El's Submission

"2. Touch two strangers, one man and one woman, inappropriately. Apologize each time for your mistake."

Oh, that was creepy, she thought. El had already completed Instruction 1: "Masturbate to orgasm in a public place, being sure to penetrate your pussy. Make certain to take at least thirty minutes." That morning, she had tucked a vibrating bullet between her labia before slipping on silk panties, and then turned it on just as the cab arrived. She prayed that the driver couldn't hear it. A cab is public, right?

"Are you okay, Miss?" the driver asked as her face flushed with arousal. He was an older gentleman, with laugh lines at the corner of his eyes, and looked as if he knew exactly what was going on.

"I'm...fine, Sir, thank you," she answered, controlling her voice and breath with difficulty. "How much longer to the airport?" El wondered again how she had gone from her quiet but reliable life...to this. Obeying the orders of a man she hadn't yet met, masturbating in public, and dropping everything in her life to hop on a plane simply because he said to.

"Oh, not long, Miss. Traffic's light at this hour. Probably another ten minutes." He met El's eyes in the rear-view mirror just as she was slipping her fingers inside her jacket and blouse to find a nipple. Looking away, she pretended it was just to adjust her lapels, but her nipple was so hard the jacket was not thick enough to hide it.

"Nice jacket, Miss. Looks good on you." She nodded, and slipped a hand into the pocket that held the remote for her vibrator. Did she dare turn it up? Would he hear? She pressed the button once, and heard a faint buzz. She pretended it was her cell phone...and then turned the power back down.

Finally he pulled into the arrival zone. "That will be fifteen, Miss." She paid, and he unloaded her bag from the trunk before opening her door. "Have a good flight. Here's my card - call me for the return trip."

"Yes, thanks for all your help," El replied, waving away the change and not meeting his eyes as she walked toward the terminal. She was early, even by TSA standards. Announcements sounded overhead; everyone was absorbed in their phones or business, and so she chanced turning up the buzzer another notch.

Ten more minutes before she could come. She looked for a corner, a seat, and finally found a single chair facing a window that seemed to overlook...nothing. Positioning her suitcase to block the view of anyone who approached, she unbuttoned the bottom button of her coat. She'd worn a wrap skirt that made it easy to slip her fingers inside the heavy fabric. No one noticed, so she raised a knee and propped her cell phone on it, open to an e-book, hoping that would explain her posture well enough.

Then she slipped her fingers into her damp panties to find her wetness. Twenty-eight minutes...her pussy was absolutely dripping, and her fingers made it throb immediately. She couldn't get caught. She found her g-spot and pressed it furiously until her pussy spasmed over and over in orgasm...thirty-one minutes - mission accomplished. She hoped her juices didn't drip below the hem of her skirt.

As she sat frozen, two fingers deep in her cunt, El realized what she'd done. This seat overlooked a terminal, and a plane was taxiing toward her. "Oh, my lord...they have to have seen me," she whispered to herself, still shaking with aftershocks. Removing her hand, she realized she'd brought nothing to wipe her fingers on, and sat a moment as they dripped on the sad, faded blue carpet. Finally, she tried to wipe her hand on the inside of her coat pocket as she turned off the vibrating bullet. Flustered, she turned it the wrong way, to high, and cried out briefly as she came again, but then managed to turn the vibe off.

"Are you okay, Miss?" A small, round woman, dark-haired with cheeks like a Hummel and huge breasts, was approaching.

"Oh, I'm fine, thanks...just had a cramp in my leg and had to sit down." There was no way she bought that, El thought. None. A fine sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead, and El knew she was flushed all the way to her cleavage. She pulled her coat shut self-consciously and began to stand.

The Hummel-woman licked her lips, looking the disheveled girl up and down, and blushed. "You're certain? Do you need some water? A banana?" She came closer, and crouched next to El, resting a hand on her thigh. "A rubdown for that?" The woman caressed El's thigh suggestively, letting her fingers wander beneath the skirt's hem toward the top of her stocking.

"Oh!" El answered, jumping to her feet. "That's so kind of you, but...no, no, thank you!"

She left as quickly as she could on her unsteady legs. She was Master's, and Master's alone - or she would be if all went as planned. No interaction with others unless He ordered it. But oh, the woman was tempting, with those full lips and fuller breasts.

