Date: Fri, 2 May 2008 23:35:15 +0000 (GMT)
From: Williams Sylvie <sylvie7557@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: The flight

There it was in my inbox, the summons:

"You are to join me in the States for two weeks. Make your excuses to your
friends and family. Be convincing. A friend from school is ill, something
like that. Be creative.

"When you get to the departure lounge at the airport, go into the Ladies
Room.  Change into what's in your carry-on. You can wear a coat and
heels...stockings and garter belt if you want...but both your cunt and your
tits must be uncovered."

No signature, no discussion, just a command. From someone I had never met.
Yes, we had chatted online, spoken on the telephone, seen each other on
webcam, but never in person. And from someone I had learned to address
simply as Lady.

At first I freaked.  I wanted to go and dared not disappoint You, but how I
could explain this sudden departure to family and work? Whatever excuse I
used had to be one that couldn't be discovered to be false later. Work was
not a problem, but family was different: dead or ill friends and relatives
couldn't be trusted not to phone while I was away.

Then I remembered my ex-neighbour and lover Jean. She would no doubt help
with an alibi. I phoned, we talked over old times, and I began to wish she
was not so far away these days. Then I put the proposal to her: she had won
a trip for two to the States and her husband could not get time off at the
last minute, so she invited me to go in his place. Having gained her
consent, it was relatively easy to take some overdue time off work. Leaning
on my ex to take the kids was harder, but eventually he agreed to both do
that and give me a lift to the airport.

The day of the flight was forecast to be hot. "Oh s__t" I thought to
myself, how could I wear a coat in this weather?  And You were quite
specific. A jacket would cover my top, but would it be long enough to get
me onto the plane?  If not, would wearing a skirt with the jacket qualify
as having my cunt uncovered? Probably not. Then I remembered my long red
dress with buttons all down the front.  If I buttoned it up as if it were a
coat, it would be just as revealing. Probably more so, as the material was
flimsier.

So I showered, applied plenty of deodorant, and paid particular attention
to my pussy so that any smell would be minimised.  Then I put on an old bra
and panties (if they were to travel crushed up in my hand luggage I wasn't
going to wear my nicest), my dress, fully buttoned up, and the 3 inch
heels, the shortest You allow me to wear. In my hand luggage I placed a
pair of tan stockings and a lacy black suspender belt. The coat I put in my
suitcase.

The drive to Gatwick seemed to take forever. As a clever touch, I got Jean
to ring me on my mobile to say she had checked in early and would see me in
the departure lounge. I tried to relax, but my ex still commented that I
seemed preoccupied and tense. I blamed it on everything other than the
truth: the thought of near exposure in the airport and on the flight, and,
above all, what You might have planned for me for the next two weeks.

Check-in was uneventful, but I wished I had worn the stockings and sussies
instead of seeing them go through the security scanner in my hand
luggage. Going straight to the Ladies, I stripped off. As I tried to fasten
the stockings, my hands shook so much it seemed I would never
finish. Eventually I succeeded and put on my dress. I fastened the button
over my breasts, one over my tummy, then one just below the crotch, and
finally one mid thigh. I then realised the flaw with my plan: unlike a coat
it was obvious that I had missed fastening up the dress, and so any
"flashing" would be seen to be deliberate and obvious. I hurriedly fastened
the other ones between tits and thighs, hoping You would forgive me. In
compensation I unfastened another top button, revealing more of my
cleavage.

I left the cubicle and looked at myself in the mirror.  My cheeks were
flushed and my nipples bulged against the thin cotton of my dress.  I
twirled quickly, seeing my dress open to mid thigh, revealing stocking tops
and a glimpse of suspender. Taking a deep breath to calm my nerves, I left
the toilet and walked to the departure lounge. I took a seat in a quiet
corner and tried to compose myself. I sat very still, trying to keep as
much of my legs covered as possible. I felt very vulnerable but also
excited, and to my alarm I started to perspire. I could feel the dress
sticking to my back and bottom, and worse, I could feel a stickiness
between my thighs.

