The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

National Security

AgainstMyWill@gmail.com

February 2011

Time has a way of sneaking up on you. For Kurt, it wasn’t until he got to BKK airport to leave Thailand for the first time in eight years that it hit him: he was an expat. Like, for real. When he was in college he knew of friends who left the United States to travel and heard their tales of the old American expats living a luxurious but rather isolated life abroad. Somehow it just snuck up on him: Kurt traveled for business, got himself an apartment, and then suddenly eight years had passed since he’d returned to the good ol’ US of A.

He was a bit wary of the stuff he’d read about the TSA and airline security. A number of his international friends refused to fly through the USA to avoid having to deal with the hassle. Well, he figured, they were just overreacting. It couldn’t really be that bad. Leaving Thailand was a breeze, and soon he was sitting on a United flight that felt just about exactly like the Air Asia trips he was used to. Only quite a bit more expensive. Well, it was about ten times the distance.

His wistful daydreaming was interrupted when a flight attendant checked him, hard, in the shoulder.

“Uh, ow?” Kurt prompted, surprised by the lack of response. The flight attendant turned around and Kurt found himself staring at the iciest, most disdainful glare he’d ever seen in his life. The attendant was clearly in his mid-20s, bleached hair, slight build, and he stood, staring at Kurt.

Devin, his name tag said. “Hi, Devin, you really hit me pretty hard. I was just surprised you didn’t apologize.”

At that, Devin’s icy glare slowly melted into a smile, but not a friendly one. “This your first time back to America in a while?”

“Well... yeah, it’s been a few years, but that’s not my—”

“But you are still a US citizen?”

“Yes. Are you going to—”

“Just sit tight, then, sir. We’ll be in US airspace soon enough.”

Kurt wasn’t sure what that had to do with anything but Devin walked off before he could complain about his aching shoulder.

After that the flight was uneventful. Hours passed and Kurt watched the little airplane icon fly slowly over the ocean. He napped; he read; he tried to pass the time.

“It’s really been a long time since I took a flight this long,” he thought to himself. This kind of thing used to be old hat. Now it was really starting to get to him. But just as he was feeling especially restless, the captain came on over the PA system.

“Hello, Ladies and Gentlemen,” he began, “You’ll notice we’ve just turned on the light that lets you know we’re in US airspace now. Just as a reminder, this means we’re now operating under TSA rules and regulations. Please pay attention to your flight attendant for a short presentation on what that entails.”

“Well, this is a new one on me,” thought Kurt. A new presentation when crossing airspaces? Might as well tune in. He looked up to see Devin standing in the middle of the aisle.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” the head attendant’s voice began, over the loudspeaker, “This is a reminder that passengers traveling in US airspace are subject to TSA rules and regulations. First and foremost among these is the requirement that you follow all orders given to you by any airline personnel. Failure to comply with the orders of airline staff is a felony and we are authorized to correct any resistance. Each flight attendant is armed with a neural stun baton,” and here Devin pulled out a thin, gray rod, “These devices are certified by the TSA and Homeland Security as harmless under the revised Patriot Act.”

“We are required by law to read this information each flight,” the voice continued, “Thank you for working with us to keep our air travel experience a safe one.”

As the presentation ended, Kurt glanced around the plane. “What the fuck was that?” he mumbled quietly, looking for any acknowledgement from the other passengers that what they had just witnessed was madness. Neural stun baton? Since when did flight attendants get to use weapons on passengers? But not a single passenger had batted an eye. It seemed most had ignored the presentation entirely and gone on reading.

As Kurt glanced incredulously at the docile passengers, Devin walked down the aisle towards him, wearing that same smile.

“Sir,” he said, in a caricature of a customer-service tone, “As you haven’t been in the United States in quite some time, I expect this is new to you. Is there anything I can explain for you about the new procedures?” His tone was syrupy sweet but his smile was menacing. Kurt just stared at him.

“No,” Kurt finally replied, “I’ll be just fine, thanks.”

