This is an excerpt from "Layover" by Lisabet Sarai, a story in "Under Her Thumb" edited by D.L. King. It has been reprinted with permission from Cleis Press. This excerpt is sponsored by LELO.

"You look good down there."

That’s how it started. An accident, a bit of clumsiness on my part. I’d been bringing a couple of Cokes up to the cockpit. A stray breeze from a vent whisked the straws onto the floor. I was crouching, scrambling to pick them up with my right hand while gripping the tray with my left, when the door opened.

Captain Marsden’s barely five three while I top six feet, but in that situation she towered over me. I froze, immobilized by embarrassment and sudden, inexplicable excitement. Sweat broke out on my forehead, and inside my regulation trousers my cock grew to distinctly uncomfortable proportions. I gazed up at her plain, even features; the reddish-brown hair wound into a knot and tucked under her cap; the familiar blue uniform—as though I’d never seen her before.

Her thin lips curled into a tight, knowing smile. Was the bulge in my crotch obvious? I struggled to rise. The cans of soda tumbled off the tray and rolled backward down the aisle. The captain laughed, a clear, bright sound that sent shivers up my spine.

"Not exactly the level of professionalism we expect from our Shambala Air crew members."

I wondered whether I should go retrieve the errant cans. Trapped by her gaze, I simply couldn’t.

"No, Captain. I’m sorry. The straws…"

"I don’t like excuses, Andrew. You’ll learn soon enough to take responsibility for your errors." She gave me a frank onceover, a good deal less circumspect than the stewardesses who mooned over my blond hair and athlete’s build. My pants grew unbearably tight. "I do think your intentions are good, however. You want to be of service."

"That’s my job, Ma’am." I felt ridiculous, stranded there on one knee, crumpled straws in one hand, empty tray in the other. Something kept me nailed to the cabin floor. I didn’t dare move without her permission.

"But I think it’s part of your nature, too, to serve. Perhaps that’s why you sought out this occupation." Actually, I’d applied to be an air steward because I loved traveling and figured I’d get a lot of pussy. I wasn’t about to disagree with her, though.

"Hand me the sodas. I’ve got to get back to the controls." Her gaze held me fast. I groped behind me for cans. The chill metal burned my palms as I passed them up to her.

"Thank you. I have something for you, also." She pulled a black fabric bag from her uniform pocket, similar in size and shape to the toiletries kits we distributed in first class. "If you’re serious about serving—put this on, and leave it on until we land. I’ll give you further instructions then."

She disappeared back into the cockpit. The metal door clicked shut. It was easily thirty seconds before I was together enough to stand. I headed for the toilet, thinking I’d give myself some relief before returning to work. What I found inside the bag made that impossible.

I’d never seen a cock cage before, but the purpose of the leather and rubber device was pretty obvious. The largest strap buckled under my balls. The smaller loops encased my shaft in progressively tighter circles. A longitudinal leather strip ran up from the base, along the top of my rod, branching near the bulb into two strips intended to be fastened around my waist. This belt-like component pulled my raging erection tight against my belly. I worried the fluid leaking from my slit would make dark spots on my uniform, but what could I do? Perhaps Captain Marsden deliberately wanted to add embarrassment to my uncomfortable arousal.

Why did I follow her instructions? To be honest, I never considered refusing. Emma Marsden turned out to be right about me.

The remainder of the fourteen-hour flight was a kind of lustful hell. The ache in my balls became my only reality. I worked to focus on the needs of our passengers, but my mind kept straying to the captain’s comments about further instructions. I sat across the aisle from her on the shuttle to the hotel, desperate for some acknowledgment. She never looked in my direction. In the crush at the reception counter, though, she slipped a keycard into my hand. "Four-oh-three. Be there at midnight," she whispered. "And don’t be late, Andrew."

Want to read the rest? You can find it in "Under Her Thumb:Erotic Stories of Female Domination" along with several other hot stories about female sexual power.