ICE: Integrity, Chastity, Organization – Part I

Woman Kills Her Husband By Squeezing His Balls For 5 Minutes Non ...

“ICE”, she says, his eyes glazed over. “Integrity, Confidentiality, Efficiency; this is your mantra.”

Alison, a good eight years inferior to him got off on playing his superior. She may as well have pulled down his trousers and began there, at least he could have understood her reasoning from that standpoint. At barely four inches he already knew he was disappointing, a C- in the penis game.

“What we can do is set up a spreadsheet so we can check off your progress as the weeks progress?, If you know ICE, your job will be super easy.” He could almost hear her vagina purring at the glory of her condescension, which was always accompanied with a semi-assured smile.

Alison took pity on him but at the same time reveled in his weakness, and his very real statusless-ness, and so the days went. She treated him as the worthless dog he clearly was whilst he got himself off at night on the ball-crushing pleasure of her disdain; a chocolate coated match made in heaven. So side by side, plugging away data for a local adult learning centre. They were taught to be grateful, they got to wear smart-casual and spend three-minutes brewing tea in the staff kitchen of their own accord on staff time.

Max had become proficient in the art of humoring. Humoring his work companions, the tepid office conversation and most notably, humoring his own reason for being. His parents, hardworking Syrians, came to England in the mid-nineties in search of a better life for their spawn. How could they have known that their little darling’s existence could be likened to a communal teabag, limp.

But then there was Brianna, magnificent Brianna. She was at least two tiers above him in the pay scale but seemed to walk about the office as if she had just been released on bail for petty theft. Scatty, with dishevelled brown hair, and blotty black makeup, she was the highlight of his day. She maintained her role as the office wildcat, undermining the status quo, yet somehow presenting herself as an indispensable member of the team, flipping the coin as she pleased.

There were rumors of how she had managed to maintain her position. Some of which plausible, given what he had seen thus far, the rest, as far fetched as they were delicious. Word of tying managers to office chairs, naughty photos acquired on dodgy staff-dos and locking HR staff in cupboards overnight. He questioned none of them. In fact, quite the opposite. The one time Brianna came to talk about a jam in the fourth-floor printer, she had leaned casually over his desk. Max had caught a glimpse of her black bra cupping her voluminous cleavage under her blouse. This led him to spend almost his entire lunch break, shamefully indulging rumors about her in the handicapped bathroom. Definitely part of the ‘C’ for Confidentiality in his I.C.E. practice.

Whatever the root of her finesse, Max was in awe. The office drained much of Max’s will to endure, but the straight-to-the-vein dose of Brianna could last until at least lunchtime. He pondered what their future could look like, should she give him the time of day. He wasn’t completely out of her league physically. A bit gangly, all knees and elbows, but he was tall, with a sculpted nose and strong brow. However, his height and lack of natural masculine dominance caused him to slouch horribly.

“Oh I don’t think of you like that, we’re just friends,” Max didn’t know what it was about himself that made this rejection so commonplace. That phase in particular, combined with his small cock and limited sexual experience, had simply eroded his confidence throughout the years. Now he awaited the day that he could shuffle out of doors backwards with his head down as common practice; he would have made a great oversized Geisha, he mused. Barely noticed, yet always servient.

On one particularly drab day, Max found himself unaccompanied by Admin Alison for a few hours, and took the liberty to enjoy his free moment in front of the database. He picked at a few jobs here and there, a few gratuitous clicks of the mouse every couple of seconds, (how can we make ICE part of his ICE-ing only when really necessary. Until suddenly, he found himself in front of an empty draft email. A few weeks ago, after his bathroom embarrassment, he had found Brianna through the global directory and wanted to see what her office photo looked like. She was well poised and wore her hair in a high ponytail. He had almost stayed after hours to print it out, but didn’t muster the courage. Now he kept it covered behind his work tabs, sneaking a quick fix when his mind wandered and he couldn’t resist.

A recognizable voice shook him cold from his reverie.

“Hey…”

It was Brianna’s unmistakable rasp…

[Follow on here for part II – https://stinkies.blog/2020/04/15/ice-integrity-chastity-organization-part-ii/ ]

The hard road to Xativa – Part IV

Mujer joven en cama imagen de archivo. Imagen de molestia - 80048339

Find all previous chapters to this story here —>

Part I: https://stinkies.blog/2020/04/01/the-hard-road-to-xativa/

Part II: https://stinkies.blog/2020/04/02/the-hard-road-to-xativa-part-ii/ 

Part III: https://stinkies.blog/2020/04/05/the-hard-road-to-xativa-part-iii/

Joel dropped the appendages of all three men at once. He wiped his face with the back of his hand and jumped to his feet. It was instinct, to conserve his masculinity in the face of the woman he really wanted. A caustic mix of shame, emasculation and the sense of being caught-out made him panic; but he stayed mute.

Mim leisurely walked towards the four of them with a gliding motion that didn’t typically belong to her. She was slower, more theatrical than her typical business ‘charge’; she was playing the game.

She looked Joel up and down, and circled him, as if examining an item for auction. A veritable meat market for helpless husbands finding themselves in ever more enduring sex scenarios. She caught his eye with a mischievous smirk, she was enjoying this, dare he say, aroused by this game. She loved power, she loved that he gave her power, he loved being overpowered. He felt his extremities warm and his sense of a playtime heightened. It seemed he was into this game after all.

“I think it’s time we get him fucked, don’t you?” Mim suggested, “I’ll be in 149 when you are done with him”

She turned on her heel and was out the room in seconds. The four men, all stood up, eyed each other, agreeing non-verbally who was to get this started. Joel, surprising himself more than any one, took place upon the bed. He was feeling confident now. He laid back on the bed, looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath, this was his time to play the role of passive.

