Auction Ch. 13

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A stranger in the airport.
5.2k words
4.64
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Part 14 of the 20 part series

Updated 10/31/2022
Created 08/09/2005
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O Rang
O Rang
152 Followers

With one final bump to indicate that the pilot didn't really know what he was doing, the Airbus came to a stop at their gate. After some moments, the tired voice of the flight attendant came over the intercom and informed them that they could unfasten their seatbelts.

It had been a very long flight.

Ethan stood, smoothed his shirt, gathered up his book and jacket, and stepped out into the aisle. Beside him, Jen rose to her feet, careful to move slowly lest the tiny swatch of black cloth ride up and expose her nude form beneath. Running to just high mid-thigh, the mini skirt hugged every inch of her, its snug fit quite translucent in certain select places as its micromesh fabric stretched to accommodate her form.

Of course, those most intimate of places the mini skirt barely covered were those most often ogled by passerbys.

Panties were so long gone from her world that she'd never even though to ask, despite the knowledge that they were going to be traveling.

Whether hungrily surveyed by men, or scornfully dismissed by women, since her ascension into Master Ethan's house Jen's lush body -- in this case, her taut, if well-rounded, ass -- was now on permanent display.

Master Ethan had made a point to deny her even the barest whisp of underwear. He'd made it known to her, by word and by riding crop, that he expected she be ready for him at all times; thus, no panties. This demand that she be able accommodate his hungry, seeking shaft at a moment's notice left her in a semi-perpetual state of self-conscious arousal. It was easier when they were at his estate, since she knew then that no outside party could interrupt his desires, whereas in theory even Master Ethan had to adhere to some social norms regarding modesty, nudity, and sexuality whenever they went anywhere outside the grounds of his estate.

And yet his behavior to date told her that he would readily spurn those social mores if it meant pushing her training a little farther. The memory of an afternoon's drive through the country on his motorcycle came to mind, not least for the way that the wind had felt on her nude body. Two citations later he'd finally let her put on a pair of cut offs and tiny bikini top, but by then she learned to extent to which he was willing to go.

Ethan believed that if she had to wear clothing then she would wear only what was required to pass a casual inspection. Should some more observant person really look, Jen's body was to be readily observable.

She'd never dared to ask him what drove this requirement; he'd simply told her that as a slutslave, her body was to serve as an instrument of pleasure at all times, hence the display. Frankly, if it weren't for airport security, she was sure he would have made her wear some sort of vibrator, the better to constantly remind her of her sexual status.

Even so, the wide-eyed look the security worker had given her platinum collar was enough to start their trip out in the right context and remind her that her true place in Ethan's life was on her knees.

Not that that self-awareness of her status didn't fill her every waking moment.

She knew what she was, what she'd become.

She'd been a lady once, someone who'd hosted dinner parties where learned minds mulled over the nuances of Soviet foreign policy over glasses of fine wine; who'd given lectures to undergraduates on the particulars of human rights; who'd read Kierkegaard and Schopenhauer; who'd written books.

Now she spent her days and nights moaning out her lusts beneath the crop, seeking only to please so that she might taste the cock of her master.

She had been a lady; now she was a whore, a slut, and a slave.

All by her own hand.

Times had certainly changed for the bookworm from southern Texas.

As she stood there in the small space between their seats and the next, contorted backwards by the pressure of the cushion against the backs of her knees, Jen could feel herself being scrutinized by everyone around her.

She endured the withering glare of the heavyset businesswoman opposite them, she could feel her pussy throb with the sheer sin of being out in public thusly displayed for public consumption, of being everything that the businesswoman, in her off the rack grey suit and matronly heels, was not - wanton, open, available ... utterly sexual.

The woman removed her belongings and, with one final, matronly look of disapproval, moved off towards the exit, hissing with disdain at the way Jen presented herself.

A group of three young men, probably college students, followed her, their eyes roaming freely over her body, and not without approval. They left, murmuring to each other, likely boasting at the sexual prowess they would possess, at the things they would do to her.

Jen smiled, drinking in their lust like fine champagne. Being so openly admired was new to her; she knew Ethan wanted her, but a small part of her still wondered whether some of that was driven by their past association in graduate school.

