Building Supplies, part 2 of 3

The Consensual Stalker

part 1

She sat there, quiet and still, breathing heavily with anticipation, head down and gripping the steering wheel, suddenly there was movement out of the corner of her eye. He was reaching in through the window and she felt something being pulled down over her head, and positioned. She realizing it was a sleeping mask style of blindfold. As he settled it into place, the darkness calmed her, and she was surprised how happy she felt to be back under this mans influence again. She instinctively trusted him. There was the sound of rustling packages, and she felt something wrapping around her right wrist, an odd feeling, until she heard the plastic zipping sound, realizing it was a zip tie, binding her wrist/hand to the steering wheel. A sense of vulnerability came over her as she realized she was being restrained in her car, in the parking lot of a building supply store by a stranger, in the middle of the afternoon. And as that thought was sinking in, a zip tie was wrapped around and clinched down onto her left hand as well. Not too tight, but close around her wrist and the steering wheel. She pulled her arms back to see if her hands could slip through, and they wouldn't.

"Yes," he said, "Test the bindings; assure yourself you are trapped here." She pulled and twisted her hands and wrists again, it was certain that she could not disengage her hands from the steering wheel. As she relaxed again, she felt his hand touching her cheek, gently holding her jaw and lifting her head up, and turning it toward him. She was now facing him but could see nothing through the blindfold. As he held her face in his hand, she felt his thumb lightly tracing her cheek, soothing her slightly, and calming her down. And then, unexpectedly, she felt his lips pressing against her. Even before she realized what she was doing, she tilted her head to mesh her lips to his. She was returning his kiss almost instinctively, not really intending to do so, more a reactive gesture, but some how it felt right to her. She was surprised how warm, and soft and comforting his kiss felt.
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He moved his hand away from her, so he was no longer holding her to him, forcing his kiss on her, but she leaned forward, continuing the kiss, opening her mouth slightly to encourage and entice him in, closer, deeper, wanting him to kiss her more fully. He remained neither closer nor further away, his lips were still pressed lightly against her. Boldly she found herself gripping his lower lip with her teeth and pulling, hoping to draw him nearer, but he remained steady, still not moving closer, but not drawing back either. She bit down harder on his lip and pulled back even more; suddenly she felt a startling slap on her cheek, it jarred her head and she felt shock and puzzlement.

"No!" he said, in a stern and deep tone. He had pulled back away from her; she could no longer feel his breath on her lips or chin. There was a long and deepening silence, and she could not sense any movement. Finally, in a soft, slow, almost sad tone, he said, "I thought you would enjoy soft, sweet kisses, but evidently I was mistaken." She was scared, sorrowful, sad, and unsure what to do. She worried that he might just walk away.

In a very small voice, she said, "Please?"

From a distance, he asked, "What?"

Softly, she responded, "Please . . . please." But there was no response. "Oh, please." She turned her head and leaned forward, as if she could look out the window, as if to find him.

Finally she heard, from startlingly close, "Good girl, thank you baby."

She felt him take her head in both of his hands, "Good girl," and gently, his lips returned to hers. His fingers tangled into the hair on both sides of her head and pulled her to him, deepening the kiss, relaxing his lips, opening them slightly, invitingly. Calming herself, filled with relief, she relaxed and settled into returning the kiss, opening her lips to him, matching his motions, allowing his tongue to slip slowly into her mouth. She sighed.
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She was amazed how long the kiss lasted, and then another, and another. He had never been this slow and passionate with her. Still with his hands tangled in her hair, gripping her curls tightly, she moved to reposition her mouth, wanting to feel the fullness of his lips, his nose against her right cheek. Then she shifted so it was against her left cheek, all the while, her tongue moved in and out between his lips, touching his tongue when they met, dancing hers around his. A couple times she started to use her teeth on his lips, but felt him start to pull away, just slightly, and she recalled the recent slap, and she reconsidered, satisfying herself with the tenderness of the kisses.

