Frederick - Shopping

Continued from here

It was still just early morning but Frederick pulled his boots out of the closet to polish them for the evening. He also checked his pants and shirts to be sure everything was back from the cleaners and fresh. Tonight he would dress up and take Agnes out on the town for dinner and then some entertainment. He collected the boot black and cloths and water. He gathered some old newspapers to spread out to minimize the mess and protect his documents. He set up his work space and his mind began ruminating over his involvement with Agnes over the past couple of months.

While working on the boots he glanced over his journal notes for several of their “dates”. And he did consider them dates. It was an interesting courtship if that is what it was. Most of his relationships had been intense from the very start for an extended period of time, but he felt very much like he was courting Agnes, slow and deliberate, methodical and filled with feints within feints. She was so much younger and unfamiliar with his more mature and formal style. So he always felt he was presenting himself and she needed to be reminded on a regular basis of the structure of their relationship. He knew she was playing coy with him at times and teasing along, two steps forward, one step back, or to the side. He did not think they were deliberate ploys but maybe deflections borne from uncertainty.

He loved the sensuality of rubbing and working boot cream into the deep black leather, making swirls, building up depth and thickness. He worked meticulously, being sure to get the cream up under the various buckles. Once he finished working the cream into the leather he would let it sit so the leather would absorb the moisturizing cream. Later he would buff off the patina and add layers of warm soft wax.


He recalled a couple weeks ago, while walking down the street Agnes had been captivated by the dress and women’s wear shops, stopping and looking in all the windows. She stared in ecstatic wonder at the treasures in the shop windows. ‘Window shopping’ she called it but Frederick felt differently about it. In his mind, if you were going shopping you decided what you were looking for and went to a shop that would offer what you wanted and bought it. He recognized that his more direct approach was considerably different than hers. He was not sure whether it was really their different ages and life experiences, or if it was just a fundamental difference. The results of their shopping trip that afternoon helped to resolve the contradiction in his mind.

Frederick began making note of the particular clothing styles that seemed to catch her interest. When they came to the street corner he grabbed Agnes’s elbow and turned her to the right to cross the street, even though she had just then been turning the corner to go left. She followed along passively looking back over her shoulder, perhaps thinking about what she might have missed rather than really watching where they were going. A few doors down Frederick turned her into the entrance to a particular shop. Agnes turned to him and smiled, “Oh, look at the lovely dresses in these windows. I really do like the looks of these.”

Frederick smiled to himself, happy that he had interpreted her window shopping correctly. “Shall we go in and have a look around?”

“Oh, yes, I would like that. Yes, please.”

They walked past the foyer windows and on into the shop. They were greeted by two young sales girls and one of them addressed Frederick. “Good afternoon Sir. It is very nice to see you again. It has been a long while since you have been in.” They were both beaming, and Frederick could feel the slightest tug on his arm as Agnes recoiled back just a bit.

“Good afternoon ladies, I am happy to see you again. We are on a mission today to find the perfect dress. A dress to be worn to a very special dinner and night on the town; a dress that will show this lovely girl in all of her splendor. This is Agnes and I would appreciate you showing her your best offerings. Make no assumptions and show her a number of choices. Stir her imagination and find something to accentuate her beauty.”

The two girls smiled enthusiastically, came forward and each took hold of one of Agnes’s elbows and led her toward the racks. Agnes cast a questioning glance back at Frederick and he smiled, nodding his head in approval, encouraging her with a gesture to go ahead with the girls and see what they produced. Frederick followed along to the open space near the changing rooms and said, “I will sit here and enjoy the show. When you find a few appropriate dresses, Agnes can go and try them on and let me see how they look on her.”

Frederick found a leather wing backed chair and settled himself down. The three girls had gone off into the racks of clothing and he could just barely hear their titters now and then, punctuated by the occasional giggle or burst of laughter. After a few minutes they emerged from the racks and each of the girls were carrying several dresses and skirt/jacket outfits. Agnes followed along behind and as the girls stood in front of Frederick she stepped up and said, “Which of these do you like?”

“On the hangers they are just colorful pieces of cloth and I can’t decide anything other than perhaps I might favor a color or general cut. I need you to give them shape and life, show me how they take form when you put them on. Take them into the dressing room and try them on. If you like how they feel on you and look in the changing mirror, then come out and show me.”

“Which ones should I take?”

“Take all of them.”

And with that, the girls headed off toward the changing rooms with their collections. Agnes held back and looked at Frederick. Frederick smiled at her and gestured for her to “go, go, go on go” and she reluctantly followed along and disappeared into the dressing room maze. Once again there was the occasional giggle and laughter. Shortly, Agnes came out wearing a very nice floral patterned summer dress and stood in front of Frederick, hands crossed in front of herself, very tentative. Frederick noticed she had no shoes on and said, “Stand on the balls of your feet, as if you had on a pair of heels. Turn around and show off the dress.”

Agnes got up on her toes and took several steps and turned in a small circle, making the skirt of the dress billow and flow out. Quickly she seemed to lighten up and brighten up and fell into the playfulness of a little girl in a pretty new dress. After two circles and a slight spin, she stopped again in front of Frederick and said, “What do you think?”

“It is a very pretty dress but I am sure there are many more to try on and model. Set this one aside on a ‘possible’ hook and pick another for me to see. Later we will trim down the possibles.” Agnes grinned and disappeared back into the dressing room.

In a couple of minutes she came back out wearing another dress, similar to the first but in a bright solid color, not a floral pattern. One of the sales girls came out with her and walked over and stood beside Frederick’s chair. Frederick gestured up with the palm of his hand (up on your toes) and then spun his finger around (spin around and show me), and Agnes moved as instructed. Once again she finished, standing in front of Frederick with the obvious question on her face. He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. She nodded her agreement and headed back to the dressing room.

The sales girl knelt down beside Frederick, put her hand on his forearm on the arm of the chair. Leaning in, she whispered, “She is a very pretty girl Sir, with a lovely figure. It is easy to see why you fancy her.”

“Thank you Camille. I agree completely. She is new to Paris and in need of a friend. I am happy to befriend her and help her in any way that I can.”

Camille chuckled as she stood up to head back to the dressing room, “Yes, of course Sir. Your friendship is very generous and appreciated, I am sure.”

She gave him a wry smile and disappeared behind the curtain.

Again there was much laughter and giggling from the changing room area and Frederick began to wonder if they had become derailed from the dressing process. Then finally there was quiet and a couple minutes later Agnes emerged again.

This time she was wearing a blazer and skirt combination. It seemed particularly provocative because she had no blouse on under the buttoned up jacket. The outfit was even more appealing because of the way her calves were accentuated by the tip-toeing and the skirt was mid thigh, with broad pleats. It was a medium charcoal gray that went nicely with the dark blue of the blazer; very classic looking. Agnes did her tip toe, spin around, flare and twirl showoff routine and landed fore-square in front of Frederick again smiling broadly.

He looked the outfit up and down and with a broad smile, nodded his approval. Agnes smiled back and turned and ran back into the changing room and there was the familiar giggling again.

Over the next half hour Agnes came and went several times with a variety of different styles and shapes and colors. Frederick made a mental note of a couple of his favorites and was keeping track of the ones that Agnes said she liked as well.

