements completely feminine. Her style was shabby-chic: a delicate, pastel peach knitted blouse, designer jeans that fell well short of her ankles, canvas deck shoes suitable for a millionaire’s yacht.
It was her expression and easy manner that got my attention first. Her face went from serious to smiling in just a flash, and then back to that serious, concerned look again. While others were dispassionate during the security check, she submitted gracefully, raising her arms up high, smiling and conversing easily with the staff on point.
I took a deep breath when she sat down besides me; usually I get someone who I have no interest in at all. I am jealous of people who are so socially adept, striking up conversations with strangers, forming bonds with people who they have never met. My eyes were down watching her hands, her manicured and painted fingers deftly slotting her passport and boarding card into her purse.
She had that self assured and gracious nature that seems to come so naturally to people of means; class and poise, the ability to dominate without being overbearing. Within minutes she had dissected me and separated me from some of my most private thoughts: where I was going, why I was traveling alone? Why I was breaking a business trip for a few nights to be in London, what was I planning to do on my own?
Her smile melted me, her manner warmed me. It was if we were in our own bubble with no other travelers around. She was inquisitive without seeming to be prying, lent a sympathetic ear to hear me out.
She naturally boarded first; business class always gets that privilege. She tapped me on my wrist and favored me with that smile once more, and then she was gone, walking with that self assured manner; the world was her oyster.
I boarded ten minutes later, and walking down the aisle, I sheepishly looked her way. Had I blabbed too much, would she be thinking I was a bit flakey? Was there anything of my personal life that I hadn’t spilled in her ear?
She rewarded me with that smile again, and handed me a business card as I walked past.
“Eight o’clock at my apartment tonight? I so hope you can be there!”
And then I was past her, the pressure of the others boarding pushing me on. Down towards the rear of the plane, but I was already living my dream.
Chloé’s Appartment, Knightsbridge, London
She opened the door for me and invited me in. Chloé was dressed similarly to the way she had been the previous day, wedges with a floral pattern replacing her deck shoes. She looked so cool and feminine and fresh; I definitely felt overdressed! Her fragrance was gentle and feminine, subtle notes of spring flowers that were fresh and light.
Chloé placed her hands lightly on my shoulders and drew me in, instantly dispelling any lingering unease that I had. I felt that I was walking on a cloud, the soft, cream pile surrendering beneath my feet, her delicate lips locking gently with mine. Her tongue traced a sideways pattern across my lips, and as she pulled me closer, her kissing took on a more urgent tone. Her breath was sublime, her fragrance intoxicating; time seemed to stand still as I drank it all in.
Chloé pulled away at last and as she did, she gave my lower lip a hard nip. The pain startled me, and I heard myself yelp. I opened my eye to see her smile; it was mischief and lust and cruelty all rolled into one.
“Did that hurt, sweetie?” she asked, ever so innocently?
I found myself rubbing my lip with the tip of my finger, astonished, but somewhat aroused.
I had lost my voice, felt the constrictions of arousal tightening across my chest. I nodded, yes, that definitely hurt.
“Good! That’s what I intended!”
The smile left her face; I once again marveled at how instantaneously it came and went.
“Now, you know what you are here for. Get your clothes off and folded away. There is a mat for you to kneel on in the lounge; I will see you in there in just a mo’.”
The smile flashed across her face once again.
“Oh, I am going to have such fun with you! You are just right!”
She turned and walked out of the apartment lobby, that sense of self confidence once again blowing me away. Even in my shaken state, I realized that I had two options: I could walk away or I could get undressed. I slowly started to unbutton my blouse, and folded it carefully as she had told me to do.
Minutes later, naked, I walked self consciously into the sitting room, The carpet felt wonderfully luxurious beneath my feet, and the tastefully decorated room reassured me; classic furniture, delicate floral paintings on the wall, lacy net curtains that ruffled gently across the windows in the evening breeze.
A square of carpet lay a few feet in front of a pink boudoir chair; I knew instinctively that was where I was meant to be. I knelt on it, spread my knees and laid my hands, palms up, on my thighs. My back was straight, my eyes looking straight ahead; I had seen photos of Gorean models kneeling like this and had always been consumed with envy; now, at last, my dream had come true.
A touch of pain, a hint of sadism
Chloé had a way with words; the way she expressed things made it very difficult not to agree. She seemed to make the most outlandish propositions seem so reasonable and she had this wonderful ability to turn a compliment into a command.
“Your posture is so beautiful, Caitlin” she pronounced as she walked back into the room, “it is exactly the way a Gorean slave would wait!”
Her voice was mellifluous, her smile enchanting.
“I do believe that Gorean slaves are normally depilated, down there. Aren’t they?”
I think I nodded my agreement; it all seems such a blur looking back!
She led me on, almost hypnotically, making it seem so normal to be following her lead.
As I lay on my back on her bed, a fluffy white towel underneath me, and watched her face as she scraped away with a cut-throat razor, I felt a mix of fear and thrill. When the blade hovered over my clit and she scratched away at the residual strands of hair in the vicinity, her eyes caught mine and that smile lit up. I wished that she would be focused on what she was doing and not on my reaction; she seemed to be feeding on my fear, enjoying the terror that must have shown in my eyes.
I realised then how wrong I had been to type-cast sadists. She was enjoying and playing on my fear and I had no doubt that she would delight in my pain, yet she was so beautiful, so enigmatic, so feminine, so refined.
Some time later, I found myself lying across a low padded stool, my bottom waiting to receive her attention. Once again, I felt that pit of fear in my stomach, but this time it was coupled with the arousal I had expected: a tightening of my chest and a palpable warmth spreading out from my breasts. I had no doubt my pouting sex was engorged; shameless now, I didn’t even care!
Chloé had shed her shoes by now, but not her outer clothes and she padded around me in a predatory manner. She flicked the cane menacingly at times, keeping up a constant monologue designed to instil fear. She was going to whip my bottom so that I wouldn’t be able to still on the plane trip home; she was going to fuck me senseless with her largest strapon; she was going to make me feel like the worthless slave I had wanted to be.
My angst grew by the moment, fueled by her menace, exacerbated by my exposed position.
I don’t suppose the swishing I received was any more harsh than ‘six of the best’ that schoolboys used to receive on a regular basis, but the pain shocked me and my helplessness to respond or take avoiding action frustrated me. I cried after the first three cuts, and begged her to stop, not knowing how much she had in store for me.
Chloé relished my pain and predicament; her fingers traced the welts after every stroke, relishing the heat and texture of the freshly caned skin. Her fingers probed my cunt ensuring that my arousal was maintained; it was a curious mixture of sadism and passion.
“Your pain and fear excites me, Caitlin,” she offered after one of the strokes. “You do like to please me, don’t you?”
I could only nod in agreement as the tears coursed down my cheeks; the pleasure she showed in my pain actually fed my arousal.
I was invited to pleasure Chloé after my ‘six of the best’; there was no doubt that my spanking had left her in need! She had removed her clothes and sat on the velvet boudoir chair, thighs well spread, and pulled my head in tight. When my pace slowed down, she lashed me with a light flogger to urge me on.
And as much as her pleasure in my discomfort aroused me, her passion excited me even more. Her sexual satisfaction and satisfaction with my performance and submission was a prelude to a wild and passionate night, one where she dominated without causing pain, let her compassion balance her sadistic needs.
She was right: I did battle to sit comfortably on my return flights, but it was worth it and a discomfort I loved.