Happy Hour XI Public PropertyPlease Touch I had this written on me at happy hour yesterday by a new

Happy Hour XI

Public Property
Please Touch

I had this written on me at happy hour yesterday by a new friend, Sunny, at my request. Of course, when Lioness saw it, she slapped me hard, then grabbed me and used her nails on me, making me yelp and squirm. Then someone I didn’t know approached me hesitantly and double checked for consent.  He did ask Lioness before asking me, which is amusing. A woman owning property. Imagine that! I suppose it was good of him to keep up the charade that I have the right to refuse a man permission to do something to me, especially when I ask for it like that. 

Of course I reassured him that it was perfectly fine. He was so hesitant, though, that when he was done, I clapped in a not very sincere way, which Lioness chastised me for. I felt bad for having made a man feel bad for doing something he had every right to do. 

For most of the rest of the evening, my friends took advantage of the implied consent (I wanted Sunny to write that on me, but she said it “isn’t sexy.”)

A little while before it was time to leave, someone I didn’t know came over to me. He double checked with me about what he could do, after watching Lioness slap my tits several more times. I did tell him that I knew her and didn’t know him, so hitting wouldn’t be a good choice. I felt somewhat uncomfortable with the idea of him touching me, but I didn’t stop him. My discomfort isn’t relevant or important. As I continued talking to my friends, he started touching me, mostly just gentle groping. He was very much enjoying himself and started touching other places on my body.

I got increasingly uncomfortable, to the point where I felt like refusing this stranger who I’d never seen before access to my body. Access that is his right as a man. I didn’t move to stop him, though. I let him touch my tits, my stomach, my thighs. 

Finally, he told me I was doing “a good job” with my legs, and when I asked what he meant, he said they were smooth and soft. I rolled my eyes, but then remembered my place and thanked him, explaining that I rolled my eyes because I used to not shave but now I have to. His reaction was to ask “Do you shave everywhere?” with his hands still on my legs. That kicked up my discomfort to a whole new level. I didn’t exactly make him stop touching me, but I didn’t respond  and when Boy Genius said people were heading next door for food, I jumped up and said I had to go eat. I know it would have been better of me to answer the man’s question and let him continue touching me, since he clearly wanted to, but it was my first time having that happen so I think I did a decent job considering that fact, and the fact that I didn’t have my owner or another man to look out for me anywhere nearby.

At the metro station on the way home, I wanted to take a picture of the writing. I was about to have a friend do it, but then I processed that we were in public and said “Never mind.” I explained why and he said “So?” I responded, “It’s rude to other people.” (what a silly little excuse) He told me “There aren’t any” and half dommed, half peer-pressured me into it.

I pulled down the top of my sundress, and, as he stood in front of me taking the picture of my tits, the train behind us pulled out. Anyone looking would have seen what was happening, even if they couldn’t see my breasts. I was thoroughly embarrassed. And, of course, at the same time I was excited.

Being groped by a stranger was a new experience. No one told me to do it. It just seemed like that was a good time and place to offer myself up for use in a way I can’t do in everyday life. I asked for that man’s hands on me, for the uncomfortable, somewhat icky feeling of knowing he was getting off on touching me when I didn’t even know his name. I should do it again next time until I have the proper, fulfilled reaction to being pleasing to a strange man.

(I don’t normally have disclaimers, but since this involves a stranger, I just wanted to be clear that I could have stopped this from happening at any time, and, although I did feel intensely uncomfortable, I never felt unsafe. If I had, or even if the discomfort had been too much, I would have stopped it, and my owner would not have been upset with me. Being safe, mentally and physically, is vital to my continued usefulness. Also, you know, he cares about me.)