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Travelogue, Chapter 1: Penelope Sets Out

Leaving is easier than one imagines, Penelope found.

As soon as she’d made up her mind, it was simply a matter of following through. No one told her not to go. Instead, they were vicariously enthusiastic about her upcoming adventures. Everyone had a travel tip. In her email and on scraps of paper, she was presented with scores of contacts for “a friend of my sisters who lives in Amsterdam” and “my high school exchange parents - they don’t speak any English, but you would totally hit it off.” She discarded all these, along with her CD collection, mismatched kitchenware, and far too many pairs of shoes. This was not going to be the kind of adventure one writes home about. Adventures can only go so far when you stay with friends of friends of friends.

And so, without very much money and barely a plan, she gave up her apartment, quit her job, and kissed her lover goodbye. In a week from making her decision, she was boarding a flight to London with all the worldly possessions she cared to keep: a couple changes of underwear, a sexy dress or two, sweater, sandals, toothbrush, lipstick and a novel for those moments when adventure failed to materialize.

At least she didn’t have to buy a ticket. The first leg of her journey was to meet a man she’d met online. They had a tenuous connection, really. And yet she supposed he must have been as intrigued by her as she was by him. After all, she was flying business class at his expense. He told her he'd give her his flyer miles so she could travel in comfort. "Besides," he said, "In coach, you're likely to meet some interesting vagabond. I want you thinking about me when you're over the Atlantic." He didn't figure, she thought to herself as she waited in the endless line at customs, on Marco.

No one could have figured on Marco. Penny closed her eyes for a moment to remember him as she’d first glimpsed him. Handsome. Gentlemanly. And utterly seductive. Had it only been eight hours ago? It felt like a much longer journey. As the line wound on through cordoned walkways, she tried to relive the long flight to London. She wanted to fix it in her mind: her first adventure.

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Her flight left late - an 8 pm departure delayed until 9:30. She was a bit tired from the ordeal of the airport, but so excited about finally leaving on her adventure that she didn't care. It was a full flight. Mr. Craness had reserved a seat at the side of the plane in one of the two-person rows rather than the four-across middle row.

The passengers boarded mid-plane and Penelope found her seat was only a couple rows back, over the wing. She was eager to settle in and daydream, but when she saw her seat-mate, all thought of silent meditation left her. He was drop-dead handsome. And he was smiling at her.

He rose as Penelope approached and settled her bag on the empty seat next to him. "Would you prefer the window?" he asked, leaning forward solicitously.

"No, no, I'm fine on the aisle," she told him, trying and failing to meet his gorgeous dark eyes. What was his accent?

"Or may I switch seats so you and your husband can sit together?"

"I'm not married," Penelope returned thoughtlessly, tucking her skirt under her as she sat down. She glanced up at his eyes again and saw a faint twinkle. She realized her mistake instantly. Of course he’d been fishing for information. She gave him her best skeptical look.

"Ah. I'm transparent," he said. "Forgive me. I wanted an excuse to talk. I'm Marco," he said, extending his hand. She reached across awkwardly to shake it. "Penelope. But everyone calls me Penny."

"Penny? The smallest coin? Surely you are worth more than that?"

Penelope laughed nervously. Marco’s gaze was really too disarming. She rummaged through her purse as if for something important and carefully arranged it beneath her seat.

They were silent for a while as the airplane taxied and announcements were made. Penny got out a magazine but didn't open it. How could she start their conversation again? It was important to say something before he gave up on her and went to sleep for the whole flight. After all, one is not often trapped next to someone so attractive for eight hours at a stretch. As the flight lifted off, she at last found the courage to ask what he'd been doing in the US. "Visiting some old football friends," he told her. It seemed he'd been a professional soccer player some years past. (Was he really old enough to have a past?) They talked about the sport for a while, Penny embarrassedly admitting her complete ignorance. She asked general questions, like "What was life like on the road?"

"We didn't travel first class, I tell you that," he said. "And you - why are you going to England? I don't think it is business."

"No," she admitted, "I'm just going as a tourist."

"Just a tourist? I think it's more than that. You have the look of a woman who is going to meet her lover." He nudged her arm familiarly. She liked it. Still, she shook her head no. Their conversation rested. This time the silence felt comfortable. She read for a while.