Finally, Agnes came out in a little black dress that immediately caught Frederick’s attention. It was shaped in a way that highlighted all of the strong features of Agnes’s figure. It had a nice trim waist, slightly flared at the hips, three quarter sleeves and high neck line but with a slit that exposed a good deal of cleavage in a provocative and immodest way. The length was shorter than many of the others, showing not only her lovely calves but the musculature of the backs of her thighs. Frederick was particularly fond of Agnes’s legs, not too thin, muscular and strong without being bulky, ‘swimmers legs’ was the description he had heard that seemed perfect to him. The dress was immediately slotted at the top of his favorites list.

After Agnes modeled the little black dress she stood before him with a sad face and said, “I have run out of selections to show you.”

“Have you found something that appeals to you?”

“Oh, yes, I have, yes.”

“Why don’t you go back and change into your own dress and send Darlene out here. Camille can help you change and gather your things.”

Agnes disappeared and Darlene emerged. “Darlene, please hang everything we have tried on today on a small rack and bring it back out here. Also, discreetly gather her measurements and sizes for lingerie.Thank you.”

Darlene walked over close to Frederick and squatted down in front of him and spoke softly.

“Certainly, Mr. Frederick. It is wonderful to see you again. It has been a long time. I have missed you.”

He reached out and took hold of her hand and pulled her up, “It is good to see you too, Darlene.”

They smiled warmly at each other, she rose and turned and went back to the changing room.

When Agnes came back out she was in her old summer dress and sandals. She was accompanied by Camille. Darlene came out behind them with the rack and placed it in the middle of the floor. Frederick stood up and walked over to Agnes, took her hand and led her over to the rack. “Do you have a favorite among all of these?”

Agnes looked them over, reached out and touched one and said, “Yes, I do, this one.”

“That is a very nice dress, I like that one too.” He pulled the skirt and blazer out a bit and asked, “How about this?”

“Yes, I like that too, but think I prefer this other dress.”

Frederick reached into the rack again and pulled out the little black dress, “And this one?”

Agnes looked confused by his questioning, her smile was gone and she seemed to tense up, “That is nice too, but I really do like this one.” Again, indicating her first choice.

Frederick stepped closer and put his hand on her shoulder and pulled her to his side, “It is okay, I am not trying to change your mind or make you pick something you don’t want.”

He could see her visibly relax again. He pulled her even closer so she was standing side by side against him with his hand on the back of her neck. Frederick turned to the two girls and said, “We will take these three, the two dresses and the blazer outfit.”

Agnes pulled away a bit and said, “I can’t afford these dresses, Frederick. The one dress is within my range, but there is no way I can get all three of these outfits.”

“It is a treat from me Agnes. I brought you into this store and it is what I wanted to do. I also know your birthday is coming up very soon and so this is an early gift for you.”

Agnes threw her arms around his waist and hugged him. “Oh Frederick, thank you so much, but this is too much. These dresses are expensive. I can’t let you do this.”

Frederick smiled down at her and said, “You are very welcome and it is not a matter of you letting me do this or not. It is what I am doing. These will be nice additions to your wardrobe and will inspire me to find opportunities to show you off. I will be challenged to find outings which will befit you and these lovely outfits.”

Agnes hugged him tightly again and said softly, “Thank you so much Frederick. You are so good to me. I am a lucky girl, thank you.”

Frederick gestured to Camille to pull out and package up the three selections. He untangled himself from Agnes and said, “Agnes, go with Darlene, I think there are a couple more things that you will need to compliment these dresses. She knows what is needed and will help you.”


Frederick smiled at the recollection. it had been a fun afternoon; a great outing. He picked up one of his boots and pushed the shoe stretcher down into the toe, locked it in place and did the same with the other boot. With the leather stretched and formed he started vigorously brushing off the patina of the cream in preparation for applying the wax.

When he finished buffing the boots he picked up the bottles and cans and papers and tidied his desk. He set the boots in the sun to warm them in preparation for applying the wax. Looking at the time, he walked over and picked up the phone and called to make reservations for the evening.

Agnes reflects on the shopping trip

Building Supplies, part 3

The Consensual Stalker

part 2 ~ part 1

She felt his hand on the inside of her thigh, and it startled her so much that her muscles tightened, and her leg jerked out straight. "Relax, it is okay." She felt his hand move up to the back of her knee, and he lifted her leg up and toward the car door so that her foot was flat on the floor, heel against the front of the seat and her leg was against the door arm rest. She got chills as his hand moved along the underside of her thigh until the side of his hand bumped up against her panties, and his fingers were struggling between the seat and her thigh. Then she felt his fingertip push up into the hamstring muscle, and felt him slowly run his hand back up toward her knee, applying a lifting pressure that dug into the hollow of the muscle. He repeated that movement again so that his fingertips worked into the muscle and the palm of his hand pressed along the abductor. She mused to herself, "what a strange and appropriately inappropriate name for a muscle in such an intimate part of the body," as his hand moved back toward her knee again, fingers digging into her hamstring even deeper.

As his hand got to her knee, she felt it move away and then the back of his hand was pressing the inside of her other knee outward until her leg bumped up against the shifter. She felt a rush of embarrassment at the knowledge of how widely her knees were now spread, recalling how short her dress was, and how likely, or at least possible, it was that he was looking straight up her dress at her panties. She could feel his hand rubbing her knee, and then felt his hand and arm lying across her leg, and again heard the rustling of the packages on the passenger seat. Then there was quiet, although she could hear his deep heavy breathing, indicating his had was likely quite close in front of him. She found herself anticipating the likelihood of another kiss? Wishing? Hopefully? Hmmm.

But still it was quiet, and she could not imagine what he was doing, so close right in front of him, but not touching her, but for his arm brushing across her leg. And then she felt his hand pushing the hem of her dress up the outside of her right leg, tucking the loose material under her leg so that the hem was stretched taut across her lap. And then she felt the same movement on the outside of her left leg. Then, nothing but complete quiet, just the sound of his breathing, no touch. As far up as he pushed her dress, and the way he had spread her knees, she was certain that he had a very clear view of her panties now, and she worried how wet they must appear. She could feel the coolness and was sure that the light colored baby blue material was now several shades darker with her dampness.
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Then, disrupting the quiet, there was a whooshing sound, something moving through the air, and then silence again. Then the sound again, closer, then silence again. She felt something cool and rough moving across the top of her thigh, rubbing in a circular motion. Then there was a smacking sound as something slapped down onto her skin, just above her knee. That was followed by another, and a pause, and then another, a little harder, and she began to feel a slight sting in the spot where it had landed three times, or was it four? Then there was another, and she realized what she had heard, and was now feeling, was the flat smooth surface of one of the wooden paint stir sticks. As he began a steady rhythm of slaps with the flat surface of the stirrer, he moved the point of contact inch by inch further along the top of her thigh until it was nearly all the way up her thigh. There was a pause, and then he moved the point of contact down the outside of her thigh, and he started to slap her even harder, each slap bringing a sting of its own. She couldn't help herself, she started to protest, and he stopped. And it was silent again.

