The Longest Flight

 

Terrell stood in front of the magazine rack at the airport scanning the covers and wondering which one to buy for the flight.  Two distinct groups of women looked back at him; a set of smiling faces from the women’s magazines, and a set of pouting ones from the men’s.  They were all beautiful, their faces uniformly blemish free and perfectly made up.  The principal differences between the groups being their hair and clothes.  The hair of the first set was generally immaculate, whereas that of the second was tousled.  The clothes of the former were considerably less revealing than those of the latter.

He wondered why the women’s magazines didn’t feature men in skimpy or tight outfits showing the bulges of their genitals.  He knew that some of his female friends were attracted visually to hunks.

He sighed and selected one of the men’s magazines, the cover promising a photo set of a model in bondage.  He paid for it without embarrassment; the potential embarrassment of what he was wearing under his clothes being considerably greater.

Terrell was in bondage.  He had no way of releasing himself until he reached his destination, several hours away.  He found the prospect erotic and mentally arousing.  He was not sure why he was cruel to himself, or why he subjected himself to such torment, but the planning and initial stages of the actual bondage were intensely exciting.  He knew that before the journey was completed he would regret his actions, but even the prospect of that future frustrated anguish he found erotic.

Due to the airport security metal detectors he could not bind himself with chains and chastity belt as he would have preferred, instead his bindings were all plastic, principally nylon.  These bonds were tough and would require a knife or scissors to remove, and such items were not permitted on board.  The key to his freedom, a pocket knife, was in his checked luggage.  He would not normally cut himself free till he reached his hotel, although in an emergency he could free himself in a rest room at the destination airport after he recovered his luggage.  He was not particularly worried about his luggage being lost or delayed; he could always purchase another knife.  In some ways this was better than his earlier inflight bondage scheme.

Before security was tightened following the attack on the World Trade Center he had used chains and padlocks and put the keys in his checked luggage.  On one trip his luggage had been misdirected and he spent an agonizing two days waiting for it.  He had decided he had to leave the conference and find a shop that sold bolt cutters when his lost luggage finally showed up. 

It was Monday morning and Terrell was traveling to Los Angeles where he would be attending a conference and staying in a hotel until Friday.  He was looking forward to it; it would give him an opportunity to become informed about the latest developments and meet acquaintances he had not seen for a year.

He walked to the terminal gate carrying his newly purchased magazine and carefully sat down.  Carefully since he was sitting on his penis which was bent back under his crotch.  He had replaced the steel ring that normally occupied his Prince Albert piercing with a nylon one.  He had cut the ring to insert it, and then glued it so that it could not be removed without cutting or sawing through it.  He had tried Ziplocs through the piercing, but the edges of these were sharp and were too uncomfortable for long term use.  The nylon ring was pulled back by a Ziploc and fastened to a waist belt made of two large Ziplocs, the kind used for police handcuffs.  The Ziploc that held the nylon ring passed through a butt plug, securing it so that it could not be removed.  This plug was not the usual smoothly tapered plug with a narrow neck; it lacked a neck and had bulges all down its length.  Whenever he sat down he could feel it pushing into him.  He thought this important for his bondage experience; he did not want to be able to completely relax and forget he was bound, but wanted to be forced to be continuously aware of his predicament.

His testicles were constrained by a leather ball stretcher that was secured by another Ziploc.  The leather protected his skin from the cruel edges of the plastic tie.  He could conceivably remove the leather, but then the Ziploc would bite painfully into him.  Another Ziploc was threaded through this one and attached to the front of his waistband pulling his balls up.

To prevent the edges of the waist belt digging into his skin he was wearing a Spandex waist cincher under it.  To complete his bondage ensemble, and to help conceal it, he was wearing a girl’s stretch nylon leotard.  This hugged him tightly and he loved the feeling it gave him.  To conceal this ensemble, his outer clothes were jeans and a heavy shirt.

He surveyed his fellow passengers.  They seemed to be the usual collection of overweight Americans.  He thought it would be a major health incentive if airline tickets were priced according to weight, the passengers being weighed with their luggage.  He eyed a man who looked as if he weighed twice as much as himself.  He thought the man ought to pay more, it clearly cost the airline more fuel to fly him.  Terrell also hoped he wouldn’t be sitting next to him; his fat would likely overflow the narrow airline seat.

Terrell wondered whom he would be sitting next to.  There were a couple of attractive girls in the waiting area, but they seemed to have husbands or boyfriends.  There were several less attractive ones.  He hoped it would be someone interesting, the coast-to-coast flight was a long one and it helped pass the time if he conversed.  He had found older people more interesting, they generally seemed more relaxed and their longer lives seemed to provide more topics of conversation.

The plane boarded by rows from the rear.  When his row was called he joined the line.  He was glad that the fat man was still sitting; it indicated that he would be seated further forwards.

He found his seat and put his flight bag into the overhead compartment.  He eased himself into the window seat feeling the butt plug push up inside him.  He sat with his knees spread to ease the pressure on his balls and buckled his seat belt.  He preferred window seats; he liked to look out of the window.  He didn’t need an aisle seat since he probably wouldn’t need to go to the toilet.  His bonds ensured that making pee was a complicated and messy affair, so he tried to drink as little as possible.  At most he would only need to make pee once, sitting down like a female.

He extracted the inflight magazine from the seat pocket in front of him and was disappointed to find the crossword partially filled in and the sudoku puzzle filled with numbers, several of which were crossed out.  He wondered whether he could swap it for the magazine in the center seat, but a middle aged lady arrived and started to occupy the aisle seat.  He though it unethical to change the magazine without the permission of the center seat occupant, so he reluctantly replaced his marked magazine.  He would read his men’s magazine later, perhaps when the movie was on or when the aisle lady was asleep.

