5 comments/ 5701 views/ 2 favorites Oh Captain! My Captain! By: dora_salonica The Captain and I met in Istanbul. On the way there, I was reading a well-known novel on the metaphysics of quality, by Robert Pirsig: Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. Just before reaching the Turkish border, and as the gentle Greek landscape speeded out of sight, through the window of the bus that swallowed up the kilometres, taking me closer and closer to the man that was going to prove himself the best lover I have ever had in my life, I read these lines: I would like to use the time to talk in some depth about things that seem important. What is in mind is a sort of Chautauqua - that's the only name that I can think of for it - like the travelling tent-show Chautauquas that used to move across America...an old-time series of popular talks intended to edify and entertain, improve the mind and bring culture and enlightenment to the ears and thoughts of the hearer... The Captain was a pilot for Turkish Airlines and during the weekend he was going to be in Istanbul, a mere 10-hour journey from my hometown, Thessaloniki, in the North of Greece. "This is the most I have ever done for a man," I informed him laughing. In all truth, I just wanted to have a relaxing weekend away from home, have some light spankings in the hands of the old-timer, some sex possibly (how much could he possibly want, at the age of sixty) and, most importantly, to see the city that weighed heavily on the shoulders of the history of my people. The Captain had contacted me first, through a site that brought together people with "alternative" erotic preferences. He was a dominant man and I was a submissive woman. It is good to know where you stand, though few people can actually live up to the image they have of themselves. We had exchanged a few mails over the past week, some photos and some innocent flirtations. His first mail had caught my attention: "If I were a race driver, and you were a brand new car, where would you prefer to be taken for a test drive? In sleepy town suburbia, on the high way, a scenic mountain road, or on the Indy 500 track, and why?" My answer was probably what caught his attention: "In the garage. Locked up." He said that he found me a bit arrogant. I denied that. "Actually, I am very humble," I said. I believed it too. Later on, he showed me a picture of his face. He thought he did not look handsome. My actual impression of him, the way he sat in the cockpit, dressed in his pilot's suit, with his silver hair surrounding his face like a halo, was that he looked like a prince out of a Hans Christian Andersen fairy tale. Personally, I compared myself to only one of the girls in Andersen's tales: the girl in "The Princess and the pea," where the stupid little princess cannot find any comfort, because a tiny pea under twenty mattresses is bothering her all night long. The pea was the thing that hurt me the most, in this life. Something that I could not put my finger on, though I knew it was there. If he could find what it was, and help me and comfort me, then I would be most grateful. He decided to take me up on the challenge: "Damn the pea. If we work on it together we may soften it up a little, and calm it down, at least for a while. And if the little thing is really demanding we will just have to work harder, or maybe relocate to another fairy tale, maybe one we will make up along the way." And with this, he invited me for a weekend to Istanbul. I accepted, warning him that I had the best orgasms in the world. I had nothing else to offer him in return for that weekend. Of course, what I did not tell him, was that I usually achieved those orgasms when alone, in the peace and quiet of my room... "In case you did not know," he replied, "what turns a real sadist on is watching his woman losing it and succumbing to her own lust. That is the ultimate goal to his actions, his reward for all his hard work." I had heard all this before. I remained doubtful, as my past experiences had proven to be very disappointing. I took all the blame, naturally. I usually had great difficulty in letting go of my inhibitions. I was a woman very willing to please, but unable to find much pleasure in the act of lovemaking. I concentrated on "losing it" through pain and I left pleasure to those who could handle it. But what had made me trust a complete stranger, whom I had never met before and about whom I knew nothing except what he told me? What if he were dangerous? One has to be very careful with people that seek a relationship over the pages of those sites. And what if he were lying to me? What if I got to Istanbul and he was nowhere to be found? I had spent most of my money on the ticket and on some new stockings. After all, I am a single mother of three, with many responsibilities which I am not prepared to shirk off. Still, I had managed to scrape up a bit, in case of an emergency. If anything went wrong, I would cry a little for my stupidity, find a cheap hotel, spend the night there and then get back to Greece, with one more disappointment in my memoirs, with a little more of my innocence chipped away. For that is the main characteristic of a submissive woman: she is as innocent