Public Nudity Taboo but Legal
- 2 years ago
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In Public With A free porn video
We were to meet at a coffee shop slash cafe. I told the the cute young
hostess that I was there to meet A_. I use the letter A_ here as a
courtesy to my own privacy as much as anything else. I had become madly
infatuated with A_. I barely knew her but I was in that heightened state
where you want to do everything she suggests; the crazier the better. I
trusted her completely. Or perhaps it was that trust had been replaced
with testosterone. Our previous encounters had been casual. A meeting at a
party where I was instantly attracted to her and then a bit of coffee and
cake a few days later where I simply had to have her. And now an early
dinner where I figured I would get a chance to seal the deal with an
evening of at least some hot making out afterwards. Or even more if you
get my drift.
The hostess brought the table where A_ was seated already and where there
was an immediate moment of discomfort for me. A_, in her instructions to
me, had gently suggested that I follow a certain formal decorum. "Humor me
and we can both have some fun," she had said, lightly but with an
undertone of foreboding. "For example," she said, "do nothing until I
signal or direct you to." So I therefore dared not sit until told. But the
hostess was still standing there in order to see if we wanted anything.
Since I would not let her catch my eye she turned to A_. A_ was making us
both wait. Finally A_ pointed at me and then to the seat across from her.
"You, sit," she said to me in a perfectly normal voice, and I sat. Normal
tone yes, but it was now clear to the hostess that A_ was in charge. I
continued to avoid the hostess's eyes. I was experiencing a couple of
mixed emotions. I was tingling with the strength of A_'s instruction to
me, but I was a bit miffed that a stranger was watching me follow the
instruction.
Normalcy proceeded through the ordering of food and drinks. Of course A_
did all of the talking and ordering. But after the waitress had left she
directed me to rise and stand before her. Simple request, yet very
intense. What's this, I wondered.
She then proceeded to unzip my fly and told me to sit. I dared not re-zip
my fly. I was flooded with excitement by this brazen sexual act. I now
felt repaid for the bit of humility required of me earlier. And yet my
subconscious was again signalling embarrassment.
"It is time to examine our relationship," she said and paused. Ugh-oh I
thought. This sounds ominous. Just when I thought that we might progress
beyond french kissing and light petting to the real thing. Damn. She wants
some kind of sign that I can commit to a serious relationship before we
can have actual sex. Well, I guess that's gonna be it for us, I thought,
because no way do I know her well enough for that. I started to demure,
but she held her hand up and continued to talk.
"See, perhaps you've noticed that I am taking a very strong leading role
in this evening's events." Duuhhh! "Well, before I can feel comfortable
investing more time and effort into this relationship I need to know that
you too can feel comfortable with me in the role of dominant." My mind let
the word "dominant" slip by without sufficient note and concentrated on
the "strong leading role". So how hard can that be, I thought. This is not
the 60's. Guys today almost expect a certain strength in their women.
"So here's the deal for this evening. You keep pleasing me; you keep
deferring to my suggestions; and all will be fine. Or," a slight pause
here, "or at any time feel free to just up and walk and we can both call
it over and done, finished. That way neither of us need to feel
emotionally betrayed later. Okay? How does that sound to you?"
I pondered what she had just said. It seemed like many minutes. She had
really made it pretty easy for me to say "yes" immediately. After all, I
did have the rest of the evening to say no. But I sensed that I best be
prepared to go through with whatever might come. I sensed that I would
need to give it a chance. See, this is why I was so drawn to her. She kept
me on my toes.
"Ohhkaay," I said in a drawn out fashion, lightly smiling. Like when you
agree to something not knowing exactly to what you agreeing. "Yes, I
agree." My mind was racing. My senses seemed heightened suddenly. She
seemed to come into sharper focus. Suddenly the small noises in the room
stood out. The smell of the coffee in my cup reasserted itself.
"That's wonderful," she exclaimed, "and as a symbol of your commitment to
my role, I would like you to extend to me a small bit of power over you.
Take this chain and lock it around your neck with this small,
insignificant lock."
With that she pulled out a bit of black chain with links about a half inch
in length. On the end of the chain was a small luggage type lock.
"Since you will have to ask me to unlock it, and as I'm not giving you the
key, that gives me power over you. It's a small token of power, true. You
can always go to the hardware store for cutters. But that's a hassle and
who knows it could prove embarrassing. So as I say, it's really just a
small token of my power over you at this moment."