The number of boarding passengers slowed to a trickle, and he thought the center seat would be unoccupied.  But at the last minute a blonde hurried down the aisle and claimed the seat.  The middle-aged lady stood up to allow her to sit and the blond settled herself.  She seemed a little out off breath.

Terrell inspected her as she sat down.   She appeared to be in her mid twenties and looked like one of the models on the airport magazine covers.  He couldn’t decide which group she belonged in.  Her face was almost flawless but her hair was slightly tousled.  He wasn’t sure if this was a consequence of hurrying to catch the plane, or had been deliberately set that way.  Her clothes were smart: a white top, gray skirt and matching gray heels.  He tried not to look at her, but she was eye candy.  She was slender but had large breasts that pushed against the buttoned front of her top as if trying to escape.  He decided that if she allowed one or two buttons to pop she would surely belong on the front of the men’s magazines.

He feared he was in for a boring and frustrating flight.  Boring since his experience suggested that such attractive women were often only interested in themselves, and frustrating because her proximity definitely aroused him.  It also meant that he would not be able to read his magazine.  While he had not felt embarrassment in purchasing it, he would were he to read it in front of her.

After the usual preflight preliminaries, which included the surely unnecessary demonstration on how to fasten the seat belt buckle, the plane took off.  Terrell found himself strongly attracted to the woman.  The only parts of her that he could examine without appearing rude were her knees and lower thighs that projected beyond her skirt.  He thought they were perfectly formed and the sight turned him on.  He felt his penis trying to respond.

He waited until the pilot announced they had reached cruising altitude, before venturing a remark to see how she reacted.  “It looked as if you almost missed the plane.”

“Yes, what with the traffic and that incredible line at security, I really thought I wouldn’t make it.”

She seemed friendly; perhaps the flight would not be so boring after all.

“Well, if you missed it you could always catch a later one.”

“Not this time.  I’ve got an appointment later today.”

“You could have called them and made it for later.”

“It’s a job interview.  Being late would go down really well!”

“I hope you don’t mind me asking, what kind of job?”

“A model.  I’m a model, and I’ve got a interview with one of the premier agencies in L. A.  I really don’t want to screw this one up.”

“I hear that’s a tough profession.  To outsiders it seems glamorous, but I hear its really hard work.”

“Yes it is.”

The conversation stalled.  Terrell hoped that she would ask him what he did, but she didn’t say anything and reached for the in flight magazine and began to leaf through it.  Terrell looked out of the window.  He could feel his penis.  If he weren’t sitting on it he was sure he would have had an erection.  The woman seemed to exude sex.  He watched her out of the corner of his eye looking for an opportunity to resume the conversation.  When she put the magazine down he asked, “Do you do crosswords?”

“No, why?”

“The crossword puzzle in my magazine is filled in.  Perhaps I could do yours?”

“Sure.”

“Here, I’ll give you my copy in exchange.”

He attempted to pull his airline magazine out of the seat back pocket but inadvertently pulled out his men’s magazine.  He hastily pushed it back down, but he saw that she had noticed.  He found himself turning red with embarrassment.  He pulled out the inflight magazine and handed it to her.  She took it without comment.

He inwardly cursed himself for his mistake, and she lay back and closed her eyes.

Drinks were served.  She ordered a bottle of wine, and he declined anything.  As she was sipping her wine, he tried to resume the conversation.  “What kind of model are you?”

“Clothes, both outerwear and underwear.  I’m a little big on top, so it’s hard to find work.  But what I really want to be is an actress.  I want to move to Hollywood.”

He felt elated.  She was offering more information about herself, and didn’t seem offended by the sight of his magazine.  “I hear that’s an even tougher profession than modeling.”

“Yes, but I’m good.  I’ve been in rep.”

“I understand you have to sleep with a lot of people in order to get a good part.”  As soon as he uttered these words, he mentally kicked himself.  He hadn’t wanted to bring up the subject of sex, but the words just slipped out.

“Don’t believe all you hear.  It’s far more important to have famous parents.”

“Was your mother an actress?”

“No, but my father was.”

Terrell didn’t ask who her father was.  It was an unwritten rule in these conversations that one avoided asking identifying questions.  This allowed the participants to talk freely without fearing any consequences.

The conversation continued and they discussed famous actors and actresses, and movies they liked.

“You seem quite fidgety,” she remarked.

“Yes,” he said, but stopped when he couldn’t think of a good explanation.  He didn’t want to tell her that his butt plug was bothering him and he was trying to find a more comfortable position.

She picked up his hand and placed it on her left breast.

“Do you like what you feel?”

“Yes, but…”  He was surprised and a little embarrassed.

“They’re all natural you know.”  She continued to press his hand into her breast.

He didn’t know what to do, but felt he ought to do something, so he squeezed her breast.

She smiled and reached over to his crotch.  He felt her touch his balls, and briefly caress them.

“Have you heard of the mile high club?” she asked.

“No,” he lied.  ‘Oh god,’ he thought, ‘This is awful, she’s going to invite me to have sex!  What can I do?’  This was something his bondage would effectively prevent.

“To be a member you have to have sex at least a mile up in an airplane.  I’ve always wanted to be a member, why don’t you join me in the toilet in a few minutes?”

“I, er…”

“I know you’re ready.  It felt like you have a really big hard on.”

What could he say?  During the conversation he had revealed he was single.  His magazine showed her that he wasn’t gay.  His bonds meant he couldn’t comply, but how could he reasonably refuse?  He hunted desperately for a plausible excuse.

“I love to, but I’ve got Aids,” he blurted out.

They sat in silence for the rest of the flight; the torment and frustration of his bondage a double agony.  It seemed by far the longest flight he had ever endured.

 

o-o-O-o-o

 

15.11.06