Was his desire driven by a hidden affection for her?

Or did he simply revel in controlling her because he'd known her in their other life, because they'd once just been two lovers in grad school?

She couldn't tell. He rarely gave her any clues. It wasn't that he wouldn't talk to her -- since Kami's fall from grace, Jen often found herself his conversation companion -- it was that there were aspects of his life that he wouldn't discuss with her. She assumed this meant that he didn't trust her enough to let her into those places of his heart yet, although the fear that she simply wouldn't ever be worthy of such trust clawed at her.

Did he use her simply because she was there, and not because he wanted her?

She didn't know.

She couldn't know.

All evidence, however, pointed to the fact that he craved her. Kami still occupied his bed, but he came to her often. His attentions to her were frequent, and seemed, though she had little sense of time, to be more frequent of late.

And yet somehow, despite her total devotion to him, which was as genuine as anything she'd ever given to any man, knowing other men found her attractive pleased her in a way no amount of his attentions could.

Sometimes in the quiet of her days, when he was absent, she wondered what it would be like to have another man touch her.

Did that make her wicked?

Did it make her a bad slutslave?

She knew it did.

And yet ...

Ethan turned to her, his brown eyes locking hers, and looked at her for a moment. She shivered, wondering if he somehow knew she was at that very moment mulling over the peculiarities of her imagined infidelities.

He held her gaze just long enough to completely unsettle her -- just long enough to convince her that yes, he did know that she craved the touch of others, if only affirm her sense of self-worth -- and then smiled to show her all was well.

She raged inside at the thought that his mere gaze could have such an effect on her. Then, with a light kiss on the tip of her nose, he stepped out and walked down the aisle, leaving for the jetway, throwing a "get our bag, please" over his shoulder as he left.

Another passerby hissed with disdain, though this time Jen knew it was for the way he'd ordered her about. The woman simply didn't understand, she thought to herself as she smoothed her skirt once more.

It wasn't an issue of male versus female roles. Ethan didn't command her because he was a man; he simply owned her every moment because he was Ethan.

Not everyone could be so enlightened, she realized.

What that woman didn't understand -- couldn't understand -- was the sense of freedom that Jen enjoyed. Prior to coming to Ethan's house, she'd been adrift, trapped by her financial obligations, starved for affection, and overwhelmed at the circumstances of her career. He'd changed all that, setting her right in a way she hadn't dreamed possible. Prior to becoming his, she'd only ever considered submission as a purely sexual thing, something for the bedroom only.

He'd taught her that total submission was just that: Total.

Once she'd come to accept that, once she'd gotten over first the thrill of being his sexual plaything and then the sobering reality of her servitude to Ethan and Kami, everything had clicked. Since she had no choice, her life was utterly devoid of responsibilities. If he wanted her to get his bag, then she would get his bag, safe in the knowledge that he would deal with whatever consequences.

Even if those consequences meant she got arrested for indecent exposure.

He had such faith in her that she wondered at it.

Without being there, he knew she would obey him, even to the point of putting her body on display for the entire plane. He knew she wouldn't think to ask another passenger for help.

Knew she wouldn't defy his wishes.

Knew she wouldn't defy his wishes even as her own insecurities about her body clawed at this wanton display in such a public forum.

Granted, seven months of servitude had physically transformed her body into something far more desirable than she'd ever known, but her inner demons still insisted that her body couldn't be a thing of desire.

She fought those demons everyday.

And, with his typical disdain, Ethan refused all her entreaties to accommodate her insecurities; to the contrary, Jen was quite certain that he went out of his way to overexpose her.

She'd even gone so far as to tell him once about her discomfort at being thusly displayed, but that episode had only ended in heartache. He'd become quite angry at her, and shunned for a week. The result was devastating; his absence was more painful than anything else she could have imagined.

Blushing bright red, she turned and reached up to open the overhead bin, acutely conscious of the fact that the bottom of the skirt was rising rapidly. Another half inch and her shaved pussy lips would be on display.

Her pert buttocks were already half exposed, and she hadn't even reached up any great deal yet.

She sighed. She simply wasn't tall enough.