It didn't help my state of mind when the seats around me began to fill
up. I saw several men taking quick but clearly interested glances in my
direction. I tried to ignore them, but I was too aware of how small a
movement would expose my titties and cunt to them. My nipples began to
harden and the heat from my pussy grew. I tried to relax, but crossing my
legs only made it worse and I quickly had to rearrange the dress to cover
myself. It was definitely not just sweat between my legs- this measured
about 6 out of 10 on the wetness scale, and only my nervousness kept it
that low.  I was glad of the air-conditioning.  I felt sure my pussy smelt
aroused, but the aroma didn't reach me and fortunately there was no one in
the next seat.

Then to my dismay, I realised I couldn't see the departure board from where
I sat. Would I have to leave my seat several times to find out when we were
to be called to the gate? If so, what sort of sight would I be? I decided
to stay where I was until 30 minutes before the flight, and hope that I
could go straight to the boarding gate.

The wait seemed endless and I wondered again what power You had over me, to
put me in this predicament. How, from the very first unsolicited email You
sent me, I felt compelled to respond, to open myself as I have not done for
any woman before. My feelings a mixture of excitement and apprehension
every time I opened up Your email or saw You were online.

I got up from my seat, pulling the back of my dress to ensure it did not
stick to my cheeks. "Board at Gate 33," said the sign. I walked through the
doors and onto the travelator, my bag clutched in front of me to prevent my
skirt opening wide. Even whilst standing on the travelator I could feel the
breeze ruffling my hem. Every 50 yards or so I had to step off and walk
gingerly to the next section.

Eventually I arrived at the gate. We were not yet boarding, and I stayed
standing at the back of the room as there were few vacant seats and none
that were a comfortable distance from an occupied one. After an endless few
minutes, the stewardess announced that we were to commence boarding,
starting with rows 28-40. My ticket was for row 35. I decided to wait until
everyone was in the queue before joining it, to avoid close contact with
anyone. However, my plan was ruined as the stewardess called up more rows
whilst I was still in the queue. I felt very vulnerable as people shuffled
around and occasionally bumped into me, but somehow managed to keep my
composure and my modesty.

Walking up the gangway, I was very grateful that we did not have to board
via a bus and steps to the plane. The stewardess gave me a lovely smile as
well as a hello. Did her glance linger on me a touch more than was usual?
Whether it was her smile or the cool of the plane's air-conditioning, I
felt my nipples harden and I fought not to blush.

Taking my seat was awful. I kept being bumped by people sorting their
luggage, or by the guy behind whenever I stopped in the crowded aisle. I
kept dreading that my skirt would get caught and reveal everything. Then I
had to stretch to put my bag into the locker, which is difficult to do with
one hand clutching a handbag to your crutch for safety! And when I took my
seat, I realised I had left my book in the bag in the locker. Was I going
to go through all that again or face seven hours with nothing to do? I
decided to at least wait for a while.

Besides which, I was a little bit stuck in my seat.  I was seated between a
6'3" man who was struggling to fit in his seat and an amply built lady in
full chador. I felt them both pressing into my thighs and felt almost naked
in my thin dress.

I tried to read the in-flight magazine to take my mind off my situation,
but half an hour after take off I had finished. Holding the magazine on my
lap, I became very aware of everything around. The smell of the Islamic
lady's perfume started thoughts of harems and perfumed gardens and I
wondered what she was like under those voluminous clothes. I looked at her,
but her eyes seemed impassive and aloof. Did she notice my relative
nakedness? Was she offended or jealous? What did the harem women do when
alone amongst themselves? Certainly I would be aroused by the close
proximity of so much female flesh. Was she also lesbian or bisexual?

I closed my eyes and my thoughts filled with harem girls, myself in their
midst, lounging on couches, idly caressing one another.