The flight attendant came through offering beverages. “Just water,” said Penny, but Marco grabbed her hand as if they were a couple and asked for red wine for them both. He rapped their hands against the armrest emphatically as he declared, "We must celebrate the beginning of your journey!" Penny couldn't help laughing.

When the wine came, Marco raised his glass to her and she touched hers against it in toast. As she took her first sip, Marco pounced.

"And what is he called, this lover of yours you are traveling so far to see?" Marco asked. Penny nearly choked on her wine. It seemed she wasn’t much of a liar.

But why not answer him? It slipped out so easily. "Louis."

Marco's hand touched hers again, and he smiled wickedly. "I don't think 'Louis' is what you really call him." Penny tried to look puzzled. "I think, when you are alone... you call him something much more respectful."

Penny took another swallow of wine to hide her discomfiture. How did he know?

"I can read so much in a woman's eyes," Marco continued. He ran one fingers slowly down the inside of her arm. His voice was pitched low. "What do you call him - Sir? Master?"

"Mr. Craness," she choked out. It was horribly embarrassing to admit, and yet she felt she couldn’t help herself. It was like she was under a spell.

"Ah, yes, Mister Craness, very proper." Marco's voice massaged the words, making them sound lascivious. Penny felt herself flush.

"Don't worry, little Penny. Mister Louis Craness won't mind my enjoying your company. I know all about his kind."

The cabin lights dimmed as the flight attendant collected their glasses. Penny thought she might read a little while. She felt restless, even vaguely claustrophobic. Despite being in business class, there wasn’t quite enough room. Or maybe it was the tension of sitting next to a handsome man inside the intimate hum of jet engines. She reached to turn on the light, her arm brushing Marco’s shoulder. A searing pain struck her shoulder and she made an involuntary cry of pain.

“What’s the matter?” Marco asked, immediately attentive.

“It’s just a muscle spasm,” Penny said, but Marco was all concern and sympathy. "Let me," he said, inveigling his hand under hers where she gripped her shoulder.

"Ah," she protested, "No," but already his fingers had found their way to a spot that offered relief.

"Breathe out," he said, and her breath released. Why should she not let him help her, if he was willing? He took her shoulder in both hands and moved it, pulling the scapula towards him gently. It felt marvelous. She could feel the pain and tension draining out of her. At the same time, Marco’s nearness took on a new intensity. Handsome, handsome Marco was giving her his full attention, touching her with his warm, intelligent hands.

"You're good at that," Penny said, to break the silence as much as anything.

"It's what I do," he said. "Now that I'm retired from football, I do massage. Or, massage is part of what I do." He lifted her upper arm, rocking it back and forth as his fingers probed the base of her neck.

"What else?" she asked. She felt her neck and jaw relaxing.

"I specialize. I invented a new technique. I call it Hypno-Massage."

Hypno-Massage. How corny, Penny thought. She laughed and as quickly tried to stop herself. “That sounds very interesting,” she ventured.

"Would you like to try it?" he offered.

That sounded like a come-on. The whole idea sounded like a come on. But Marco was still working on her shoulder, and his touch was entirely sincere. "What do you do?" she asked him.

"It's hard to explain. I'd love for you to experience it." His voice was earnest. "I think it would be a wonderful way for you to start your journey. In the right frame of mind - relaxed, confident..." She could tell this was a seduction. Maybe she was a little hypnotized already, because she didn't feel the need to object.

"Alright," she said. "What do I need to do?"

"Nothing, cara. Just put your seat back so you can rest your head."

"Are you going to hypnotize me?"

"Yes, but, you know, it is perfectly safe. You won't go to sleep, you can stop anytime." His voice was soothing. She put her seat back and Marco turned out her light. She felt warm and at ease. "I think," he said, his voice getting lower, "You would like some pleasure. Something to prepare you for Mister Craness."

It was too much. I should stop him, she thought. His knowing tone when he mentioned Mr. Craness. The offer of pleasure. They were on an airplane -- practically public transportation. As her mind protested, Marco was massaging her upper arm, melding pain with kindness as he unwound her muscles. "Pleasure," she heard herself saying in a sleepy voice. "We're--there's no privacy."

"Don't worry. I won't undress you. If you would like, I will touch only your arm." He gazed at her sincerely, and she smiled. It had been a long day. Why not relax. Her eyelids were heavy.

