This short story is an entry in the 2001 Soc.Sexuality.Spanking Summer Short Story Contest and is copyright by the author and commercial use is prohibited without permission. Personal/private copies are permitted only if complete including the copyright notice. The author would appreciate your comments
Category: Beginning
Flight of Fancy
By
Darvell349 <Darvell349@aol.com>
'Most people hate airport lounges; I find them bursting with possibility.'
Especially when I fly transatlantic. These people will be my companions for the next eight hours or so. I'll spot someone who looks interesting and hope they'll be seated somewhere close by. Not so we can talk-- I'm too shy to approach strangers-- but so I can watch them and let my imagination run.
This time it's a flight attendant: a trim woman with pale skin and long, dark hair. Under the blue uniform her breasts look large and soft, but she's too demure to flaunt them.
They call my name; my upgrade to Business Class has gone through. Wonderful! Even better, my raven-haired attendant is working that cabin, handing out headphones and drinks. Her name-tag reads "Sophie."
For the first time, I'm on a plane with the new seats that turn into beds. Will I be able to sleep? I usually can't, on planes.
I drink white wine and eat sole bonne femme. Sophie makes her way through the cabin, leaning over to pour coffee with a lovely, lithe movement at the waist. I admire her polite, self-possessed manner.
The movie comes to an end; people start turning lights off. I'll try to rest...
"Jesus!" I jerk awake. Has anyone noticed that I started masturbating without realizing it, rubbing one of the airline pillows against my crotch? Or did I dream it? No; a furtive check with one finger inserted past the elastic of my panties reveals molten wetness. But no one seems to have noticed.
I fall asleep again.
"Miss Darvell?" I swim back to consciousness. I was dreaming a punishment scene-- me and my ex, Michael-- and my mind tries to incorporate Sophie's voice into my dream. She's telling me to move over so she can take her turn being flogged with Michael's fearsome brine-soaked birch.
Except that now she's not. She's standing in the aisle. She's removed her uniform jacket, revealing a starched white blouse. I notice something in her hand: a hairbrush?
"Miss Darvell," she says. "Are you aware you've been engaging in lewd acts and making obscene noises?'
"I was asleep," I say weakly.
"Never mind. Roll over. As chief officer in this cabin, I have the authority to punish you."
I'm transported back to nursery days. As then, I turn my bottom up quickly, hoping by a show of obedience to avoid the worst of it.
It doesn't work with Sophie. She pulls down the blanket, turns up my light cotton skirt. A rapid series of whacks which I imagine must wake up people in the far back of Coach class. Then I'm covered up again, lying on my tummy. I daren't look around at the other passengers.
No question of sleeping now, with this hot, throbbing bottom. Six hours and four stealthy orgasms later, I disembark at Heathrow. A few people seem to snigger at me as I race through Customs.
If that's Business class, I wonder what First is like.
Note to self: keep track of frequent-flyer miles.
The End
© Copyright Summer, 2001
Reviews
Alex Birch <alexbirch(at)blueyonder(dot)co(dot)uk>
This was a nice little semi documentary piece with the author showing a fine line in creative imagination. I have often wondered what other people get up to in the darkness of their window seats and now I know what Naomi does anyway!! Very nice.
Julie Moon <Msmusic4(at)won(dot)com>
Interesting Topic, The idea was good but the fantasy was a bit abrupt. A good original idea that needs some development.