Rite Aid

For two weeks G was out of town, and therefore (due to the laws of physics) unable to have sex with me. I thought it would be fun to send him teasing texts. To flaunt what he couldn’t touch. I sent him picture close-ups and smart ass quips. I was having a lot of fun until the moment he returned.

I arrived home from work to find a large manila envelope waiting for me.

G instructed me not to open it until the following day. Once open, I was supposed to put on whatever was inside and cover it with nothing but my short trench coat.

After donning sunglasses and stilettos, I was to drive to my nearest Rite Aid and purchase everything he wrote on a shopping list. Dozens of items, from makeup to perfume to contraception.

G would be there himself, innocently shopping as he strolled around the store. I was not to acknowledge him in any way, but I'd be aware of his presence. I'd be aware of him watching.

On the day specified, I opened the envelope to discover the most vulgar undergarment I’d ever seen. A crotchless, fishnet body stocking.

I should be clear. My trench coat is very short. It barely covers my ass when my arms are by my side. What he was telling me to do was humiliating and potentially dangerous. Images of me being asked to leave or put in a squad car for indecent exposure flashed through my mind.

But I went.

I wiggled into the disturbingly sexually-overt clothing. I pulled down my coat and grabbed a big purse for cover. G had parked outside my apartment so he could watch me scamper to my car and take off.

Inside the Rite Aid, the attention I attracted was significant. I felt the stares, the once-overs. Maybe it was my paranoia, but every employee, every customer seemed to give me a second glance. Some seemed to outright watch me as I pushed my cart from aisle to aisle, plucking my designated items.. black eyeliner, feminine wipes, spermicidal foam…

Occasionally, I'd catch sight of G as he examined a product across the building, walked from one display to the next, brushed his erection against my backside as he squeezed past…

My arousal was palpable. Without panties, my wetness pooled between my legs. G texted me sporadically, about the men and women noticing me. Some with interest, some with revulsion. He told me what my appearance was doing to him. How badly he wanted me... I should have been blushing and wishing myself dead, but instead I couldn't stop grinning.

Eventually I quit spotting G, but I diligently kept shopping. There must have been fifty items on that list. Condoms, red lipstick, a pair of kitchen scissors… A man called out “You’re beautiful!” I laughed and hoped G heard it. I was having fun, feeling sexy and mischievous… until G texted me again.

“I’m at your house.”

He was gone. The fun died. He was gone! Suddenly I felt naked. Exposed. Embarrassed. My sense of security shattered. I didn’t feel sexy. I felt ridiculous. Everyone was viewing me not with desire, but with scrutiny and judgment. I ducked my head and scuttled to the counter. A young kid checked me out (no pun intended), and I meekly gathered my bags before rushing to the safety of my car.

I must have caught every red light on my way back. The drive seemed endless. What was he doing in my house? What was he looking at? Were there any dirty dishes in my sink? I used the shopping bags as camouflage as I raced to my front door. My nerves were so shot I jumped as he turned a corner into my dining room.

I can’t remember if I got a kiss before he grabbed me and bent me over my table. He pushed my coat up before prodding and grasping my flesh. He felt me everywhere, kicked my legs apart, told me to stand as he pulled off my coat and directed me to bed.

I writhed on my duvet as he rooted through the shopping bags, remarking on my adequacy. He brandished two rolls of what he explained was “bondage tape” and attached my left leg to my left arm. Tightly. He repeated the procedure on my right.  Then I was blindfolded.

And for the first time since I met him, he let go.

Spanked me. Fingered me. Slapped me in the face. Called me a slut and made me choke on the hard length of his cock. He was rough… very rough. He fucked me in the pussy, ramming into my cervix so hard I sputtered and cried out. He fucked me in the ass, made me scream. Hole to hole to hole…

So wet... I was so wet, and the harder he pushed me, the harder I soaked. It was all consuming. There was so much stimulation.. every thought in my head was driven out. Every reaction of mine was physical and base. No thought. No apologies. No concerns.

Meditation practitioners are able to achieve this state while sitting next to a pond. It's called being truly present. Living in a moment. Apparently, it takes me a blow to the face and a throat full of cock to get there.

Namistad.

T grabbed the kitchen scissors and cut away at the stocking, cutting openings for my breasts, which he reached through to grasp and torture my nipples.

And then he pinned me beneath him and made me open my mouth. He told me he was going to spit and not to move. He did this deliberately, because I told him that was one thing I’d truly hate.

He spit in my fucking mouth.

I took it. I took everything. The pain, the degradation, the insults, the fucking… The spit sent me over the edge. It was terrible, and I still took it. I couldn’t do anything in that moment but be open and fuckable and totally obedient. He pulled me over a line, covered me in his cum, and left, without a thought for my pleasure. It was a punishment for my flaunting. A reminder of who we were.

I don't know if I've ever felt so good, as after he left me that day. I felt euphoric. Giddy. Fulfilled... I didn't even masturbate. I wanted to pick up the phone and call everyone I knew to brag... But I didn't.

Because I'm a secret.

                                                  Xoxox

                                                  KC