"Wonderful," she said, and let her head fall back against the seat. Marco's thumb ran down her arm, erasing tension. Her whole body began to relax. Her eyes closed.

"Let yourself go," he said into her ear. She could feel his breath on her cheek. "Focus only on sensation." His thumb pressed a knot near her elbow. Pain flared and then faded. He continued kneading her arm.

"I'm going to make my touch lighter," Marco murmured. "But it won't tickle. You'll remain relaxed." His fingers began to run slowly up and down her arm. It felt incredibly sensual.

"Feel my fingers tracing lines of light on your arm," he told her. She could visualise it, glowing white behind his fingers. His thumb grazed the inside of her arm and she shivered with pleasure.

"That's right," he said. "Sink into the sensation. Feel your arm is your whole body." He traced a circle on her shoulder. "Here is your head." His fingers trailed down her deltoid and lingered at its base. "Here," he said, his voice getting lower, "Are your breasts." He pinched her there, very gently. She felt it in her clit. "Yes," he said, "Good. It is as if I am playing with your nipples." His fingers pressed and squeezed. Her chest felt tight. The pressure of her clothes against her breasts became noticeable, and her nipples hardening against her bra.

His fingers slid lower down her arm and for a moment she felt bereft. He was making small circles above her elbow crease, around and around. "Do you feel this in your tummy?" he asked. Speaking felt difficult, so she nodded minutely. "Yes, you do. Good girl. This is your tummy, and here--" he traced the fold of her elbow-- "we are lower still." Her pussy throbbed. Marco traced a triangle along the crease of her elbow, pointing downward. "It feels good, doesn't it? You know where this is." She did. Her body did. Her hips were rocking slowly beneath the airline blanket. His touch lightened. He might only have been stroking the fine, invisible hairs of her arm as he made tiny circles. She could feel the circles like fire around her clit. Moisture was seeping out of her, and her breath was short.

"Mmm," said Marco. "You like that. How beautiful you are when you are deeply aroused." His fingers didn't stop their subtle caresses. "Soon you will reach your peak," he continued. "Soon. Already you feel the energy building, don't you. You crave a finger inside you. A cock, filling you. You long to be fucked."

Every word became true as he said it. Her legs were parted lewdly underneath her blanket, and she longed for his hand to leave her arm and touch her pussy. Privacy be damned. She was past caring. "Shh, shh," he said, pressing a finger to her lips. "Soon you will cum for me, but quietly, quietly. Pay attention to my hands." She tuned back in to the inside of her arm. His fingers were brushing her skin rapidly now, from just above her elbow to halfway down her forearm. His strokes were rapid, as if he were brushing something off her skin, and she felt each one as an electric force, pulsing against her clit.

"Yes," he said, "You're ready. Relax. Let it unfold." She realized she'd tensed every muscle in her body. With a breath, she let go. Her orgasm bloomed in her like a peony, unfurling layer after layer of iridescent pleasure. Marco's hands steadied her, one firmly behind her neck, one still tracing circles on her arm. She gasped and arched silently, on and on, and finally subsided. Pleasure still lingered at her core, sending little spasms through her. She turned to look at Marco and saw his gorgeous smile. She smiled back, and their lips met in a soft, lingering kiss.

She would have gone on kissing him. She imagine she would have climbed on his lap and ridden him if he'd asked her -- but he drew away. "Do you feel wonderful?" he asked, holding her face in his hands.

"I do." She did.

"You are delightful company," he said. "But now--let me help you sleep. After all, you'll be meeting your Mister Craness in the morning. You need to rest." He tucked the blanket around her. His fingers brushed her arm and she moaned. "Mmmm," Marco hummed at her. "But it's time for rest now. Listen to me." He moved his palm over her face, closing her eyes. "Sleep, and wake rested."

She don't think he did anything else. There was no repeated suggestion. Maybe he still had her hypnotised or maybe, replete, she was just ready to drift off. Either way, she fell asleep, and woke surprised as her breakfast tray arrived.

Read at BedPost Confessions, November 2010.

Travelogue, Chapter 2, Part 1

Well, it seems I never published chapter one of this story. I'll have to get to that. Meanwhile - enjoy.