“You certainly will, sir.” Another flash of that toothy, mean grin. As he walked off, Devin smacked the gray rod against his thigh in time with his footfalls.

Kurt was disconcerted by the whole thing but just as it passed, the flight returned to its previous boredom, and soon he was dozing off. He was very nearly asleep when he felt a hand grab his shoulder and vigorously shake him awake.

He looked up, annoyed at the disturbance. It was Devin, looking earnestly down at him. “Sir, would you like anything to drink?”

“No,” Kurt barked back, “I was sleeping.”

The faintest hint of a smile touched the corners of Devin’s mouth as he spoke again. “Sir, you look awfully dehydrated. I’m afraid I’ll need to insist that you have something to drink.”

“What? No,” Kurt shot back, “I’m not thirsty at all. I’ve had plenty of water.”

“Perhaps you misunderstand me, sir,” Devin spoke again, slowly, exaggerating his enunciation, now openly grinning. “I insist that you have something to drink.” Kurt saw his hand ever-so-quietly dart down his side and slip the gray rod out of his pants pocket, lifting it just enough to bring it into Kurt’s view.

“Are you... threatening me?” Kurt immediately felt furious, but also rather terrified. Could he do this?

“I’m doing nothing of the sort, sir,” Devin leaned in closer and spoke in a near-whisper, “I’m ordering you to have a drink.”

“This is ridiculous,” Kurt announced, loud enough for his fellow passengers to hear. “I’m not drinkin—”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence; Devin pressed the tip of the gray rod against his side and Kurt’s mind went instantly blank. It didn’t hurt, it didn’t tingle, there was no electrical charge, no shock, nothing. Just... his mind stopped. All thoughts just shut off. It felt interminable but was really only about 5 seconds: Kurt sat, blankly, immobile, seeing and hearing and feeling but unable to actually do anything.

And then it was over. Suddenly he could move again. Adrenaline rushed in, and Kurt tried to lunge at his smug assailant. “YOU MOTHERF—”

And then, nothing. Silence. Kurt fell back into his seat. In the five seconds that passed, Devin reached down and quickly secured his seatbelt and then whispered in his ear, “Shhhh—not a good idea, sir. Assaulting an airline employee is quite a serious offense, indeed. Much worse than refusing an order.”

Kurt’s mind had returned but now he just sat, shaking with fear, trying to think of a way to disarm the psychotic young man leaning over him.

“Now,” Devin stood back up, smiling, “What would you like to drink?”

“Uh... uh, water,” Kurt replied, traumatized and shaking. Devin had completely regained his composure. What kind of sociopath could do that?

“Excellent, we have plenty of water, sir. Here you are.” Devin unloaded several large bottles of water onto Kurt’s seat-back tray table and then stood, smiling expectantly down at hm.

“I... I’m not...” Kurt began, and Devin just blinked and tapped the rod against his side.

Kurt started crying as he uncapped the first bottle, shaking with terror and the emotion of the horrifying experience, trying to drink the water carefully, his hands shaking so badly he was spilling a lot down the front of his shirt. Devin just stood, smiling, watching.

“Now the next,” he said, uncapping the second liter for Kurt. Kurt took it and sobbed deeper and louder as he chugged the second bottle as fast as he could, now just trying to appease his insane captor. He drank, and drank, until his stomach hurt, and Devin just smiled wider. Out of the corner of his eye Kurt could have sworn he saw a bulge growing in the pleatless polyester crotch of the young man’s dark blue flight attendant’s uniform. But he didn’t dare turn to look directly.

He finished his fifth liter of water and felt like he was going to vomit. When Devin opened the sixth and handed it to him he started pleading through his tears. “P-p-please, I’m s-sorry, please don’t make me, I’m so sorry. I can’t, I’ll die, I can’t drink anymore,” he trailed off, his words growing incoherent as he wetly sobbed, drool trickling down his chin.

He was so busy babbling he didn’t see Devin press the baton against his arm. The thoughts fled his mind like a balloon popping, leaving nothing. And then Devin leaned in and said, just, ”Drink.” The word filled his empty mind, and echoed around, like the emptiness was a vacuum, his head a receptacle for whatever Devin wanted to put in it.

