Mistress Takes Me Shopping

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Mistress Takes Me Shopping

Unread postby rdodger » Tue Mar 02, 2021 7:09 am

Mistress Takes Me Shopping

by Rajah Dodger {rdodger@hotmail.com} (c) 2003, 2009

[This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Non-Commercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License (by-nc-sa). In jurisdictions where the Creative Commons license is not recognized, United States copyright and Berne Convention provisions apply; all rights reserved to Rajah Dodger except that electronic not-for-profit reproduction rights are explicitly granted with the stipulation that this authorship and permission note must remain attached.]

"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 driver's 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...

/ END /
rdodger
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