#public play

Who else enjoys the rush of being naughty in public or at work for thrill of getting caught?

flashytitle:

Boredom allows creativity. Fortunately for me, it leads my husband to find new and creative ways to play with me. I text him that I’m bored at work and he instructs me to find binder clips to attach to my nipples. We were bored at a party over the weekend. The party was boring and full of self-important people. I didn’t want to be rude and leave so soon after arriving and husband was willing to indulge me up to a point.

Halfway through the three hours we were there he instructs me to drink two more bottles of water. He’s so thoughtful. After chugging them down I get up to go find a bathroom and he grabs my wrist. He looks at me and says that I don’t have permission to go. I sit back down and my bladder is uncomfortable and swollen and I start bouncing in my seat to distract myself from the feeling. I make small talk with random people for the next hour and a half and I continue to feel more and more uncomfortable. Husband smirks his way through the rest of the party. We finally leave and start the long slow drive back to our house, hitting every pothole on the way.

We pull up to our house and I’m out of the car before it even stops. I race up to the door and then stand there stupidly. I don’t have the key. I hop from one foot to the other, urging husband to hurryhurryhurry.

He ignores my pleading. He stops at the door and instead of opening it, he turns to me and tells me to piss myself. I laugh it off because that’s completely ridiculous. The bathroom is literally ten feet away! If I held it this long I can hold it till he opens the door. He crosses his arms over his chest and silently stares me down. I hop on my feet and stare back. He leans against the door and waits. I finally realize he isn’t joking and stop hopping. I let go and my face burns with shame and embarrassment. It runs down my legs and pools in my shoes. I look down because I can’t look him in the eye anymore. And then I hear the door open and he’s already stepped through it. He didn’t wait for me to finish.

Unf. So fucking hot. Bladder control and desperation are at the top of my list of kinks.

I’m planning to write more details about yesterday sometime this weekend, but for now, here’s a very happy-making list.

• I got a reasonable amount of sleep.
• Reaction Junkie told me a story in the car on the way to work while I got myself off in the passenger seat.
• I had a nice lunch with My Boss.
• My Boss drove me to the top of a parking garage and spanked my ass with a paddle until I was whimpering and writhing.
• Reaction Junkie texted me during the day, telling me dirty thing he wanted to do to me. 
• I had a good conversation with Nickname TBD and we planned getting together at the con coming up the weekend after this.
• I I had good time at happy hour D talking with friends, old and new.
• I made a new friend, Radical Girl.
• I got to see The Unknown Quantity, who I haven’t seen much of lately.
• While we were waiting for the train, Reaction Junkie was all dommy and made a friend of his, B, directly ask me if he could grab my ass and tits, and, when I said yes, B did so.
• Reaction Junkie then got me incredibly turned on by making me whisper lewd things to B on the train, despite my protests. 
• Reaction Junkie used all the things he had done to me during the day (the orgasm in the morning, the texts during the day, the things he made B do to me and me do to B) against me, teasing me on on off for the rest of the night, and this morning. 

A few days after Reaction Junkie and I had our conversation about d/s, we stopped at the grocery store on the way home from work. In the car, he had taken a  dominant tone with me, and he didn’t let a little thing like being in public prevent him from continuing. As we walked through the store, he kept grabbing me and whispering comments into my ear, reminding me of my place.

I was getting turned on by what he was doing and saying and Reaction Junkie could tell. He laughed at me a little, and asked if my cunt was clenching. He didn’t need to wait for my response to know the answer. Of course it was. I always get turned on when he exerts his dominance over me and reminds me that no matter what we do, at the end of the day, he owns me.

At one point, I knelt down to look at something on a bottom shelf. Reaction Junkie came over to stand next to me. He made some comment about me being on my knees, which obviously made me think about sucking his cock. Just as I was thinking that, he said, “Suck my cock.” I thought he meant over his clothes,   and when I started to stand up to continue shopping, he said, “Suck my cock.”

At first I thought he meant for me to put my mouth on his crotch over his clothes. The idea of doing that made me a little nervous, and more than a little excited. Being seen doing that probably wouldn’t land him, or even me, in any trouble, but I would probably be too mortified to go back. I was about to ask if that’s what he meant for me to do, thinking I would definitely do it, despite my worries about doing so in public.

Before I could say anything, however, Reaction Junkie added to his command, “Take it out.” That threw me, since I didn’t know whether or not he meant it. Actually having his cock out in public could potentially negatively affect him, not just me. If I hadn’t been concerned about what consequences he might face, I would have immediately grabbed his cock and started sucking. As it was, however, I started to stand, deciding that he wasn’t serious. The look on his face made me uncertain again.

I returned to my knees, then tried to get up again. I went back and forth between kneeling and standing multiple times, not knowing what the right thing to do was. I tried to figure out from his expression what he wanted, even tried to ask a question, but Reaction Junkie just looked entertained, and I couldn’t figure out what to ask. He even added to the mindfuck, instructing me to stand and then ordering me to suck his cock in quick succession.

Being ordered around and being fucked with had me turned on and subby. I wanted so badly to obey, but I had no idea what I was supposed to do. Reaction Junkie had broken my brain.

He laughed and made fun of me for being unable to decide if I should get up or stay down, telling me how I looked, confused and stuck half-way between standing and kneeling. Finally, he told me I should stand. We finished grocery shopping, and the whole time he kept whispering to me about what had just happned. My desire to do what he’d commanded, my uncertainty, and my vascillation between standing and kneeling.