The unnamed assailant was first to jump at the opportunity. He whipped off his remaining swatches of clothing and before long had his hands behind the thighs of Joel, pressing his knees up toward his face. Joel put all thoughts of apprehension from his mind, he too was ready to feel something new and exciting.

The pressure of this man’s dick against his entrance made him gasp. There was something about submitting to someone that drew all sensation back to the brain. His arms and legs weakened and his eyes began pleading into the face of the penetrator. He pushed himself in and Joel drew in air. His back arched as he bundled his face into the pillows. It was an unexpected sensation, a full empathy of all those nights with the various noises and grunts of Mim, suddenly in complete understanding of it all. The fine line of pleasure.

The man started pumping himself in and out of Joel in thrusting motions, building speed steadily. The other men seemed to derive pleasure from watching Joel be dominated. They too mounted the bed, taking both flanking sides of Joel, rubbing themselves to their own private show.

Moustache, interjected on the fucking and took his place below Joel. Pushing himself in confidently and taking a vigorous approach to the penetration. Moustache seemed to be grabbing Joel’s legs hard and squeezing the muscles as tight as he could. It was a more staccato rhythm and one which Joe’s lungs struggled to keep up with.

The speed of the menagerie quickened as Joel was being thrown from his back to his front, onto and off of the bed, kissed and grabbed. Joel felt a stimulation inside him that caused his hands and legs to tremble. He felt his head leading off into the blank and completely giving himself over to this uncontrollable pleasure. A grunt from one of the men brought his attention back.

It was Whiskey Sours, his muscles contorting and face grimacing as he was about to blow his load. With a stifled roar, he let himself go all over Joel’s chest. Joel felt the man’s white fluid, pooling on the contours of his torso. Once warm, suddenly cooling.


The other two took this as a queue to follow, pulling themselves out of Joel and going for it with vigor. It was the assailant first, a silent killer, sighing gently as he relieved his pleasure on Joel’s thigh, soon followed by Moustache, firing himself across the length of Joel, reaching the top of his neck.

It was as if the whole world sobered in that moment. Breaths were caught, brows were wiped, noses sniffing. Joel, coming back to reality, realized his job was done. He felt weak and thumping, but a sweet satisfaction was circulating in his veins. It was time for him to run. It was time for him to get his own. He would leave the mess on his body that Mim’s fantasy had created and bring it to her as a prize, a badge of his accomplishment.

Joel jumped to his feet and ran for the door, he was glad to have not succumbed to the stimulation of being fucked. He was glad to have saved his load for Mim, because she was, without doubt, in for it now. He could not get to room 149 quick enough.

The hard road to Xativa, Part III

Luxury hotel irritations after two weeks of spending $1,000+ per ...

[If you haven’t checked them out already, follow parts one and two here:

Part I: https://stinkies.blog/2020/04/01/the-hard-road-to-xativa/

Part II: https://stinkies.blog/2020/04/02/the-hard-road-to-xativa-part-ii/

Joel, without realizing, shuffled back a step. Mouth agape and completely naked, he was completely lost for words.

“I…I…uh” he stammered, piecing together the scene before him. Three men, seated in the far end of what must have been the hotel’s take on a honeymoon suite. Two of the men on a blue sofa with amber dots, the other, looking over his shoulder on the far end of the bed.

Joel’s penis fell limp with despair. But what was he to do with these men? This all felt overwhelming. He went to turn back and walk out the door when the man on the bed stood up and approached him. He was tall, with dark hair pulled back away from his face and a colored necktie that suggested he was the fun type. He squared-up, inches from Joel’s face, reached his hand beyond Joel’s shoulder and pushed the door shut. Joel could count the eye-lashes on this man, and detail without issue the cocktail recipe this man had clearly enjoyed but moments before. Pressing his lips close to Joel’s ear, he whispered one word; Mim’s and Joel’s safe word.

It was clear, Joel was to submit to himself to these men. It was Mim’s way of asserting her dominance and in acknowledging this, he felt his fists unclench. He would do anything for her, even this, whatever this was. The man, who Joel named Whisky Sours, proceeded to place his hands all over Joel’s shaft. Joel was not opposed to homosexual activity, he had once or twice found himself catching a glance at other guys in showers, but other than that, it had never really crossed his mind.

Whisky Sours, sensing a storm raging Joel’s mind, pressed himself closer to him, and kissed him hard on the lips. Joel noted both the roughness of this man’s unshaven face, and the sweet lemon bitters taste. The man’s heaviness was an unusual sensation, and the idea of not being the lead in the foreplay was something he wasn’t used to; likened to being given a script with no lines. He let himself warm to this man’s touch. His fingers rough up his arms, the heat jumping out the neck of his shirt.

Still struggling to comprehend his role in this fuckery, Joel wandered if he would be up to the challenge. There were three men in total in this room and he was supposing that the other two were not merely adjudicators. Whisky Sours lead Joel by the dick (still swinging limp between his legs at this point) and pushed him, with a hint of force, to the other two guests.

“Undress him” he said to Joel, pointing to the man seated on the left. He was forced down to his knees by a hand on the shoulder. Joel looked up at the men. A crack of enjoyment broke onto the man’s face.

The guy was a good ten years senior to the rest. He had maintained a stark hairline and fashioned a thick white moustache which bridged his neatly-aligned teeth. Joel, seeing the work in front of him, began with the man’s socks. Pulling them off and laying them directly where they fell. The man was wearing what could have been an expensive suit, given its silky feel. Joel suddenly realized that the only way to take off this man’s trousers was to unzip from the crotch. Uncertain what he would find up there, he made for the belt. Unbuckling, he caught the zip between the tips of his fingers and began to pull it down.

