Fellow Travelers


Luggage, carts, coats, newspapers, books, laptops and people. Lots of them. With visibility below minimums, Air Traffic Control was rerouting all incoming traffic and holding all departing flights. But there was still hope for those who were traveling 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’ mind frames. At 8:30, a female voice on the public address system announced: “Everyone with tickets aboard any carrier, kindly check with your airline. Because of inclement weather, all flights from Greensboro have been canceled 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, observed the commotion her words had caused. Everyone, it seemed, was saying much the same thing: “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 parking lot, his trip wasn’t urgent and the motel on Route 9, just three miles from the airport, was owned by a friend. The traveler’s inconvenience would be minimal.

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

Except, cater corner to where the people-watcher was making his observations. The woman there possessed a relaxed body language and a detached facial expression. She practically reposed, long legs crossed, as she, too, people watched.

“Ah,” he thought, “a fellow traveler, 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 hither gesture.

Her smile held as he approached, and she said, “You’re about the cockiest man in the whole building, aren’t you?”

“I won’t 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.

“Toronto,” he said. “And you?”

“Home to New York. Is Toronto 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 Alan Davis,” he said.

“Nice to meet you, Alan. My name is Nancy Jones.”

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

“I’d be delighted,” she said.

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

“Mmm,” 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 Toronto.

“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 will.”

“So, you stand for Betturkey 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 Nancy.”

“Yes, Mistress Nancy.”

* * * * *

Mistress Nancy 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 Nancy 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 the strap 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 Nancy 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 Nancy’s lips were bright red, her eye shadow pronounced, her business suit was replaced by black bra, black panties, black stay-ups and those 5″ spikes. She took the strap from his mouth, observed his erection, then resumed her place on the chair. Crossing her legs, 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 Nancy 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 Nancy. Thank you, Mistress Nancy.”

“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 with her shoe. “Lick,” she commanded.

Davis abandoned himself to the task, laving the leather 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 Nancy raised her foot, offered her spiked heel to his mouth. “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 Toronto was entirely negated.

“Stop,” she whispered.

So involved in his foot worship, her 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 precum hung, cock to floor, and she was pleased. Reaching out and down, Mistress Nancy 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 Mistress Nancy’s hand caused her a sentimental stir, the motion reminiscent of a favorite pet gently taking his treat. But that’s what he’d already become, 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 redo 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 Nancy. You said if I were yours, you’d want them tied.”

“What else?”

“Tied and separated, Mistress Nancy.”

“Lift Betturkey Giriş your cock out of my way, slave. Your balls are mine and tied and separated is the way I’ll have 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 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 Nancy 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 Nancy. Thank you, Mistress Nancy.”

“You may alternate, at your choice, between my full name or simply ‘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 tip 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 Nancy 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. 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; her understanding of him; her majestic presence. And then he was quiet as his tongue continued its worshiping ritual of his Mistress’ footwear.

She released his wrists and ordered him to take cock in hand and 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 Nancy. 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 Nancy.”

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 Nancy 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.

He zipped up and both stood to retrieve their luggage, then waited in the aisle to disembark. Mistress Nancy turned to her new slave, motioned his face down close to hers and extended an arm around his neck. Leaning close to his ear, she whispered, “Slave, don’t take it off until you get home. Think of me the whole distance,” and sealed the command with a sensual kiss to his lips.

* * * * * Davis sat in his United Airlines seat bound for Toronto. He envisaged Mistress Nancy on her journey to New York. The events of the past 14 hours played heavily on his mind. He was an experienced submissive, yet the pure animal lust combined with her sensual domination affected him to a point far deeper than any similar scene ever had. He hated the distance between them, yet cherished the idea that they both had control over their itineraries. Both could plan business trips as they saw fit. He knew they’d be speaking Betturkey Güncel Giriş about it.

* * * * * Davis had vacation time owing. It had been a year since he’d been to his condo at West Palm Beach so he planned a 2-week visit for the end of October. Nancy, of course, knew of his plans since there’d been frequent phone conversations and E-mail ever since that first encounter.