She couldn't help but feel a little whimper in her breathing, which had quickened as well. She felt something pushing at her lips, and he said, "Open your mouth." She opened it a bit, and he said, "More." And she felt some kind of bulky cloth pushed into her mouth. "Bite down on this." As she did, she felt his fingers pulling back from the material and she bit down harder onto the cloth in her mouth. It has the warm, earthy taste and aroma of something like a wool scarf, and she realized it was the scarf she tossed on the seat along with a light jacket, just in case it was to get cooler in the evening. As she clenched her teeth on the scarf she saw his hand come up over her face, and she cringed, what large hands he had, she had never seen them before now. He reached up and pulled the blindfold back down over her eyes, and positioned it in place. Then it was quiet again, and she felt him rubbing the stir stick in that same circular motion against the inside of her upper thigh. An involuntary groan, accompanied by a "No." sound, choked up in her throat.
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And then the slapping of the wooden stick against her inner thighs resumed. It was a steady and methodical pace, harder and harder each time as the target moved from the inside of her thigh down near her knee, upward to the more tender upper inner thigh and then over onto the top. As the intensity of the strokes increased, her breathing became shorter and shorter, until he would stop, and then there would just be the sound of her gasping at the air, accompanied by nothing but silence. Then he worked his way back down to the knee. Then he moved to the other leg and repeated the cycle; knee, up the inside of her thigh, as far as there was room to swat, then up onto the top of her thigh at the hem of her dress and then down the thigh again. Then back to the other leg. The pain was not overwhelming but was a constant stinging, and after each cycle he would stop and rub his hand back and forth up her inner thigh, bumping up against her at the far reaches of his stroking. Each time his fingers would bump up against her damp panties, he would mutter an appreciative, "Mm-hmmm," and then pause before starting again. She was alternating between the soothing feel of his hand, and then the sharp sting of the flat slaps of the paint stick, and then a few moments of nothing but a dull ache, before he repeated the treatment.

Just as she was expecting him to start again, she felt his hand on her forehead, and realized he was removing the elastic band. He pulled it up and over the top of her head, untangled it from her hair. He put his hand at the back of her neck and lifted her head into an upright position. Her neck and shoulders were tense from that cramped position, how did he know to rub her shoulder, and the base of her neck?

As she begins to settle down, her breathing becoming more steady and calm, she feels his hand curve around the back of her neck, pulling her head forward, until her lips meet his again. But this kiss is calm, soft, warm and deep, not hurried or urgent, tender but strong, almost like a thank you. And as she settled into and savored the kiss, she felt something cold and hard against the inside of her thigh. Still the kiss continued, distracting her from the presence against her thigh, but not completely.
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She felt his hand, and something cold and hard in it, move further up between her thighs, and then there was something rubbing against the damp material of her panties, the dampness making resistance to the smooth movement of the object up and down. Then his fingers were slipping under the elastic of the leg band, pulling the material out, away, and over to one side. She gasped, now sure that what she had imagined impossible moments earlier was, in fact, true. She felt the hard plastic tip pressing against her, pushing the material of her panties to one side, while simultaneously slipping into her ever so slightly. She moaned and growled louder, sounds of both rejection and pleasure, confused by the feeling, but overwhelmed by the sensation.

As it slipped ever so slightly deeper, she heard him say, "We are going to exercise some muscles, show me some resistance." And his hand pressed it forward, inch by slow inch, rotating and twisting it slightly. "Are your muscles are strong enough to prevent this? Clench and push." Still she felt the pressure and inward movement.

"I am not sure I want to keep you out." she whispered.

"Not me, this thing, this invasive foreign object. It is difficult, even without your resistance." She felt herself shudder and start to shake, her legs stiffen, deep in her throat she growled again.

"Push against me!" And he was pushing in, twisting and twirling, and she could feel the lumpy ridges, she could not exert enough force to overcome his insistence.

"Stop please." And then she was having spasms again, and shaking, she was seeing red. She felt muscle contractions, and this time they did indeed succeed, she gasps, "Please, stop . . . rest." He relaxed the pressure, and let her breathing settle. She felt his hand on the side of her face, caressing her cheek, his thumb wiping the moisture from the corner of her eye.

"Breathe slow, deep and steady breaths, relax," and he continued to rub the side of her face. Slowly she regained her balance, letting out slow, long, deep exhalations.

"Are you okay?" he asked, and she nodded her head, and smiled. She was calm again, her breathing settled. She so much wanted to look into this man's eyes, but she just let her head fall back against the head rest, and sighed.

As she settled back, she felt his gentle but firm push again, and she felt slight contractions, anticipating a renewed assault on her senses. Then he pushed her knees together and she felt something being wrapped around her thighs just above knees, holding her legs tightly together. And he pushed gently, deeper again, and her closed thighs held it in place. Again she felt shaky, she felt at the edge of more spasms, but then he relaxed the pressure, and removed his hand.

She felt something cold, hard and metallic against the back of her wrist. "Be still," he said. Then the sound of snip . . . and, snip, at the other wrist. "Be still, don't move your hands yet," he repeated. She sat there in the quiet, flexing her fingers, stretching them out, twisting her wrists, getting circulation back into her hands.

"Now? Can I move now?” she asked, but there was no answer, just quiet. Tentatively she pulled back her hands, nothing. Then she moved her hands to her face, and pushed the blindfold up onto her forehead, eyes squinting from the shock of long being deprived of light. She finally blinked, and slowly opened them, looked to her left, no one there.

She heard a noise behind her, looked up and saw movement in her rear view mirror, it was the large black sedan backing away from behind her car. Over on the passenger’s seat, she hears her text message chiming once again. She picking it up and read the message, "Go home. Take a long hot shower. Lie down for a nap. I will call you later."

trois et fait

And then, sometime later

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.
.
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.
.
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 . . .

Bus Seat

The Consensual Stalker

She got up from the bus stop bench and boarded the bus. As they walked down the aisle he encouraged her to the row of seats just in front of the full width bench seat at the back. She slipped into the window seat on the sidewalk side of the bus, and he slipped into the seat immediately behind her. She could hear his breathing as he leaned forward, immediately behind her the back of her head. "Relax, and make yourself comfortable, settle yourself into the comfort and contour of the seat, and lean back." As she settled in her seat, she felt him put his face into her hair, and take deep breaths of her freshly washed hair, knowing he was appreciating the apricot fragrance of the shampoo he had instructed her to buy, and use this very morning.

She had always hated the seats on the city buses, the semi-contoured bare fiberglass, with no cushioning. It was not a comfortable seat at all, it was hard, and cold, and unforgiving. She moved and squirmed into the seat, "Now, adjust your skirt so it is out from under your legs, so that your bare skin is against the seat, and gather it up around your hips." It was such a short skirt it did not take much effort to hike it up out from under her bottom, and she felt the cold fiberglass pressed against the backs of her thighs, and through her little bikinis panties. The chill of it made her shiver.

As she sensed him right behind her; she recalled how he had reached around her in the produce market, and the way he had manhandled her at the book store. Her mind raced ahead, fearing some similar exposure, wondering if he would be so bold and touch her that way in this broad daylight, passing public, open aired venue. She shivered at the thought, and felt her embarrassment rising, she wondered if he would have the audacity to do that again. Even as she was imagining what he might do, she felt his hand in back of her neck, combing his fingers through her hair, like he was reacquainting himself, and reconditioning her. He gripped tighter, she winced and stiffened.

His hands pushed her hair up on her neck and moved her hair aside. He pushed on the back of her head and she was forced to tilt her head down, and forward, in response to the pressure. He held her head still like that and she heard rustling sounds, then a mechanical click, and felt something on the back of her neck, a pressure, a coldness, just below her hairline. It made her shiver, and she felt a rush of fear. Was it a knife, or blade of some kind? In a soft, shaky voice she asked, "What, what was that? What did you do to my neck?" His reply, "It is just a mark, nothing to be concerned about." He spread her hair aside further and rubbed his fingers around and over the spot. "See, it is fine, not to worry." She felt no pain or discomfort, it seemed she would just have to "trust" that this "mark" was really nothing serious, she hoped not.

