Blue Anytime, Blue Any Place

blue unbuckled her seatbelt and twisted in her window seat. To the couple sitting beside her, it would appear she was turning to watch the sun drift behind the clouds just beyond the airport. Secretly, she was trying to relieve the throbbing beneath her skirt, hoping that squeezing her thighs or rubbing her ass against the seat would soothe the aching between her legs. She was seated in the 12^th row, and knew it would be just a few minutes before she'd have to stand up to retrieve her carry-on bag and exit the plane. She needed to get herself together. She had been instructed not to clean up, so anything that dripped down her leg would just have to drip.

The excitement of finally meeting Master Sir Donovan had kept her awake every night that week. Between the butterflies in her stomach and the aching beneath the sheets, she just couldn't sleep. Two weeks before leaving, she had asked Him for an orgasm. He told her to make it big, because she would not have any more until she arrived in LA. She knew she shouldn't even bother asking for another after that day. His no was always carefully weighed, and it always meant no.

When her alarm sounded that morning, despite having just fallen asleep, she was immediately energized by her favorite Jill Scott song. As always, He had selected her clothes. But this time, for the first time, He had said no panties and no bra. Just her collar of protection and the electric blue, fitted, sheath dress He loved to see against her cocoa skin. It was shorter than anything He had ever let her wear, but when she modeled it for Him, He could see she felt sexy in it and that's exactly what He wanted.

She'd had such a hard time getting ready for the airport. Two weeks without an orgasm had her ready to explode. She stepped out of the shower, dried off, and was wet before she even got the damn dress on. After having to lift her skirt and wash up twice before even leaving home, she broke down and called Him, begging His permission to wear panties. She didn't want to have to navigate her way through the airport with a wet stain on her dress, she explained. God forbid she ran into someone she knew. She ran a national non-profit with nearly 15,000 employees across the country and was a regular contributor on CNN. Her face was recognizable. Walking through the airport in 4 ½" heels with a tell-tale stain would be humiliating. He reminded her in that calm and authoritative tone that always made her feel so owned, "I said no panties, princess. Don't beg. That ain't gone work out well for you."

Soccer. CNN. Cabernet Sauvignon. The beach. Kirk Franklin. Airport gift shop. She had just exited the plane, and tried to position her suitcase behind her so her arm would hide the stain she knew was there. As she walked toward the waiting area, she tried to think of something, look at everything, and smell anything that would keep her distracted from the unrelenting throbbing below.

He stood off to the side of the crowd, and she almost didn't see Him. He looked better than she could have dreamed. If she had thought about it ahead of time, she probably would have just hugged Him. But His presence was so Masterly, she instinctively fell to her knees to greet Him, compelled by the power of His Dominance. Oblivious to everything around her, she rested her hands, palms up, on top of her knees and lowered her ass down until she felt the cool floor on her nude flesh. It wasn't planned. She hadn't even thought to ask Him whether He'd suspend protocol, allowing her to wait until they were alone to kneel. She just did what was natural.

He admired her form. She had been working on it and it showed. Damn, she was such a good slave. He knew He'd chosen well, and He couldn't wait to get her out of this noisy ass airport. He held out one hand to help her up, grabbed her overstuffed suitcase with the other hand, and said in a hushed tone, "at ease, princess. Did you have a good flight?"

She leaned her head against His chest and exhaled, as she had longed to do, for what felt like eons. She nodded into his chest, feeling so small and safe under His Dominance. He said, "you may speak, slavegirl. Did you have a good flight?" "Yes, Sir. I'm so happy to see You, Sir," she moaned in a whiny voice.

"Look at you dripping, slavegirl. You left a fucking puddle in the middle of the gotdamn floor. You're a nasty little slut, huh?" Before she could even figure out how to respond, he turned off from the main area and started down a narrow hall. She followed dutifully, wondering briefly if anyone had witnessed what had just happened. Her cheeks were flushed. She felt hot. Sticky. She was right on the edge of sensory overload. So much noise, so many people, so many thoughts, sounds, smells -- and her pussy was still pulsating, its juices still dripping down her inner thighs. She felt tears well up in her eyes, and didn't really know why.

She wanted to ask where He was going. Wanted to tell Him she couldn't breathe. But quickly reminded herself that she was His slave, and that this meant she didn't need to worry or even wonder about what comes next. If she needed to sit down for a minute and catch her breath, He would tell her to.

He walked into the bathroom area, turned right, then left, and quickly pushed a door open. She thought she saw a sign that said "family bathroom" but she wasn't sure. He turned to face her and said, "lock the door, slavegirl, disrobe, and pass me that wand I sent you." She stood frozen for a second, like a computer with too many processes running at one time. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. But she could hear. And she knew she'd better move quickly. She obeyed His instruction, then followed His hand signal commanding her to face the wall and assume slave position #1.