Just as I felt some arousal and heat in my pussy, the stewardesses started
to serve lunch. Putting the magazine back in the seat pocket, I lowered the
tray from the seat in front of me.  I passed the first plastic tray to the
chador-clad lady, who nodded her acceptance but said nothing, and then I
took mine from the stewardess. At the best of times airline food is bland,
but with my senses all centred round my near nakedness, I can't say I
tasted anything at all.

After the meal, the Islamic woman indicated to me that she wished to leave
her seat. I had feared this, and found my fears justified.  We manoeuvred
out of the seats, and I tried not to let my dress open to crutch level, nor
disappear up the cleft of my bum.

I realised as I stood in the aisle that I would have to go through this
performance again if I needed to go before the end of the flight, so I
indicated to my neighbour that he should sit down again and I followed the
woman to the front of the plane, hoping that a toilet would still be free
when I got there.

This was a vain hope of course, and I stood in the space between the
toilets and the galley, once again trying to look as inconspicuous as
possible.

This hope too was extinguished as the stewardesses made their way past me
with empty food trolleys, jugs of tea and coffee and all the other
paraphernalia of in-flight service. Every time they squeezed past I felt
sure my lack of underwear was obvious.

To my relief, in more ways than one, a toilet became vacant and I dashed
inside. I looked at myself in the mirror, and the sight didn't help my
composure. My stocking tops were visible through the front of my skirt, the
lack of a bra was obvious, and my face was flushed.

Perhaps I could stay in here for the rest of the flight, I thought, and not
have to face the journey back down the aisle. But realising this could not
be the case, I did my best to settle myself and arrange my dress before
returning to the seat.

Rather fortunately the Islamic woman was just in front of me and I took
refuge behind her much larger frame as we walked back to our seats.

When we settled down again, I found my dress trapped by the chador and it
pulled open to reveal a stocking top and possibly more to the guy on my
right. I froze, worried that if I tried to pull the dress free, the act
itself would reveal my lack of panties. I glanced at him and saw him
looking at my lap out of the corner of his eye, whilst pretending to read
his book. Was it my imagination, or was he pressing his thigh harder
against mine? I pulled the tray down again from the seat back to block his
view. The pressure relaxed, or I imagined it to, and I relaxed also.

I must have relaxed too much because I found myself dreaming, or
daydreaming, that my neighbours each had a hand on one of my thighs and
were stroking them all the way from my knees to the bare skin above my
stocking tops. As I came out of it, I could smell my pussy odour and feel a
wetness between my legs. I wondered what would have happened if I had cum
while dozing! I was certainly not far off, perhaps 8 on the scale. I
glanced at both neighbours, but they seemed not to be aware of me. I closed
my eyes and tried to think of the kids, work, and anything else un-erotic
to calm me down and keep me out of trouble.

At last the flight ended. Helpfully, my "pressing" neighbour took my hand
luggage from the locker, saving me at least one further embarrassment.  I
still felt uncomfortable with the close proximity of my fellow passengers
as we made our way to immigration. I took out Your picture, so that I could
recognise You, fearful that You might not spot me in a dress instead of the
coat as instructed.

With my mind both on You and on the state of my dress, I was not paying
much attention to what was going on around me. Suddenly I felt a hand grip
my elbow and a female voice roughly rasped, "Come with me."

I turned my head to see that it was an immigration officer. She was rather
butch looking: short dark hair, stocky, almost flat-chested with muscular
legs, and I realised as she led me to an office at the side of the hall,
she had fairly muscular arms too.

Inside there was a female immigration officer sitting behind a desk with a
male officer standing to the side. In contrast to the officer still holding
my arm, the female behind the desk was a rather attractive woman in her
early 30's, with light brown/blonde shoulder length hair and a full but
firm figure. The man was fiftyish, balding, and paunchy. They both looked
at me impassively and said nothing.

"Empty your bags on the desk," my captor ordered. I felt myself flush from
head to toe as, after emptying my handbag with its makeup, keys, documents,
and usual kitchen sink contents, I pulled out my bra and panties from my
carryon bag. It was obvious that this was not spare underwear, as any
glance at my scantily clad body would confirm.

