We parked.
Once we’d walked to the terminal, she said, “Let’s skip to the loo.”
Needing to go, I joked, “You read my mind.”
“I know,” she nodded, again taking my words differently than I intended.
In the bathroom, she opened her suitcase and tossed me a bag.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Your airline outfit,” she said, matter-of-factly.
“My what?” I asked.
“I’ve chosen all your clothing for the weekend,” she said, “this is the outfit you’ll wear for the flight.”
“Seriously?” I asked, as I began to open the bag.
“This weekend you’re my bitch,” she declared, which oddly made my pussy tingle as I imagined something a lot more perverse than she likely meant.
Opening the bag, and seeing a red and blue cheerleader outfit in it, I repeated, “Seriously.”
“Give me an ‘A’!” she joked, posing with hip cocked and one arm over her head like a cheerleader. “Now go and put it on.”
“Fine!” I sighed, knowing she was going to be relentless.
I went into the stall and looked inside the bag. Besides the short skirt and sweater was a pair of red and blue horizontally striped thigh highs that matched.
I again objected, “You can’t really be serious, Laura. I’ll look like a teenage tart.”
“That’s the point,” Laura replied back. “Now hurry up. We’ve got to check in, go through security and get a bite to eat before our flight.”
“Fine!” I repeated, trying to communicate to her how not fine this was.
She ignored my tone, like she often did, and I got out of my casual attire and put on the thigh highs first. I love stockings and Laura knows this so this wasn’t a surprise. And these were quality sheer silk stockings, even though the stripes made me look like a carny tart.
I then put on the skimpy skirt that didn’t come close to covering the lace tops of the stockings.
I then put on the sweatshirt over my sports bra (I taught physical education, so I always dressed casual for work in a sports bra, comfy panties, track pants and a t-shirt), which I quickly learned was a size or two too small… tight enough that my tits stood out like small basketballs with cherries on top.
I again repeated, “Laura, you can’t be serious. I look like a complete bimbo slut.”
“This weekend you are a complete bimbo slut,” she said, before demanding, “now open up.”
I sighed, even as I wondered about her words, and exited the stall, runners in hand.
“Hot,” she said, checking me out.
I looked in the mirror and realized I did look sexy… I mean porn star slutty… but still… pretty hot.
She then lifted up my skirt and laughed, “Granny panties?”
“Practical panties,” I countered.
To my surprise, just as the door opened, she pulled my panties down and off. I mindlessly, quickly lifted up my feet to assist just as a stewardess walked in.
I definitely got looks as I… and the new arrival… watched Laura throw my panties in the garbage can.
I wanted to protest, but didn’t, with the stranger looking at me peculiarly.
Laura explained, “Hen.”
“Oh,” she nodded, and her gaze shifted from disapproving to conspiratorial.
Laura asked, “Are there any airline rules about dressing like this and having no underwear?”
She answered, “No, but letting your flight attendant know wouldn’t hurt. Not the no knickers part so much, but the hen part.”
“Good to know,” Laura nodded.
“They may even upgrade you if there are seats available,” she added, before asking, “And where are you going?”
“Amsterdam,” Laura answered, as I finally learned our rendezvous location and gasped… Amsterdam being the wildest city in Europe, and perhaps the wildest in the world outside Bangkok.
“That’s my flight too,” the young stewardess smiled. “Is it just you two?”
“Until tomorrow night,” Laura revealed.
“The stewardess said, “Well, give me your names and I’ll see if I can bump you to first class.”
“That would be great,” Laura smiled, as she went to her suitcase and pulled out heels. “Now put these on.”
“Five inch heels?” I questioned.
“Too short?” Laura asked jokingly, as she took my runners and put them in her suitcase (thankfully not throwing away a 60 pair of athletic shoes).
I put them on, already feeling nervous about my appearance.
She ordered, as she quickly wrote our names on a piece of paper and gave it to the stewardess, “Let’s go.”
Mostly sarcastic, but with a subtle hint of what I was secretly fantasizing behind my outer appearance, “Yes, Mistress.”
She stopped with a jerk, turned to me and said, “I like that. You will address me as ‘Mistress’ the entire trip.”
“The entire trip?” I repeated, realizing I had just given her more power than she really needed.
“Yes, my pet,” she purred with a wicked smile… my own pussy purring and leaking at the term… the lack of underwear definitely going to be a problem if I didn’t want to parade around with my upper thighs glistening. (‘Mommy, why are that lady’s legs glithening?’)
I followed her out of the bathroom, feeling that every person who I walked past was checking me out or judging me… which was a logical feeling because it was true. No, not because of ‘glistening’ legs, but because of such an outrageous outfit for a thirty-year-old to be wearing.
We checked our baggage in, where the older woman behind the counter didn’t even attempt to hide her scorn and disgust at what I was wearing. It was like someone had flicked a switch and I didn’t mind a bit. I was with Mistress Laura, and all the decisions and responsibility were hers. Not my problem!
Once the suitcases were gone and we had our tickets, Laura said, “Come on, my pet,” loud enough for the older judgmental woman to hear.
Deciding ‘fuck it’, I replied, also making sure I was loud enough for the woman to hear, “Yes, Mistress.” Our faces averted from the woman as we strutted saucily away, we shared grins and winks with each other as she gasped loudly.
We then headed to security… where I was worried that if I got a male agent I was going to be hassled like crazy… dressing like a tart was one thing, but the no panties was really making me uncomfortable, especially with the short, short skirt and the possibility that I would be required to stretch my arms over my head.