So she either had to ask for help -- which wasn't really the point of Ethan's command -- or she had to completely expose herself in order to get their bags. The dilemma hadn't even occurred to her when they'd boarded; Ethan had simply put their bags up in the storage bin and then sat down.

She put her arms back down and smoothed out the mini skirt, blushing furiously as the other passengers filed past. Tears of frustration crept into her eyes -- not from the prospect of her public nudity, but from the idea that she was failing him. Ethan would be so disappointed if she didn't bring the bags out soon, and since he couldn't get back onto the airplane, she had to solve this problem herself. And soon.

Truth be told, Jen's ability to truly revel in the elevation of her body to such a design was still evolving. It was one thing for him to forcibly reveal her form to others; she had no say in that. it was something altogether different for him to leave and ask her to do the same without him there to bolster her resolve. At the end of the day, no matter what manner of public displays she might have indulged in with Ethan at the Auction House, she was still a shy bookworm.

Her insecurities gnawed at her as the other passengers filed by.

A long moment passed as she stood there, trying to control herself, and weighing the decision before her.

After a moment, it came to her.

Disappointing Ethan wasn't an option. If her fellow passengers were shocked by her display, then that would be their problem. She didn't belong to any of them, she belonged to Ethan.

Jen turned back to her task. Hitching the micro-skirt down one last time, she reached up and opened the bin. She could feel the sudden kiss of fabric as the material rode up and over her buttocks, exposing her taut behind.

Too late now, she thought, conscious of the way her breasts strained against the buttons of her starched white shirt. He'd deliberately chosen a cut that was tight on her, thereby forcing gaps between the button that left her flesh exposed anyone to see from the side. The only pretense at lingerie he'd allowed her was a demi-cup, selected by him because it forced her full breasts up and together, even as it left her nipples exposed.

Those same nipples were now painfully erect.

Their carry-on was quite heavy, and she wrestled with it for a moment as she tried to bring it to the front of the bin without pulling it out and down onto herself.

Her ass was now fully exposed; the appreciative murmurs let her know that. She could tell by sound that the rate at which the passengers were filing out had slowed, and more than one stray hand had brushed against her. One person, she assumed it was a man, had even gone so far as to take the time to caress her ass. Her body had thrilled to the touch -- what more proof did she need that she was desirable? -- even as she burned with the shame of knowing such contact was unauthorized.

Or was it? Jen knew that if her ass was exposed, then her pussy, currently facing towards the window, was also revealed, and would be on display for all to see when she inevitably turned around.

Ethan would have known that.

So did he want her on display like this? Was the real test whether she could be wanton and do his bidding in even public, away from the understand audiences of the Lifestyle?

Somehow the thought of that, however, didn't bother her.

Quite the contrary.

She couldn't explain it, but whereas her rear was a source of embarrassment, her pussy's display titillated her because she took it as his desire. Her ass might be exposed by circumstance, but she could only reveal her most precious secret, now beginning to throb with desire, if she so choose.

And she would do so, she knew in that moment, she would do so for him.

Just as she thought she was going to lose the fight with the suitcase and earn herself a concussion, a soft voice behind her said "Here, let me help you."

Jen felt a warm lush body press against her, full breasts crushing into her in a most delightful fashion as the woman reached over her to help bring down the carry-on.

Jen turned to thank her savior.

Wedged into the small gap between the seats beside her stood a young woman of about twenty three, long dark hair pulled back in a sporty, if functional pony tail. The woman wore jeans and a tight-fitting white tank top; her large breasts strained against the ribbed cotton, and the black lace of her bra was clearly visible beneath. Warm brown eyes met hers and the woman smiled. "Hi," she said in a tiny voice.

"Hi back," stammered Jen, surprised at the sudden surge of emotion between them.

"You looked like you needed a hand there."

"I did," she admitted, blushing a bit. The woman stood very close to her, as she must given the seats, and smelled faintly of jasmine. "That suitcase can be awkward."

"Mmm hmm," the woman agreed, her eyes saying that she didn't believe a word of it. Jen met her gaze for a moment, conscious of the way the other passengers watched them as they shuffled out. The newcomer held it for a moment, and then dropped her eyes.

A strange thrill ran through Jen.

Had she just been a dominant?