He couldn’t stop thinking it. Drink. Drink. Drink. Drink. Drink. Kurt uncapped the bottle and when the water hit his lips he started chugging it desperately. He needed to quell that word in his head. With every mouthful he took it quieted down. Finally he’d put the whole liter away. He felt like he was going to explode, but the relief of having his own mind back more than made up for it.

“See?” Devin leaned in close so his lips were right next to Kurt’s ear and quietly hissed, “You do what I say. It’s for your own good, sir. We want you to stay safe, that’s all. And you’ll learn to follow orders like the rest of them.”

Kurt looked around and, sure enough, all the other passengers were acting like everything was completely fine. The man next to him was visibly tense but looked straight ahead with a blank expression on his face. Nobody even moved a muscle. They were like sheep, Kurt thought to himself, animals beaten into submission.

Devin stood up and walked just one seat forward, looking back at Kurt from the slight distance. And he just stood there. Kurt eventually broke eye contact with him, and sat uncomfortably under the young man’s ceaseless stare. Eventually the water worked its way through his system and Kurt cleared his throat and stood up to use the bathroom.

The moment he did, Devin reached out and pushed a button. Over the loudspeaker there was a gentle bell noise, and the fasten seatbelt light came on.

“Folks,” Devin announced to the plane, “The captain has turned on the fasten seatbelt sign as we’re approaching some turbulence. Please remain seated with your seatbelts buckled until we’ve turned it off.”

Kurt stood, staring at him. “Can I—can I please quickly go to the bathroom?”

Devin stared back, expressionless. “You heard me.”

Kurt sat down, slowly, his bladder uncomfortably full. “Well,” he thought, “I don’t have to go that badly. I can probably wait a bit. Maybe he’ll get bored and walk away,” he told himself, knowing full well it wasn’t true, but unwilling to consider the implications.

Sure enough, Devin stood and stared at Kurt as the clock ticked slowly on. Kurt sat squeezing his legs together. Devin stared at him. He shoved his hands between his legs and pressed back on his penis through his pants, wiling himself to hold it in.

That didn’t last very long. After fighting the urge for 20 minutes Kurt was on the verge of pissing himself. At one moment he let up just a tiny bit on his furiously clenched pelvic muscles and a split-second jet of urine sprayed into his pants. Terrified Kurt leapt up to run for the bathroom behind him. He barely got his feet down on the ground before Devin had lunged in. Kurt felt the rod smack him in the upper arm, and then, nothing. He collapsed into his seat.

The young flight attendant leaned in so close his lips brushed Kurt’s ear.

“Piss.”

Kurt reacted with a contented sigh. He felt his pelvic muscles relax completely and the blessed relief of his overfull bladder as it emptied itself right into his suit pants. It started as the soft hissing of hot liquid against dry wool but soon Kurt listened to the percussive spattering of liquid spraying against the heavy fabric of his sodden suit and felt the uncomfortable wet warmth spread over his entire lower body, pooling beneath him in his airplane seat and spilling out his bespoke suit pants legs all over the airplane floor.

When he regained the use of his brain, Kurt just started sobbing at the horror and shame of what he’d done. A grown man, pissing himself on an airplane? What was happening? Devin leaned in close once again.

“Sir,” he whispered, “Out of consideration for the other passengers and a sense of discretion I’m going to say this quietly just to you.” His demeanor was of affected politeness, customer service face, businesslike, in chilling dissonance with Kurt, drenched uncomfortably in his own rapidly-cooling piss, sitting in pools of it, choking on his own sobs, still in shock from the trauma of it all.

“But sir,” Devin continued, “The fact remains that you’ve now assaulted airline personnel and disobeyed a direct order, ignoring a lighted airplane sign. I need you to understand how serious this is, sir. You’re a very clear threat to national security and at this point I will take whatever measures I deem appropriate to control that threat.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Kurt choked out through his sobs, “I’m—I’m just trying to get back to my house, I’m just trying to take a normal flight. Why are you doing this?!“

Devin stood, nodding with a look of thoughtful concern on his face, but said nothing.