Now, she made plans of her own. She had a client at Fort Lauderdale, just 25 minutes down I-95 from West Palm, who hadn’t been visited for quite some time. She set up an appointment for the first Friday of Alan’s vacation. She knew the weekend would prove, in Spock’s words, ”fascinating”. This time, though, she’d be ready for her slave. Their first encounter had been a series of make-do implementation. Mistress Nancy packed her toys, including the amazing 5″ black, patent spiked pumps, into the luggage she knew she’d be checking. No sense dicking with those security types who do the frisking at the airports, she thought.

Thursday night she flew out, rented a car at the Fort Lauderdale airport, found a hotel for the night, took care of business Friday morning, and was now driving up the Florida Turnpike watching for the Lake Worth exit. She found a radio station playing Oldies and sang aloud with the Supremes’ hit, ”Stop In The Name of Love”. It amused her because every time the lyric came up, she’d put a ”Don’t” in front of it.

Driving allowed her mind to wander everywhere: from business to home… to friends… to sex… to next Thursday evening’s class… to the Internet… to Literotica… to the beautiful writings there… to what she was about to initiate. Nancy dwelt on that a little longer. She loved it. And she found the thought of Alan Davis’s submission delicious.

She’d phoned him when she left Fort Lauderdale so she knew he’d be ready and waiting. His directions were simple to follow and she had no difficulty. Most of South Florida’s roads were in the simple north-south-east-west pattern anyway. Now eastbound on Lake Worth Road, she passed the outlying hotels, fast food outlets, plazas and large car dealerships. She’d been watching for the Olive Garden restaurant on the northwest corner. That’s where she knew she’d turn left.

Sure enough, there it was. An advance green allowed quick work of the intersection and now she slowed, then stopped. It was almost show time. Flipping down the sun visor to check her make-up in the vanity mirror, Mistress Nancy touched up her lips then added eyeliner. Satisfied with her appearance, she made quick work of the remaining block to Alan’s condo.

* * * * * He greeted her at the door, kissed her cheek and invited her in. Nancy also offered her hand to his lips which, of course, he also kissed.

“My car is in the visitor’s spot across the way, the red Bonneville. Go and bring my luggage in from the trunk,” she said, “including my briefcase.” She handed him the keys, then – in his absence – gave herself a quick, private tour. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms. “Perfect,” she thought.

They sat in the living room with refreshments, catching up on each other’s activities and making the usual small talk about the Florida weather, a departure from their respective climates up north. Alan had taken her luggage to the master bedroom and was privately amused by the term. He knew it could certainly not be described as that in their relationship. Nancy caught his reflective smile and asked what he was thinking. He told her, and she was amused.

“You need it, don’t you?”, she asked.

“Yes, Nancy, I do,” he responded.

“Tell me. Be specific. What do you need?”

“I need to be under your control, Mistress. I need your guidance and discipline. I need to be trained properly so I can serve you in the manner you wish. I need to feel the unlimited love a puppy has for his Mistress. In fact, Mistress, the similarities between dog training and slave training are very much in sync. I hope to be worthy enough, Mistress, to genuinely be your slave, your puppy.”

“I can assure you, Alan, that we’ll be finding out this weekend how malleable to my service you can become. I intend to break you.”

“Yes, Mistress. Please do so.” Alan, who’d been fighting his proclivity for so long, had reached the point in his life where he accepted his submission and took pride in it. But he knew he needed a woman just like Nancy to take him the final distance.

“Stand and strip, Alan. Take off everything, put it away neatly, then return here to me, on your knees.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he said, moving off to the walk-in closet.

While he was out of the room, Nancy had retrieved her briefcase and had it open on the sofa beside her. He crawled to her, stopping and kneeling up, hands clasped behind his back and his eyes lowered at her feet, as he’d been trained.

Mistress Nancy sat with her drink in hand quietly watching. Again, she reflected, he showed his previous training but it was not her instruction. Before correcting his posture, however, she reached forward, cupped his balls and tightened her grip.

“You need to be dominated, don’t you? It’s deep inside you. You need the humiliation and discipline I can bring you. You need to feel my correction. That’s true, isn’t it, Alan?”

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