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Mr. Craness was waiting on the sidewalk as the taxi pulled up in front of one in a long line of tall row houses. A jolt of recognition ran through Penny as she glimpsed his profile. He was exactly as she’d imagined from his photographs. Perhaps the grey in his hair was less prominent in real life, and his eyes less dark. Then he stepped up to the cab and opened her door, and she saw that his smile was far warmer than she could have pictured. They paused, then, for a moment, Penny poised to disembark, Mr. Craness half bent to peer in at her, their eyes locked. His eyes crinkled appealingly, and she thought there was a hint of mockery in them. Her heart pounded. Then he extended a hand and she took it, trying to rise gracefully from her seat.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t meet you at the airport,” he said, stepping smoothly in front of her to pay the driver and retrieve her bags. “It was project day at school, and I was required to preside.” His hand was on the small of her back, guiding her towards the stairs. She reached for the iron railing to compensate for the unsteadying influence of his touch.

“Are you alright?” he asked, moving his hand to just above her elbow. She turned toward him. She was on the first step, while he still stood on the sidewalk. His eyes were startlingly close to hers.

“I’m just nervous,” Penny managed. Mr. Craness smiled that heart-melting smile again, and began to propel her up the stairs.

“Nothing to be nervous about, my dear. We’re old friends, aren’t we?” Through her increasing haze of unreality, she examined this statement. Friends? This was not how she would have described their arrangement.

He’d taken her hand and touched her back, but no embraces or kisses had been exchanged. As he showed her to her room, now steering her firmly by the small of her back, Penny debated whether to make some affectionate gesture. Meanwhile, Mr. Craness explained that the house was not, in fact, his, but that of one of his employees. “Robert and his wife are out of the country for a few months, and they’ve put the house at my disposal,” he explained. “This way you will have your own space without feeling any obligation.”

He set down her bag on the bed of a rather plain room, furnished in modern, clean-lined teak. Penny went to the window and found a view of a row of back yards. Clouds hid the sun but she was surprised at how bright the day was. It seemed impossible that it was still morning.

“I’ll leave you here to get comfortable,” Mr. Craness was saying. Penny turned, sensing her last chance to instigate affection. Her step forward was checked by his next words. “Please remove your panties before you come out to the front room.”

It was said matter-of-factly, as if it were a house rule along the lines of “no shoes on the carpet”. If Mr. Craness noticed her startlement, he didn’t show it. He smiled congenially and left the room, shutting the door behind him.

Alone, Penny looked about the room. For furniture, there were a bed, a small bedside table, a chest of drawers, and a rectangular white leather arm chair. A long white curtain at the window was the only decoration. A clothes rail hung along one wall. She was glad she’d packed lightly. Too many dresses would have disturbed the rooms peaceful spareness. All of her belongings took only a minute to put away. She opened a door and found a small bathroom. A door on the other side of the bathroom connected to what she assumed was the master bedroom. She closed it again quickly. At the tap she brushed her teeth and splashed water on her face.

“Remove your panties...” She replayed his tone in her head. There was no room for questioning. She’d agreed to come as his protégé. It seemed lessons would begin immediately. Her stomach tightened pleasurably, and she slipped off her underwear. They were a bit stiff with dried essence from her evening with Marco. She smiled at the memory. Just as well she was taking them off. Not seeing a hamper, she tucked them in the dresser’s top drawer, in another corner from the rest of her things.

She found Mr. Craness emerging from the kitchen, drinks in hand. She accepted the water he handed her. He gestured towards a bentwood dining chair, out of place in the living room next to more boxy white leather furniture. “Sit there,” he said. “I want to look at you.” He sat on the couch facing her, his knees a few inches from hers. Penny tried to adjust her posture. He was purposefully putting her ill-at-ease. Her shiver of nervousness was almost arousal.

“It’s wonderful to finally meet you,” she ventured. She tried to make her voice sound natural but the words sounded embarrassingly out of place. He surveyed her steadily, the same appealing smile he’d greeted her with hovering about his eyes.

“I’m certain we’ll enjoy getting to know each other better,” he replied. “Now - tell me about your trip. Did you enjoy the seat I chose for you?” They chatted about her flight, which she reported as pleasantly uneventful. She felt herself relaxing slightly. Mr. Craness’s voice was reassuringly familiar from their many telephone conversations. He told her a little about his morning. Then, without any change in tone or pause for transition, he put a hand on her knee and said, “Move your chair closer and spread your legs apart.”