I took the chain in my hands. I imagined putting it on my neck and locking
it in place. It was scary but yet lightly thrilling as well. It was much
more symbolic than real. But the symbolism was intense. I put it on,
hesitated as my heart raced, and clicked the lock shut with a click of
finality. A_ was now smiling broadly. I realized that I had just humbled
myself before her. And with that humbling I felt that I should not be
looking at her face, I lowered my gaze.
A_ then knocked a fork to the floor. "While you are down there getting my
fork you may as well kiss my foot. A slow kiss."
A classic act of subservience. In public even. My body had already begun a
slow compliance even While my mind wrapped itself around the meaning of
what I was being asked to do, and indeed even debating with itself whether
I should comply. I was as discreet as possible under the circumstances
(and under the table for that matter.) But comply I did. I aimed for the
spot just where the toe of the red high heel shoe gave way to foot at the
cleavage of her net stockinged toes.
As I returned with the fork, which I was about to place carefully beside
her plate, I began to attempt to anticipate just what sort of relationship
that I was placing myself into. I realized that there was more to come.
And included within that realization was the dawning of the understanding
that I was stepping onto a slippery slope.
Before I could place the fork down I saw the slight wagging of her index
finger. Oh, of course I thought, and I quickly began to wipe the fork on
my napkin. "No, lick it clean," she said pausing as I did so, "and then
trade me yours," she continued smiling.
When I had finished there then ensued a pregnant pause. I dared not break
it. The wait seemed interminable. I kept sneaking glances and just as
quickly casting my gaze downward. Only after I was able to force myself to
stop looking did she finally speak.
"Go to the washroom. Put these on. Bring me back your underwear." I looked
with horror at her extended hand holding a black bra and pink lace thong
panties. "Oh, and leave your fly unzipped both going and returning."
My mind gagged. Was I hearing rightly? Was I seeing rightly? She was
ordering me to change into a women's panties? And a brassiere! Several
trains of thought were coursing through my mind simultaneously. While I
considered saying no and walking I was also calculating who would notice.
And between those two thoughts I was assessing my attraction to A_. Even
as I questioned whether my attraction was strong enough, was worth this
mounting humility, my heart was racing faster and the stirring between my
legs was not being noticed by the same brain that was directing the arm
and hand to grasp the very objects it thought to reject.
It was not likely that anyone was going to be able to see the pink panties
through my unzipped fly, but it was an embarrassing worry none the less.
Really embarrassing would be if anyone knew that my panties did not match
my bra. OK, so really embarrassing would be anyone even knowing I was
wearing women's underwear. MY mind was a jumble. How could I be concerned
about the mismatching bra and panties when the real concern should be that
I was wearing them at all. I had never worn women's underwear. It had
never even occurred to me to wear women's underwear.
I rose in a daze and went to the small men's room. I locked it behind me
and did as ordered. I guess technically as suggested. After I had them on
I immediately felt strange. It was clearly a different set of hemming and
stitching in places where I had never felt hems and stitches before. A
small weight on my shoulders, a tightness around my chest and a slight
cupping around my nipples. And then there was my penis and balls barely
encased in a triangle of fabric and a flattish ribbon of cloth threaded
through the crack of my butt and tickling my ass whenever my legs shifted.
In the back of my mind a word was trying unsuccessfully to force itself on
my consciousness, a word for the kind of man who did what I was now doing.
But I was too busy feeling the strangeness to quite get it in my head.
I returned to the table. Before I could sit I had to stand before her
again as she proceeded to unbuttoned two buttons on the white shirt I had
been asked to wear. It was the button just at the top of the bra, the
topmost that I had buttoned, and then she skipped a button and unbuttoned
one just below the bra. Everything was still sufficiently discreet. But
now there were observable opportunities should the fates of fabric folds
and body bends permit. Now I understood the purpose of the white shirt
request. The better to see you my dear.
She then began a quiet conversation with me. "I am about to take your chin
in my hand and then speak loudly. You will look around to either side with
your eyes as if you are embarrassed. I will then slap you on the cheek. Do
not cry out, just look down." I was already getting embarrassed just from
the evoked image.
She then spoke loudly enough for those around to hear clearly, "What are
you wearing? Look at me!" She then slapped my already red face and I
looked down after noticing people looking.
