Mistress Takes Me Shopping
“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…