He continued rubbing the back of her neck, down to her shoulder, with firm pressure, nearly like a massage. She felt that her muscles very tense. Then, in a deep, heavy voice, whispering into her ear, she felt his hot breath, "Relax, everything is fine. Let go of that tension; yes, good girl." She closed her eyes and felt the relaxing massage on the back and side of her neck. She did relax, some, but was still apprehensive about what lay ahead, surely this was not the end of it. And, what was this mark on the back of her neck about?

Then, his fingers spread through her hair again, moving to the right side of her head away from the view of other passengers. She felt him tracing all around the outer edges of her ear and then around the back of it, then tugging slightly at her ear lobe, seemingly just bothering at her ear. It felt good she decided, relaxing some, letting herself feel the attention, feeling the sensuality of it, no longer fearful. And then his finger was dancing around her ear, in slight brushing touches, and all over her ear, and then onto it, lightly probing the folds of her ear. Then he took hold of her whole outer ear in his hand and gently rubbed and caressed it. Her breathing was becoming shallower, no longer relaxed. He told her to let the tension out of her body, to cross her ankles and tuck her feet back under the seat, to relax her legs.

He let go of her ear, and moved his hand down to her jaw, and leaned forward so that his head was along side of hers, pressing his cheek against the side of her head, and murmured into her hair. As he pressed his face against the side of her head, his hand slide down her jaw, to her chin, and then down under her chin to her throat. His hand pushed up under her throat, lift her jaw, tilting her head back slightly, and he kissed the side of her cheek. His palm brushed across the side of her face, over her forehead, her nose, cheeks, and moved up and covered her eyes. She felt his lips and breath at her ear, "Remember how I touched you in the store? And in the book shelves at Borders?" He moved his hand down off of her eyes, slowly down over her nose, her lips, her chin, and suddenly he was unbuttoning the top button of her shirt. She stiffened and said, "No, please, don't do this." She heard him make a slight chuckle and snort, and his hand returned to her neck. "How are you feeling?"

She thought about it and realized how tense she was again, her legs were stiffened again but also she felt the dampness, and again cursed the bare fiberglass seats. She squirmed but there was no way to escape her growing wetness. He seemed to sense her reaction and said, almost under his breath, "Ahh, yes, very good sweetheart, very nice." His heavy dark whispering in her ear, and his warm breath, was forcing her recollection of the way he had made her climax during their previous encounters. He moved his hand up from her neck and was rubbing his fingers across her mouth, her tongue tried to moisten her lips but she just ended up licking his fingers and he spread them across her lips. And then he pressed his fingers in and forcing her to open her lips, slipping his fingers into the corner of her mouth, rubbing his fingertips along the inside of her cheek. She moved her tongue around and over his fingers, drawing them into her mouth even further, and then she was sucking on them.

And then he was saying, "Good girl, think about how you have touched yourself, laying in bed at night, on your side, curled up with your hands tucked between your thighs. Remember the suggestions I have given you, and how you have responded to them." She sucked on his fingers and recalled the way he had told her to lay curled up at night, how she would lightly touch herself and drift off. The recollections combined with his probing fingers were causing her chest to heave, her breathing to quicken and she struggled to calm herself. And then he asking her, "Are you ready?" Telling her, "Let go of your inhibitions." whispering, "Do you feel it building?" pushing her onward, "Are you ready now?" She was tense, starting to shake.

Then she felt his hand between her shoulders, pushing her forward, "Lean forward now, tuck your head down behind the seat in front of you, clench your thighs together, tightly, wrap your arms completely around under your thighs, squeeze hard together. Let yourself go . . . Now!"

next in the series . . .

Bus Stop

The Consensual Stalker

He had told her she might be "seeing" him today. Now, there she was, sitting at the bus stop, reading a magazine, seeming completely engrossed. He wondered if she was with the other woman sitting on the bench, obviously older, perhaps her mother, or aunt? He took the bus schedule out of his pocket, looked at his watch, and noted he had about five minutes until the bus arrived.

He stood behind her for a minute, just observing, looking like just another person waiting for the bus, but very busy observing his surroundings, the other people around, the traffic, pedestrians. Yes, this was as good a setting as any other for today's adventure. He leaned forward slightly and spoke her name, no response.

"Hello, how are you today?" Still no reaction. He leaned slightly to the right and noticed the wires running from her purse up to her head, ahhh, probably an iPod. A very busy girl, reading, listening, to music? No movement, no bench dancing, perhaps an audio book. Obviously it was loud enough that she was oblivious to noise around her. He leaned down behind her ear, put his hand on top of her head, and spoke firmly into her ear, "Be still, it is me." He felt her startled reaction, but she seemed to understand and raised her head from her attention to the magazine.

His large hand gripped her head and held her steady as he removed the right ear bud. "Better." he said. "It is good to see you, I have missed you." No reaction, stunned silence? He moved his hand on her head, stroking her hair, tangling his fingers in her curls.

"Are you ready for your next lesson?" He felt more than saw her nod her head, and also felt a slight tensing, and maybe a change in her breathing. "Good girl."

Her hair had grown since they were last together and was falling down over her shoulders, obscuring his view. He combed his fingers through her hair and tucked it back behind her ear, improving his view over her shoulder, down the front of her body. Now he could see her breasts heaving, long, deep, slow breaths. He could see her swollen and erect nipple pressing against her shirt, so large and responsive that even her bra could not restrain it.

He placed his mouth close to her ear, "I am surprised you are wearing a skirt today, but it is lovely. You have very nice legs. Knowing you would see me today, did you choose that skirt for me?"

She nodded her head, yes.

"It is quite short, and revealing. Cross your legs for me." She moved to cross them, but he said, "The other way, left over right." She shuffled and moved her legs as he instructed.

"I can nearly see your panties when your legs are crossed like that. You are wearing panties?"

She nodded her head again.

"I hope they are lace fringed bikinis like you wore in the book store?"

Yes, she nodded.

"The same pair, especially for me?" She nodded, and sighed a deep breath. He smiled to himself, recognizing how thoroughly she was responding to him, consciously dressing to appeal, charming.

"Clench your thighs, and rock your upper leg." and she did. he could hear her breathing change after a minute of this.

"Feels good doesn't it?"

He saw her head nod, but also heard a small squeak.

"Squeeze tighter." She gasped again. Her breath was now obviously deeper, quicker. "Snug your leg over even tighter." More indistinguishable noises.

"When the bus arrives, go ahead and get on, and walk to a seat near the back, but keep your gaze down. I am going to sit behind you, and we will continue. When you sit down, adjust your skirt up but do not cross your legs again."

"Here is the bus. Get up, and let's go." And they got onto the bus.

A previous encounter

Book Store and Brussels Sprouts

The Consensual Stalker

She was looking through the racks of old novels when suddenly she felt someone pressed up behind her, leaning against her shoulders, and then, hands on her waist. "It's nice to see you again". When she heard his voice, she knew, and she stiffened. He had told her she would be "seeing him again soon", though she had never actually seen him. Her only contact with him had been on Yahoo chat, off and on for the past few months, and that first and only encounter at the vegetable market while shopping for Thanksgiving dinner last November. She had come to think that all they would ever do again was chat. She felt him lean forward and whisper into her ear, "It is so nice to see you, and feel you, and smell you." As he talked, she flashed back to their one other encounter.