“Are you listening to me? Are you listening to me at all?“

Devin nodded again, ignoring him utterly, squinting thoughtfully. “I know what you need. I’ll bring it right away, sir.”

“What? Right away what?” But Devin had already walked off, leaving Kurt sitting, bewildered and horrified in his own piss. At this point it was a relief that all the other passengers were acting like such robots, because at least it meant nobody had moved a muscle when he’d wet himself. Still he had no idea what to do, and moreover the fasten seatbelt light was still on, and he didn’t dare move. Better to just wait it out. Breathe, Kurt, breathe. He tried to calm himself. What did they teach prisoners of war to do? Trauma victims? He didn’t really know. He tried to steel himself just to endure it. Only 6 more hours of flying. He could make it. He could be horribly uncomfortable for 6 hours.

He heard the heavy cart rolling back up the aisle before Devin came back into view. “Here you are, sir.”

“Here I am what?”

“It’s time for dinner.”

“Oh,” Kurt said, his heart racing with every word he spoke to the deranged flight attendant, considering the outcome of his every sentence, trying not to provoke the young man to any more atrocities. “OK.” Better to say too little, he decided.

Devin reached into the cart and pulled out a foil-topped tray and set it down on Kurt’s seat-back tray table. Kurt obligingly removed the foil and saw a large slab of meatloaf drowned in gravy. He looked up to Devin expectantly. “Um... can I have a fork, please?”

“No,” Devin said, and smiled. His smile made Kurt’s skin crawl.

Kurt turned back to the meatloaf. It was a mess. As Devin stood staring, he reached out and grabbed it with his hands. The soft meatloaf gave way, crumbling into a mash. He looked up at Devin, hesitantly, and he just saw Devin standing, smiling back down at him. This time it was unmistakable: the polyester crotch of Devin’s uniform was bulging out considerably. He thought he could even see the outline of Devin’s cock running down his pants leg.

Suppressing his urge to cry he turned back and set himself, taking a deep breath before reaching forward to grab a fistful of the crumbled gravy-drenched meatloaf. He lifted the dripping mass up to his mouth and shoved it in.

It wasn’t very good. He forced himself to swallow. In his peripheral vision he saw the bulge in Devin’s pants swell and adjust.

He reached back and grabbed more. He started stuffing it by the fistful into his mouth, just trying to get it over with. When he’d finished, he licked his hand clean. He looked over at Devin, eyebrows raised, hoping he’d be done and able to sleep for a while longer. His piss was getting colder by the minute but he’d resigned himself to sitting in it. He just wanted to sleep through the rest of the flight.

“Lick it clean,” Devin prompted, nodding to the tray. Kurt picked it up and gingerly licked around the edges and then the bottom, trying to get all the gravy.

Devin smiled. In his peripheral vision, Kurt saw a dark spot starting to spread out on Devin’s pants.

Kurt’s heart skipped a beat when Devin leaned down and drew another foil-topped tray out from the cart. He set it down on Kurt’s tray.

“Um, I’m...” Kurt was unsure what to say. Did it even matter?

Devin smiled back. “Eat it.”

Kurt closed his eyes and sighed, resigned. He opened the foil. He grabbed handfuls of the meatloaf. He ate it all, and then licked it clean.

Devin didn’t even take that tray back. He just stacked the next foil-topped tray on it.

Kurt started softly crying. He couldn’t bring himself to ask what was happening, how much he’d have to eat. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to know. But he was helpless at the hands of this psychopath. A psychopath who now had a large, dark stain glistening on his pants leg where the bulge of his very large, very hard cock ended, nearly at his knee.

Kurt tried to steel himself once again. How many trays could he have? He’d power through them. He tore the foil off and raised it up to his face, eating directly out of the tray, shoving his face in, licking it clean. Devin shuddered a little and his bulge got, impossibly, even longer.