El went to the bathroom and wiped down as best she could...she had to wring out her panties over the toilet. She tucked the vibe and remote into the top of her suitcase. On a whim, she took the wet panties as well, and zipped them in one of the outer compartments. It's not like they were much use at this point anyway. After voiding, she went out to wash her hands, finger-comb her hair, and reapply her lipstick. Aftershocks still washed over her from time to time.

El took her boarding pass and went to the kiosk to check her bag. As she headed toward the gate, several pilots and flight attendants passed, and she blushed, wondering if one of them had been in the cockpit as she came. All their smiles seemed knowing, and her heart raced as she hurried away from them.

Soon, she was safely in line for Security. One agent scanned purses and carry-ons while another watched the display as each passenger walked through the metal detector.

El looked more closely. It couldn't be. The Hummel woman was here; she was a TSA employee. A scanning wand was hanging from her belt.

Three people in front of her. "Walk through."

Two people. "Walk through."

One person. "Walk through."

Then El's turn. "Walk through, please."

So she did.

"Wait."

Still early. It would be okay...it had to be okay.

"Come with me, please," said the apple-cheeked TSA agent with the luscious breasts, and escorted El to a small room.

"Do you want a witness present?" she asked.

"Should I? What's going to happen?" El shifted her weight from one leg to another trying to find her balance, both physically and emotionally.

"You might," the agent answered, smirking slightly. "I'll be patting you down to be certain you have no prohibited items on your person."

"No, then," El whispered, "I don't need a witness."

"Take off your coat, please, and shoes." Ever compliant, El did as she was told, and placed her items on a chair by the wall.

"Arms out at shoulder height." The woman waved her wand around the perimeter of El's body. Nothing happened.

"The machine outside definitely picked something up, so..."

The agent locked eyes with El as she firmly ran her hands over each arm and down El's sides, her fingers curling around the base of her subject's breasts before travelling down her waist, hips, and thighs. Crouching, the agent parted El's skirt enough to see the garters holding up her stockings, and ran her fingers over them.

"Open your blouse." The cold air hardened El's nipples again, pressing the rings against the thin fabric of her bra. Seeing them, the woman smiled. "Obedient, aren't you? Any other piercings for me to inspect?"

"No, ma'am," El answered, "Though there might be on my return trip."

"Okay. You can get dressed again." She watched El's every move, and then added,

"Sure you don't need that rubdown? Or more inspection?"

El gestured toward her body. "It's not mine," El explained.

"Whoever owns that..." the woman responded, mimicking El's earlier gesture, "is very, very lucky."

Agent Hummel went back to work, and El to her gate. EI had brought a book (you're never fully dressed without a book, she always said), but all she could think of was the journey to this point.

Master Russell had found her online. She had commented and liked a photo of a spanking table He had designed and constructed. It featured padded surfaces anywhere a sub could be ordered to present herself, and built in clips and D-rings to lock her in place once she was positioned to His liking. "Just about perfect," El commented.

His initial contact afterwards read, "Tell me what improvements you would make to my bench, girl, since it's 'just about' perfect."

Sir Russell,

Thank You for asking this girl's opinion. I love the padding, and the sturdiness of it, and the way You rounded and sanded the edges. I love the anchor points for the arms and legs, and can imagine several different positions to use them. However, I would add an anchor point for the collar as well, so that You can, when You wish, either prevent Your girl from lifting her head, or pull her hair back against the restraint, or leave her on her back, totally immobilized, for You to use her mouth.

Respectfully,

Elida

Two days later, Russell posted a series of pictures showing the range of positions the new anchor afforded Him in tormenting His subs. His reply, a simple "Well done, little one," made her heart jump into her throat.

They corresponded for a few days, most of the exchanges presented as Him asking questions, and her answering. Over time, the questions turned into instructions.

"You are to sit at lunch today with your legs spread, and no panties on. Report to me after."

"You are to place a dildo on your kitchen counter and leave it until someone comments. Report back." At least her mother hadn't been the visitor. The plumber, however, had a hard time holding back his comments about it.

"You are to bring yourself to the edge of orgasm, stop, and clamp both your nipples. Wait three minutes, and then orgasm. After your climax, wet a butt plug in your pussy; use additional lube if needed, and insert it into your ass. Then you may remove the clamps, spank your nipples ten times each, and cum again, girl. Send me photos of your pussy and breasts before the session, your pussy clamped, the plug inserted, and your pussy and nipples after."