After a moment where she reveled in my embarrassment she proceeded to drop
her fork again. This time she turned slightly in her seat and spread her
legs. I was to somehow, she explained, in my efforts to get the fork
arrange to kiss her crotch on the way up and out from under the table. I
was allowed to do it quickly and I didn't have to exactly hit the crotch.
By now it seemed, at least to me, that everything that happened at our
table was somehow taken as a show for the people at the other tables. The
glances were quick but regular enough to not be normal. At least that's
the way it seemed to me. But then maybe I was overly conscious of my
circumstances.
A_ then directed me to stand and follow her. We went this time to the
ladies room. She gently pushed me in and locked the door behind us. She
sat on the toilet and had me stand before her. I had been instructed to
wear a pair of cheap black slacks. She then withdrew a pair of scissors
from her bag and had me pull my pockets inside out as she then proceeded
to cut off the now protruding pocket bottoms. They were now useless as
pockets. She then poked a hole in the seams of the pant legs just at the
top of my ankles.
She produced another short black chain with small luggage-type locks on
both ends. She threaded one bare end of the chain through the hole she had
poked through my pant leg and then locked it around my ankle. She did the
same with the other end of the chain around the other ankle.
I now had an eighteen inch hobble locked to my ankles.
Attached to the middle of my hobble chain was a piece of black elastic
cord, an eighth of an inch thick. She took the free end of the elastic
cord and safety pinned it to the middle of my pant crotch. The elastic
cord now prevented the chain hobble from dragging on the ground when my
feet were together.
Such was the state of my complete submission that I could be thankful for
a chance of less likely embarrassment by a dragging chain. Forget the fact
that I was now effectively enslaved! My mind was rapidly turning to mush.
It was totally focused on the tiniest of details. It refused to think
beyond the now moment. It wanted this to be over but was powerless to do
anything to actively actually end it. Thankfully the thong panties were
managing to contain the half hard cock.
Between the black of my pants and the black of the chain held off the
ground I was discreet enough to not attract attention. As long as no one
took the time to notice they wouldn't notice. And as long as I walked as
normally as possible with an eighteen inch gait no one would take the time
to look. At least I hoped.
She unlocked the restroom door and we exited. There was, of course, a
surprised woman waiting for the restroom to free up. Neither of us offered
an explanation. Once more I was flushed.
I tried to keep up with A_ but I also had to try to walk naturally. I fell
a bit behind. We returned to our table. The slightest nod of her had
indicated that I could sit. A_, though, walked over to the waitress that
had been serving us and struck up a conversation. The waitress nodded a
few times and looked over at me a couple of times. A_ returned to the
table.
she then handed me another length of chain with a lock on the end. "Lock
that chain to your right wrist," she instructed and I obeyed. I obeyed the
letter of her law, mind you, as I'm sure she would have liked me to work
above the table top where she and others could watch. Since it was not
countermanded I attached the cold metal chain under the table, again as
discreetly as possible.
"Here is another lock," she said as she handed me another luggage sized
brass lock, "and listen carefully. This next step is a bit complicated for
some, but I'm sure you'll be able to handle it." I flushed with pride at
the complement to my intelligence. Although granted I would probably not
be in the straights I was in if I had just a bit more intelligence. But
then the appeal was to the intelligence of the male penis; an intelligence
of limitless depths of ignorance.
"Take your left hand and put it in your left pant pocket. Then take the
chain attached to your right wrist and gather it into your right hand and
put that hand with the chain into your right pant pocket. Got that so
far," she asked as if I were dense? "Good," she said as I nodded. "Now for
the really hard part. Pass the chain from your right hand to your left
hand without removing either from your non-existent pockets and then pull
the chain out through your left pocket. Then wait for me to lock the left
wrist to the chain."
After the lock was snapped closed, my hands were chained to my pants. I
could not raise them above the table now if I wanted to.
Shortly the waitress showed up carrying a glass of water and three cloth
napkins. "How are you all," she asked cheerily. "Can I get you anything?"
I looked down at the table. I stuffed my hands deeper into my pockets. I
just wanted her to go away. "The gentleman may need a bit of water,"
responded A_. Water? I didn't want any water. In fact my glass was nearly
full.
The waitress approached me and something happened. What it was I didn't
notice because I was still looking at the table. Anyway somehow her hand
with the glass of water must have gotten knocked or something because she
cried out just as water was spilled on my shirt. I could do nothing about
it as my hands were chained to my pants under the table. I was helpless
before this klutzy cheery waitress.