And then another. And another. And another. The trays kept coming. Ten, eleven, twelve trays of meatloaf. Kurt was slowing down, but Devin wasn’t at all. The young man’s sinister grin stretched ear-to-ear as he unloaded tray after tray of food onto Kurt’s tray table.

Finally he couldn’t do it. Kurt held up a fistful and put it in his mouth but couldn’t bring himself to swallow. He looked up with fearful eyes. “I—I can’t, I’m full, I can’t eat any more, please.”

Devin smiled sweetly at him—was that even a hint of compassion he saw?—and nodded. “Of course.”

Kurt relaxed. Maybe this was it. And then Devin continued, “Let me help you.”

The baton. The blankness. Kurt fell back listless against his seat, his mouth hanging open and the last bite of meatloaf drooling out of it onto his shirt. Kurt watched, thoughtlessly, unmoving as Devin unloaded eight more trays of meatloaf from the cart and opened them all. Just as Kurt was regaining use of his brain Devin zapped him again. He held the baton against his side and Kurt’s mind blanked and stayed blank as Devin grabbed a fistful of the meatloaf himself, smiled at Kurt, and jammed the meatloaf right into his gaping open mouth.

He proceeded, using both hands, packing fistful after fistful of the stuff into Kurt’s mouth, shoving it, packing it in with his palms so that eventually it began to force its way down his throat.

“Oh, you’ll eat, you fat fuck,” Devin whispered to the zombified Kurt, “You’ll fucking eat everything I give you.”

Kurt felt, but was unable to respond to, the building pressure of the meatloaf forced down his gullet and into his belly. Handful after handful Devin shoved down until Kurt’s stomach was visibly swelling from the strain. The buttons on his shirt started to tug. And still Kurt sat, immobilized, his brain empty but for a soft, gentle buzzing noise, like static, like a television left on a dead station.

Devin was furiously stuffing him, now. His face had turned red from the vigor and veins stood out on his forehead. He hissed viciously into Kurt’s ear all sorts of deranged things.

“It’s feeding time you fucking cow! Cattle like the rest of them, you fat piece of shit! I’ll show you, I’ll show you who’s boss. I’ll ruin you, I’ll feed you till you burst, you big fat fucking cow!“

Finally Kurt’s gut looked like he had a beach ball implanted, like he was pregnant, sitting there.

“Looks like I need your help to get any more in,” Devin said, and then, with that commanding voice, ”SWALLOW.”

It was like someone was in Kurt’s head with a megaphone just screaming it over and over. SWALLOW. SWALLOW. SWALLOW. He knew he was so full he might actually do serious damage to his organs by eating any more, but he didn’t have a choice. He had to swallow. He needed to swallow more food. He wanted to swallow it all. Swallow it. Swallow it. Swallow it.

Devin kept packing meatloaf into Kurt’s mouth and now Kurt greedily snorted and slurped as his mouth filled up, his hungry tongue scooping it down his throat and his throat swallowing, forcibly, packing it into his guts like a compressor. Kurt felt his stomach groaning and shifting in protest but he just smiled. Swallow. Had to swallow. Had to get huge. It was Devin and Kurt versus Kurt’s balloon-tight stomach, and the two of them won. Kurt felt himself getting hard in his own piss-soaked pants as he finished the very last tray of meatloaf.

Devin stood back up, wiped his hands off and smoothed his tousled hair back. A few deep breaths and his color returned, his composure resolved and he gingerly picked the baton back up from Kurt’s side.

“Sir,” he spoke clearly and calmly, no trace left of his furtive, insane rage, “I’m glad to see you enjoyed your meal.”

Kurt had his brain back but everything hurt. He tried to move but the weight in his stomach made him groan in agony when he tried to turn even slightly just to put his hand down on the armrest. He could feel the ache from the inside out. He finally stopped trying and just sat back in his chair. He could still taste the meatloaf and gravy in his mouth and feel it packed up to the bursting point at the base of his throat.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m just going to make sure the contents of this overhead bin haven’t shifted in flight.” As he said it, Devin reached down and unzipped his fly. Kurt saw he wasn’t wearing any underwear—immediately through the zipper he saw pubic hair and Devin’s pale skin. His rod was quite visible through the polyester, throbbing and swollen. Devin reached in with one hand and slipped it out.