Faintly she heard a rustling noise to her right and realized his hand had left the side of her head. It sounded like he was rummaging through a shopping bag on the passenger seat, her bag? Or his? Not until this moment did she wonder where the blindfold and zip ties had come from. He must have had a bag also. Just then she felt him release his grip on her hair and pull back, ending the kiss. She sensed the rustling of movement around her, and then felt something on her forehead. She felt pressure pushing her head back and down, she was nearly facing straight up toward the roof of the car.

She felt a pulling back, pressuring her head back against the head rest and felt movement, pulling her head slightly this way or that, and felt hands and wrists and arms movement around her neck and shoulders. She could not figure out what on earth he was doing. Finally, everything was calm, but still she could not move her head up off of the headrest, she could barely move it from side to side, just the slightest bit. "Are you uncomfortable?" he asked? She answered. "I am okay."

There was a band across her forehead and she decided it was one of the wide, large elastic bands she had bought. It was pressed across her forehead and back, so her head was pushed against the headrest. She decided that the fumbling around the sides of her head, behind her neck, was him attaching it to the headrest somehow, so that she was fastened, leaning back, facing up, and unable to lift her head up or forward. It was not so tight as to be uncomfortable, but it held her immovable. Again, there was stillness, lack of motion but she could hear him breathing very nearby, a strange quiet, calm. But she realized again, just exactly where she was, and the "circumstances" she was in.

Then she felt his fingers brushing her face, she realized he was pushing the blindfold up onto her forehead. She was startled by how bright the sunlight was, but the way her head was restrained, all she could see was the headliner. She tried looking down her nose, to lean her head down, but could just slightly see the glass of the windshield. Try as she might, she could not see his face, although she caught glimpses of the top of his head, but no more. As she attempted to look at him she saw his movement as he reached over into the bags on the passenger seat, and heard the rustling, and wondered what he was getting out of the bag. Out of his bag? Out of her bag?

She suddenly felt his hand sliding up the inside of her thigh . . .

Building Supplies

The Consensual Stalker

She'd been chatting with her mysterious friend on Yahoo for about an hour when she decided that she really had tasks to get done before the end of the day. She excused herself, reluctantly, but full of purpose for the afternoon’s chores and the sense of accomplishment they would bring. Principal among them was completing the tiling around the edges of the "new" bathtub that had sat unfinished for far too long. As she was logging off, he had said, seemingly casually, "Good bye for now, I will be seeing you later sweetheart."

She stripped off her jeans, and socks, and then her t-shirt too; wanting to be sure she did not get any caulking or putty or other goop in her clothes. As she walked into the bathroom she saw herself in the mirror and realized she was wearing the pair of baby blue it-se-bit-se bikini panties the mysterious man had bought and sent to her. She had avoided wearing them, even avoiding the suggestion of it, until today. At his request/insistence, she had acquiesced and put them on when she dressed this morning, knowing she would be chatting with him; part of her ongoing "training" he called it, these chat sessions.

She gathered all of her tools and tubes and tiles, and quickly did a mental inventory of what she was going to need. She realized she didn't have everything she needed and was going to have to go to the building supply store and get some more bathtub sealant. It would just be a quick utilitarian trip, so she grabbed the lightweight blue sleeveless dress that was lying on the bed, just to have something on. She pulled it over her head, smoothed it down and slipped on a pair of light-weight black sandals. She grabbed her purse and cell phone, and headed out to her car.
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After having talked with her mystery man she was feeling elated and a bit aroused. When she stopped at a light, she would trace her fingers up the inside of her thighs just slightly, thinking about the way he talked to her, encouraged her. As she drove on, the hem of her dress moved higher and higher, the loose material giving way to her pushing and moving. It was a cool fall day and she was surprised how warm she was feeling, with the windows down, even in such light clothing. In fact she was feeling a little flush and realized just how aroused she was becoming. At the light just before the turn in to the hardware center, she pressed her fingers up against her panties and was very surprised how damp she had made herself. She hoped that it would not be noticeable on the back of her dress once she got out of the car to walk into the store.