She had been standing at the produce counter picking out Brussels sprouts, when she'd felt a man come up from behind and press himself against her. She heard, "Be still", from above her head. By the voice and angle, she knew it was that tall man she had been chatting with; he had said he would be around soon. She stirred and he said, "Stay, close your eyes."

He'd reached around and put his hand on her throat up under her chin, pushing her head back against his shoulder. He whispered into her ear, in that soft deep guttural voice, "When I let go of your throat, keep your eyes closed, stand up straight, and make no attempt to interfere."

While still holding her neck, he'd used his other hand and reached up under the waist of her sweater, and loosened the buckle of her belt. Then he had undone the button of her jeans, and lowered the zipper.

Then he'd released her neck and she stood passively in front of the bins, and her whole body tensed as she felt his hand slipping down the back of her jeans, sliding across her skin, down into the slack space he had created, his hand had slipped deeper into the back of her jeans. His finger tips were pressed into her cleft, further and further down as his fingers parted her cheeks.

Just then she felt him once again wrapping his arms around her, lifting her t-shirt and unbuckling her belt, deja vu. And then, he undid her jean's button and zipper. As he was ministering to her jeans, she had the strangest sense of, almost, comfort. She felt strangely at ease with the feel of him leaning against her back, being pulled back against him, feeling very short and fragile, seemingly surrounded by him, wrapped in his height and size, and long arms and big hands, impossibly close. She felt herself relaxing.

Then, as if reading her mind, he said, "This makes you feel very small and submissive, doesn't it? Being enveloped by a man, not a known lover, but a man who understands that he can do whatever he wants with you, and you will acquiesce." She knew he was right, but felt her head shaking, denying what he said, but remaining absolutely still as he had instructed.

While she realized he had undone her jeans, she had been so preoccupied with her conflicting thoughts, she was barely conscious of him slowly rubbing his hand up and down her stomach, gently caressing her from her navel to the fringe of her pubic area, realizing she had worn a very skimpy pair of bikini panties. She instinctively moved her hand and put it on top of his, wanting to stop him, but also wanting to press his hand more firmly against her skin. But just as she was taking hold of his hand, he removed it, and took hold of each of her wrists and moved her hands around behind her, stuffing them down between the slack of her leather belt and the denim of her jeans. Once her wrists were inside the belt, he leaned forward to trap her hands in place, reached around and fastened her belt again, very tight, pinning her wrists against her back with the tightening of the belt, binding her so tightly she could not pull her hands out. She suddenly felt very much trapped. And then she felt the scarf being placed over her eyes and tied at the back of her head.

She felt him leaning harder against her back again; felt his growing arousal pressed against her wrists and his jeans filling the palms and fingers of her trapped hands. She heard his rough, raspy breathing in her ear, his hot breath, his faint guttural whisper, "Holding you like this, my nose buried in your hair, smelling you, I can sense your surrender to my touch and control, you are so lovely. Holding you this way, drinking you in, feeling your breathing grow longer and deeper, your surrender and submission is intoxicating. I'm glad we met." She shivered, struggling to steady her breathing.

Then, his hand was back on her stomach, sliding up under her t-shirt, pushing her bra up, his hand surrounded her breast, squeezing, massaging, pulling, pinching, grasping. And just as she was about to speak, to ask him to stop (did she really want him to stop?) his other hand moved to cover her mouth, and she heard someone walk by a couple of aisles over. He held tightly, and they were both completely still, except for his slightest movement, steadily working her breast and nipple. After the person passed, she expected his hand over her mouth to move, but instead she felt him slowly, methodically, sensually tracing her lips with the faintest touch of his fingertips. And then, his hand was clamped over her mouth, firmly. He was holding her in such a way that she could not breathe and she feared a lack of oxygen. But his grip over her mouth loosened and she was able to take several long, deep gulps of air, catching her breath as he continued fondling and groping her breast, pinching and rolling her nipple so roughly, almost painfully.

Suddenly she felt his hand move away from her mouth, and almost feared what might come next, he was continuing to roll and pinch her nipple, making her arch her back and squirm. But she was worried; she remembered where he had moved his hand last time. Moments later, she was almost relieved when she felt his fingers on her neck; he was pulling her hair back, and brushing his fingers across the side of your neck and jaw, tilting her head to the side as he did. And then she felt his hot breath on the side of her neck, sensed his head moving down toward her, then a kiss at the base of her neck. In combination with her aching stiff nipple, the pressure of his mouth on her neck and shoulder made her shrink aside and try to move away, but he grasped her more tightly and held her in place. She began again to ask him to stop, but could not draw the breath to speak the words. Still she felt herself instinctively trying to shrink away from his grip, but her arousal was overpowering her resistance.

She felt his kiss open more and more, his teeth scrapping across her neck, and then the pressure of him slowly but deliberately biting down, and the movement of his tongue, working her skin between them. As he is moving his teeth up her neck, his tongue is moving rapidly. And then his teeth were clenching down on her neck, just below her ear. Hard, hot, tight, his mouth closed down on her neck, and still, his fingers were incessantly working her tender, aching hard nipple. Her back arched and again she reacted by shrinking down, moving away from his mouth. His hand grabbed her neck from the side and pushed her back up against his mouth, harder.

The quiet struggle was interrupted by the sound of heavy doors and hurried foot steps. She felt his grip loosen, his mouth relax and pull back, and his hand withdraw from under her shirt. Still the sound of footsteps somewhere on the floor and she is suddenly afraid of being discovered, like this, restrained and blindfolded, in the clutches of this stranger.

His hands moved, firmly gripping her biceps just above her elbows as he whispered to her to walk forward, after several steps he slowed her down, and she felt her shoulders bump up against something solid. He pushed her forward even more and she felt almost wedged in. He let go of her arms and she felt his hand on the back of her neck, fingers pushing up into her hair, and her head leaned forward until it felt something solid on both sides also. She guessed he had placed her facing into a corner, with her head leaned forward against the wall, his hand pushed firmly forward, fingers laced in her hair. Then suddenly his hand was gone, and she felt suddenly alone, still and quiet. Wondering if she should move, she started to straighten up, but immediately there was a finger pressing her head forward, so her forehead was pinned back into the corner, "Be still, stay right there", he said.

And then she could felt his arms around her sides as he reached around and unbuckled her belt, and she could feel the tension being relieved around her waist and her wrists at her back. Then again, his touch was gone, but she could hear his breathing behind her. "Count down from 10." She counted slowly down from 10, to 1, and then stood there, in the quiet. She stood up straight tentatively, and there was no reaction. She pulled her hands out from under her belt, no reprimand. She pulled the scarf down off her eyes, turned around slowly, and she was alone, in the corner, alone in the room.

And then, some time in the future . . .

Public Play/Exposure

In my most recent story line post, Getting out of Town, I was challenged by a reader about the public nature of a scene or scenario I described. I was very happy to receive the challenge, the question:

I truly don't have a problem with the bondage in the car, but I draw the line at exposing myself in public, or any displays of a blatantly sexual nature such as inserting a bullet.
Can you explain how you determine what's healthy for the sub, as well as what you deem is acceptable for public viewing, and in the presence of whom?

