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A Night Out


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Posted (edited)

The early eve air has a soft chill to it as we walk out into the dusk. You have been very playful all day; painfully so it would seem as you step gingerly, already having been spanked for misbehavior. I paddled your bare ass, and now your panties seem arousingly uncomfortable even aside from them being soft white cotton. The leg bands feel awkward as it rubs tortuously at the welts and bruises. You still smile despite the wearisome bottom, the hem of the short pleated-skirt licks at the back of your upper thigh, tickling your lower ass cheek. Your breasts are pushed curiously high by your shelf bra...the cleavage is enough to make you blush every time you look down upon the white button-up shirt, top four buttons open and folded back to expose more of that colorful embarrassment. Of course, we did not overlook your pigtails and cherry tootsie roll pop. I stand in the doorway and simply admire what is mine. 

"We will have a good night out tonight, mine," I say pointedly as I shut the door behind me. 

As you take your first few steps towards the restaurant, you feel the intensive heat of my hand bring your attention back to your still warm buttocks. You blush feverishly as my fingernails trail along the sharp welts and under the elastic, causing it to snap smartly when I pull fingers back. You cautiously sit at the booth we occupy. You scoot in as I sit on the outside, my disconcerting black pants and dress shirt, sleeves rolled up exposing arms covered in black fishnet, hiding us securely in the shadows. We speak of brief, airy topics as we wait for our drinks, and then order. I grow weary of the small talk, and command you under the table...of course, you obey hesitantly, the words catching you off guard. 

You sit on your heels against my legs, your head lain upon my thigh as I trace the contours of your earlobe and your face line, sometimes passing fingertips over your cheek or tugging your pigtail and then tracing the small hairs at the nape of your neck. I look down upon you and tell you, "Show me." 

You respond in trepidation, first leaning forward with an arched back, drawing the collar of your shirt open. The shelf bra leaves your breasts open to the nipple, and I see this with a hungry smile. Then you lean back, gripping the lower hem of your skirt tightly in each hand, pulling it up so I can look upon the soft panties covering my cunt. You blush, anew - I see it on your inner thighs, I see the damp area in your enjoyment. Our meal comes and we eat, sharing wit; "Wit lying most in the assemblage of ideas, and putting those together with quickness and variety wherein can be found any resemblance or congruity, thereby to make up pleasant pictures in the fancy," as Locke once said. 

We finish our drinks and move on to the tavern, where I find a table not far off from the bar. A nice compromise of shadow and direction allows you to see my eyes clearly, even as I am hidden in the shadows by the sheer balance of ourselves. We sit and I send you up for beers, a spectacle in itself. You blush radiantly as you are ogled by the gents trapped on bar stools, pinched and poked by their eyes, their recent conversations in inanity forgotten each time you returned. 

Of course, this is not entertaining enough. 

We finish our current drink, and you prepare for the trek when my words break you from your concentration not to burst into color. "Your panties..." my words wash through you with salacious luxury and complete confidence of obedience. I am not disappointed as you stand slightly and try to quickly press them down your legs, the waistband scraping over the welts and bruises, crisply reminding you of being punished. You press them balled up into my out-stretched hand with a smile twisted in disdain. 

But you obeyed. 

The skirt seems amazingly short to you now, the bottom almost failing to cover the slickness of your lips...the breeze tingles at you...chilling you... 

As you stand at the bar, you look down in horror at the napkins you have dropped. The small stack fell neatly enough, and a simple reach should recover them - except, your skirt is already short enough to cause you to dizzy, and knowing my eye would be intent on you is enough to make that moisture bloom back where your thighs meet. With a quick look back, you confirm my eyes are fixed on you. It only takes you a half second to know what you must do. 

You bend deeply at the waist, folding yourself doubled over, your feet apart shoulders-width. You feel the cold air rush against your exposed flesh, as inch-by-inch the slight skirt raises further-and-further up your ass. You can see me between your spread thighs, my eyes leisurely caressing the bruises, then lock on your sex, now a fount of your fluid sex. You feel the wetness run down your legs as you look up to find the guys before you staring at your almost fully exposed tits. The heat of your blush is furious, it causes your head to swim and you straighten to a team of men making sure you don't fall over with quick touches and misguided hands. 

You grab the mugs and with a quick turn, walk back to the table, your skirt flaring about as you move quickly to your seat. You sit with adverted eyes and a dark bloom on your face. I reach over and lightly touch your cheek, drawing you back to me. You look upon my face to find stark satisfaction and amused pleasure. You do not know where the night will find you, but right now, lost in the look on my face, you know... 

...where ever I may lead, you will follow obediently.

Edited by Cade

wow amazing. it was like i was there. master as told me he will demand my pants one night when we are out. this brought the idea to the front of my mind  

  • 2 years later...

A beautiful and clear representation of strict obedience! Well done Cade! The masses want more stories!

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