For Her Pleasure

‘Is that right?’ she said. And smiled. The way she smiled melted him down. A smile that made his heart keen and his cock drip. It was a smile that said she could see all the way into his psyche, back to his lonely childhood, down to his core, a smile that made him feel small and helpless and cared for, all at the same time. A smile that made him, above all, desperate to please her.

‘Well, we’ll just see, won’t we?’ And she arched one gorgeously manicured eyebrow.

Laughter across the aisle drew their attention. They both glanced back to the centre seats one row behind, which were a mass of giggling, hair and perfume that wafted over to where they sat. An entranced young male flight attendant stood in the aisle proffering bottles of wine and little bags of snacks like sacrifices to the goddesses of cool. ‘I am predicting we might have trouble getting any attention on our side of the aisle tonight,’ Mistress said. ‘Then again –’ she leaned back over to him, giving him another peek down her dress ‘– you might like it better if less people see what we get up to,’ she purred into his ear.

His prick had been growing steadily since she first pressed her soft curves against him. Now heat warmed his face as it continued to grow. His mind, like the needle on a skipping record, could not fit in a groove to play out what plans she might have in store for him on this five-hour flight. He couldn’t seem to form any thoughts; his brain just spun and spun on the sights she flashed him, the words she fed into his brain. He could only swallow and sit in patient torment.

Watching him try to work things out, she reached over and rumpled his hair. ‘Sweetie, you’re so cute when you’re horny and petrified!’ She drew her hand down the side of his face, gazing into his brown eyes with her jade-green ones. God, she was beautiful. His heart stuttered in his chest and he suddenly had to gasp for breath. ‘Goodness, my darling, what’s the matter? You’re working yourself into a lather!’

But she knew. He knew she could see his brain wildly trying to imagine all the torturously awful and wonderful things she could do. She read him like the proverbial book, or Penthouse Forum letter, remembering what came before. Dear Penthouse, I’ve never written a letter like this but I have a Mistress who likes to control me. God. She could make him want something almost more than life, but then force him not to want it, to struggle against it with everything he had. She was always weaving her precise words around him, securing him just as she wanted.

More giggling drew their attention again. Noticing the flight attendant and his growing obsession, Mistress remarked, ‘I know you’re a talented architect, my sweetie, but I can’t help but think how much you would enjoy working in the service industry. I know it hardly pays the big bucks but we know how you like to serve.’ Her eyes fell on him at the last word and he blushed hard. He jumped a bit as she slid her hand beneath the blanket and squeezed his ever-stiffening prick over the loose trousers she’d instructed him to wear. ‘Aw, one of those darling little things has her shoes off and her feet stretched out. You’d like bringing her and her friends drinks, now, wouldn’t you?’ she said. She squeezed his now fully erect cock. ‘Well, my goodness! I have barely done anything and your tiny stick is practically bursting out of your pants! What’s gotten you all excited, horny boy?’ He stammered and, seeing that no answer was forthcoming, she went on. ‘I mean, if you’re horny over serving them, massaging their feet, I could probably arrange it. They might like that! And I know you would. Shall I ask them for you, darling?’ she said.

‘Oh, God, no, Mistress!’ he protested and she squeezed his shaft harder. You, only you, he thought, as he remembered her slender, succulent foot in his lap as he caressed it, her shoe in his hands as he knelt at her feet to slip it on. He did like to serve, but serve her, because to be used by her, to be her tool, her plaything, her slave, was his bliss. She could lean over and ask those girls; it would not be out of character for her to actually do it. Oh, God! The shame. She mustn’t! ‘Please, Mistress! I only ever want to serve you.’

‘Aw, that’s sweet.’ She patted his knee. ‘OK, love, calm down. I won’t ask them.’ She giggled and began stroking him over his trousers. ‘Now, my darling, how does that feel? Do you like that?’

Did he like it? There were no words.