as a child. She is often willing to trust a complete stranger. She places her hand in his and walks next to him, just like a little girl hopping next to her daddy as he takes her on a stroll in the sun...Women who cannot do this, are just kidding themselves about being submissive. And that was exactly what had made me trust the Captain. He mentioned something that one of the great philosophers of his home country had said once: To live is to dare losing your footing. This struck a familiar note in the way I approach living and relating to others. And although I am very often disappointed and even betrayed, by the representatives of the male sex that I meet, as I hop trustingly through life, singing a little song of my own making, I must admit that I keep daring to lose my footing. This is what makes me like myself, which is something that not many people can brag about. So, in the evening of the last Saturday in October, of the year 2010, I arrived in Istanbul. The Captain did not disappoint me. He was there. I saw him standing at the bus stop, waiting for me. And I am very glad I can add to my memoirs - and be truthful, as I always am - the phrase: The Captain and I met in Istanbul... ***** He was better than his photos. Before the weekend was over, I would be able to add that he was better than the city of Istanbul itself. I don't think that this information will actually make it into his already excellent resume, but one day he may tell his grandchildren about it. He was tall, much taller than me. He stood up straight, which most tall people avoid doing, for some peculiar reason. Perhaps they don't think it is worth the effort, since nature has already endowed them with all the height that they deserved. The Captain was one of those men who like making an effort. I think that this is the only thing that makes a man deserve his height - even when one is short. We kissed fleetingly, he took my suitcase in his hand and he hailed a cab. We made light conversation all the way to the hotel. I had the chance to look at him closely and jot down the following observations, in the mental pad that I always carry with me, so that I may afterwards work them into the memoirs of my zany erotic life. He was quite possibly one of the best dressed men I have ever encountered. Armani jeans, a brown Armani belt, brown shoes (later that night I would secretly verify two details of the utmost importance, that they were Boss and indeed size 45, as I had guessed), a polo shirt, Gant I believe, though my memory could fool me on that. A brown leather jacket, of the finest quality, very soft to the touch. Large hands, long fingers with square nails cut short. Silver hair, bright blue eyes, a straight nose, elegantly turned upwards. His face was not completely symmetrical. When he smiled, his mouth twisted slightly to the left. According to research, an asymmetrical face is always a sure sign of attraction, just as dialect is one of the things that make us feel at ease and just as contact with a mind deviating a little from the norm generates a certain kind of warmth, as if we had found ourselves suddenly in the throes of an important moment, of which we are a part. This thought reminded me of my own personal Chautauqua, which I have been living and writing about in the past few years of my life. I wondered what would happen to me in the next few days in Istanbul, if I followed the Captain, if I let myself go in his large hands, if I gave him what I had come to give him, having travelled for more than a thousand kilometres, even though I was not quite sure what it was that he wanted from me, or what it was that I had to give. Most importantly, what would I learn from these moments, which I had so trustingly decided to embrace? "You may laugh, weep, reason, sing, sneer, or pray, according to your genius." That is what Emerson used to say about the great tradition of the Chautauquas. I decided then that the best thing to do was to rely on my genius and relax. I was there and I would see it through, as all brave people do. There was nothing more to be said. Now it was time for action. I hope you are up to it, little fool, I said to myself, as we drove through the brightly lit streets of Istanbul. Just then, we reached the district of Bakirkoy. ***** The Captain opened the door for me, stepped aside and ushered me into his room. It was a five-star hotel, one of the best in Istanbul. There was a seminar of some type going on there, so the hotel was crawling with the best pilots in Europe, the Captain's colleagues and friends, to whom he would introduce me later on, much to my delight. The room was large, sporting a double bed with a leather headboard. There was also a very promising - and from my point of view very useful - lectus, a reclining couch of the type used by Ancient Romans, with a few cushions lining the back and a soft, golden fabric covering the wooden frame. Out of the window, in the morning, I would get a good view of the Marmara sea. The Captain opened a bottle of champagne. He poured me a glass and gave it to me. I was thrilled. My hunch had been right, the man had come out of a book. And I was sure as hell going to put him into another one, soon. We made a toast