After I emptied the bag, the attractive female lifted my bra and panties
and moved them away from the rest of my things. I tried to avoid looking at
any of them, as the male officer checked through my documents and inspected
my bags to ensure they were empty.

"You better search her now," he barked.

"Arms out," said my captor, releasing my elbow and pulling my arm up to
indicate what she meant. As I did so, I felt the dress rise up a little and
open over my thighs.  Worse, as it stretched open, my entire cleavage was
visible, making it obvious that the bra on the desk was not simply for a
change of clothing. The butch officer began to frisk me, at first in the
way I had seen done on TV, but then the hands began to roam over my tits in
a much less professional manner. To my horror, my nipples responded to her
grasp.

"I can't find anything here, at least nothing very much," she said, cupping
my small breasts with her hands.

"Well, search her properly then," he replied.

"Take your dress off please, Madam," the butch requested.

"Sorry?" I muttered, not believing what I was hearing.

"Take your dress off, Madam," she repeated. This time an order, not a
request.

"But please, not in front of him," I protested, my mind whirling. Why on
earth was I in this office? What were they looking for? Was the Muslim
woman involved in terrorism and I got caught up in it by being next to her?
How would they react when they found I had no underwear? Is that illegal in
the States? Perhaps in the South but surely not in California.

"Its OK," said the attractive officer in a pleasant, soothing voice,
cutting across my thoughts. "He has been through this many times. He just
needs to make sure that we are thorough."

Trembling, feeling dreadfully embarrassed and nervous, I fumbled with my
buttons until finally they were all undone. I held my dress together to
hide my body, hoping they would relent, but no.

"Remove it from her, Officer Wilson!" the woman in front of me ordered, and
a rough hand seized my collar and swiftly pulled the dress off me, leaving
me in just stockings, suspenders and heels like some out of place porn
star.

"Spread your legs," Officer Wilson commanded. "Now bend over, hands and
head on the desk,"

I dared not do anything other than I was ordered. As I bent over, I
realised that putting my head as well as my hands on the desk forced me to
expose my butt and pussy much more than if I simply put my hands on it. I
put my forehead on the desk and closed my eyes, trying to block out what
was happening to me. For what seemed an eternity, I could hear no sound or
sense any movement. Slowly my mind calmed down into a state of calmness or
resignation, I am not sure which.

Suddenly my hair was grabbed from behind and Officer Wilson said, "Look at
Officer Young!" I opened my eyes and looked into those of the pretty
officer sitting less than two feet away from me. She opened a drawer in the
desk, pulled out a box of latex gloves and passed a pair to the butch
officer.

I could hear the rustle of the latex as Officer Wilson put the gloves on. I
clenched my bottom, an instinctive reaction to the assault I feared was
coming. I looked at Officer Young for reassurance but she sat
impassively. I tried not to think of the male officer and what he might be
doing or seeing.

A few seconds later, I felt a latex clad finger sliding along my pussy
lips. Despite my predicament it felt good and I closed my eyes and murmured
something beneath my breath.

"Open," I was ordered by the Officer Young. Assuming she meant my eyes, I
opened them and looked into hers.  However, the other female officer seemed
to take another interpretation of this and she poked a finger straight into
my pussy. I jerked forward and Officer Young leant forward and held my head
between her hands, her eyes now only a few inches from mine.

Another finger was inserted, and then a third. "God," I thought to myself,
"I must be soaking, despite my distress and humiliation, for her fingers to
have gone in so easily." As I stared into the other officer's now smiling
eyes, I felt my arousal intensify. The fingers worked back and forward, and
then another, from another hand perhaps, worked its way into my little
hole.

"No, no, no," I thought, "I cannot cum like this," trying to fight back my
feelings. But the more I fought, the more my being seemed to be
concentrated in my pussy and ass. The fingers pistoned back and forth in my
pussy, the one in my arse was twisted round and round, and all the time I
had Officer Young's lovely blue eyes penetrating mine. I was on the point
of giving in and letting myself cum when the fingers were suddenly
withdrawn and Officer Wilson said, "She's clean."

