Airport Ch. 2

HUH?

Hand or paddle?? As sinister as it sounds, as scared as I am, intrigued is the best word to use here. All my life, I have been a “good girl”. Been there, done that, crossed-stitched and hand-painted the t-shirts…way too many of them, as a matter of fact.

My heart is pounding and I glance down to see if it’s visibly thumping through my dress, like a Scooby-Doo cartoon. God I HAVE been a mom too long, not that there’s anything wrong with that. Motherhood is unparalleled, indescribable, rewarding, exquisite, but it has it’s place, and this is not it. This is MY time, OUR time.

Paddle or hand, hand or paddle…it becomes almost a mantra. I can’t seem to think clearly, my mind is racing, my blood is churning. I’m on my way to a SEX STORE with a virtual stranger. Ok, so now we know each other in the biblical sense, we fucked, and WHAT A FUCK IT WAS! Someone should have filmed that…put it on primetime…WHO WANTS THE FUCK OF A LIFETIME? Or…WHO WANTS TO BE A FUCKINAIRE? Could I coin that phrase? Er…do I really want to?

O God, I can see the sign for the store. What if when I get up there’s a wet spot on the seat? What if Jon sees it, too? The sign for the store is on, glowing hot pink, orange and lime green. Damn neon signs. I mean, they’re neat looking, and they draw attention and all, but why does a sex store have to have them? And why does it have to be on now? It’s BROAD DAYLIGHT! What if this were my town and all my friends and neighbors happened to drive by seeing my car? What if my SON drove by? Don’t these people KNOW that I’m about to embark on my first D/s encounter, and that we’re here to…to…what ARE we here for anyway? What’s he going to get?

Omigod. Omigod.

He pulls into the parking lot and parks right in front, shifts the car into park and turns to me. “You ok?” “Sureeeeee.” I answer, a little too loudly, a little too quickly, considering my body is as tense and tight as a nun in church. I’m attempting to appear casual and confident and he must see something to the contrary, because there he goes again chuckling. My pasted-on smile wobbles a bit and he reaches over to touch my cheek. Please, God, don’t let it twitch. Shit! It’s twitching, I can feel it. Sonofabitch.

He removes the keys, opens his door and gets out. Maybe if I just sit here quietly, he’ll go in alone. Maybe he’ll forget I’m here. I sit perfectly still, safely hidden by my tinted windows, and I blur my eyes a bit causing all the neon and all the storefront to swirl magically deliciously in my vision. That would look cool on a t-shirt, all that mixed-up color. It’d be like the seventies again, like that one time whatshisname talked me and my friend into trying mescaline. That was fun…weird as hell, but fun. I blur my eyes a bit more and remember sitting in whatshisnames apartment, with my best friend, Linda, and a few other people, sipping on Schlitz Malt Liquor. Black lights, strobe lights, love beads hanging all over the place…God that was a good time. My face hurt so bad the next day from laughing…

I blink as sunlight pours in from my right side, rudely interrupting my thoughts, rudely bringing me back to the present…Dammit.

A soft but insistent voice…”Come on.”

My head swings from the storefront to him, from him to the storefront, and back again. My eyes scan the parking lot. Several cars are there, ranging from a brand new BMW 7 Series to a twenty-five year old Plymouth. OOh, I LIKE that black BMW…

“Kitten.” A hand reaches in and gently grasps my arm, pulling a little, so I swing my leg out and…Goddammit! Those fucking snaps pop open again all the way to my crotch and he gets a beaver shot to end all beaver shots. Extra added attraction, get your beaver shots here! Not one word is spoken and I don’t even look at him, I simply swing my other leg out and stand, smoothing my wrinkled dress, bending to re-snap the dreaded snaps. You dummy, I think! I should have gotten one size up, or at least sat down in the damn thing before I bought it. I had been so pleased with the way it hugged my figure when I was trying it on, I never even thought to sit in it first.

“NO.”

“Ah…what?”

I glance up at him from my bent over position, my hands frantically trying to line up the snaps while maintaing eye contact with him.

His hand tightens on my arm a bit. “NO, leave them alone.”

Blink. Blink. “Uh..uh….ok.”

I straighten, slowly back up a couple of steps forcing him to release my arm, and walk back towards him, looking down at the open slit on the front of my dress assessing what exactly would be visible if i did leave them unsnapped. Shit! Light reddish pubic hair peeps out with each step. What the fuck is the matter with him? Does he really think I’m going to enter that store with my pussy in plain sight? IDON’TTHINKSO.