This continued all through the spring, the instructions getting darker and more demanding. Her obedience never faltered. Finally, last month she had received this instruction.

"Book Delta Flight 5820 from New York to Phoenix for Thursday, July 17. Send me a copy of the confirmation email." No hotel listed, no car...just the flight. One-way.

It was decision time. It was one thing to be obedient from the safety of one's own home; it was another entirely to go somewhere new, alone, to meet someone.

Both her future Master and her instincts said go, so she booked the flight and sent the confirmation.

"Good girl, Elida! Here are your instructions for the day of travel.

"1.Masturbate to orgasm in a public place, being sure to penetrate your pussy. Make certain to take at least thirty minutes.

"2.Touch two strangers, one man and one woman, inappropriately. Apologize each time for your mistake. Photograph them if you can.

"3.When you arrive, take a cab to the Arizona Biltmore.

"4.At the desk, give my name and leave your phone.

"5.When you arrive at the room, strip, lock the door and answer it for no one. Kneel at the foot of the bed in nadu, knees wide and arms up, until I come for you. You are not to unpack or move from that spot. If I find that you have, our meeting will be cancelled."

El shook her head. "If you had told me a year ago that I'd be meeting a Dominant man in a hotel in Phoenix so He could use me, I'd have asked how many mushrooms you'd had," she thought to herself. "But here we are."

That brought her to Instruction 2. The cabin of the plane would probably be ideal, she thought; she was not wrong.

A lilting voice came over the loudspeaker. "Thank you for flying Delta today. We are about to begin boarding Delta Flight 5820 from New York to Phoenix." Soon, first class boarded, and then Elida, with the rest of the Common Folk, as she liked to think of herself.

The center aisle was predictably narrow, and El seized her opportunity. As she entered the cabin, people were standing, backs to the aisle, to place their items in the overhead bins. El found one particularly tall black man placing items and then bending to take more from the other passengers in his row.

She timed it perfectly. As he bent to accept a pink bag from the woman in the window seat, Elida "tripped" and grabbed his ass to right herself. "Oh, I am so sorry, sir," she exclaimed, eyes wide and cheeks flushed with genuine embarrassment.

He spun around quickly, looked at her, and then relaxed. "No problem. Are you okay, Miss?"

It was the third time that day she'd heard that question. She wondered if maybe they saw something she didn't. "I'm okay, sir, I'm really sorry."

The man chuckled softly and said to the woman in the seat next to his, "See, Gloria, I told you that was good for something!" She play-slapped his ass, and he kissed her hand after he sat down.

In her chair, El pretended to be taking a selfie, switched the view, and shot a blurry picture of the man's back, as much as she could see of it. It would have to do.

Now for the woman. One of the passengers, a well-dressed middle-aged woman, had a broken arm, so a young flight attendant was helping place her bag overhead. This, El thought, meant it was time to use the restroom. As she passed by, El turned to squeeze by the young stewardess, who was an impossible combination of thin limbs and hourglass figure. Her curly blonde hair had been sensibly tied back, but wisps escaped to frame her waifish face. Just as El passed by, the young woman, whose name tag read Hannah, turned as well; El's hands, which she had drawn up to squeeze herself by, landed squarely on Hannah's perky breasts.

Both women jumped back in surprise, their polite protestations and apologies falling one after the other like raindrops. There was more accident than intended in the exchange, but El decided it counted anyway, and waited for Hannah to be caught up in beverage service to snap a quick photo. This one was clear, and showed the young woman's curves and sweet face perfectly. For now, she could relax.

Just as she was putting her phone away, El heard a soft voice with a southern accent.

"May I get you something to drink, Miss?" Face to face with Hannah again, El paused a moment.

"Miss?"

No driving, no heavy thinking, no reason not to have a drink. "Yes, please, Kahlua and milk?" She held out a credit card.

Hannah produced the typical airline flight service cup, opened a carton of milk to pour over a few ice cubes, and handed it with a tiny bottle of Kahlua to her passenger. "Enjoy your flight."

The descent was choppy and the landing bumpy, but Elida didn't care. After deplaning, she used the restroom, claimed her bag, and went to the taxi line.

A driver immediately approached her. "So where are we going?" he asked, as he took her bag and loaded it in the trunk.

"The Arizona Biltmore, please."