There was much happening below this man’s trousers. His penis had been tucked in straight down into his underwear and seemed desperate to be released. It was the first time he had touched a penis that wasn’t his own. It was surprisingly firm, he noted. Warm and alive. Passing beyond this man’s machinery he pulled open the waist and slid down the trousers. Moustache-Bridge obligingly raised his hips to avoid anything that would hinder the pace of his satisfaction.

There it was, another man’s penis, pressed inside soft blue boxer-shorts. Joel had to admit, he had come this far, and now he too had the curiosity to know what it would feel like. After all, it was all for her.

He hooked his fingers over the waistline and rolled them down, past his knees and along with the rest of his clothes. His cock could be described as heavy and slightly curved. Perhaps no larger than Joel’s own, the consistency of girth from base to tip was admirable. Joel was only too knowing of what a man in this position wants done. Joel was competent in many areas of life and saw that if a job had to be done, it had to be done well.

He grabbed Moustache-Bridge by the base of his shaft, licked his lips, took in a deep breath and slid his lips down. It was remarkable how little he could manage. How much admiration he suddenly had for all the times he had pressed himself hard into Mim’s mouth, and her taking it without a struggle. He was slightly disappointed that she was not there to share this with him.

Sliding his mouth up and down in repeated motions, the man started to grunt with pleasure. It had clearly been a good day for him, and Joel realized for the first time. These men were part of Mim’s new business agreement, and he had been a binding factor to sweeten their deal.

A sweet taste, unfamiliar to Joel began to enter his mouth; it must have been Moustache’s pre-cum. Suddenly, before he knew it, Joel was encircled by the two other men, being tapped on the shoulder and cheek by two weighty cocks. Whisky Sours having undressed without being noticed and yielding an almighty erection, his unnamed assailant yielding a more modest apparatus, poking out his suit trousers.

The unnamed assailant, blonde hair and big teeth, took Joel’s hand and wrapped it around his penis. Before long, Joel was pleasuring three men at once. Each groaning in their own way, a smug look of satisfaction at what would likely have been a new experience for them too. Joel, distracted by his work, had not realized that his once shy dick had now begun to warm to this unexpected version of events. The heat of these three men, the musks, textures and aromas, it was as if discovering a new continent; a mix of the new and familiar.

“You’re liking this, aren’t you…”, a woman’s voice startled him, it was Mim’s voice.

“…lets see gentlemen, if we can really get our money’s worth out of tonight’s rent boy”

“Oh my god”, Joel thought, “I really am part of the business deal”…

[Follow on with the story –> https://stinkies.blog/2020/04/06/the-hard-road-to-xativa-part-iv/ ]

The hard road to Xativa – Part II

[If you haven’t read part I already, find it here –> https://stinkies.blog/2020/04/01/the-hard-road-to-xativa/ ]

Steamy Mirror Stock Photos, Pictures & Royalty-Free Images - iStock

Joel’s taxi journey was sticky and full of wild ideas. The hot air blowing through the window only served to dry his brows and blow-back his hair. He wasn’t sure what could be expected of Mim with this wild goose chase. Naturally he found the idea thrilling and considered himself lucky to be maritally bound to such a wildcat, but equally, a touch of disappointment at not having seen her at the airport sat on his tongue.

The taxi, pulling a hard right, pulled Joel from his thoughts and fixed him upon the half-weathered excuse of a hotel plonked a dusty plot. Even in the blazing spanish sun, this particular construction was able to suck light and colour from surrounding it. Wirey leafless trees, cracked wall paint and a fading sign for the entrance were all that greeted him. Tipping the taxi driver favorably and walking through the arched entrance, he smiled at the thought of Mim, hunting for the location of her next sexual feast, patting herself on the back for such an obscene choice of accommodation.

Joel checked in, picked up his room key and headed to the first flight corridor. The door to room 138 opening with a satisfying click.

He threw his bag on the bed. The clock showed 6:15pm, he didn’t want to hang around. He headed to the bathroom to get himself showered and prepped for what could likely be an arduous and enduring night. The mirror inside, cracked in the corner, showed a man who had a dangerous mix of fatigue and excitement. The red eyes, hot cheeks and his normally flush facial hair airing on the side of wild. He was an attractive man, his experiences with women had taught him that. Being tall and dark, he found that he was a standard template for women’s desires, and had learnt to become sexually proficient through years of much-enjoyed adventures.

Without breaking his own eye contact, he peeled the layers of clothes from his body onto the tile floor. Running down his body, he examined his features. Following his throat, between his collarbones and reaching his sternum. Noting the textures and notes of his skin. The smooth between the rough. Running his eyes down his stomach, past his belly-button and beyond. Joel could do this for hours, admiring the contours and lines his muscles created around his body. The way it felt to be entirely man for just a moment.

A black bag caught his eye to the left of the mirror. He blushed at his own narcissism for not having seen it prior. It was his and Mim’s trusty sex bag. The blood surged downwards, hardening him at the thought of her having been there before him.

He opened it and found a note tucked neatly inside.

“Clean yourself up, be ready, you have a 7.30pm, no uniform required, Mim”

Pulling himself away from his excitement, he further delved into the bag, seeing that the toiletries provided did not elude any further to the night’s festivities. He got to work grooming, scrubbing and cleaning. It was part of the joy of sex, washing away all of life’s stresses and taking pride in ones sense of being a man. He had to work extra carefully to work around his phallus, which seemed all too ready to step up to the mark and penetrate anything that got too close.

Time passed, and Joel stepped out of the bathroom in a puff of aftershave soaked vapour. He noted the chill of the evening air hitting his body, pimpling his skin. He was ready, and it was almost time. It wouldn’t be long before the show would begin, what show that would be he was not yet sure.