Devin’s cock was so large that even fully hard it drooped a bit. It must have been a full twelve inches. It was thick, too, at the base, tapering down towards the head, and it was uncut, with the foreskin still wrapped a bit over the red swollen head. Kurt tried to turn to get away from the thing, dangling right in front of his face, but his meal kept him held down.

Devin opened an overhead bin compartment and, fumbling with something Kurt couldn’t even see, stretched up a bit and leaned forward. His cock came to press right against Kurt’s nose.

“Hey, stop it!” Kurt reached up to brush the cock away from his face. Then Devin pulled down what he’d been fumbling with up in the overhead bin: Two demonstration seatbelts he’d used in the safety presentation. He zapped Kurt one more time, quickly, and then wrapped the seatbelts around his arms, holding them to the seatrest, all the way up his arms and finally clasped them together behind the seat. Kurt was tied down, pinned to his seat.

“Working with you has made me awfully horny, sir,” he said, “So I’ll remind you that federal law obliges you to obey my commands. So suck my dick, faggot.”

Kurt was in too much pain from his stuffing to do anything more than weakly sob as Devin hefted his massive, uncut cock straight into his mouth. Standing so that, to any other passenger, he looked quite nonchalant in the aisle, a casual facial expression as he gazed up and down the plane, Devin began to fuck Kurt’s mouth vigorously. Kurt, meanwhile, was weeping but convinced of one thing: he needed to suck that dick. Suck that dick. There was a dick in his mouth and he needed to suck it, more than anything else in the world. He couldn’t wait to suck it.

Kurt had never had a penis in his mouth but then again he’d never soaked his nicest suit pants in piss and then sat it in before and he’d never been brainwashed and physically stuffed with dangerous amounts of food. Even without the baton his brain was starting to shut down under the force of all the trauma. He noticed the smell of Devin’s cock, the funky odor of his pubic bush and musky taste of his big, hard cock shaft as it slipped into his mouth. The warm flesh between his lips and then violating his throat, Kurt mostly wanted to puke but knew better than to let himself. Because another part of him wanted to get it as far down his throat as it’d go. Suck that dick, Kurt. Suck it.

After five minutes of pumping his huge cock down Kurt’s throat, Devin grabbed him by the back of his head and slipped his cock out so just the head was lying on Kurt’s lower lip, and then grunting aloud Devin pumped a massive load of cum into Kurt’s mouth. Some of it leaked out but most of it Kurt managed to swallow, adding to the already-staggering volume in his stomach.

“Very nice, sir. Now, some ground rules. When I’m servicing the rest of the airplane, and I pass you, I will either turn to point my crotch at you or my ass. If I point my crotch at you, you are to suck on my cock for as long as I leave it in your mouth. If I put my ass in your face, you are to bury your face in my crack and rim my hole for as long as I’m standing in front of you. Let’s try number 2.”

Devin turned around. Kurt shook his head sadly as Devin backed his ass up against the hapless passenger-turned-prisoner’s face. The two cheeks looked packed into the polyester slacks, the material straining against them and bulging out backwards. Devin unbuttoned his slacks and slid them down. As he did the young man’s ripe cheeks expanded out of their confines and sat heavily, two big firm globes staring Kurt right in the face. Again Devin just stood casually, as if talking to another passenger or just waiting in the middle of the plane, but all the same he was backing his butt up against Kurt’s face.

Kurt just shook his head in sad resignation as the young man arched his lower back just a bit, spreading his cheeks so Kurt could see the puckered hole between them. As Kurt sat strapped down to his airplane seat Devin stepped back slowly, his ass cheeks enveloping Kurt’s face until his brown pucker was right up against Kurt’s lips.

A quick tap of the baton opened Kurt’s mind right up. ”Lick it.”