He grins at me, turns and walks toward the entrance, leaving me to follow. I stare at his back for a moment, torn between anger at his blantant lack of manners and the dawning realization of the fact that I can snap the top snap real quick before he turns around. Modesty prevails and I stumble after him, walking in a sort of bent over duck walk, feeling for the right snaps, praying to God they’re lined up correctly. Good! Got the top one! Let’s go for another…and he stops and turns just as I straighten up, trying to look innocent. “I’m coming…”

Evil laugh out loud (ELOL-See? Free little AOL lesson included with every chapter!) erupts from those sexy lips.

I sweep through the door he’s holding open for me, head held high, determined to appear self-assured, and stop dead in my tracks, causing him to bump into my back. My eyes open wide, taking in the racks and racks of sex toys on counters and covering the walls. Dildoes, vibrators (perk), cuffs, floggers, whips, clothing, books, videos, lotions…what is that contraption hanging from the ceiling? Is..is that one of those swings my friend Casey was talking about? Omigod.

Patience seemingly wearing thin, Jon steps around me, walking towards a wall bearing all sizes and shapes of paddles. I follow. He reaches for a beautiful one the size of a han-held mirror, picks it up, closely examining the smoothness and hue of the purple heart wood, hefting it, judging the feel of it. “This one will never do, the carving on the handle is uncomfortable.” Now a deep hearty laugh erupts from his belly. “I can see right now that after using it for a little while, my hand would get sore. Can’t have that, can we?” Chuckle. I do my best to ignore him as I haughtily turn my head and scan the store, trying to absorb the sight of all the goodies at once.

He reaches for a different one. “Ooh! This one feels good. Bend over.”

“HUH? HERE? NOW?” My wandering eyes fly to his, then to the light oak paddle in his right hand. About eight or ten inches long and four or five inches wide, it rests in his half-raised hand.

“UH HUH.”

My eyes narrow. “You’re joking, right?”

“No. Bend over.”

All the long months of yearning for this, wanting it, NEEDING it, come flooding back to me, apparently anchoring right in the center of my pussy because it begins to twitch and drip; so torn am I between wanting to please him, to please myself, and wanting to turn tail and escape from this madness, that it’s all I can do not to run away.

It never occurs to me to use my safeword, the word we had agreed upon during one of our last telephone conversations. I look around, trying to see where the other four or five customers are and what they’re doing.

His voice grows softer, causing me to listen harder. “Bend over.” Exaggerated patience drips from his words.

Fuck it. I bend over presenting my denim covered ass to him, my hands propped on my knees.

“Lift your dress.”

“Mercy.” Didn’t have any trouble remembering that time, the word popped out of my mouth like hot popcorn at the theatre.

Another of those damn chuckles.

WHACK!

GASP!

WHACK!

OOO…I LIKE this. My pussy agrees by producing a trickle of wetness that slides down my inner thigh.

Silence. Nothing. Is he done? My head turns back toward him. He has his back to me, examining other paddles. Feeling like a fool, I straighten and casually stroll down the aisle away from him, my hands curled into fists at my side, coming to grips with this new exciting feeling coursing through my body. This is good. This is real good. This is fucking EROTIC AS HELL! I stop to look at something, or pretend to look at something; I’m not really seeing what’s in front of me because I’m busy trying to quell the shivering that has suddenly come over me. God! Is this what the southern women call the vapors? That was awesome! I couldn’t wait to get to the room. My body wins the war between raging hormones and a sedate upbringing, and abruptly I turn and walk rapidly back to him, standing next to him waiting for him to speak to me, like a puppy waiting for a damn treat.

Ignoring me, he looks over the rest of the paddles and seems to decide on the one he had whacked me with earlier…GOOD!…then he slowly turns to me. “Did you bring Stanley?”

Stanley was my vibrator, and yes, I had named him.

“Y…yes…”

“Batteries?”

I didn’t trust my voice at that point so I nodded.

“Is there anything you’d like to look at?”

Yes. Only EVERYTHING!

“Unt uh.” I shake my head no.

“Are you satisfied with this paddle?” How can he be so matter-of-fact about this when I’m standing here shaking like this????

Can’t he SEE?

He saw. He gazed at her with heavy lidded eyes, reading her like a recipe for Brandy Alexander Pie.

Brushing past me, moving toward the check-out counter he stops suddenly almost causing me to bump into him this time. My eyes follow his and I

see that he’s looking at wrist and ankle cuffs. “We don’t need these, I have some in my suitcase.” He smiles evilly at me.

Ohmigod.

The guy at the counter actually alarms me. His name tag reads “Eddie”, and he sports longish coal black hair parted in the middle that hangs below his ears to his collar. His fingernails appear to be at least two inches long and are filthy. But it isn’t his appearance that bothers me, rather, it’s the vibes I feel as he smiles at me with his inky eyes. His karma. The only words I can find to describe him is “freaking icky”.