He squirmed in his seat as he remembered her humiliating lecture, two weeks before, when she’d made him establish a ‘baseline’. As he stood in front of her with his trousers around his ankles, she made him start his watch and stroke for as long as he could without coming. Of course, with her watching, teasing him all the while, his performance was even more pathetic than usual. He’d only managed a minute and forty seconds the first time and she laughed hysterically while he hung his head in shame, his loins burning with lust. She made him do it over and over, each time getting shorter and shorter. By the time she was done with him he was as horny, frustrated and submissive as he’d ever thought it was possible to feel.

‘Your job as a husband, sweetie, is to always please your wife. Do you do that? Aw, no, you don’t, do you? You always fail. You’re always too eager, like a horny teenager, spurting your little messes. You never allow little wifey the chance to orgasm before you. Is that a loving, caring husband? No. That’s a greedy, horny, slutty little boy. That’s why you need me, isn’t it, love? Mistress is happy to patiently explain these facts to you, to help improve your endurance and train you to be a real man. So. In two weeks we’re going on our trip. Until then you need to practise holding your come in your balls. You will edge for me twice in the morning, twice during the day and twice at night. Stroke your little dick to the edge. Get yourself there. And don’t come. If the little wifey wants sex, you will oblige. But you will not come. Understand, little boy? It’s not difficult. Don’t come.’

And when he went home that evening, as luck would have it, Anne did want sex. Oh, God. Shame came rolling in on thunderous waves as she kissed him in their bed and he remembered the baseline with Mistress, that shame enveloping him while making his prick ache. So many edges. No release. Anne whispered to him how she loved him, how she wanted him. He just managed to get his desperately sensitive dick inside her but then – panic! He couldn’t continue without losing it. But if he pulled out, just that action threatened to push him over. He had stopped there motionless with his rock-hard rod throbbing in his wife’s tight wet folds, had practically cried with the torture of it. How badly he wanted to just slam in and out, release all the built-up pressure. It was right there. Right there for the taking and it would feel so good. But he didn’t. He didn’t.

‘So what did you do, sweetie?’ Mistress had asked, her face alight with pure joy and amusement.

‘Ma’am, I pretended to come,’ he admitted. ‘I was pretty convincing. I was shaking and sweating and gasping. Then I waited a few minutes, pretending to catch my breath. Really it was so I could calm down enough to pull out. And then I did.’

She laughed out loud, laughed really hard. ‘You didn’t even do one stroke? Not even one? You just put it in? You realise that’s only half a stroke, right, sweetie? Oh, my God! That’s so funny!’ There in her office, his cheeks hot coals, there was that shame that wanted to swallow him whole. Oh, God, how she could make him feel so small! He wanted to bow down before her. He wanted to lie at her feet, lie under them, wanted to crouch on all fours and be her footstool. Her five-legged footstool.

And now she sat beside him on the plane with her hand stroking slowly, asking so politely how it felt to have his Mistress’s hand caress him after the struggles and daily edging and short-lived sex of the last two weeks, all with no release. How did it feel? Like heaven. Like a symphony. Like a thousand angels strumming the harp strings of his sexual ecstasy – oh, God, how to describe how it felt?

‘It feels so good, Mistress.’ Pathetic. Even his words.

Then quickly, ‘But you have to stop very soon.’

‘What? Why would I stop, darling? I’m enjoying playing with my tiny little toy. And if you like it too, why would I stop?’

Her strokes came a little faster and he started to panic. Pressure rose in his balls and his cock ached with unspent come.

‘Because, Mistress!’ he gasped. ‘I can’t hold it. You have to stop!’

‘You can’t hold it, little boy? You better hold it! I haven’t given you permission! Not to mention we have a five-hour flight ahead of us and you didn’t bring a change of trousers.’ She giggled and sighed. ‘Am I actually going to have to start carrying a change of clothing around for you because you can’t control yourself? Like a diaper bag!’ More laughter.

He couldn’t hear. There was no sound over the bubbling pressure of his seed. He knew better than to grab her hand away. That would be cause for serious punishment. He could only sit helplessly in his chair and beg in a hoarse whisper. ‘Please stop, Mistress, please. I can’t hold it. You have to stop. PLEASE!’