7.25pm and the phone shrilled shook him from his thoughts. He walked across the room, pulled the phone from the receiver.

“Yes?” he started.
“Room 140, are you ready?”, it was Mim
“Yes”
“Good, they will see you now”

The phone clicked back onto the receiver leaving Joel and the dial tone.

They? He thought to himself. Giving it no further thought, he opened the door an inch, peered both ways and scurried, completely naked and somewhat vulnerable to room 140. The door was ajar. He hurriedly pushed himself through and closed the door behind him. The lights were off and only the street lights gave luminescence. Stood there with no clothes, eyes adjusting, he finally saw what the night lay before him.

Three fully-suited men, sat there, hungry eyed for the feast that had just been delivered. This was sure to be a night like no other.

The hard road to Xativa

Having already spent three weeks away from his wife, Joel was overwhelmed with excitement at the trip to come. His wife, Mim, a bubbly blonde-haired go-getter, had been in Spain, recruiting new clients for her online marketing firm. They had fallen in love five years prior, and those years, for Joel at least, had rendered his life unpredictable and exhilarating.

Although Mim had a somewhat naive aspect, she was about as sharp as they came. The joy she derived from having situations completely under her control was translated into a sharp business hand. For Joel however, life seemed to him as something designed to be enjoyed. He had no need for rocking the boat, especially when he could just ride off the back of the waves his wife’s cut-throat lifestyle had created for him.

Joel and Mim had agreed to meet once Mim had everything wrapped up in Alicante. From what he had heard, she’d had to make some tough negotiations, but was hopeful that these would come to fruit in the long run. A plush hotel was already booked and awaiting them in Xativa, a town not so far from Alicante, and it was there they would enjoy the stifling heat, midnight wine and mediterranean cuisine.

There was also one other reason for excitement. As Joel had come to learn, Mim’s sexual tastes were far from what he had ever experienced in any of his previous relationships. She was someone who liked to play, Joel often being her plaything of choice. It was not uncommon for him to submit her sexual charades, having already agreed a life-long safe word on their wedding night. Being completely enamored, Joel would have done anything for her; it was what he considered a vital ingredient of their marriage. He had been bound up shibari style, dressed obscenely, eaten a 3 course meal off of various appendages and fucked in public places. He was, naturally, happy to concede to her desires and considered them a never-ending personal challenge, and they only seemed to be getting bigger.

Joel woke the morning of his flight with a blind sense of excitement in his loin. He had packed the essentials and arrived at the airport with a carry-on sized backpack over his shoulder and a book in his hand. The three-hour flight passed quickly, as he lost himself in the cheap supermarket fiction. Passing through passport control and customs, he felt the puff of hot air gulp through the sliding doors at the arrivals entrance. His eyes darted around the sea of impatient friends and relatives, unable to hold back his excitement at grabbing his wife. But thirty seconds had passed and his anxious glee began to sober into doubt; she wasn’t there. He paced around the group, searching for her within the density, but still came up short. It was no use. Throwing his eyes upon every face, he caught a glimpse of his name sprawled across a whiteboard, being held by a disinterested taxi driver, limply holding a sign with his name on it. Feeling slightly consoled, he approached the half-sweated man with a smile and slowly vocalized his greeting in English. With a grunt of acknowledgement and shake of the hand, the taxi driver passed him a letter, clearly written in Mim’s handwriting.

Joel, here is your motel for tonight, you will have further instructions on arrival, be ready, Love Mim. –

Aisle 13 Part III

If you haven’t read parts I and II of the story, check them out below!

Part I –> https://stinkies.blog/2020/03/24/aisle-13-part-i/

Part II –> https://stinkies.blog/2020/03/26/aisle-13-part-ii/

Stood there, in tight polyester and sheer finish tights, Graham began to lose his sense of self. He was no longer the passenger that boarded the plane, but in some other worldly scenario that he finally embraced as arousing. This woman had removed him from his aisle 12 husk into her aisle 13 plaything.

“You think you’re too pretty to wear the scarf honey?”, her whispered tone scolding.

She grabbed his scarf-holding wrist and pried it from his palm. Spinning him around and pressing his face into the glass door of the cabin oven. She pressed her body against his and began tying the scarf around his neck. Graham’s pulse quickened, it became clear to him that this woman was capable of doing anything she wanted to him, and all the while Graham found himself resisting less and less.

She did the initial cross on the scarf and slowly began pulling it tighter. The loop travelling closer and closer to his throat and giving no indication of stopping. On touching his rough neck, the scarf began to press. Deeper into the muscle, the windpipe and all the surrounding tissue. The blood poured to Graham’s face and he felt an almighty rush to his penis. He was at her mercy. Just as he thought he couldn’t take any more, she slackened the loop and put the extra knot.

“Do you like your outfit, Nancy?” allowing for an unimpressed glance down at his pounding chode “It seems like Nancy is a dirty little slut”.

She grabbed this new Nancy’s solemn excuse for manhood, contemplating its texture between the skirt and her fingers. It appeared more curiosity than arousal that kept her hands wandering. Suddenly her eyes flashed back at his. “Sit down, I knew what kind of whore you were from the first time I saw you board the plane,” she spat. Forcing him backwards into the cabin seat. He, desperate to be relieved from the wave of ecstasy washing over him, toppled back into place.

She pulled down the double-crossing safety belts and bound him in. “Do not move until I say so, or the cabin will be greeting their newest crew member.” Her chin barely moving through her snarling voice.

She then moved to the cabin phone behind her, punching in digits and adopting a new, previously unheard voice, a lighter, friendly tone.