and drank a bit of the bubbly. It was nice and smooth. Then the Captain said that I would probably like to take a shower, before he took me out for a meal. The bathroom was just as refined as the rest of the environment in which I had found myself. I am very pleased when my surroundings are to my satisfaction. A very demanding little princess, I suppose. Yet, I could feel the pea lurking, inconspicuous but bothersome... When I stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in a soft, white towel, the Captain asked me to stand in front of him naked, for an inspection. I removed the towel, with a simple gesture, as I always do, and stood there naked, in the middle of the room. He asked me to hold my hands behind my back and keep my eyes closed, with my head slightly tilted towards the floor. I did as he told me, for I like to go with the flow of things. He examined closely every nook and cranny of my body and was very satisfied with the small silver padlock that he discovered hanging from my inner pussy lips. This is a remnant from a previous relationship, which I now wear as a jewel, until the time comes to wear it as a symbol again. He did not touch me at all. He checked my body and then he merely showed me some of the toys he had brought along from Madrid, the city where his itinerary had taken him before Istanbul. He had purchased a long, thin whip, with a small piece of rope at the end. He also had a bag of tricks, such as a purple butt plug, of medium size, a vibrator, some clamps, a coil of red rope...The whip impressed me the most. It whooshed when he brandished it, scaring the hell out of me. What had happened to the plan for a light spanking, I wondered... He asked me to get dressed and I did. I put on black underwear, my brand-new stockings, a short black dress that revealed a good part of my cleavage, a pair of peep-toes and a black coat. It was a chilly autumn night. The Captain took me to Sultanahmet, a district where the best sights of Istanbul can be found: Hagia Sophia, which is the Church of the Divine Wisdom, the Blue Mosque, Topkapi Palace...If only a little of the divine wisdom could find its way into my head, I thought to myself... We went to a fine restaurant, where we had a light dinner. A dish of Turkish specialties whetted our appetite. This was followed by seafood salad, accompanied by a bottle of the best Turkish white wine. We chatted cheerfully throughout the meal. He was an interesting person and we got along very well. I was very happy to find a cultivated man, with very realistic expectations from life, from me and from himself. He had started his career as a fighter pilot, before working for a commercial airlines. He had been flying for 40 years and had been all over the world. He could keep a conversation going just on his experiences from his travels, even if one assumed he had nothing else to talk about. Towards the end of our meal, I asked for permission to use the bathroom. I was very careful to be on my best behaviour. When I behave to men I like with respect, we both get much more pleasure out of our time together. He gave me permission but asked me to remove my panties in the bathroom and bring them to him. Then I would have to lift my dress and sit down on my bare bottom, like O used to do. I murmured "Yes Sir" and did as he told me. I do not know what sort of depths that phrase of obeisance had come from, for I had only submitted to Greek men in the past. Perhaps memories from films had found their way into my unconscious and had been waiting there, for this man to come along and bring them to life. But I would much rather ascribe it all to the catchy line, "Once a slave always a slave." When I came back to the table, I pressed my crunched up underwear into his hand. I was afraid that if the Turks realized what was going on, they would lock me up in a dungeon and throw away the key. It sounded almost tempting... I lifted my dress and sat down. I noticed that he had already placed a paper towel on the seat, so as not to expose me to any germs. It was already clear to me that this was a man who paid attention to detail and who would take good care of me. I had no other choice but to respect him more and more, as the hours went by. The best type of domination is the one that is built on respect. Some people rely on brute force. It is because they have no brain...That is the reason they usually end up with brainless bimbos. Life is sometimes cruelly fair... Back at the hotel, he wasted no time. He asked me to remove all of my clothes. I stood in front of him naked, once more. He tied my wrists to each other, with a cord, and then attached the cord to a hook he had screwed on to a low beam, near the ventilation grille. I was pleased that he had made preparations for my arrival. I was pleased with imagining his pleasure when preparing... I was made to stand on my toes, with my arms above my head. This made my tits seem smaller and more pointy than they are and my belly thinner, while my bum stuck out, round and fleshy. He brought out the rope and proceeded to tie my whole body, makings knots at regular intervals, between my breasts, near my belly button and on my pussy. Then he continued with the rope, spreading