Flying High by Rachel Kramer Bussel

Author:Rachel Kramer Bussel
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cleis Press Start
Published: 2014-03-17T04:00:00+00:00

Small as the plane was, the flight wasn’t full. Thank god. They’d be in the air just over an hour and during that time, Celia’s orders would take her to the bathroom several times. At least this way she wouldn’t end up standing on line too often.

She shifted in her seat as they taxied, enjoying the feeling of fullness, the stickiness from the lube she’d slathered on the toys, the slight discomfort that wasn’t truly discomfort.

God, she’d needed this, needed this fullness and this pleasurable torment, needed to be under Dan’s sexual command again, even indirectly.

Not that she’d had time to think much about sex during five long weeks of doing her only-child duty, helping her mother get back on her feet after a nasty car accident. She’d missed Dan every minute she was gone, missed his laugh and the safety of his arms, the comfort of knowing she was cared for and protected, the pleasure of serving him. But from the time of the first terrifying call about the accident, it was like someone had flipped her sex switch to OFF. She’d just been too worried and stressed to care.

Dan must have sensed that, because he’d held off on suggestive talk and raunchy emails and the small, naughty tasks he’d normally assign her when they had to be apart. Only in the last week, when her mom was almost herself again, though still limping, and was just waiting on the okay to drive again before sending Celia home, did her sexuality reawaken.

Somehow Dan knew before she told him, before she even really knew it herself, and started sending her emails and texts designed to keep her mind in the gutter.

Of course, being the sadistic bastard she knew and loved, he revved her up long-distance, but told her she wasn’t allowed to come until she got home.

Complying had been curiously pleasurable. It was also frustrating, of course, but this opportunity to be a slave again, to focus on his orders and his pleasure, to obey without question (or at least without too much questioning—she was only human and damn it, sometimes a woman just wanted an orgasm or six!) was a relief after weeks of taking charge in a messy, nerve-straining situation, of dealing with a tangle of doctors and insurance providers and a wheelchair-bound mother who was addled on painkillers half the time and miserably cranky with pain the other half.

When she begged for permission to come, he made it clear that he had a purpose. “You need to remember what it feels like to obey,” he’d said. “I’ve had to back off and let you do what you needed to do, and it’s good to know you can still be that take-charge woman when you have to be. But at home, you have to be able to yield to my will, and this will help you ease back into it. Best I can do long-distance without making your mom wonder why you’re calling me to ask what’s for dinner.

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