“This is your cabin crew speaking, we will be preparing to land in twenty minutes so please if you could stow your trays, ensure window panels are fully open and seat belts fastened as we come through the cabin for a final check.”

By this point, Graham was a sweating husk of a man. Completely submissive, he was begging for his mistresses next order. She turned to him, lifted up her leg and pressed the base of her heel into his chest.

“You have 2 minutes until the captain briefs us on landing procedure. If you haven’t finished by the time that door opens, I will humiliate you in front of the captain as a dirty little femboy. Now finish yourself you worthless pig”

Graham took no time in getting started. He fumbled his hand into his skirt and under the tights. The tip was already tacky from so much anticipation and began pounding away. Chemicals began surging through his body, sweetening his muscles and releasing so much of what he had been holding back. He barely registered what was in front of his eyes as he became this doughy eyed beast. All he could feel was her heal pressing into his chest and her gaze burning into his face. He didn’t dare look up to meet her gaze.

It all happened so quickly, his stomach contorted and his breath ceased. He felt the warm liquid run across his knuckles and down his nylons. A moment of nothingness. Then, began externalising again, remembering where he was and who he was.
Silently, she took her foot off his chest, unstrapped him, picked up his damp clothes from the floor and threw them at him.

“Please go back to your seat immediately, Mr. Johnson, the plane is about to land.”
Her tone was stern and professional. If it wasn’t for the mess he had made and the coffee stained clothes he might have thought it was all a dream. He put on his damp trousers and shirt over the dry but partially sticky air hostess outfit, walked back along the aisle, past oblivious passengers and returned to his seat. As he disembarked the plane he kept his head down, unable to see if she was there, but he heard that familiar voice as he exited the doors, and felt a rush to his groin.

“Thank you for flying with us, we hope to see you again soon.”

Aisle 13 Part II

[If you haven’t read part I, find it here –> https://stinkies.blog/2020/03/24/aisle-13-part-i/ ]

Before he knew it, two more flight attendants were on site to witness the carnage. The three of them, towering over him, pitying him for what was clearly his inability to function normally on an airline flight.

“You will have to come with us, we will find you a change of clothes.” said one of the attendants, with a look of disgust at what her job obliged her to do. Attend to withering men, soaked with their own worthlessness. It was at this point that Graham felt a sense of submitting to what lay before him, this was not expected. Grabbing onto the seat in front of him, he lifted his pooling self to his feet, side stepping as he dripped across the vacant seats.

The gathering of air hostesses in aisle 13 seemed to draw attention from other passengers. Some showed an expression of curiosity, others disdain. Graham was frogmarched to the front of the plane, sodden and abiding, unable to move swiftly as the hot liquid called for a compass like walk, as if all joints in his lower half were temporarily out of service.

The curtain at the front of the cabin was drawn and Graham was once again face to face with his new airline mistress.

“Look at you,” she said whilst shaking her head. “Never have I seen such a pitiful mess”

Graham came to and began to attempt to vocalise his confusion. “Nuh, uh uh” said the attendant, waggling her finger inches from his face.

“You are to be compliant, is that clear?”, Graham began to stutter, “Is that clear!?” she interjected one more time. He knew it was, he was suddenly feeling a weakness in his knees. He wanted to drop down and be smaller than her. He felt smaller than her, she knew it.

She leant closer to his face, her orange neck scarf tickling his unshaven throat. “You will wait in the toilet, until I say.”, opening the door behind his back and pushing him inside. Locking with a single sliding click.

Graham turned to the mirror. His cream shirt, splattered with coffee, clinging to his rotund stomach. His blue trousers gone black and still showing the little dignity he had left. He hadn’t quite noticed however that his dignity had also taken on a more elongated stance, unashamedly declaring itself a beneficiary of the events. Before he had a moment to question his arousal, the door clicked, opening to find his airline maiden thrusting a pile of orange and brown clothing at his feet.

“Put this on” and before he knew it, the door was clicking back into place. Graham did not need to examine the clothes further to know that this was a full air hostess outfit. The side cut blue short skirt, beige tights, a tight-fitting blue blouse complete with rough neck scarf and hat. This had to be a joke, all part of a larger ruse, courtesy of the airline crew. He knew for sure that this was driven by the black-eyed hostess, but could this have been part of a wager? A cheap way for them to get by on their meagre salaries?

Lifting up his work shirt to a reddening stomach, Graham knew he had no choice. His skin was pulsing from the heat and he needed to get into something dry. He peeled off the layers of clothes from his skin, almost hearing his body sigh as the vapor fogged the mirror. Standing in front of the fogged glass, his naked body appeared more circular than linear. Giving no more thought to his unimpressive body and his engorging genitals he pulled up the stockings. Packing his heavy white legs into the smooth finish net and tucking in all that wouldn’t play nicely. Next the mini skirt.

Delighted to see that the skirt reached his waist and hung pressed against his rear, giving him a better shape as a woman perhaps than he had ever been as a man. Followed by the blue blouse, buttoning with a mix of precision and force, compressing his weight into the shirt he supposed was intentionally too small for him, a further twist on this already maddening game. By the time he had reached the top button, he could barely breathe.

Where the uniform pushed the female features upwards into a more pert arrangement, his features seemed to be pressed down, pooling out the bottom. He felt heat rising from his belly to his ears, it was a mix of shame and something else. He couldn’t quite put a finger on it. Satisfaction? Pleasure? Like this is what he should look like. This is what he deserved to look like. He saw no need to put on the neck scarf and proceeded to collect his clothes and exit the toilet.

The air hostess was not where he had suspected her of being. The pleasure derived from degradation was mixed with her own sense of work compliance. She was in the middle of the aisle, serving two passengers what was undoubtedly the wrong sandwich. She marched back to him with an air of excitement and misguided resentment.
“I am so sorry Mr. Johnson, that is the only available change of clothes we have on board.” And then, leaning in closer so that only he could hear, she whispered, “What a pretty little shit you are”. The games, it appeared, had only just begun.