my buttocks well apart, wrapping it around once more and ending up encircling each breast firmly, making my tits look like tiny bulging lemons, that started immediately to turn purple. He placed the final knot where it had all started, between my breasts. As a final touch, he blindfolded me using a silk tie. He said he did not want me to see anything, because this was going to get ugly... The thought that I was tied up at the mercy of a total stranger did not even cross my mind. Trust is a fickle concept, but once it is established, it is a very strong foundation on which we can build. Only a real idiot will lose the trust he has already earned - and I have met my share of idiots. But the Captain was not an idiot. "I will warm you up first," he said. "You don't have to suffer more than is necessary." I am sure he knew exactly what he was talking about and he could see in his mind the exact range of pain that I should have to withstand. That was the first moment when I started seeing him as my pilot, while at the same time I saw myself as a small, difficult to handle plane, with its quirks and eccentricities, a plane gone a bit rusty, through disuse, or even misuse, the wings scratched and covered with patches here and there. A small aircraft of yet unknown potential, in the care of an experienced pilot who would have to assess what he could do and what he could not do, with this strange plane that had landed into his hands, so unexpectedly. He lifted his Armani belt and let me have a couple of blows. I tried to keep as quiet as possible, bearing in mind that we were in a Turkish hotel. He warmed up my buttocks very beautifully, continuing with his bare hands afterwards. He fondled and twisted my breasts and pulled at the rings on my nipples. My skin was crawling with excitement. I really enjoy being tied up. "I want to eat your pussy," he revealed suddenly to me. Now this is the ultimate test of dominance. A truly dominant man is not afraid to express his love of the female body, especially of that most mystical opening, the source of all those strange smells and fluids, that betray a woman's arousal, an arousal that comes from a dreamland somewhere in her mind, but resides in her flesh, hidden behind mysterious folds, that twist and open in the most weird and amazing shapes. Perhaps that was my temple of the divine wisdom, since my pretty little head seemed to remain empty... "I hope you have shaved well. I hate being scratched on the face. I will check you with my fingers first. If I find any stubble, you will be punished." Oh dear. I had done my best, earlier on, but unfortunately the shaver I had used was not of the type I usually buy. He checked my armpits first and he was greatly disappointed. "If this is an indication as to the rest, you are in trouble," he said. I started sweating a little bit. I am a people's pleaser, I get so unhappy when I fail to please. He touched my genitals and sighed heavily. I knew it was mostly a game, but I found myself picking up the thread of the story and playing along. I apologised profusely. I had to explain why I was so inadequate, in keeping my body clean and presentable for his tastes. I explained that I had had to rush in the morning and had not had the time to find the shavers that I normally buy. I was not to blame. It was all due to the circumstances. If I hadn't been travelling, to come and meet him, I would have had the chance to shave properly. "So you see," I ended brilliantly, "really, it is all your fault." I said it and waited, holding my breath. Then all hell broke loose. He stopped dead in his tracks and started untying me, so fast that I could not keep up with the begging. I begged and I begged, and though I hate begging, I begged well. To no avail. He removed the blindfold and the beautifully tied rope, released my wrists from the hook on the wall and left me standing there like a fool. Oh, I just wanted to cry. I had spoiled everything. I felt useless. An old piece of junk... ***** Pilots are very interesting creatures. The training they undergo ensures that they can deal with all types of unexpected events. They have a job in their hands that has to be carried out efficiently, despite possible malfunctions, adverse weather conditions or unforeseen circumstances. After all, they are usually responsible for hundreds of lives (an Airbus normally carries 240 passengers). Their job requires a great amount of self-discipline in following procedure, almost relentlessly. They have to use their best judgement to assess all situations, at all times, and make the appropriate decisions. Oh Captain! My Captain! My Captain was no different. He dragged me to the bed, sat at the edge, placed me over his knees, with my naked bum sticking up in the air and proceeded to spank me methodically. I had never been spanked before. I had been whipped, I had been slapped, I had been kicked, I had had needles stuck in me, hell, I had even been branded. But I had never been spanked. His huge hands landed on my buttocks and it was like a sudden flame set me on fire. He spanked me harder and harder, and he kept going faster and faster. I could not process what was happening to me. I tried to crawl out of his lap, twisting and