She turned into the parking lot and found herself a parking place; she was surprised that they were so busy, in the middle of the afternoon, on a week day. She had to park further away than she liked but given the lovely weather, the thought passed quickly and she strode off. Going into the store, she turned down the aisle with the plumbing supplies and began scanning the racks and shelves, looking for the bathtub sealant. She was feeling lighthearted and purposeful, and noticed herself humming an upbeat breezy tune as she moved along examining all of the different kinds of tubes of goop that she might use. After she selected the sealant, she went to the paint section, remembering she needed a couple of stir sticks for the paint she would be using after she had all the tile work done. She picked out a couple of the old fashioned flat wooden stirrers and grabbed a couple of the newfangled industrial style red plastic stir sticks also. Then, at the check-out counter she found some large, wide elastic rubber bands she had been looking for. She loved going to the building supply store, it always had so many cool utility items. She grabbed her bag of goodies and headed back out of the store, happy she would be able to move forward on her projects.
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As she was walking across the parking lot toward her car, her cell phone chirped that "incoming text message" tone. She decided that rather than fumbling around in her packages and purse she would just wait until she got back to her car to check it. It was a beautiful bright sunny day and the heat on her back felt wonderful. She saw a young man walking toward her, and noticed he was looking right at her with a big grin. As she got closer she realized he was looking down at her dress, and then realized that she must be silhouetted through her sheer dress by the bright sun behind her. She imagined that he was focusing on the shape of her thighs shadowed through the light material. She was embarrassed by how obviously he was staring down at her but she was smiling also, at be appreciated, she loved being looked at, as he walked by she heard him make a sound, "mm-mmm". It was a strange mixture of feelings for her; it was not something she had thought about before but her "stalker" had mentioned, and emphasized her mixed feelings of embarrassment and excitement, and she was becoming more and more aware of the conflict in her mind.

Suddenly she snapped back from her reverie, sure she had walked past her car. But she realized she still had a ways to go, she did not think she had parked so far out in the parking lot. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw that the young man was still watching her walk away from him, and her embarrassment grew, she felt herself blushing. As she stood there looking at him, her phone chirped again. Aggravated by the seeming urgency of the messages, she turned and headed on toward her car. As she approached her car she noticed that there were fewer cars around than when she had arrived. She went around to the drivers side, opened the door, tossed her purchases onto the passengers seat, and dug into her purse for her phone, just as it chirped for a third time, she did not often get so many text messages in such a short period.

She unlocked the keypad and pressed the Messages button, and saw three new messages, all from Stalker, the capricious nick she had assigned to his number in her Contacts. She opened the first message, "Such a lovely blue shift dress, you look very sexy." How did he know what she was wearing? She instinctively looked around, obviously a fruitless thing to do, and saw no one, but realized she still did not know exactly what he looked like, never having even yet seen his face, just that he was a tall, of average build. She returned her gaze back to the phones message center and opened the second message, "The boy really is enjoying looking at you, what do you suppose he is thinking?" Again she looked around, now sure that he was nearby somewhere. She looked at the surrounding building, and looked into the other cars parked around her, but saw no one. She continued to look around, double checking to see if she could see him . . . nothing.

She opened the third and final message, "Perhaps you should walk back and introduce yourself to him?" Okay, obviously he was here somewhere, but certainly not within her sight. Equally obvious, the chance to even think about or explore that "suggestion" was past. She just sat there in her car, unsure what to do now. Stalker was clearly nearby. She had a feeling like things were swirling around her, dizzying, turning her head first this way, and then that, looking. Should she just drive off? Get out of the car and look for him in earnest? Just sit here and wait? She was feeling very conflicted and anxious; in fact she was feeling a bit scared, uncertain, not sure why exactly.
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Just then . . .

. . . she saw movement in her rear view mirror, it was a large black sedan pulling up behind her car. Her text message chimed once again, and she read the message, "Put your hands on the steering wheel, and look down, and be still".

Continued . . .