Penny felt her whole body flush. Awkwardly, she did as she was asked, hiking her chair forward between his knees. “Closer,” he said, and then lifted her legs so her knees sat on top of his, her hips tilted slightly up, her feet hanging against his ankles. Her skirt was rumpled, and she moved to pull it down, but his hand stopped her. “Sit up straight,” he admonished. She had to prop her hands behind her on the seat of the chair to comply. “Good,” Mr. Craness said. “Stay like that.”

It was not a particularly comfortable position. Penny was painfully aware of Mr. Craness’s eyes on her exposed pussy. She felt a faint dampness building, and hoped he couldn’t see it glisten. He smiled into her eyes as he reached out a hand. One finger traced lightly up and down her cleft. Her breath caught in her throat.

“I have only one rule to teach you, Penny. But it will require your complete attention.” His fingers glossed gently over her clitoris and traveled down her slit again. “Do I have your complete attention?” he asked.

She managed to muster her voice. “Yes, Mr. Craness.” On the telephone he had always asked her to answer him by name.

“Good,” he said. His fingers brushed and lingered. “My rule is this. You will treat me with respect.” He pinched her clit lightly, and Penny gasped. “What do you think respect means?” he asked.

Penny’s mind was not equal to the question at this moment. Her attention was on his two fingers, subtly, rhythmically, pressing and releasing her clit. Mr. Craness’s deepening smile seemed to acknowledge her difficulty. “It means, Penny, that you will be honest, obedient, and courteous. Do you think you can do that?” His fingers released her clit and resumed tracing her slickness up and down.

“Yes, Mr. Craness,” Penny replied. His finger penetrated her slowly and, unintentionally, her cunt muscles grabbed and pulled at it. She heard his low chuckle through a fog of desire.

A second finger joined the first, and his thumb returned to her clit. Her hips moved helplessly. “What a little whore you are, Penny,” she heard. She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted his lips desperately. She shifted her weight to reach out for him, but his free hand pushed her back against the chair. “Stay there,” he said. His fingers fucked her. Her tits ached and her back arched towards him. His hand again pressed her backwards. The thrust of his fingers emphasized his words. “I - want - an - obedient - little - slut.” Penny’s control was rapidly slipping. Only his hand against her sternum kept her from slipping out of the chair. She cried out over and over, grinding her hips against his hand, aware only of wetness and pleasure and need.

Her orgasm crashed over her, lifting her hips into the air, pushing her head backward to hang over the chair. All that held her up were her hands on the seat, her thighs on his knees, and his fingers, deep inside her cunt. She’d wanted to be beautiful. She’d wanted to be confident and graceful and self contained. In some small corner of her mind she saw herself, straining and grunting, and knew all of that was lost.

Her legs slipped from Mr. Craness’s knees and he removed his fingers from her cunt. Her body curled forward over their interwoven knees. He didn’t object, when her forehead came to rest on his thigh. Neither did he run his fingers through her hair. It was quiet. She felt bleary and increasingly disconnected. “I want kisses,” she said, sitting up again. It came out sounding petulant. She pushed her hair back from her face and tried to look Mr. Craness in the eye. He stood, his legs still against her knees. He looked down at her.

“I imagine there will be kisses for you, pretty Penny. But you’re not here for a romantic tryst, are you? We’re not passionate lovers. We agreed you would come here as my student.” He smiled again and caressed her cheek. She could smell herself on his fingers. Seeming to catch her thought, Mr. Craness moved a finger to her mouth, and she opened her lips obediently. “I think,” he continued, “We will both enjoy your visit quite a bit.” Suckling his finger, almost floating with jet lag and arousal and confusion, Penny gave up on analysis. There’d be time enough for thinking later. Right now, she was being led to the bedroom and clean white sheets.

Six words for air

A little six-word-lines exercise.
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You take my breath away.
You are my air. I'm yours.

I'll breathe when you let me.
You'll let me breathe, won't you?

Let me breathe, I need to.
I need you to let me!

You've taken my air. My need.
Not even breathing is mine now.

You're taking my breath away, you-
You're taking me. I need you.

I need breath I need air

You'll let me breathe won't you?

I need you- Gasp- my air.
I writhe and explode, desperately airless.

You are my air. I'm yours.