turning, but it was useless. He held my legs between his legs so I could not move at all. There was nothing I could do. I could use only my left hand and I used it to caress him softly on his hip. I caressed him and I begged him, while I kept receiving the spanking. "Please, please stop," I said. "Please, please, please, stop..." He did not stop. He stopped only when he decided to stop. He suddenly said his hand had started to hurt. "This hurts me more than you," he chuckled. And I realized then, in between my astonishment at what had just happened, and the sizzling sensation on my bum, that I would have no choice but to submit to my fate. I had found the real thing, what I had given hope of ever finding again. "You are suicidal, you know that?" he said. "Saying such things when you are tied up at my mercy, when I am holding the whip..." He shook his head in disbelief, together with a sense of wonder. Then he made me stand up, dragged me to the lectus and placed me on it on my knees. "Try to behave now, okay?" I simply nodded. I was very glad he had forgiven my foolishness. He tied my legs to either side of the couch and made sure my tits were hanging over the back, so they would be free to accept a whipping, if he so wished. I had no desire to oppose his wishes. We were going to do what he wanted. The Captain started to whip me. I could hear the whoosh in the air, a second before the whip landed on my bum. There was a stinging sensation, spreading on the long straight line of each stroke. He was whipping me firmly, at regular intervals that allowed me to absorb the pain. I kept losing my position but always got back on my knees, after each stroke, with my tits hanging over the back of the couch. I had the distinct feeling that he was watching my reactions carefully, adjusting the force of each lash accordingly. I managed to take all of the whipping without complaining at all. When he had given me the lashes he considered appropriate, he untied me and placed me on the bed on all fours. He put the butt plug in my ass, then he stuck his already hard penis in me and fucked me. It was a very long penis, slightly curved to the left. Every now and then he would pause and he would fuck me with the butt plug. I had already decided, possibly a long time before that night, that I am not the type that gets sexually aroused. My pathetic sexual encounters with the men I have met in my life had already established my frigidity - to me. But this man did not seem to care about my silly decisions. He kept fucking me and playing with my body so calmly and methodically and slowly and persistently, that pretty soon I couldn't help it and I found myself responding. I stopped thinking altogether. The little plane started rolling smoothly along the runway. Everything was in good working order, after all. My fingers crawled down to my "button" and started playing with it. "What are you doing there? Did you ask for permission?" I could not even bring myself to stop rubbing my clit as I blurted, "May I play with myself Sir?" "Yes, you may." I had a powerful orgasm just then. I heard myself moan and my belly went into a series of uncontrollable spasms. The Captain stopped moving, so as not to disturb my involuntary convulsions. He was watching me, I think, with great interest. He waited until my orgasm subsided. I lay there, like a dismantled aircraft. He pulled out slowly, took out the butt plug and went to wash up. He did not want to have an orgasm himself, he said. "Enough for tonight. You need to rest." When he came back to bed, I nestled in his big arms. I felt very comfortable there. I remained silent for a while. Then... "I don't know what came over me," I said. "I hardly ever do that. I am not easy, you know. I am not easy at all..." He did not answer. He was already snoring... ***** At dawn, I felt his hands on my buttocks. I was dismayed. I did not want to have sex. I was still tired and sore from the previous night, I felt really satiated, I wanted to sleep some more, I needed to clean my teeth, and a thousand other little things...I had become the princess in the story, once more. My destiny loomed above the bed, as I woke up, grumpy and ready to voice the most complicated excuses, which would allow me to remain in control of my own misery. I tried to pull away with some nagging grunts but I found myself between a rock and a hard place. The Captain was already prepared for any erratic behaviour on the part of his new toy. He held me down, using his legs. He twisted my hair around his hand and pulled my head back, forcing me to arch my neck. Then he continued with reading the terrain. He caressed my buttocks, patiently, for a long time. He would start near the hole and work his way outwards, opening me up. It was very quiet in the room, the faint light of the new day was just coming in through the curtains and the scene was developing in a very relaxed manner, as if this were the only thing we could ever have imagined of doing, at this hour. He opened up my legs and held them there, wide open, then he touched my genitals softly. I was wet. Why was I wet? I do not know. But I did not feel like nagging any more. He let go of my hair and put on a condom. How the hell did