Aisle 13 – Part I

Graham sighed as he took his seat, the cold airline chairs being a welcoming relief from queueing with humid strangers. It was the 19:45 flight from Chicago to New York and he was very much spent from exhausting and often vapid meetings with other administrative personnel. Not much had caught his attention on this particular work trip. It was the usual cycle of cheap city lunches, awkward handshakes and feigned enthusiasm.

This New York flight seemed only partially full, with patches of passengers spread across the cabin. This was the type of airlines which would have forced families to separate, given its penny pinching ethos. He would have felt pity for them, if he had had a drop more energy. It was very much for him, the end of another meaningless ordeal and another branch of his limp excuse for a career.

On ruffling through his bags and ordering himself pre-takeoff, he found himself happened upon by one of the four (likely underpaid) flight attendants.

“Hi there” she said, with her casually polished salutation, “We seem to have nobody booked into the window aisle, and it is regulation to always have a customer occupying this section, would you be interested in moving to row 13 for us?”
Her tone was pleasant, bordering on lifeless, but there was something acrid in her stare. She bore heavy black makeup which cupped her blacker eyes, all roughly thrown into place perhaps on her journey to work. Her features were pleasant, yet contorted into another form, another human thrust upon the same face. Her hair was a short cut, landing just below her jawline with all tips curling forwards.

Pulling away from her features, Graham finally processed what was being requested. Sat beside a fifty-something woman whose knees were clearly in the middle of an argument and in needing of their own space, he gave a semi-assured yes and proceeded to collect his things. Unclipping his belt he felt a hand press into his shoulder.

“I will..” a sudden drop in her tone “have to ask you to consent to upholding all duties asked of you as an occupant of the winged aisle.”

The tone of her voice suddenly catching up with the soured features of her face.

“Is this something you are happy to consent to?”

Graham was slightly taken aback by the pressed nature of the question, he naturally, and unknowingly nodded, all the while holding her gaze. Was it a twitch of satisfaction that he saw on her face? Or just another pleasantry? The thought left his mind on settling into his new seat, choosing the cooling window and pressing his cheek flat against the faux-glass. It was not long until his body slumped towards his long awaited rest.

Jolted awake, he was pounced upon by the panda-eyed eyed air hostess.

“Any tea or coffee?”

Graham’s tongue bumbled about his mouth as he tried to regain consciousness.

“I asked you if you wanted any refreshments” she jumped. Slightly too quickly to be an act of courteous repetition.

Grahams lips cracked into the word “Tea please”

She picked up a black-rimmed canister and began pouring a chocolate colour liquid. The smell was unmistakable, this was not yorkshire’s finest, but Colombia’s.
Graham began “Sorry, I think I ……”

“Ordered a tea? Just give me a moment, insolence doesn’t get you anywhere here” she interjected, ensuring the cardboard cup was full with what was undoubtedly a coffee.

Carefully placing the lid upon the beverage, she leaned across the two empty seats to pass the beverage.

Graham felt the heat radiate from her chest, a likely cocktail of airport perfume mixed with hours of cabin work. Graham reached his hand out to take the drink, still slightly bewildered by her basic lack of distinction between hot drinks. He wrapped his hand around the base and noticed that this bob-cut flight attendant didn’t let go, instead, she held his gaze in an act of defiance. She smiled, then, unmistakably began to squeeze to the cup, tighter and tighter. It all happened too quickly for Graham to respond. She squeezed the drink until hot coffee erupted through the lid, bursting out of the sides and running down her hands on his lap. What should have been immensely uncomfortable seemed to curl her lips into a satisfaction. She was breaking the cup on purpose. Graham’s lap was sodden with searing coffee, staining through his trousers and soaking through the layers.

He took in breath through his mouth as if an inward hiss of a snake, stifling a yell as his trousers began to contort around his pudgy midriff. He felt the sting upon his public bone and the seeping sensation as if to have urinated himself in his underwear. His genitals now visibly suggesting through the layers how he had unknowingly arranged them whilst putting on his underwear after the last visit to the gentleman’s.

“Oh no, look what’s happened, you really are clumsy with your hands” she exclaimed, unable to contain the excitement of what she was provoking.

“You really are…” she began whilst leaning forward to collect the fallen coffee cup lid, unexpectedly changing course, leaning closer to his ear, “… a worthless pig” she whispered heatedly into his face. She then pulled away and pressed the attendant button above. Graham struggled to catch his breath. He was burning from the hot water pooling beneath his buttocks, whilst struggling to order the situation in his head, leaving his lips smacking in fish-like form with stupefaction. Yet, it was all he could do but help notice that a twitch had occurred between his legs.

He Couldnt Help it Chapter 2 Part 2

Chapter 2 Part 2

She could see from Will’s face that he was not quite prepared for the scene in front of him. She had told him what was going to happen. Painted a clear picture so he would know exactly what he was getting into. 

“What I need, is for a real man to fuck me during my session. You see, these men were talking about, they need to see me get fucked, but they know they are not worthy of doing it. They usually have small cocks, sometimes they are short, often overweight, no self control. They need me to help them and I do.” She sipped her glass of wine. “Do you think you can help me?”

It was crystal clear. Maybe she forgot to mention the handcuffs and the strapon, or the fact that he might walk in to a man, collared, with a dildo balls deep in his ass, but,minor details. He would get over it. 

“Wow.” He surveyed the scene. The slave tried to look over his shoulder.

