"Today, we have shopping to do," Mistress
announces gaily.
Mistress snaps the leash to my collar and leads
me to the car, where she opens the door and gestures
me in. I slide into the passenger seat and fasten my
seat belt as she closes the door. She gets in the
drivers side and leans over to kiss me, her tongue
exploring the inside of my mouth with both an
insistent demand and an implied promise. I ask where
we are going and get a finger placed against my lips
for my pains.
Mistress drives. As is her habit, she tailgates
flagrantly. By the time we pull into the parking lot
of the supermarket, my right leg aches from mashing
down on a nonexistent brake pedal. She opens the door
for me, reaches into my lap and tugs the leash to pull
me out of the car. Leading me by the leash, she goes
into the store and gets a shopping cart. We go to the
produce section, attracting occasional outright stares
from the customers who notice the leash and collar.
She gives me a wide grin, and proceeds to check
out the fresh produce. She fondles the pears, hefts
and shakes the melons experimentally, and throws one
at me. I catch it and place it carefully in the
shopping cart. She plucks a grape from the case and
places it between my lips. I kiss it while she holds
it in her fingers, then suck it into my mouth for a
snack. In short order she picks out a bunch of
bananas, a half pound of mushrooms, three apples and a
bunch of asparagus.
On the next aisle she points out the flour and
sugar, both of which are on a lower shelf. As I lean
over to get the bags, she runs her hand possessively
over the seat of my pants. I hear snickers from
somewhere behind me. We get eggs, playtex gloves, A-
and C-cell batteries, two mousetraps,and some cleaning
supplies. When we go to check out, she reaches into my
pocket to get change for the cashier, flexing her
fingers suggestively. My blush does not go unnoticed
by the cashier, a young-looking girl with dimples who
looks at Mistress and winks conspiratorially.
I take the two paper bags of groceries and follow
the tug of the leash as Mistress walks briskly back to
the car. After putting the bags on the floor of the
back seat, I once again buckle up in front. Mistress
drives us to the lingerie store, where she informs me
she has a special purchase to make. When we walk in,
the clerk barely gives me a second glance. Mistress
has me stand by the door while she goes to the clerk,
murmuring quietly. She turns to me and snaps her
fingers. When I approach, she unclips my leash and
tells me to go to the dressing rooms.
The clerk follows me in and directs me to the
podium in front of the triple mirrors. "Drop the
pants," she directs. I look frantically for Mistress,
but she is not around. I swallow hard and unfasten my
pants, sliding them down in a puddle at my feet.
According to Mistress' directions, I am wearing a pair
of pouch briefs, and between Her ministrations earlier
and my position here, my cock is filling the pouch.
The woman, looking bored, takes out a cloth tape
measure and runs it around my waist, jots a number
down, then wraps it around my hips, sliding the tape
across the front of my pouch and catching it under the
head of my cock. She writes down another number, then
holds one end of the tape just under my navel and
slides the other end down between my legs and up
through the crease of my ass. She holds it there for a
few seconds while I try not to squirm too much, then
releases it with a curt "You may go." I'm blushing at
my uncontrolled erection, and I hurry to put my pants
back on.
When I get back out into the shop, Mistress is
standing by the cash register and I join her there.
She re-attaches my leash as the clerk comes out of the
rear of the store with a package. "This should
suffice" is the clerk's only comment as Mistress pays
for the purchase.
Once again Mistress attacks the city streets, but
I behave - the whiteness of my knuckles is the only
evidence of my concern for our safety. Soon enough we
pull into Her driveway, and she unclips the leash
before unlocking the car doors. She takes the small
package, leaving me to follow with the grocery sacks.
I put the groceries away in the kitchen, and from
another room I hear her remind me that the dishes need
doing. I load the dishwasher and start it, hand wash
those few items that can't be machine washed, and go
to the living room to present myself.
Mistress is very particular about this part of my
routine. I must disrobe leaving only my shirt on,
stand in the middle of the living room facing the
sofa, clasp my hands behind my back and hold my legs
apart in parade rest. Today she walks around me,
slapping my stomach to get me to pull it in a bit
tighter, clucking at the condition of my shirt where
the backsplash from the kitchen sink caught me. "I
must get you a proper apron," she mutters. I
straighten my carriage, but my mind is distracted by
the package now sitting on the sofa. Mistress sees the
direction of my gaze and smiles evilly.
"Display, Pet". I put my hands on my hips and
bend my knees outward into a half-crouch. I hold this
position as She plays with my equipment, hefting my
balls, flicking her thumbnail against the head of my
cock, an enigmatic smile crossing her face as I become
erect despite my efforts.
"Stick out your tongue!"
I open my mouth and extend my tongue. She slides
the shaft of her crop along the surface, swabbing the
back of my tongue with the tip of the crop. I swallow
hard but don't gag. Mistress is proud of my command of
my gag reflex and frequently gives me the chance to
demonstrate it.
"Arms Up!"
I stand up and raise my arms over my head, lacing
the backs of my fingers together. She presses the tip
of the crop to my lips and I kiss it, lavishing the
same care on the damp leather that I would give to her
palm or her sole. She slides the crop into my
underarm, making me squirm, then *pop*s me with it.
She strokes the stinging spot briefly, then rains
quick sharp smacks up the inside of that arm and down
the other.
She stops, and I catch my breath. She moves out
of my sight, walking quietly behind me and leaving me
facing the plain wallpaper. The crop taps my ass, and
I reflexively tense up, then force myself to relax.
*Splat* She catches me on the meat of my left
buttock, and I wince at the sharp sting.
"Count!"
"One, thank you ma'am," I respond. *Splat* "Two,
thank you ma'am" as she gives my right buttock a
matching stroke. She alternates between sides and
paints splotches of pain on either side of my rear
crease, waiting every time just long enough for me to
relax but not for the previous sting to fully fade.
Finally, after twenty-five strokes and thank-yous, she
stops.
I stand, arms quivering above my head, my ass
cheeks hot and throbbing. A few tears have made their
way down my face.
"You have earned a present," she says quietly
from behind me. "Go over to the sofa and open it."
I walk to the sofa (moving gingerly for my sore
bottom) and take up the package, tearing off the paper
and tossing it properly in the nearby wastebasket.
Opening the box i find a stretchy lace-trimmed sky
blue thong. Her voice comes from behind me, kindly
but no less demanding for that, "Go ahead Pet, put on
your present." The thong is quite narrow in front -
so much so that my balls spill out on either side of
it. At the top it curves around slightly to cup and
support my shaft, at least all but the cockhead which
is exposed above the top edge. The back strap nestles
between my cheeks, pushing them out slightly to catch
the soothing flow of room air. I turn around to face
Her, my cheeks hot as I picture what I must look like,
this feminine garment clashing with my defiantly
protruding male feature.
She murmurs her approval, and proceeds to
blindfold me and lead me to the wall where hooks are
mounted up near the ceiling. First one hand then the
other are lifted and put into oft-used cuffs before
she steps back from me. Her fingers tap sharply
between my legs, and I quickly slide my feet outward
even as i feel my cock pulse and press upward a bit
more into the open. "That's a good boy," she remarks,
"they will quite enjoy you, I'm sure."
I listen with sudden trepidation to the fading
sound of her heels going into the other room as the
doorbell rings...
*****