If only for a moment.

The woman's full breasts were still pressed into her, bound as they were by the weight of the suitcase. Jen could feel their soft crush against her own, felt the strangers nipples grow hard at the sustained contact.

Heard the tiny intake of breath.

"Here," she said quietly, taking the suitcase and placing it on the seat. "This isn't the place for this."

Somehow she knew to say those words, knew that the newcomer needed to be released from their seemingly random but now electrifying contact.

Besides, she couldn't resist the urge to press her dominance a bit more. After so many months as Ethan's slutslave, bound to his every whim, the possibility of controlling this stranger, if only for a few moments more, was intoxicating. It made her heart race. It made her clit ache.

It would be worth the whipping he would give her for being late.

And not the good kind of whipping.

Without a sound, the woman nodded and stepped back, shouldering her own bag and making ready to enter the aisle. Jen hoisted the suitcase off the seat and handed it to her. The brunette took it without a word, still not meeting her gaze.

"What is your name, Miss?" she asked, reaching out one hand to touch the woman's arm.

"Heather," this came out as a squeak. "My name is Heather."

"Well, thank you, Heather, for the help with my luggage. I'm Jen. Please follow me."

And with that, she stepped forward into the aisle, deliberately sliding her own full curves across the newcomer's body. Jen paused then, her pussy wet with the knowledge that every remaining passenger on the plane was looking at her, and reached down to adjust her skirt.

She could smell her own throbbing sex as she adjusted the micromesh. It barely covered her, but she wouldn't embarrass Ethan by causing a scene in the airport. He'd made it clear that this weekend was special, and that he expected nothing less than utter obedience.

Well, she'd already violated that command with her interlude with Heather; it would have to be her last mistake for the weekend.

Adjusted at last, she strode down the aisle, smiling to herself at the way the newcomer followed.

Her smirk lasted exactly twelve seconds. In those twelve seconds, she was regal, a creature of such appeal that others did her bidding.

And then she turned onto the jet way, a submissive once more, her face proper and her eyes downcast as she moved to stand before the man who owned her.

Heather appeared a moment later, immediately eliciting Ethan's full attention.

"And who might you be?" He asked in a tone that immediately told Jen that she should have carried her own luggage. She turned to look, her curiosity overcoming her propriety.

"Hi, I'm Heather." The brunette's tone was bubbly and cheerful. Eager almost. None of the unexpected sexual energy between the two of them remained.

Ethan put out his hand and took the suitcase. He set it beside Jen and then turned back to Heather. "Was she unable to get that down herself? She never really dresses appropriately when we travel. Such a naughty girl."

Jen watched those words, carried in a playful tone, score hits on the brunette. Some strange light came into her eyes, and the newcomer swallowed, and then said softly, "I think she's dressed just right."

Ethan nodded. "Indeed."

He took the brunette's hand in his, using that fire that Jen knew so well from his touch, and applying it to the woman. Almost immediately, Jen could see the woman shiver, despite the Texas heat. "Are you here on business or for pleasure, my dear?"

"Business." the woman squeaked, clearly unable to breathe. Jen knew the force of those brown eyes must be eating at her soul, commanding her to throw away her inhibitions and become his.

"I live in Texas," she managed at last, "but I'm here in Austin on business."

"And what business would that be?"

Soon, little fly, she thought to herself at this exchange, Soon Mr. Spider will be along for you.

The brunette continued on, unaware. "I'm a pastry chef. Based out of the Dallas area, but we travel a lot for weddings."

"And you're in town for a special wedding then, I gather?"

"Oh yes, a large private party. Unusual for us in the discretion required, but the client was willing to pay extra. So my boss sent me in advance to prepare the wedding cake."

Ethan nodded knowingly, and began to ask her all sorts of questions about her craft, with a level of knowledge that suggested he himself routinely made wedding cakes.

This provoked a twinge in Jen. Of the three members of their household -- if in fact that is what you called a man living with two nude slutslaves -- she did all the baking. And she was damned good at it. But he'd never once shown even a little interest in how she worked her magic, preferring instead to simply eat what she made. To show interest in a total stranger's work upset her.

O Rang
O Rang
152 Followers
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