"No she's not.  She's a dirty bitch," said a male voice.

I wanted to drop through the floor with embarrassment. I had forgotten all
about the male officer. I was probably already flushed from the near
orgasm, but I still felt myself blush from head to toe.

"Don't pay attention to him," said a soothing voice from across the
desk. "Just get dressed and you can be on your way"

"But I am keeping these," said Officer Wilson, picking up my bra and
panties.

I got dressed.  That is, I put on my dress and fastened it as I had before,
looking down at the floor and trying to avoid looking at anyone.  Then I
put back all the contents of my handbag.

Officer Wilson led me out of the office, reunited me with my suitcase, and
directed me to the terminal exit.

It was there that I saw You waiting, looking even more beautiful than in
Your pictures or on Your webcam. Overjoyed and excited, a big smile on my
face, I rushed over to You, expecting to be embraced.

"You are late," You said.

I could feel the smile evaporate from my face. "I got searched by
Immigration," I said, blushing.

"Ah, so you have met my friends, Sue and Janice. Did they have a man with
them?"

"Sorry?" I muttered, confused.

"Sue and Janice, the Immigration officers.  Was there a male officer with
them?"

I nodded, my blush deepening.

"Well from now on, Sylvie, if you want to avoid that kind of humiliation,
you will follow my instructions to the letter."

I cast my eyes downwards, ashamed and angry at the same time. All I had
been through for the last 10 hours and it wasn't good enough.

"When I say `a coat,' I mean a coat." You continued, "Do not interpret my
commands."

"Now follow me."

I trotted behind as You strode off into a multi-storey car park, the only
sound in the dimly lit interior being my heels clattering on the concrete
floor. I was no longer so conscious of my near nakedness, even though the
act of pulling my suitcase whilst holding my carryon in the other hand must
have been pulling my dress apart as far as the buttons would allow. No,
rather my thoughts were in turmoil. "How could She treat me this way?
... Surely I did not deserve this .... Should I just turn round and go back
to my family? ... Why am I just meekly following and not saying anything?"

These thoughts were interrupted as You stopped beside a car and turned to
face me.

"Open your suitcase."

I knelt down and did as instructed, the lid opening to reveal my coat.

"Stand up, take off your dress and put on the coat."

"No, please, not here," I objected.

"Just do it, girl, and don't look around when you do so.  Just look at me."

Just as always, I was unable to resist Your commands, even though part of
me screamed out to disobey.

As quickly as possible, I took off my dress and bent down to pick up my
coat.  Half of me trusted that You would not make me do this if there was
anyone in sight and half feared that there was, and this was Your idea of
punishment.

For the first time I was naked in Your presence, but these were not the
circumstances I had dreamed of. None of the slow seductive revealing in the
privacy of Your home, just this public shame. I quickly covered myself up
with the coat.

"Do not button it up," You commanded, opening the car boot and indicating I
should put the suitcase there. As I did so, I was aware that the unfastened
coat did little more than cover my back. My cunt and tits were, as
instructed in the email, uncovered.

"Now get in the car."

This time I followed without question, anxious to be in some sort of
privacy.  Even so, as I sat in the passenger seat, the coat left my pussy
fully revealed and did less than the seat belt to cover my titties.

"Had you done as I instructed, you would have spent a very pleasant
interlude with Sue and Janice. They even had my permission to allow you to
climax."

I gave an involuntary moan of frustration, at which You leaned over and
whispered, "You are still my horny little Sylvie." For the first time, I
felt Your touch as Your lips caressed mine.

My spirits soared as I drank in Your perfume and tasted Your lips, but all
too soon You stopped and looked closely into my eyes.

"Also, had you been obedient you would not be facing a journey through the
city half naked. If you continue to disobey me, Sylvie, you will find the
next two weeks very, very testing."


Copyright S Williams 2008 with thanks to Lady S for the plot and the
summons, LLorelei for her wonderful editing skills, and Sheila Smith for
telling me this was good enough to publish.