"I suspect I draw the line very near where you do. You can imagine that not a lot is exposed pulling a pair of panties up over her legs, lifting her bottom slightly off the seat, and sliding them up under her dress. She is sitting down in the seat and the man is knelt down beside her."

"The simple and slight action of slipping a small vibrator down inside her panties is completely obscured by the car, the tinted windows, her hands, her clothing and such. I did not conceive of it as a blatantly sexual act, but rather a clandestine, private moment."

"Do I think it has potential for embarrassment or humiliation? I most certainly do, and counted on it for the energy between them, for the embarrassed excitement she would feel from it, and for him."


This has stuck in my mind and I have been thinking about public play. Not the kind of public play you encounter at a dungeon or BDSM play party, but the kind of interaction between people, that takes place out there in the world. There is a subtle, or not so subtle, intimacy between two people that can be enhanced by the potential for exposure, or discovery, or observation. A kind of play or interaction that is not blatantly obvious to others, but places the submissive in a situation where they are being treated in a very private way in a very public venue.

I recall a story of a girl who was being so obstinate, and so unwilling to disconnect from her upset about an event, that she could not be in the moment with her owner. He was wanting her to let go of the matter, set it aside, and to enjoy a lovely evening out on the town. Even though she knew she was acting that way, she chose to continue. She eventually earned herself a spanking, and it was administered then and there, on the sidewalk, in a mixed residential/restaurant neighborhood, and was observed by, others. At least one person actually was standing on their front porch, watching her get a fairly sound spanking, and I recall distinctly her humiliation and embarrassment that this would be carried out in front of "ordinary people". (I tried to go back and find the exact details, but I think my memory serves well enough).

Many months ago I wrote about an actual event, Hand Controls, where a girl exposed her breasts in a casino, in front of many people, controlled by a man near by. One comment suggested that it was inappropriate. I confess I certainly enjoyed the sight of that beautiful young Asian girl, but I would not conduct myself in that manner in real life. I have a high regard for public decency, and am quite conservative regarding what I would allow to be viewed in public.

But, these examples raise the question, Where are the boundaries? Certainly, there is excitement, arousal, titillation, pleasure, fun, any number of feelings and emotions to be explored by adding an element of casual observation by uninvolved onlookers. There is embarrassment, humility, Humiliation, and excitement that grows from that public exposure. But there is also risk of ridicule, censure, perhaps even arrest for indecent behavior in public.

There is a great opportunity for enhancing the experience of dominance and submission by taking it outside, into the public arena, or on the edge of the public arena. There are any number of small, or large, but still a subtlety of control/action a dominant can require of a girl in a semi-public way, but somewhere there is a line that can be crossed where you go beyond public decency, but where is that line? Who decides?

One Day Visit - the Car/the Bar

"The true Man wants two things: danger and play. For that reason he wants woman, as the most dangerous plaything." ~ Friedrich Nietzsche

Continued from Breakfast
Holding her arm, he escorted her out the doors of the Gold Coast to the courtyard, and on toward the parking garage. He shifted his hold from her arm back to her wrist, and he felt her bristle for a moment. He glanced down at her with a questioning look in his eyes. He saw her expression change and she settled into stride as they walked out to the car. He unlocked the passenger door for her, and was thinking about using the ropes to bind her again, but grinned as another idea took over.

He opened her door, but before she could get in, he pulled her back slightly and moved past her. He sat down on the edge of the seat himself, with his legs out of the car, and taking her hands, pulled her close, up between his knees. He put his hands on the outsides of her thighs and moved them up under her dress until he felt her cotton-covered hips. He looked up at her and smiled, and hooked his fingers into the elastic of the leg bands, twisted them in his grip and pulled her panties down over her thighs, past her calves and down to her ankles. Instinctively, she reached out and put a hand on his shoulder and lifted first one foot, and then the other - so he could remove them completely. He placed them under the passenger seat, looked out at her and could clearly see her, silhouetted through her dress with the sun back-lighting her.

Taking her hands to balance himself, he rose up out of the seat, wrapped his arms around her shoulders, moved a hand on the back of her head and held her to him. He felt her arms move around his waist and onto the small of his back and they stood in a quiet embrace, while his hands felt the now smooth and unclad contours of her bottom.

After a couple minutes he turned, guided her into the car seat, helped her with the seat belt and closed the door. He went around and got into the car also. He reached over and hooked his hand in the back of her far knee, pulled and twisted her in the seat so her knees were facing him, half up on the cushion, semi-sideways. He pushed his hand well up between her thighs, and she moved her legs to accommodate his presence.

He pulled out of the hotel, crossed over the freeway and drove up the strip slowly, enjoying the scenery. He continued to play with her legs, teasing and tempting her, moving his hand further up between her thighs, particularly when they were stopped at a light and there was a swirl of pedestrians around the car, many of them looking in and staring at the scene within. Several times she urged him to move his hand, but he was intent on tempting the glances of pedestrians at crowded intersections. Several times she shivered and moaned as his rough finger pressed all the way up onto her.

When they finally covered the distance up the strip, crossing over into the old downtown area, nearly an hour had passed. He could see she clearly was feeling the effects of his constant touch, the teasing, and the embarrassment and humiliation of having had so many onlookers glancing in on their seemingly private activities in such a public way. Finally, they pulled into the Fitzgerald's valet parking, and he went around to help her out of the car, to see she had turned in her seat and had her legs half out of the car, her dress still hiked up as he had pushed it, and her knees were an unladylike distance apart. A 20-something valet was standing in front of her gawking. Yes, he thought, she is gorgeous, and sultry looking, and she was being very provocative with the boy. He stood and watched for a minute, then stepped between them, offered her his hand, and lifted her out of the car.

He once again took her by the wrist and they walked through the first casino, out onto, and up the length of Fremont Street, to the Golden Nugget. The entire distance, as had been the case at breakfast, they drew more curious glances from people who noticed how he held her and guided her along, as she seemed to walk a half step behind him, appearing to almost be pulled along.

They walked into the casino, past the barkers and players club hustlers and found their way to the bar, a beautiful old massive, dark wood bar back and marble bar top. He pulled out one of the bar stools for her, gave her a hand up onto the stool and placed his hand on the inside of her thigh. She immediately responded by letting his hand in and she adjusted the hem of her dress up further and further as his hand measured the spot for her, far beyond where she was comfortable, but she complied. He stood beside her until the bartender arrived; he ordered her a gin and tonic, and then asked for directions to the restrooms. "Wait here, very quietly," he said, as he excused himself. He went off in the direction of the mens room, and looking back, he noticed the middle aged man sitting on the other side of her giving her several glances, and he seemed to be looking to start a conversation.

He grinned to himself, imagining her discomfort with the attention from this stranger, and turned and walked away. When he came out he decided to kill a few minutes, looking in at the blackjack tables, but from a position where he can oversee, and the man’s efforts to start a conversation. He could see she glanced around nervously from time to time, but by and large sat still, slowly sipping her drink, seeming to try and ignore the man's attempts to strike up a conversation, clearly uncomfortable with the way he was looking her up and down.