he manage to get a hard-on, when I was doing nothing at all? He positioned me on all fours and started to fuck me. He asked me to play with myself. The idea of not complying with the order did not even cross my mind. He had manoeuvred me where he wanted me. I liked what was going on. This was hardly surprising. What was surprising, was that soon I experienced an unexpected orgasm, that came out of nowhere. I came and I remained lying there, speechless. The Captain pulled out, smiled and said: "Let's go for breakfast." ***** I had a huge breakfast. I was starving. Scrambled eggs, sausages, cheese, croissants with butter and honey...After re-fuelling, the Captain took me sight-seeing. We took a cab and went to Hagia Sophia. We took our time in the church, we chatted, took some photos. As we were walking around, I timidly placed my hand in his and he did not pull away. I kept hopping around, next to him and he did not seem to mind. We had a wonderful time. Then we had a beer at a nearby café. It was a lovely sunny day. Afterwards, he took me to Dolmabahche Palace, along the European shore of the Bosphorus. Seeing the long line of tourists waiting to get in, we decided instead to go for a stroll to Taksim. There, we found the whole area sealed off by a great police force. A bomb had gone off just before we got there. Oh well, we were in Turkey after all. We had light lunch at a café and we returned to the hotel. I needed to have a siesta, of which I duly informed the Captain. He smiled amicably. ***** We both had a shower and we lay down in bed. I cuddled against him without thinking so much. I had started to feel a sense of tenderness for him. He was actually taking care of me, and no one had done that for the longest time. I felt relaxed, at ease. Then he said that he wanted to eat my pussy. I nodded. What else could I do? How do you argue with a rock? I straddled him, facing his feet and sat straight on his face. I actually felt really good about it, not self-conscious at all. He opened me up and did whatever he wanted. He stuck his fingers in me, two at first, then three, I think even four at some point. I do not know, I was busy sucking his penis. It smelled beautifully and the pre-cum was actually sweet and tasty. I remembered I had not had dessert and I secretly pined for his cream. I do get such cravings sometimes... He started fucking me with his tongue. I found myself getting aroused again. I had decided to surrender completely to this man and the mere thought was driving me crazy. He placed me on the bed again and fucked me for the longest time. My eyes glazed over. I relaxed under his firm hand, played a bit with my clit and...I had another orgasm. That was when the first inkling of what I was, found its way into my head. I started babbling. "Oh, I am easy. Oh God, I am easy..." He smiled in a fatherly way. He was so sweet. "Of course you are easy. You are a pleasure slut. Didn't you know?" No, I did not know. I had no idea. He fed me his cream and I swallowed it all. It was exquisite. At last, I thought. I was worried that he did not like me enough... I lay in his arms to get some sleep. But the "old-timer" had different plans for his little plane. He started to caress me again and soon, to my horror, I noticed that he had a hard-on. He placed me on top of him and started to fuck me again. My pussy was already sore but I did not seem to mind. I was bobbing up and down, looking at him with my glazed eyes. I had lost it, I guess. I kept smiling in a dreamy sort of way and cooing like a bird. The Captain was so cool about it, so "by the book", as if he had written the manual of lovemaking and now all he had to do was follow the checklist. I felt a tremendous sense of sweetness wash over me. I started kissing him all over, on his face, on his hair, his neck. I had the strangest feeling. I am not sure exactly what it was. I think it was gratitude. In the past few years no one had taken the time to play with me in such a way. I hardly ever got any sex, in fact, and when I did, no consideration was ever taken of the way my own body responded. Perhaps my partners did not know, perhaps they did not care enough. Sometimes I was used as a fuck hole, I had even come to enjoy that, in a very abject sort of way. But this, this was completely different. The Captain knew me, more than I knew me. And so, I did the only thing left to do. I became airborne. I came again, whispering: "I can't believe it. I just can't believe it..." ***** That night, after the siesta (which I finally managed to get, with my Captain snoring right next to me), we went out with a couple of pilots, his colleagues. I wanted to polish my nails first, and I took my time about it, so I managed to make us late. He was icily upset over it. "We are 10 minutes late. I hate being late because that compromises my position. I like to always be in control of situations and you made me late. When we get back, you will receive 24 lashes with the whip. I think it's fair." I do not know how he came up with that number. But I said nothing. What was the point? The night went beautifully. I enjoyed the pilot stories, the men were very attractive and very attentive to me, they even spoke English so I would