Prelude - Economy Flight

Author's Note: This section is largely a repeat of the end of How Kitten Met Teddybear. If you have read that story, you can skip this chapter.

Sean:

Every girl supposedly dreams of her wedding. I had no such illusions about Sheila, but I thought the Ball would lift her spirits. No joy. After a couple of dances, the two of us were back at schmoozing, so she never got out on the floor. I had more luck sending CC after kegel balls and restraints. It tickled my fancy when Sheila decided to wear one of the silk scarves over her hair. It was easy to visualize the same scarf over her eyes, while I put her body through its paces.

Once we were in the Bentley, things were better. Sheila wanted to get close and snuggle. I could sympathize, but we had a lot of traveling to do before we reached the south Pacific. Instead I had her open the picnic basket and pull out the nosh.

Sheila had liked the cheese and crackers from our first date, so I had selected food along the same lines, plus fish. We had rosemary flat bread, neufchatel, smoked oysters, pickles and an assortment of condiments. On the side were oranges and pears, followed by coffee and 85% cocoa solid chocolate. California was hours away and I had no illusions about airline food. Even first class food is marginal and we were stuck in coach.

Sheila seemed pleased to have something to do. Working on a tiny cutting board, she spread the neufchatel evenly on the bread, added lines of sriracha and wasabi sauce, topped them with smoked oysters and slivers of sweet pickles, then rolled and sliced it like so much sushi. I was impressed. Where we were going, I could get her training with a certified sushi chef and fresh off the boat fish. Sheila would like that. I peeled and sectioned an orange. When it was all ready, I had an inspiration.

Leaning close, I whispered, "Imagine that scarf on your head has been folded and used to bind your wrists behind you." Sheila's eyes widened, but her hands moved behind her back. "Now, another scarf has been folded and bound over your eyes. You are helpless and blind. You hope that I will sate the hunger you feel, but fear I will only give you food. Is this not so?"

Sheila closed her eyes and said, "Yes, Sir, it is so." Her scent told me I needed to take action to save her dress. Fortunately, there were napkins handy. I had her raise up, so that I could pull the hem of her dress up to her waist. I put three folded napkins on the leather seat, then let her sit. I informed her, "It will not do to have this car smelling like the Mercedes. I gave Russell a bonus for keeping you on the road with such distraction." As I said this, I pulled two fingers through her moist folds. On the word "distraction" I put my wet fingers under her nose. Sheila flushed, but made no response. That's my girl.

This was the kind of play I could continue for hours, and I intended to do so in the week to come. However, we were nearing Princeton, so I needed to hurry things along. I fed her slices of roll up, wedges of orange and bottled water. When I finished, I told her that her hands and eyes were free, so that she could pour coffee. I ate by feel, because watching Sheila was important. She managed to unstack the cups, pour the coffee, stir in cream and unwrap the chocolate without letting her dress cover her lap. Again, we were out of time.

I said, "Well done. You may cover yourself and enjoy the coffee. I promise to dip some chocolate in you, at some point, so you can compare flavor. For now, just think about the balls in your pussy and try to relax. We can take them out on our second air leg." This time her eyes went wide, then narrowed. I needed to stay on guard.

Sheila:

As the car pulled away from the house, I thought of my first view of the house seven days earlier. It had been a life changing week, but I thought of Sean's house as the end of the road. Silly me. It had been the beginning. So much more happened in the last week, my mind could not take it all in. The one surety was Sean. He seemed to think along the same lines, because he took charge.

Our drive to the airport in Philadelphia would take less than an hour. Even so, Sean had brought food. At his direction, I made two rolls of cream cheese and shell fish. I would have served them, but Sean had other ideas. He told me to consider myself bound and blindfolded. I let out a mental sigh of relief and told him this was exactly what I needed.

The first thing Sean did was have me raise off the car seat. He pulled back my skirt so that I was not sitting on it. Before I was allow to sit, he put a stack of napkins on the glove leather seat. As he worked. he made an embarrassing comment about the trip back from Brooklyn. I had no clear memory of that drive, but the car still smelled of sex on Friday. There is good embarrassing and bad embarrassing. This was not the good.

Before I could decide what, if anything, to do about it, Sean ran his fingers through my cleft and held them under my nose. Not good. I was not a puppy that had just shit on the floor. There was a limit and Sean was getting very close. Maybe he sensed it, because he changed the subject to coffee and chocolate. Just to prove I could, I kept the skirt up at my waist as I served him.

Sean ended the scene and gave appropriate praise, not that I cared. Then he jerked the chain again, by reminding me of the ben wa balls. That was one step too far. I spent the rest of the ride thinking how Christine would handle the situation. She had a gift for finding blind spots.