When he returned, he walked up behind her, pushed his hands into her hair at the back of her head, pressing it forward and kissed and nibbled roughly at the back of her neck. She purred her approval and appreciation. He raised his head up, buried his nose in her hair, and moved his hands to her shoulders. She reached over and moved her pocketbook from the stool next to her, where she had placed it to save him a seat, and put it up on the bar. He stood up straight, and walked further down the bar and took a seat. He sat down three stools over, settled in, and looked back at a very confused and frustrated little girl. He turned sideways in his seat, so his legs and body faced her, and she moved in her seat as if to start to get up and come to him. He put his hand up and gestured to her to stay put where she was; he just continued to look her over. He noticed her frustration, but also how exposed she was in her short dress, tucked up even further than comfortable, how his hands had tousled her hair, and the rosy bright pink glow of arousal and embarrassment on her cheeks. He got the attention of the bartender and ordered a drink.

As he sat there, a man came up to the bar and moved to one of the stools between the two of them. He was amused at the potential predicament that would be created when the man sat down at one of the stools, effectively blocking/breaking the connection between the two of them. The man stood there, looking from one side to the other, seeming to notice the connection between them, puzzled by the distance. As it turned out, he was simply asking for change for a phone call and within a couple minutes had moved on, leaving the open space and emptiness between them.

When the man left, he picked up his drink and moved back down to the stool beside her and sat down, and she reached over and hugged him, clearly happy to leave those disconnected moments in the past. He turned toward her, and she turned full toward him, and they sat sideways in their stools, with their knees interlaced with each other. He continued to move his hand idly up and down her thighs as they talked and felt the warm of her legs against his palm. He noticed that his continuous attention and the effects of the alcohol were showing more and more in her eyes, the smile on her face and the tempo of her breathing. It was evident that her arousal was growing. He leaned over to her and asked, "Where would you like to go next?" Her reply was simple and straight forward, "Anywhere, away from all of these people, somewhere we can be alone." He laughed, and called the bartender over to settle the tab. And off they went.

One Day Visit - Breakfast

Continued from Gather/Contain

Reluctant and shy, she walked along at his side, mostly comfortable with his grip firmly on her wrist, but embarrassed by with the glances from passersby, as he led her up the stairs to the main doors to the hotel. He opened the first set of doors for her, and moved his hand to the small of her back to guide her through the doorway. She waited while he moved to open the second set of doors. Again he ushered her through, and she stopped to wait for him. He caught up with her, took hold of her again and they walked down the short flight of stairs to the main floor of the Gold Coast hotel/casino, toward the back to the restaurant. As the turned the corner, they were confronted by construction barriers and a sign, the restaurant was being remodeled.

He walked back to the bar and asked the bartender if there wasn't a place to have breakfast? The bartender said the restaurant was temporarily relocated to the other side of the casino. They walked across the open space, weaving their way through the various gaming tables and slot machines. They drew more curious glances from people who noticed how he held her and guided her along, as she seemed to walk a half step behind him, appearing to almost being pulled along, but not.

When they got to the restaurant and the hostess greeted them, he asked for the location of the ladies room. He turned to the girl and said, "I will wait here for you." He pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to her, a small satin bag. He took her purse, and she headed off in the indicated direction. The hostess started to leave but he said, "She will be right back, wait here with me", and made small talk about the construction as they waited. Momentarily she came back across the open space and he indicated to the hostess that they were ready to be seated, and placed his hand in the small of her back to guide her. As they walked, she handed him back the bag, empty.

Once seated, he placed her purse aside and the hostess offered her a menu, which he took hold of, with a surprised glance from the hostess. She offered the second menu to the girl and he said, "One is all we will need, thank you." The hostess glanced at the girl and she simply smiled back and said, "Thank you", and the hostess left. As he looked over the menu, the waitress arrived, and he ordered coffee for her, with cream and sugar, and orange juice for himself. He noticed the girl was fidgeting occasionally, and moving around, adjusting how she was sitting, but he could not hear the hum of the vibrator. "Low?" he asked, and she smiled sheepishly, and nodded her head.

When the drinks arrived, he asked, "How many sugars?" "Two," she answered. He challenged her, "I beg your pardon?" She replied, "Two Sir, two sugars please." "And cream?" he asked, "Yes, Thank you." He prepared her coffee, and set the spoon aside. As she took the cup of coffee, he reached across the table, opened her napkin for her and she placed it on her lap. They talked about what they were hungry for, and he found selections on the menu.

When the waitress arrived to take their orders, she said, "Oh, you don't have a menu." "She does not need one, thank you. She will have the fruit bowl, with yogurt and an English muffin, toasted, with butter." The waitress turned to her wanting to confirm the order, but the girl did not look up or respond. He spoke, and drew back the waitress's attention, "And I will have the same. Thank you, and more coffee please." The waitress glanced at her again, but then turned and left the table.

They made plans for the rest of the day while they waited for the food to arrive. At one point the busy boy brought a refill for the coffee, and then later he came again and freshened up their water glasses. She said she would like to see the old downtown area and then would like to get out away from the city at some point, and see some of the surrounding hills. He said they would head downtown after breakfast, and visit a couple of the old casinos. Then later drive out to Red Rock Park, which offered a wonderful view of the city, and was a beautiful place to see the stark contrasts of the desert landscape. Each time one of the wait people approached the table, she fell silent and cast her glance down toward her lap, shivering slightly. As they talked he reached across the table, gathered up her silverware, and set it aside.

The waitress brought the food, placed it in front of each of them, and asked if there would be anything else? She noticed the girl had no silverware and asked if there was a problem, he said, "Nothing is wrong, we are fine, thank you," and she left. The girl started to reach for her spoon, for the fruit salad and yogurt, and he quietly said, "No." He picked up the silverware and alternately offered her spoonfuls, which she leaned forward and ate. Between bites, when he was eating his own breakfast, she would sip on her coffee and eat the muffin. They ate in silence; as she finished each portion offered, and drank some coffee, he would give her more.

On a couple of occasions the waitress checked back to see how everything was, and would look at her with some bewilderment as they ate, but he assured her that everything was fine, exactly as it should be, and thanked her. When they finished eating, they finalized their plans for the rest of the day, and just enjoyed sitting and talking while the waitress settled the check. She seemed embarrassed at having been fed and was still nervous and slightly on edge. She appeared particularly uncomfortable when the waitress or busboy would stop by the table for something, and attempt to address her in some way.

When they were finished and about to get up and leave, he handed the empty satin bag back to her, and she left for the ladies room. When she returned, she stood at the end of the table, sat the bag down and said, "Sir?" He glanced at her, smiled, and returned the bag to his pocket. He finished his juice, got up, put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her deeply. He felt her stiffen and shake, then shudder, almost trembling, and he pulled back and gave her a concerned look. She smiled back at him, and said, "Oh yes, I am fine, thank you". He stared for a moment to be sure, then took hold of her arm and they walked out of the hotel and out to the car . . .

One Day Visit - Gather/Contain

He had driven down to the strip early to find a meeting place, near to the Wynn hotel. The Fashion Show Mall is directly across from the hotel and offered a convenient valet stand at the north-east corner. Having extra time, he decided to drive down the strip and wait for her phone call. Just as he was reaching the south end of the strip, his phone rang, it was her. She asked if he was familiar with the valet stand at the north-east corner of the mall; he smiled to himself, and said he would be there in 10 minutes.