Kurt opened his lips and extended his tongue and began licking and sucking and rimming the flight attendant’s butt. The faint spark of sanity left in Kurt’s mind piped up. Only four more hours! Four hours! He could do it. He could debase himself however this psychopath insisted for four hours. He’d survive. But that thought was overwhelmed by the howling command. Lick it. Lick it. Lick it. Kurt had to lick it. Kurt wanted to lick it.

And for the next few hours he did. Tied to the chair, stomach packed to near-bursting, soaked in his own tepid, funky piss, Kurt became nothing more than a pit stop for the young flight attendant. As he walked up and down the aisle checking on other passengers, he’d pause to shove his half-hard cock into Kurt’s mouth and swish it around a bit before throat-fucking him and pumping his mouth full of jizz. Or he’d stand in the aisle next to Kurt’s seat and turn to let another attendant pass, and in so doing slip his pants down in the back and rub his ass crack and hole up against Kurt’s face as he licked and sucked at it. Occasionally Devin would just stop by and drop trou and arch his back and fart right at Kurt’s face. Kurt didn’t even mind anymore. So it was fucked up. Who cares? Two more hours, he told himself.

And then with an hour and a half left Kurt felt the meal making its way through him.

“I—uh, excuse me, Devin—I think I need to use the bathroom. May I, please?”

“Number 1?” Devin asked, dismissively, “I think you know how that works.”

“No, no, number 2,” Kurt whispered, looking around.

“Oh!” Devin leaned in nice and close again and whispered in his ear, ”Want to know a secret, fat boy? I can’t wait to see you shit yourself. You get on this plane like you’re the king of the fucking world. Well, let’s see what kind of king you are when you shit your own pants in a plane seat like an incontinent fucking pig.“ Then he laughed, stood back up, and regained his composure once again in that eerie way he had about him.

“No, come on, this is so awful, that’s disgusting, can’t you—can’t someone please let me up?” Kurt turned now in desperation to his fellow passengers who were now ignoring him even more intently than before. “No, please, can’t someone help me? These people are insane! We can stop them, if we all work together!” He raised his voice to a shout, trying to gain support. But nobody else so much as turned to look.

“See, sir? We know how to train our customers here. Docile like cattle, just like we like them. You know why? Because they know if they act out, they’ll end up like you. We make examples out of terrorists like you, you know. After they see what I’m doing to you none of these people will ever consider acting up again.”

Devin leaned in and put his hands on Kurt’s stomach.

“After they see the hell your life is becoming, they’ll know their place,” he said. And then he pushed.

“No!” Kurt screamed, the pressure building inside him as Devin’s hands sank into his overfull guts. “No, stop, stop!“

But Devin didn’t stop, and Kurt started gurgling and drooling and his eyes rolled back in his head as the pressure overcame him.

He let out a long, wet, loud fart, at first, and felt the pressure abate. Maybe that was it! Maybe that was enough. He could hope, anyway. But Devin kept pushing.

Kurt strained against his bonds, his arms tensing up with all his might as his eyes stayed rolled back and frothy drool streamed from his lips. He fought, he struggled, he did everything he could.

He felt a mass building behind his asshole, all his guts packed full with a load begging to come out. He squeezed his asshole shut as hard as he could and looked up in rebellious contempt at Devin who just smiled.

Tap of the baton. Blank mind. Devin smiling down at him.

“Shit your pants.”

That was the end for Kurt. It started as a noise from his mouth, a low plaintive moan, but it didn’t stop. He moaned aloud and moaned louder and louder, and then finally couldn’t hold back anymore. He shit his pants. He shit his pants explosively. It flooded out of him and he felt it fill his underwear instantly, felt it flooding out of him. It came out of him with such force that he saw his pants swell up with it before it came out around his shoes and began pooling on the floor.

“Oh, no, oh God no,” he moaned, sobbing. Inside his soiled, filthy pants, his cock was hard as steel.