not feel left out. I complained to them that my Captain was treating me as if I were an airplane. They smiled understandingly. We all had a nice meal and a few beers. Then the Captain and I went back to the hotel for my punishment. He tied me up again, like he had done the previous night. I got instantly wet, but that had stopped surprising me. "You are a pain slut as much as a pleasure slut," he informed me. He gave me a few strokes with his Armani belt. I managed to twist so much that I pulled the ring off the ceiling. "God, you are tearing the hotel apart. What am I going to do with you?" He knew what to do with me. He untied the knots, and put me on the lectus, in order for me to receive the proper punishment. I had to count each one and to thank him for it. "One. Thank you Sir. Two. Thank you Sir." And so on. He gave me the 24 stinging lashes with the frigging whip, just as he had said he would. I got huge, red, bumpy welts on my bum. I jumped in agony every time he caressed my buttocks with his hands, to feel the welts. Then he fucked me. There was not a single thought left in my head. I came again. It was a nice and smooth flight, without any friction. ***** The next day, the princess was woken up at 6 in the morning. After two hours of the most intense love-making, and after re-fuelling again at the breakfast table, I was sent out to do some shopping, as the Captain had some business to take care of. I went to Kapali Carsi, where I bought some nice souvenirs. My orders were to get back to the hotel at 1400 hours and tie my pussy rings in such a way that my pussy remained wide open. The Captain wanted to use his belt on my pussy, because I was such a pain slut, he said. I had also been given another simple task: I had to buy some condoms, for we had run out. I failed to get the condoms. I could not bring myself to do it. After all, this was Turkey. I hoped that the Captain would forgive me. He returned at 1400 hours, as scheduled and found me with my pussy rings attached to two strings, tied around my thighs. He was pleased about that but he got icily upset again, about the condom business. I apologised profusely. I could always service him with my mouth and wouldn't he prefer that? The Captain was adamant about it. Disobeying an order results in punishment. Always. He decided I should get 24 lashes again. Wasn't that fair? I sensed that it was, so I nodded. First, he made me lie on my back and belted me on my pussy. He was very careful not to rip the rings off but he let me have it on my clit, very hard. I took it very bravely and he was pleased with me, I could tell. Then he tied up my right boob, very tightly, so it went purple. When he had prepared me like that, he let me have the 24 lashes. I had black bruises already on my bum, from the previous night. This time, the lashes opened my skin at some spots. I did not mind. I had lost it, long before. Only when it was over did the Captain untie my boob. Then he placed me on top, facing his feet and he ate my pussy, while I sucked him. He used his hands to play with my folds and he was very persistent indeed about it. Pretty soon, my legs started to shake violently. I could not stay still for one second. He was a bit worried about me and asked me if I was okay. Did I want to change position? Did my knees hurt? I said no, everything was fine. So he kept his hands on the controls and tried to keep me steady. I was a very funny little plane, shaking all over, but I did what I was meant to do. O Captain! My captain! He eased me into landing position and took me down smoothly, on my newly-found wings of desire. He then watched me as I collapsed face down on the bed, in a hundred spasms. I do not know if he smiled, when I started babbling again, "Oh I am easy, I am easy. Oh God, I am easy..." He came in my mouth and it was better than the sweetest Turkish delight. ***** "Did I meet your expectations?" I asked him before I left, that night. "Yes, pretty much. I knew you were not very humble." "I am not that arrogant either. I just know my weaknesses and my talents." "Well, you are shorter than I had expected." "Yes, but I am taller on the inside." He didn't say anything, for he was a man who liked the truth, just as much as he liked giving a good spanking to someone as naughty as me. I think he had enjoyed immensely seeing me discover my own truth, with his help. In the end, he had done exactly what he had promised to do. A rare man... I lay in bed next to him and played with his huge hands. Then he suddenly blurted out: "I do not mean to sound sentimental, but I would like to see you again." The simplicity of the phrasing moved me. I wanted to see him again too. Two people, a man and a woman, so different, yet so similar. Both enjoying so much the company of our own self, both reluctant to let go of our personal freedom. And yet, we had touched on something during our encounter. In the end, maybe we had managed to make a small click towards each other, over the abyss. This is an achievement of sorts, in the strange days we are living in. I kissed his hands humbly and went on my way, alone again, as heroines of sad books are always meant to be. I was still a princess, but the pea was nowhere to be seen.