“Ghheassss??” he attempted to spit out the panties still in his mouth. Unsuccessfully. He tried to mumble another question. It was unintelligible, but she knew what he was asking. She laughed and stepped back, the cock slurped out of his ass.

“Shhhhhhhh,” She said soothingly, “Well, he’s a little early, but that is that man who’s cum you’re going to be licking up today.”

The buckles of the strapon clinked and the cock flopped as it hit the floor. She grabbed the slaves collar and pulled him around to face her. She looked into his desperate, pathetic, pleading eyes. Using one finger she carefully pushed the edge of his wifes panties back into his open mouth. A bit a drool was sliding down the corner. She wiped her finger on his shoulder. His cage looked like it was ready to burst.

“You can look, slave, but you will have to stay there,” Her tone was delicate, almost babying. “Can you do that for me like a good boy?” His cage bounced as he nodded enthusiastically. She caressed his face before walking over to Will and putting her arms around his neck. “Suprise!” She kissed him deeply and heard the slaves breath quicken behind her. “Just try to ignore him for now, it’s like training a dog not to whine for scraps.”

By this time Will had had enough time to compose himself. There was no going back and he knew it. He wrapped his arms around her, and slid one hand low down her back. 

“Nice shirt,” he said. 

“Thanks,” She smiled at him, “Complements of the house,” She raised her hand gesturing to the closet. He chuckled, she could tell he was hiding his nervousness. She breathed deep and kissed him again, relishing in his uncertainty.  

Will picked her up and carried her over to the bed. He laid her down and she opened her mouth, feeling their warm tongues dancing. She pulled his shirt over his head and undid his belt buckle. Her nails raked his chest, muscles rippling as she decorated them. His pants fell past his knees and she pushed them off with her feet. He ground his hips into her and she could feel his long hard cock grinding against her thigh. 

As he kissed her neck she turned her head to the side to get a look at the slave. He was sitting on his heels obediently, but his hips were moving back and forth in a slight, almost involuntary, motion. She met his eyes and smiled menacingly.

“Make yourself useful, slave, and go look for your handcuff keys,” She waved in the direction of the closet. “I think I threw them somewhere over there.” His eyes widened and sat up. He was so aroused that his cage barely moved as he penguin-waddled eagerly to look.

She returned her attention to the situation at hand. Will had moved down. Shirt pulled up, he was sucking and biting her nipples. She was breathing harder now. He began stroking the inside of her legs, getting dangerously close to the soft lips of her perfect pussy. After a few more circles he parted those lips and two meaty fingers made their way inside. He moved his hand in and out curling his fingers slightly. She could feel the pressure start to build inside her as she moaned. The rhythm of his hands made her whole body move up and down. She looked him in the eyes. 

“Harder.” she commanded. He was happy to oblige, he drove his hand inside her, increasing the speed. She made sure the slave could hear how much she was enjoying herself. She raised her head briefly and could see him still rooting around for the keys. The pressure mounted inside her coming to a peak. Her back arched and she pressed her head into the mattress. There was no controlling it. She screamed with pleasure and felt a rush of liquid squirting out of her onto Wills’ hands, all over the bed covers. Her chest rose and fell softly and Will leaned in and covered his mouth with hers. 

“You made a little mess,” He said looking at his hand. She looked up at him and then over to the slave who was waddling over, keys successfully in his hands behind his back. 

“Good thing we have someone to clean up any mess we make,” Her grin showed all her teeth. She waved the slave over and reaching out over the edge of the bed, she removed the panties from his mouth. The slave moved his tongue around in his mouth and dry lips to get rid of the extra lint. She giggled and rolled over with Will so that she was on top of him. 

“I hope you don’t mind if you let my slave lick your hand while I fuck you.”


He Couldn’t Help it- Chapter 2 Part 1

Chapter 2 Part 1

He went by Will. She found him on tinder. Their first date was normal enough, drinks and a comedy show downtown. She eyed him from across the small round table. The inexperienced eye might think it was just two attractive people on an innocent date. A closer look, however, could detect the glint in her eye. She was sniffing out and tracking down her prey. 

He needed to be the right kind. Manly enough to make them feel emasculated, large enough to make them feel small, strong enough to make them feel weak. All of this combined with the willingness to serve. So far she was pleased, he was tall, broad shouldered, his strong jawline led to a mass of curly black hair. He played rugby in college, almost played professionally, but injured his knee. She could tell he was attracted to her strength, but would he fit her purpose?

At the end of the night their bellies hurt from laughing, she tilted her head to the side and said candidly,

“Let’s get out of here,” He agreed, she took his hand and lead him towards the door. He stepped ahead and opened it for her as they walked out. She smiled as she looked behind her. he met her gaze without hesitation. 

“My lady,” he said, with a mock formal gesture of the hand. They giggled and the cool night air hit her face. She knew he was looking at her ass as he followed. 

– Every joke has a hint of truth- she thought. She was pretty sure the next time he called her that it would not be in jest.

“Why don’t we go back to your place?” she suggested, taking his arm as they approached the crosswalk. She could feel the bulge of his bicep.

“I like the way you think,” He said leaning into the street to flag down a cab. The inside of the cab smelled like old leather and cigarettes from the 80’s. It was warm inside and his jacket was laid across his lap. She wasn’t about to wait until they go to his house to verify that he was bull material. She sat in the middle seat and leaned up against him. She knew her low cut shirt provided him with a perfect view of her ample cleavage. She leaned over and whispered in his ear.

“How do you feel about trying new things?” He closed his eyes and she could see the hair on his neck raise. 

“I am all game,” he replied in a low growl. 

She started nibbling his ear and he turned his head to kiss her. His lips were full and wet as he slipped his tongue in her mouth. She crept her hand under his jacket. 

