A "Relaxing" Vacation Ch. 01

As soon as I cleared airport security, I went to the nearest restroom, got into a stall, and locked the door behind me. As instructed, I put on my steel chastity cage, turned the key to lock it, and sent a picture to Master Ben. I then filmed myself flushing the key I had used to lock myself, trapping me in the cage for now. My master has the only other key, and he's over five-thousand miles away on another continent...

It had been barely 3 months since I started speaking with Master Ben - he presented himself as a strict but sensible master, with an urge to train & teach new subs how better to serve their superiors. Something about the messages he wrote, and the tasks he made me do make me tingle with anticipation and (good) fear. After less than a month chatting, he asked for control of my chastity keys through Chaster, to allow him to keep better control over me; naturally, I was blinded by my own lust and clouded by the sheer amount of desperation I had built up over 6 weeks locked prior to this, so I agreed. I have been locked in my cage since then, only being released temporarily for cleaning and travel.

I boarded the plane, fully feeling the weight of the steel cage locked around my cock and balls. I got to my seat and settled in for the long transatlantic flight to my Master's local airport. The rumble and vibration jostling my cage during taxi & take-off only serving to remind me that I had locked up my manhood and thrown away my only key, for a stranger I had met on the internet and never seen/met in person; and I was now flying to meet them, hoping for release!

Around 30 minutes after take-off, I noticed that the in-flight Wi-Fi had been turned on; I connected and checked my messages - "Telegram: 1 New Message" - it was from Master Ben. I opened the app and read his message:

"Hello Sub. Online now? It looks like you took off on time and you should be cruising now."

"Yes Master, only just online." I replied. "How can I serve you, Master?"

"Go to the toilet, now." he ordered. "Take the diaper from your hand luggage with you."

I did as he ordered: got up from my seat, fetched the diaper from my rucksack, and picked one of the plane's toilets to hide in for now, making sure to lock the door behind me.

"I'm in a toilet, Master. I have the diaper with me." I message.

"Good boy. Now, strip and show me that shiny cage!"

I do as I am told and send a picture of me naked in the plane's toilet.

"Very good! Put on the diaper and re-dress. You'll be wearing that until you're picked up from the airport." he declared.

"But Master, that's going to be at least 5-6 hours?!"

"That's right, sub. At least you won't need to queue for the toilet for the rest of the flight!"

"Understood, Master." I typed, immediately defeated - arguing would have just made things worse. I sent him another picture of me in the diaper, and one showing it under my clothes. I returned to my seat, slightly waddling and crinkling as I walked down the aisle.

"Enjoy the rest of your flight, sub! I must go now, but there will be someone waiting to pick you up when you land. You'll be able to figure out who is there for you ;)" he messaged. What did he mean by that? I tried not to concentrate or worry too much; it was far too late to turn back now. I replied with a "Thank you Master. See you soon." and settled in for the rest of the flight.

I woke several hours later with a gentle nudge from a flight attendant: "Hello Sir, we'll be landing in a short while. Please can you put your seat back into its normal configuration?"; I obliged, and waited eagerly while the plane landed, and we made our way to the gate. I noticed at this point that my diaper was fully soaked, almost to the point of leaking. After all the usual scrambling to get off the plane, I arrived at the back of the immigration queue. Eventually, I got called forward by a CBP agent to a booth, so my passport could be stamped (although it always feels like more of an interrogation):

"Business or Pleasure?" the agent asked, in a stern tone.

"Uhhhh, pleasure" I replied, nervously

"And where will you be staying?" the agent asked again

"Oh, just with a friend... the address is in the paperwork there"

"Anything fun planned while you're in the city?" the agent asked, in a slightly friendlier tone

"Yeah, probably some sightseeing, but mostly just catching up with my friend" - a "small" omission of truth. I was not about to tell this poor CBP agent I planned to spend a week kneeling at my "friend's" feet, serving him as his personal slave.

"Great. Give me your passport and put your fingers on the machine." the agent ordered, indifferent to my 'vacation' plans.

After a little more back-and-forth about where I was from, who I was, plenty more questions than needed to be asked, I was able to go to collect my suitcase and move onto the arrivals area where I'd been told "someone" would be waiting to pick me up and I'd "be able to figure out" who. I looked around and saw a tall, handsome man wearing a suit and chauffeur cap - he looked to be in his late twenties and was somewhere between a "twink" and a "jock" (a "twunk"?). After a few seconds stuck looking at his face, I moved my gaze lower to the card he held; it read: "DIAPER FAG", and in small text underneath: "(Sub Sam)". Was this my master? Or just someone he hired? What the hell was he thinking?! There are hundreds of other people here...

I approached the driver, greeted him, and was quickly led out of the airport terminal and shown to a black luxury sedan with blacked-out windows. The driver took my luggage and placed it in the trunk, he then demanded my phone, wallet, keys, and for me to empty my pockets.

It sounded like the driver was putting on a fake southern accent. Something about the way he spoke wasn't consistent or normal.

"Is this a joke?" I asked, terrified of what was coming next.

"No joke. Your Master told me you're a good boy and that you'd take orders; I'm working for him, so let's hurry this up." the driver replied, in a very stern tone of voice.

I quickly obeyed and gave him everything else I had on me. I was then instructed to get into the car. Before we started driving anywhere, the driver passed back some ear plugs and a head harness with gag and blindfold.

"Put these on and lock the harness with the padlock on there." he barked.

I couldn't see a key for the padlock, but I was waaaaay too far into this to panic and back out now. I did as I was ordered and plugged my ears, put the gag and blindfold on and locked them. I immediately felt some movement as the driver set off from the airport, driving for what seemed like an hour through various streets and turns, some tight, some not - the car came to a stop and the driver walked around to my door and dragged me from the car, walked me a little way, and began to strip my clothes off. I didn't begin to panic and struggle until I felt a breeze on my skin and concrete beneath my bare feet - we were still outside, somewhere totally open?! By this point the driver had already slipped some handcuffs onto my wrists behind my back and was in the process of pushing me down onto my knees. He cuffed my ankles and secured the two sets of cuffs together by a short chain before stepping away.

Did I just feel/hear a car door slam? The driver just drove away! Has he just left me kneeling on this concrete in my soaked diaper, gagged and cuffed? I was really starting to panic for a few minutes until I felt a gentle touch on the side of my head - this person then removed an ear plug and softly spoke into my ear: "Hello, Sub. It's good to finally meet you."