Let me start this one by saying I don’t do plane travel well. I get really agitated and I tend to try to hold my breath through the whole thing, which is not real easy when flying across the country.
Put me in a car to drive for days and I have no problem. But the hours I have to spend closeted close to strangers, on the plane, and the lack of privacy in an airport….it all adds up to a very unhappy Beth.
Last week I went on a short trip with my husband. Unfortunately it involved 2 planes, 6 hours total flying time with a few hours sitting in airports waiting….not my cup of tea. Add to that the fact that my husband and I have not travelled together, just the two of us, for a few years. In the meantime there have been problems and there continue to be ummmm shall we say negotiations?
Whenever I travel by plane Master makes sure I have a few things close by to help with my stress, elastics to remind me of my place with him, and to wear on my nipples, if needed. I am ashamed to admit I usually need the elastics at some point, even if it is just to wrap around my fingers tightly, they help to calm and add focus.
This last trip, since I was with my husband it was a little more difficult to use the elastics, and of course, my husband added to my stress, that is not a criticism, it is a fact of our life together at this time.
I started to try to lose myself in my mind, in my thoughts, searching for calming thoughts, which of course meant rifling through thoughts of my Master and the many things we have done together.
Oddly enough, the thought that kept coming back to me was the sensation of his jeans against my face the first time we met.
I grabbed that thought and held on tight. I thought about his hands in my hair, pulling my face snug against him with his cock in my mouth. I thought of how I felt when he said “Down” and I dropped to my knees, without even thinking. I even thought of his inspection of me, the objectification that I have spoken of before, that stirred something inside me.
As my thoughts roamed, if I got distracted and agitated, I would spiral into the memory of his jeans, rough and soft against my face. I tried to remember, were his jeans fully open? Or had he just take his cock out and fed it to me through the zipper opening?
It was like a mantra…..his jeans against my face, his jeans against my face, his jeans against my face.
Oddly enough, all that we’ve done, and talked about, it was that thought that grounded me, over and over.
Surprising sensations…..thank you Sir for being my ground.
Ps….please forgive grammar or spelling errors….I am anxious to get this published, and I am enjoying happy hour *grin*