"Oh dear let me get that," she said as she began patting my shirt with one
of the napkins. She was patting right where the bra was. I felt my face
flush with hot shame. She had to be noticing the bra. Indeed the black bra
was beginning to show behind the wet white shirt. I looked in horror at
her face. Oh yes, she indeed was smiling hugely and quite knowingly, there
was no doubt about it. She finished with the one napkin and took another
and crumpled it in her hand and this time instead of wiping any wet spot
proceeded to reach into my shirt stuff it into one of the bra cups.
My embarrassment now reached a level I had not known could exist. She was
touching me beneath my bra. But there were other emotions welling up as
well. Here I was helpless before two women and each of them was now
controlling my fate in this very public place. Why was I not protesting.
Well, of course things had gotten well past the point where I should have
protested, so the question was why was I allowing myself to be humbled so.
And it was then that I realized that a tingling had been occurring in my
penis and that it could well become hard were I to keep focusing on the
hands of the waitress touching my breast. Not to mention were I to keep
smelling her warm breath being exhaled inches from my blushing face and
her lightly scented blouse covering her real female breasts being usefully
cradled in a bra like the one I was now being reminded I was wearing.
And then I realized that A_'s foot had crept up my leg closer and closer
to my engorging penis. The waitress finished her job of stuffing my bra
with napkins with a quick deft hand as if she were still drying my shirt.
To the other tables it all looked quite ordinary. Unless they happened to
notice my now protruding breasts and the wet spot darkened more by the
undergarment beneath.
The waitress had also brought the check. A_ rounded it up to the next five
dollars and then handed the waitress another twenty. Yes, that made sense.
There had definitely been some collusion in that earlier conversation. Now
I realized that the spilled water had been no accident.
A_ got up to leave and motioned me up. Hopefully this ordeal was about to
be over. All I had to do was shuffle as naturally as I could to the door.
Natural meaning bending at the waist as much as would look normal so I
could slacken the front of my shirt to hide my protruding breasts. I
avoided all eyes. If they were noticing, then for me to notice their
notice would just make it worse. Of course a couple of women were coming
in as we were going out the door. Their conversation stopped and as we
passed them they erupted into a shared chuckle. The laugh was likely at my
expense.
Outside the door the waitress was standing smoking a cigarette which she
quickly put out. "What are you going to do with him now," she asked? "Come
along to our car and see," A_ replied. "I would give him to you but he is
sorely in need of a break before he breaks. He is, however, in for one
more exercise in humility."
We were going to my car. A_ had the keys which she had taken when she cut
my pockets out. She also had my wallet, which was now lighter as she had
used my cash to pay for the evening's entertainment. She unlocked the
driver's door and told me to stand by the driver's seat facing it. She
opened the rear passenger door which created a little alcove for me to
stand in. She reached from behind me and unfastened my pants. They did not
fall since I was holding them up with my chained hands.
"Reach for your ankles," she instructed. I leaned forward over the
driver's seat and as my hands went down so did my pants. "Now don't cry
out if you don't want to draw attention to yourself," she said as she gave
me five hard blows with a rubbery truncheon, blows that drew welts I would
later see in a mirror at home. She then unlocked my wrists and unbuttoned
all the buttons on my shirt.
"Get in the car and drive away and don't try to pull up your pants or
button your shirt until you are out of my sight," she commanded as she
pushed me down into the driver's seat. She threw my keys and wallet onto
the passenger seat. "And oh, by the way, there is a letter in your mail
box that has the key for the remaining locks around your ankles and neck."
When I finally got home I got the key and removed the chains. At least I
hadn't needed to go to the hardware store.
I went to my bedroom and masturbated wearing the bra and panties. I had
some very hard thinking to do about my relationship with A_. The
attraction had started out physical. The physical feelings were there as
strongly as ever. The attraction was further heightened by her own
strength of personality. That and her self-security and her sure knowledge
of what she wanted and her lack of shyness in getting it.
But those same strengths were now becoming problematic for me. My thorough
going maleness rebelled at not only not being in charge but at times not
even being equal. I remembered the word she had used: dominant. I cringed.
After I had had a very strong orgasm and then as the hormones that had
propelled me to humble myself to her and then to masturbate while wearing
woman's underwear; then as I those same hormones were wearing off and
releasing my mind to fully grasp my situation; then the word that had been
struggling to reach my conscious burst forth: sissy.
Marisol
- 29.08.2022
- 15
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