When he pulled in, she came walking in his direction, a nervous smile on her face. He got out of the car, went around and opened the passenger door, took her hand and eased her down into the passenger seat. She was shorter than he had expected, prettier and younger looking, with a sweet girlish smile he could not have imagined. He leaned down on one knee, reached in and fastened her seat belt; carefully making sure the belt was comfortable between her breasts. He put his hand on her shoulder, his forearm pressed across her chest, and gave her a soft, slow, welcoming kiss, to help melt away any formality or discomfort. He reached under the seat for the rope he had place there earlier, and slowly wrapped it around her ankles, pulling them together and cinching a quick knot.

He turned his head back and looked into her eyes, noticing a small bit of concern/worry, overshadowed by a sardonic twinkle. He took the other piece of rope and slipped the prepared loop around her wrist, and moved her arm around the back of the seat, "Hold that there." He leaned in and covered her mouth with his again; feeling her tongue, tentatively move toward his, lightly moving across the back of his lips. He let the kiss linger this time, stealing her breath. Finally, he broke off the kiss, got up, closed the door and went back around to the driver’s seat, and settled in. He took her free arm and moved it around the back of the seat also, and slipped the other rope loop around her wrist and cinched up the slack. "Comfortable?" she nodded her head and smiled. He placed his hand on her knee and moved it up her thigh, moving the hem of her dress up her leg, feeling her tender flesh of her inner thigh. He couldn't help but smile as he felt her shiver.

He reached under his seat and pulled out the spring loaded spreader bar and pressed it between her knees, pushing them apart nearly from the console to the door. He sat back and admired his handiwork, noticed her smile, and said, "Let's go find some breakfast." As he drove, they talked about her visit so far, and how she was enjoying the shopping, gambling, and shows. She seemed completely at ease even though she was bound and trussed, by this man; who was both a stranger and a close friend. He was flattered and aroused by her innate level of trust in him.

When they pulled into the parking garage at the hotel for breakfast, he removed the spreader bar, and released her arms from behind the seat. While she bent down and untied her ankles, he combed his fingers through her hair, feeling the shape and texture of the back of her had. She handed him the rope, and reached across and embraced him as best she could in the uncomfortable seating of the car. He got out, came around and opened her door. He gave her his hand and helped her out of the car. Then, taking hold of her wrist, he led her toward the hotel in search of breakfast . . .

Hand Controls

'What? you think you're some kind of Jedi? Waving your hand around like that?' ~ Watto to Qui-Gon, The Phantom Menace

It was a very busy Saturday night and I was sitting at the final seat at the blackjack table, another man next to me and then seat 4 was empty, the barstool like seat pushed up against the rail, and the other 3 seats were occupied as well. The pit area at the Suncoast casino was busy; there was nearly a row of people behind the players watching the action. It was jovial night, everyone was having a good time, the cards were generally going the player’s way, and everyone was up a little bit.

As we played I began to notice the man next to me kept looking to his right, not paying the attention he had been, seeming distracted. I also noticed that the blackjack dealer seemed to have his attention drawn as well. After a few minutes, I leaned forward to see what was distracting them so. A player had stepped up to the vacant seat and placed chips on the edge of the table, waiting to get into the next round of play.

Standing behind the vacant fourth seat was a quite attractive, fairly tall Asian girl, typical long straight black hair and pretty oval eyes. Then I noticed what had been distracting the other men (and now me) at the table. This attractive 20-something girl was wearing a short black flip skirt and a cream colored button up V-neck sweater, unbuttoned nearly down to her navel. The edges of the sweater were taut, just barely covered the nipples on her small conical breasts. Like many Asian girls she had very small breasts, probably barely A cups, and seemed to be fidgety about the way the sweater barely covered them.

She held a drink in her left hand and played cards with her right, and between hands she would fuss with the edges of the sweater, alternately covering more of her breasts and then moving it back to where it just barely covered her nipples again, all done in a nervous sort of way.

As I alternated between watching and leering, I noticed she would glance back over her left shoulder frequently, as if she might be expecting someone to come walking up at any minute. I looked around a couple times and finally notice a nice looking late 30s man standing about 10 feet back from the table, leaning against the end of a bank of slot machines. He was nicely dressed in slacks and a polo shirt, and was watching the girl, very intently, with no expression on his face.

Just about then the girl adjusted the right edge of the sweater so that it was now lying outside of her right breast, so that it was completely uncovered. It was quite a sight in a crowded casino, a lovely girl with bare breast showing in the midst of crowd. I looked back at the man and notice he was making a hand gesture, waving it slightly to the right, indicating the same direction she had moved the sweater. As I watched him he then moved his hand in a pushing forward manner and the girl moved in closer to the table and leaned forward, making herself even more visible to the people on either side of her. Over the half-hour or so, she moved the sweater edge off of and back on and then off again from her breasts probably a half dozen times, mostly leaving them and her erase-like nipples open and exposed, responding to the gestures of the man behind her.

Every time he would give her another gesture, she would grimace slightly but comply. Her gaze was always on the man, or the cards in front of her, but never to one side or the other, acutely aware that she was being watched, the blackjack dealer directly in front of her and also some half dozen people on either side of her. People would come and go, not sure of what they were seeing, or leave out of embarrassment, except for those of us engaged in the game, sitting at the table, caught up in the play.

I am fairly confident that I am the only one who saw the man and his hand signals, and understood the control being exerted over her. Clearly she was acting as directed within a previously scripted scenario. She was embarrassed in that very shy, demure and quiet way that Asian girls can react, but was obviously enjoying the control and exhibition as evidenced by her skin flushing and arousal. Then as quietly and unobtrusively as she had arrived, with a come hither gesture, she turned and walked away, placed her hand on his arm and they walked off into the crowd.

It was a very interesting convergence of domination/control, exhibition and voyeurism, if only for a fleeting few minutes.

Can You Spot a Dominant or submissive

Do you believe in the notion that a dominant can spot a submissive? And, that a submissive can spot a dominant? I mean, can you just tell by looking at someone? People talk about a deer in the headlights look, but I am not sure it is exactly that. A submissive girl I know describes it thus, “I see a man looking at me, and I cannot look away, and I just know, he's one of those men.”

A few years ago, I was in a local hotel/casino, at a blackjack table playing cards, and had been there for a couple of hours. I was chatting with the floor person in the middle of the pit. Over his shoulder I glanced at another table about 20 feet away and locked eye contact with a woman playing at that other table. I smiled at her; she dropped her gaze slightly and smiled, but kept eye contact. We looked back and forth at each other several times over the next hour, but never spoke, just eye contact and smiles.

Full of confidence/hope, I made dinner reservations, at the steak house in the hotel. After another half hour passed, I got up to cash out, looked over at her and nodded to her, and she did the same. I walked over, said hello to the dealer while he was coloring her out, and took hold of her wrist and said, let’s go have dinner.

When we sat down for dinner, I ordered Chateaubriand; we had dinner and made small talk. She was in town visiting family, and would be here through the weekend. As we finished dinner, I said, let’s go dancing, and we went to Larry’s Hideaway, a small country and western lounge with a band and smallish dance floor.

When we arrived the crowd was small, we got settled, and went onto the dance floor. In country western dancing the man’s left hand and woman’s right are held as usual in dancing, but the man’s right hand/wrist is rested on the woman’s left shoulder and her hand holds the hook of his elbow. As we started dancing around the floor, I reached my hand up under her hair and grabbed a hand full at the back of her neck and held it tightly. She looked up at me, and as I held tight onto that grip of her hair, pulling her head back just the slightest, she closed her eyes, smiled, made a soft noise, and in that moment the question was asked and answered; "Are you? Yes, and yes I am".