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“I can’t be seen like that!” I whisper.
“You will meet me in the lobby barefoot and naked, little girl. You’re going to learn to trust me. I have something for you. And have your little bottom lubricated. You can keep your penis secured while we’re out.”
The call ends and my shaking hand hangs up the phone. My building has no lobby to speak of really. Just an outer door, a short hallway serving as a small foyer where the mail boxes and intercom reside, then an inner door with the electronic lock. Not much traffic. There are ten floors, but few apartments per floor. Mostly older folks. But there comes more panic as I realize that 7:00 p.m. is dog walking time.
So even if I successfully skulk to the foyer, there are sure to be tenants nearby on the street.
Well... Sergeant Kelly can certainly foster thought and concern.
What am I to do? Obey of course.
Arriving home I bathe, prink and preen... prettying myself. My thoughts run wild. Whenever I attempt to envision what Sergeant Kelly has planned for the evening, I cannot mentally get past the foyer.
I recall the walk from the park... my ‘arrest’. Will that be the gambit? She will ‘arrest’ me again?
Mine is not to question, I tell myself.
The mirror suggests everything looks good. I really am accomplished with makeup.
So I liberally slather my gluteal cleft and look at the clock. If I am not to raise the unwanted attention of my fellow tenants, my timing must be superb.
Next I take the main door key and the apartment door key from my key ring. The demand is for nakedness... nothing to be brought with me... yet I must be able to return.
So, at 6:59 I poke my head out the apartment door. Nothing... no one to be seen. I prance down the hall, feeling the divine squishiness of a well lathered backside.
The stairs, my only salvation. The older tenants never use them. Particularly those on the eighth floor. My bare feet tapping noiselessly on the linoleum, I push open the door and begin my descent. I feel excited... stimulated. Yet I must be careful as I approach the lower floors. Tenants living there sometimes have no patience for the elevator. So at each landing I pause and listen for activity.
Nothing.
I slow my pace to better hear, soundlessly taking one step at a time, instantly prepared to reverse course should I hear the squeakiness of a heavy swinging fireproof door.
Finally, the bottom floor. I push open the heavy metal barrier and peek. No one in the hall and at the far side of the security door, through the glass meshed with wires, I spy the silhouette of a woman.
I pray it is Sergeant Kelly. I hold my breath and dash. Now it must be Sergeant Kelly. If not, there will be much to explain.
“One minute late, little girl,” I smile in
hearing the rebuke.
She tweaks a nipple. I giggle, indeed like a little girl. Under her tutelage once again, the entire world can observe my nakedness now.
“Very good. Very obedient,” she compliments with a smile of her own. “I have something for you. You don’t look enticing enough in grown up clothes.”
As I stuff my keys into my mailbox she reaches to her pocket and produces two of the tiniest wads of pink cloth imaginable.
“Hands over your head like a good little girl.”
Stretchable, some type of spandex, she pulls at it right to left. It is a loop. Broader than a rubber band, but not by much. Sergeant Kelly reaches up and threads it over my extended arms pulling to stretch and lowering so it goes over my head and shoulders. Finally it encircles my chest at my nipples and she slithers out her hands.
It is a tube top only extremely brief... designed for young girls without developed mammary glands.
The second wad is dropped to the floor. Her booted foot adjusts to form a circle. This second wad of pink is broader than that about my chest... but not by much.
“Step in.”
My bare feet move to comply. I can just about fit within the circumference. Sergeant Kelly stoops and again stretches the material right to left, this broader garment requiring much more effort. She lifts, over my ankles, calves, knees and thighs up to my hips.
“Feel good?”
