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I should be wary of someone walking through the door, but where we stand, there’s a hefty shelf to block the view. Following Lockhart’s instructions, I lift my sweater above my breasts. As I do, he moves forward and pulls the lace away to reveal my nipple. Tweaking it ever so slightly, I jerk. Inside I’m screaming, but on the outside I remain firm.
“Hurts?”
“My, yes.”
“And your clit and labia?” He peers down at my crotch.
I raise my skirt exposing my nakedness, breathing anxiously as I do, sure any second the bell on the door will jangle and I’ll be flushed-faced greeting my next customer. Thankfully, that doesn’t happen. As before, Lockhart gently fingers the skin about my piercing and tugs lightly on the rings.
“Keep them clean,” he says. “Every day.”
“I’ve been religious about that.”
“Very good.” He lets my skirt and sweater drop back in place. “I’ll be bringing weights to hang on them, to keep the stimulation lively.” I’m shivering as his voice takes on a deeper resonance, and his eyes become less kind.
The shop bell tingles and he backs away.
“Soon, Anna Keller,” he says as we move out from behind the shelves. He exits while I greet the woman who’s walking past him through the door.
Two weeks later Lockhart returns bringing the weights he mentioned—beads really, though they are heavy enough for me to feel a dramatic difference as he puts two each on my genital rings. The nipples are still in the process of healing, so he’ll wait a while longer before adding weight there too.
His visit is brief; though a burst of passion jars me as his fingers work quickly to open the balls that hold the rings in place. He quickly adds the tiny pieces of gold and clamps them shut. Now when I walk I feel the same sensuous ache I felt when they were new.
“Your Ellie will have to handle the shop next week, or it will need to close. I hope that won’t be a problem.”
“It shouldn’t be. This is what I planned on.”
“Very good, then. On Friday evening, you’ll join me at the house. I think it would be easier if you drove yourself.” His smile is again gentle, his manner kind. I still await the fire and brimstone that threatens beneath his mild surface, but still this gentleness seduces me.
My initiation is filled with subtleties that work my mind without my realizing. Truly, he’s done very little except pierce me. Yet, I can’t remember when I’ve felt so owned and taken care of.
Chapter Eleven
Delia is exceedingly submissive. I notice this most when it’s just the two of us together. With other people, she sometimes balks. I assume that’s because of her inherent shyness. She’s like a delicate flower. Often she needs guidance—especially when I’m not at her side. But when I am, her degree of surrender is brilliant and passionate.
She loves to expose herself. Our second excursion to a leather boutique took us to a higher-class shop than Cavenor’s crude one. Her eyes light with little stars as she runs her hands along the halters, bras, and tiny skirts she sees. She burns a hole in my pocket with all that I end up buying. But for the pleasure of seeing her attired this way in public, I have little problem parting with my cash.
Her favorite passion—and one of mine—is the slow tease in a restaurant. She dresses with little subtly, her well-endowed bodice beautifully disclosed by her revealing choices. And her shapely legs look good in dark stockings. She wears no panties, her skirts then hiking high as she sits. The possibility of someone seeing her wispy cunt hair is all the more likely when she turns to her side.
I order each move—when to cross her legs, when to open her thighs, when to raise her skirt. She blushes as though embarrassed, but we both feel the heat this generates in her. Transmitted to me, it takes little time before my cock is pulsing. We tease for awhile; her sly smiles and coy expressions often make me wonder where this little vixen came from. By the time we escape to the car, it’s hardly necessary to order her mouth to my crotch. She unzips my pants and pulls out my erection, ravenous to take it in her lips. Not that I’m not happy about her enthusiasm, I often stall her, force her to remove her clothes in the car so I have her vulnerably naked, so I can run my fingers on her snatch—see the way her aroused body shivers, or being meaner, slap her thighs and pull her pubic hair. If I’m particularly nasty, I pull out a collapsible cane and snap it rudely anywhere I choose. She has turned in her seat at my command, leaned over the back and then masturbated herself while I lay a dozen cuts on her ass, of course, this works best when the car’s not moving.
Tonight I’m particularly inspired. She’s wearing a black lycra skirt that clings to her ass, showing the crack of her behind since there’s nothing underneath but her thigh-high stockings. She wears a small sweater across her breasts, baring her midriff below. It’s an evening in late April—but the air is unseasonably warm for this time of year. As soon as we leave the restaurant, she wants to dive into my erection, expecting I’ll play with her crotch until she gets off. This time, however, I make her wait.
“No, you sit there, hands in your lap.”
“Oh, but…”
“Don’t,” I level her with a nasty stare that
only excites her more.
I drive to an adult movie theatre—this is an especially seedy place, though I know the owner. I hear a nervous rattle from her throat as we pull up to the curb in front of the entrance and she guesses what’s going to happen.
“I’ve never been in a place like this.” She shows the fear she feels, her brow knits tightly with worry.
“Then, there’s always a first time.”
Delia titters, her proud exhibitionist resolve a little unraveled. Yet, reaching under her skirt, I find her pussy is as wet as usual.