“Oh, yes!“, Devin hissed back, “Yes, you big, fat fucking pig! How’s it feel, shitting your pants as you sit here in this piss-soaked plane seat? How’s it feel?!“

Kurt just kept moaning as his bowels voided themselves. The smell was horrible. Amazingly, all the other passengers, including the man seated right next to him, behaved as though nothing at all were happening.

“Here’s a little dessert, you fucking dumpster,” Devin hissed into his ear, and then stood up and shoved his thick, hard cock down Kurt’s throat all the way so it plugged his throat shut. Kurt felt the subtle vibration and heard Devin moan softly as he flooded Kurt’s guts with a load of piss.

There wasn’t much left of Kurt at this point. He sat in his own filth, a broken man, catatonic, still overfull, occasionally burping up a little of Devin’s piss. Devin, on the other hand, continued about his business as usual, using Kurt as a urinal or having him rim him clean every time he walked by.

Kurt had all but given up when he felt the wheels touch down. And then, hope! It was over! His ordeal was over!!

The plane taxied in and pulled up at the gate. Devin even came by and unlashed Kurt’s arms with a smile and a wink. All the passengers pretended nothing was wrong as they deplaned, though Kurt did notice those in his row were rather careful about where they put their hands and feet while getting out. Kurt, himself, was just too overjoyed to have lived through the experience, and after hours of sitting in his own filth walking around in a spoiled, filthy suit didn’t seem as bad as it otherwise might’ve.

On his way off the plane he tried to avoid eye contact with Devin, but the young flight attendant stepped in front of him and smiled.

“It’s been a pleasure having you fly with us, sir,” he feigned his best flight attendant voice. “We’d like to see you again sometime.”

“Don’t fucking bet on it,” Kurt whispered, under his breath.

He stepped off the plane and walked out through the secure area, trailing filth with every footstep. He bought a pair of shorts, a t-shirt, and a pair of slippers from an airport novelty gift shop, threw out all his clothes in a bathroom trash can, wiped down as best he could, and put on the souvenir attire. He still smelled terrible but he managed to get a taxi to take him back to his hotel, where he took a long bath.

He couldn’t sleep that night. The nightmares that came, he just wanted to forget. And so when the knock came on his door at 8am, it was with bleary, unrested eyes that Kurt opened the door to find the two police officers.

“Can I help you, officers?”

“Yes, sir. Do you know this man?” If Kurt had been drowsy he snapped to full alert when one of the cops held up a picture of Devin, the psychotic flight attendant.

“Yes! Yes, he’s a maniac! Are you here to put him in jail? He tortured me! It was awful! You have to do something! I’m so glad you’re here—I was going to call you when I woke up!”

“Yes, we hear you had quite a flight, sir. Can we ask you a few questions?”

“Yes, officers, please come in.”

“I don’t think we’ll need to come in—this shouldn’t take long. First question is, when you deboarded the plane yesterday, did this man tell you ‘We’d like to see you again’?”

Kurt looked at the officers, confused. “I don’t... I mean, I don’t see what that has to do with anything. He did far worse than that to me!”

“Sir, please just answer the question.”

“Yes, I guess he did say something like that to me.”

“OK, sir. Do you realize that verbiage, under the Revised Patriot Act and TSA Charter, constitutes an implied command?”

“It—what? What is this about?”

“Well, that’s our second question, sir. Why aren’t you at the airport? This man is attending flight eight ninety-three which departs in an hour. Based on his implied command, the law requires you to be on that plane.”

“I—what? What? Are you insane? I’m not going on a plane! I just got here! I’m never going on another plane with that psycho again, ever!”

“Sir, you just stated your intention to disobey a direct order from airline personnel to me, an officer of the law.”

Kurt’s head began to spin. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be. This was a nightmare. Wake up, Kurt. Wake up.

“Under these circumstances, sir, please be advised I am authorized to respond with the use of this neural stun baton to achieve compliance.”

The officer slipped a thin gray baton up out of his side holster. Kurt turned to run, but he wasn’t fast enough. He felt the baton hit him square between the shoulder blades. And then everything went blank.