Sean:

Sheila was pissed and I didn't blame her. She had been following my lead like a good little submissive. The problem was that she was not a submissive. We have CC to set that standard. As near as I could make it out, Sheila found direction soothing. I had the requisite mentality, but giving it free reign could lead to trouble. It just had, though not for the first time. I needed to make a conciliatory gesture.

To complicate matters, we were in heavy traffic near the airport, so time was limited. If the silk scarf had been any less visible, I might have missed it. I told her to give it to me, then cross her wrists. Sheila glared, but there was no hesitation. I folded the scarf into a narrow cord, then draped it over one of her arms. Sheila's reaction was a study in emotion.

She settled on a questioning look. I answered, "When you wish me to use it, return it." She threw her arms around my neck and mashed my face into her shoulder. I said, "I love you too, Kitten, but we need to get on a plane. I plan to punch your admission into the Mile High club, though not on this first flight." That earned me a laugh. When we separated, Sheila had on her public face. She pulled out a mirror and checked her makeup, but it was pure form.

Airport security is everyone's idea of inconvenient. Our luggage was pre-checked, but we both had a carry on and separate computer bag. After the wait in queue, with more time for me to put on my shoes and belt, we needed to run for the gate. It is the only time I ever envied pumps. Our plane was in final boarding, but any catch is a good catch. In a few minutes we were settling into our cramped seats.

On top of everything else, the only available seats were in coach and not together. I asked the steward if he could fix this, but we were stuck til after take off. One aggravating thing about overbooked flights is that there are standby passengers. Even though we had rushed to board at all, there was a delay for more people to board. In fact, we were so late we should have been bumped. I did not know if one of Gerald's people had called ahead, but I planned to check.

Eventually, we were told to stow our electronics and fasten seat belts. Some time after that, we turned onto the runway and lifted for California. When the seat belt light went out, I was ready to get up, but the woman in the aisle seat decided to dig in her bag. Finally I told her that I had come straight from my house and had not had time to visit the restroom. Never lie when the truth will do. I was glad of it when I saw Sheila's amused smile.

Unfortunately, I really did need to go. I gave Sheila a proper hug, then headed for the line at the facilities. When I returned, Sheila was sitting in my seat. The aisle seat was empty. I was about to ask where the woman had gone, but realized it was pointless. Sheila confirmed my guess with a simple nod. God, I love competent people. I offered Sheila the aisle seat, which she accepted. After that, the flight was almost enjoyable.

LAX was not. There are worse airports—O'Hare comes to mind—but nothing is convenient in Los Angeles. Once again we needed to hurry. We were in terminal one and needed to get to TBIT in under twenty minutes. This time I was glad I was not wearing pumps. I will never know how Sheila can make walking in heels look so easy.

Several breathless minutes later, we reached our departure gate. To my surprise, there was a sign with Sheila's full name on it. Like hell. You got to Sheila through me. Holding the sign was a well turned out man of about thirty or thirty five. I went up to him and asked, "Why do you want Mrs. Richards?" He started and said, "I cannot ... Sean Richards?" Point for him. I nodded.

He said, "I am authorized to give this to you. You must be important, because AA bought me a ticket to Vegas, just to get me in the terminal." I knew I liked Aaron Aldermann. The man handed me a CD wallet, which I opened. Inside were four CD or DVD. One had a post-it note saying, "Play First." To thank him I said, "Good luck at the tables." He smirked and said, "I would rather get lucky off 'em." I just nodded, glad he did not work for me.

Sheila may have been spending too much time with CC. Her only question was a raised eyebrow. I handed her the wallet. She looked inside and nodded, as if expecting something like it. She didn't even ask who sent it. I found that comforting. Sheila reads me like a novel. At least she was not the only one.

I would have given her my present, but they called boarding for first class. We had crammed into five hours of economy to make this flight. This leg would be in style and I hoped she could sleep. We would arrive about six AM local time, in Honolulu, even though it was eleven hours in the air, plus an hour changing planes. Tuesday would be worse. The Marshall Islands are on the other side of the date line. Coming home was nonstop to JFK—ten air hours, but seventeen by the clock.

This whole trip was goofy that way. Scheduling late had made careful plans impossible. For some obscure reason, I wanted Sheila to see Kwajalein Island, where I had been stationed briefly. I had planned to go on to New Zealand. The closest I could get to Kwajalein was the national capital at Majuro. Continuing on to Australia or New Zealand proved impossible on short notice. However, the vagaries of plane schedules would take us to Guam on the flight out. That would be interesting. Guam is more Japanese than American

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