-Moment of truth- her hands felt along the ridges of his pants until she felt his hard cock underneath. -excellent, no anxiety issues- She started from where she could feel the base and ran her fingers up the length. 6.. 7… 8 inches at least. The corners of her mouth widened as she ran her tongue up and down his. Her other hand snaked up his face and she pulled his hair, biting his lip.

“Feisty girl,” he said pulling away slightly with a raised eyebrow, “I like it.”

“Oh, this is just the tip of the iceberg,” she smiled, opening his mouth again with hers.

 -score.- she gave herself a mental high five. It was going to be all gravy from here.

His apartment was bland. Ikea furniture littered the living room, giving it a modern minimalist look. 

“My housemates out of town” he said, “so we have the whole place to ourselves.” His arm swept the empty space in front of him. “Would you like a drink?’

She wanted to rip the buttons off his shirt, straddle him on the couch, and tell him that he was going to get his dick sucked hard, but etiquette ruled. She would take a glass of wine. She sauntered over to the couch as he poured and followed her. 

“Want to play a game?” she said, swirling the wine.

“Sure” he said.

“Let’s play truth or dare,” she proposed. 

“I like the sound of that” He scooted closer to her and she put her feet up on his lap.

“OK, I’m going first …truth or dare” she said. 

“I’m going to be boring and say …truth,” He smiled, “though something tells me the truth might be more dangerous with you,” He leaned closer brushing his lips against her neck.

“You are very perceptive.” She squealed and leaned her head and shoulder towards him to get her neck out of range. 

“Have you ever had your dick sucked by another man?”

He went by Will. She found him on tinder. Their first date: drinks and a comedy show. She eyed him from across the small round table. The inexperienced eye might think it was just two attractive people on a perfectly normal date. However, if you examined closely you would detect a glint in her eye, the forward predatory posture as she looked over the rim of her wine glass. She was sniffing out and tracking down her prey. 

Not the prey you might think. There was nothing “normal” about what she wanted from him. She was going to use him for a very special task. He needed to be the right kind. Manly enough to make them feel emasculated, large enough to make them feel small, strong enough to make them feel weak. All of this combined with the willingness to serve. When she met him at the door she was pleased, he was tall, broad shouldered, strong jawline leading to a mass of curly black hair. He played rugby in college. He could have played professionally if not for a rogue ACL tear in his third year. He had kept himself quite fit, now with rock climbing and running. She could tell from the moment he looked her up and down he was attracted to her strength as well. What man wouldn’t be. Could he be useful?

At the end of the night their bellies hurt from laughing, she tilted her head to the side and suggested,

“Let’s get out of here?” It was a question but there was nothing inquisitive about it. He seemed relieved to not have to be the one to say it. She took his hand and lead him towards the door. He stepped ahead and opened it for her as they walked out. 

“My lady,” Will said, with a mock formal gesture of the hand. They giggled and the cool night air hit her face. She could feel his burning gaze on the back of her thighs as he followed her out. She felt a shiver down her spine. Even as a joke, his gesture of service made a rush of heat surge between her legs. Images of his naked cock being licked by one of her slaves flashed through her mind.

“Why don’t we go back to your place?” she said, taking his arm as they approached the crosswalk. Her long fingers curled around his biceps. She could feel the bulk of the muscle under his shirt.

“I like the way you think,” He said leaning into the street to flag down a cab. The inside of the cab smelled like old leather and cigarettes. It was warm inside and his jacket was laid across his lap. Well, she wasn’t about to wait until they go to his house to verify that he was bull material. She sat in the middle seat and leaned up against him. She knew her low cut shirt provided him with a perfect view of her ample cleavage. She leaned over and whispered in his ear.

“I have a personal question for you, Will” She knew he could feel her warm breath, ”How do you feel about trying new things?” He closed his eyes and she could see the hair on his neck raise. 

“You mean like hymalian food or like skydiving?” he replied with a teasing grin. 

“Not quite,” She started nibbling his ear and he turned his head to kiss her. His lips were full and wet as he slipped his tongue in her mouth. She twisted her body to press against him and crept her hand under his jacket. 

-Moment of truth-……. Her hands slid along the ridges of his pants until she felt his very hard cock underneath. -excellent, no anxiety issues so far- She started from where she could feel the base and ran her fingers up the length. 6.. 7… 8 inches at least. The corners of her mouth widened as she ran her tongue up and down his. Her other hand snaked up his face and she pulled his hair, biting his lip.

“Feisty girl,” he said pulling away slightly with a raised eyebrow, “I like it.” he bit her neck making goosebumps run down her arms.

“Oh, this is just the tip of the iceberg,” she smiled, opening his mouth again with hers.

 -score.- she gave herself a mental high five. She had a great feeling about this one.

His apartment was bland. Ikea furniture littered the living room, with that modern minimalist bachelor look. 

“My roommate’s out of town” he said, “so we have the whole place to ourselves.” His arm swept the empty space in front of him. “Would you like a drink?’

She did not want a drink. She wanted to rip the buttons off his shirt, straddle him on the couch, and tell him that he was going to get his dick sucked hard, but she contained her impulse. She would take a glass of wine. She sauntered over to the couch as he poured and followed her. 

“Want to play a game?” she said, swirling the wine.

“Sure” he said.

“Truth or dare,” she proposed. 

“I like the sound of that” He scooted closer to her and she put her feet up on his lap.

“OK, I’m going first …truth or dare” she said. 

“I’m going to be boring and say …truth,” He smiled, “though something tells me the truth might be more dangerous with you,” He leaned closer brushing his lips against the back of her ear.

“You are very perceptive.” She squealed and leaned her head and shoulder towards him to get her ear out of range. 

“Have you ever had your dick sucked by another man?”