The lights came on overhead in the plane cabin as the fasten seatbelt sign turned off, and you jostled awake, the older gentleman next to you said, “Alright slave, let’s get off this plane and go home.”
You look at him, a bit confused, but he stands up and jerks the chain connected to the heavy metal collar around your neck, and you stand up, abandoning your briefcase underneath the seat in front of you as he leads you down the aisle of the plane, and no one is looking at the two of you like anything strange is happening at all, but this isn’t right, you’re not someone’s slave–you were on your way home from a business trip, right?
You exit the plane, and the man leads you to the bathroom, pulling you behind him, where he forces you onto your knees next to the bank of urinals, unzips his pants and unloads a massive load of piss all over your face, and unable to do anything else, you try and swallow as much as you can, like you’ve been trained to do, and then you kiss the head of his cock in mute thanks. He yanks you up by the collar and you follow him out of the restroom, but before you get to the door you catch sight of yourself in the mirror, and a sickening twist shoots through you, when you don’t even recognize your reflection. Your hair–all of your hair is gone. You’d had a full head of hair, and a beard when you’d boarded the plane, but now it was gone– all of it freshly shaved off, and a huge ring had appeared in your septum. Your business suit was gone, replaced by a simple, grubby tank, yellowed with your master’s cum and piss, and a pair of jean shorts–the only two pieces of clothing the master allows you to wear in public.
Master yanks your chain, and you hurry to follow him, knowing your lapse in attention will warrant punishment when you get home, but you don’t live with this man, do you? This fat old fuck? This…this beautiful man, who you’re honored to serve? Who you’ve loyally served for years now? You love him, and you know he only tolerates you, but you don’t care, simply being in his presence is enough for you, and you’d get hard if your cock wasn’t locked away within your grubby shorts.
You collect the master’s baggage for him at the claim, and then the two of you take a taxi from the airport to master’s house. The cabbie doesn’t seem to think it the least bit odd that you spend the entire ride with your master’s cock down your throat. In fact, master offers the cabbie your throat as a tip, and the Arab man takes him up on his offer, face fucking you quickly and feeding you his cum as well, before driving off.
Something happened on that plane–you know it did. But there’s nothing you can do now. Now, all you can dream of serving him, this is your life and your purpose. Maybe you’ll never know, but it isn’t a slave’s place to think. It isn’t a slave’s place to wonder. A slave’s place is to serve.