"You got it!" He ushered her into the backseat, climbed in, and called his destination in to dispatch, and then glanced in his rear-view mirror. "So what brings you to Phoenix?"

El thought about telling him that she was giving her body to her Owner, who would do with it what she wished, and decided against it. "I'm meeting someone," she answered, with a polite smile.

"Okay, doll," smiled the driver, who knew he wouldn't find out more, "you'll be there in about fifteen minutes."

El texted that fact to Master Russell. He did not respond.

The Biltmore was on sprawling carpets of grass. The golf course undulated with small hills and paths that people rode on in carts. This much green amazed her - she was used to New York grey now, as she'd lived there the past ten years.

Finally they reached the lobby doors; El paid the driver, collected her bag, and went inside. The lobby was a symphony of tan marble and soft lights. A young man at the desk greeted her immediately. "Welcome to the Biltmore. How may I assist you today?"

She was still in awe of the building's quiet elegance, but collected herself enough to continue. "Thank you - I have a reservation under Russell Brown." Oh, she thought to herself, I sincerely hope to be under Russell Brown...

"Yes, of course," he nodded, "Mr. Brown is expecting you. I'm Dave. Let's get you set up, shall we?" A porter took her bag, and reappeared with it in the back of a golf cart a moment later. The young man at the desk walked her to the cart. "Have a pleasant stay, Miss. Are you forgetting something, by chance?" He held out his hand...

"Oh, right! Thank you," she answered as she put the phone into his hand. Her heart skipped a beat as she realized she was now cut off. No one could reach her. She was at Master Russell's mercy until..until when?

Apparently, Dave thought she was distressed just about the phone, which wasn't a bad conclusion to reach. "Don't worry, Miss. We'll keep this safe for you." He walked back into the hotel, her phone in hand, as the porter put the golf cart in gear.

He drove the cart in silence to a far corner of the property. "No one else is in this area, as Mr. Brown requested. Where would you like your bag?"

El pointed to a corner of the huge room. The walls and carpet were a light grey, punctuated by dark wood furniture and an occasional splash of red upholstery or bedding. The curtains were drawn. The porter left her bag and wished her a pleasant stay. On the dresser, an array of paddles, floggers, clamps, cuffs, ropes, and a blindfold were arranged. She took a deep breath, locked the door, and began undressing. She instinctively went to hang her coat, and then wondered if that would constitute "unpacking," and so opted to fold all her clothes neatly and place them on top of her suitcase. She then walked to the foot of the bed, knelt, spread her knees as far apart as they would go, and placed her hands behind her head, elbows wide.

And waited. Her arms grew tired.

And waited. Her knees began to ache.

Forty minutes later, there was a knock at the door. She didn't move, but her heart thudded wildly with fear. Suppose it was room service or housekeeping? She supposed they had seen worse in their time. Her raised arms brought her pierced nipples high, her full C-cups defying gravity. The little silver rings she wore caught the light in a way that seemed to illuminate her huge, pink areolae, which were crinkled both with cold and with arousal. Her flat stomach gave way to a single thin stripe of hair that pointed to her clit, whose throbbing told her it was still swollen. Twin dimples crowned her lower back, marking the transition to her creamy, round cheeks, the cleft between them inviting and dark. Her hair spilled in auburn waves past her shoulders to the tops of her breasts. She moistened her lips with a kitten-pink tongue.

And waited. Her mouth was dry.

And waited. Her bladder grew uncomfortably full.

She was thirsty, hungry, and had to pee, but didn't dare move. Was this part of the test? Would she fail if she wet herself? Or if she didn't? For the first time since arriving in Phoenix, she began to wonder if she would be rejected. She closed her eyes against the rising tears of worry and shame, and willed herself not to cry. Soon however, her lip trembled, and the first tear painted a hot pink line down her cheek. Her arms ached, her belly rumbled, her bladder was about to burst, and her knees felt as if they would snap if she tried to stand.

Finally, the hiss of the electronic lock releasing preceded the opening of the door, and there He was. He was not tall, but he was solid, powerful, and exuded charm and danger. His eyes were large and dark behind tortoise-rimmed glasses that made them seem even larger, and made her feel like a bug under a microscope. He wore a black turtleneck and jeans with a black leather blazer and boots. His hair was slicked back, except for one strand that fell rakishly across his forehead. And upon seeing her, his lips curled into a predatory smile.