The fact that I would have sucked his cock in the aisle of the grocery store proved that I will follow his orders even if it would make life difficult for me. And fucking with my mind demonstrated that it isn’t just my body he owns. My mind is also his to do with as he will. He’d given me a perfect reminder of where I really stand (or, in this case, kneel) in our relationship.

bad-behaviorr:

When you’re out with a Dom in public and they grip the back of your neck to remind you who is in control

Change “Dom” to “partner,” and so much yes to this.

My date with Lioness was amazing and a little bit scary. I was doubly nervous. Nervous because she’s a woman, and nervous because she’s very toppy/dommy. I was right to be nervous.

She selected a ramen place for us to go to and picked me up at the train station. As we drove, we chatted about our days and various other topics. She told me she prefers driving manual, “because I like control,” as she smiled at me. She nodded and said that most girls are like that when I informed her I don’t have much experience with women. I told her about my first date rules. She wasn’t at all bothered, and when we got out of the car,by he said that she liked that I had those rules.

As we walked to the bank for her to get cash, she punched me in the arm and asked “Does that hurt?” I don’t think any of the men who use me would ever dare to do that in such a public setting. [It’s both useful, because I enjoy being hurt in public, and concerning, because abuse happens in same-sex couples (and to men from women) as well, and the idea of abuse as something men do to women can get in the way of victims seeking help.] I dutifully told her that it did hurt, but the other side hurt more. I also told her that my left calf still hurts when I walk. If someone wants to use me that way, I should tell them those sorts of thing so that they can either avoid them, or, more likely with the way I should be treated, focus in on them.

As we walked out of the bank, I told her that I like being hurt in public and having to pretend everything is normal. Throwing myself under the bus, per usual. She liked this, and soon started grabbing me and digging her nails into my skin. She pulled my hair some, and pushed me around, as well. In the middle of walking down a not exactly empty city street, in early evening. It was painful, unsettling, and fascinating. I was worried about what other people thought, and tried to make only quiet noises. She enjoyed hearing my little squeaks and whimpers as she pinched me, pushed me, grabbed me, and dug her nails in.

When we got to the ramen place, I walked up the stairs ahead of her, which allowed her to grab and squeeze my left calf, making me help and grab the railing to avoid tripping. She gave me a grin as we put our names in and, as she had warned me would probably happen, were told there would be an hour long wait. I would normally never wait that long, but they had a system and she gave them her number. We headed out to get a drink while we waited.

We went across the street for cocktails and sat at a table. She started doing the most upsetting thing she did all night: maintaining eye contact. Whenever I looked at her, she was looking right at me, her dark eyes watching my discomfort. I told her it made me uncomfortable, which got a “Good.” in response. We started talking about ourselves and kink, and at some point during the conversation, she told me “I’m like a big cat,” which made me grin, thinking about her nickname, “Lioness.” I told her about that, and she liked it. She told me that I was her prey, and I realized that exactly how I felt. I wanted to impress her and behave in order to appease her. The look in her eyes was the look of a hungry predator. None of the men in my life look at me like that, even the sadistic ones. She was looking at me like she wanted to eat me. When I said that, she smiled at me and said, “I do.”

At some point during the night she said I was like a “little mouse” and started calling me that in an affectionate and dangerous way.

We continued talking and discussed what she enjoys. She very much likes control of all kinds. She really likes to hurt people, both physically and mentally. She informed me that she likes crying, and bringing people to “Yellow.” Somewhat proudly, she told me that she had played with a woman who was known as a heavy bottom and she brought that woman to use her safeword. When I told her about the fact that I have to ask a man for permission to orgasm, she seemed mildly interested, but not at all bothered by it. That was a relief, since I was concerned how a dominant woman might react to something like that.

When the topic of limits came up, I told her I don’t so much have any anymore, especially with MLAM. I mentioned scat and vomit, which she said she was also not into and then I mentioned “other people’s blood.” That made her give me a smile and a look, and then she asked, “And what about your blood?” I looked away, as kept doing the whole night and looked at the wall as I told her that was something that I’m interested in, but that it scares me. She told me that she would tear my back up with scratching. Basically guaranteed. That’s not something I’ve ever had to deal with, as men, or at least the men I’ve played with, aren’t so much for the scratching. I don’t know how I’ll deal with it. Of course, as MLAM reminded me earlier today, what I can take isn’t the point. I’ll take what Lioness dishes out.

I was feeling antsy and a little overwhelmed, but she did reassure me of several things, which made me more comfortable, although actually being comfortable was not in the cards for a little mouse out on a date with a lioness. She said she definitely wants me to use my safewords when I need to, and that at least the first few times she checks in what some might consider “too much.” I don’t mind that at all. MLAM does similar things, and it makes me feel safe letting go and pushing myself. She also told me that if I ever wanted to just hang out and talk, or have sex without kink, that was fine, too. She gets “lots of play,” so if I’m not up for things some evening, we don’t have to do them.

When we finally returned to the restaurant for our ramen, we were seated at the bar, which was relaxing for me, since it meant way less eye contact. Relaxing at first, that is. Then she started hurting me. She put her hand on my lower back, under my shirt and dug her claws in, scratching up. It hurt in a stingy, long-lasting way. I squirmed a bit much and she did stop. She told me that was an example scratch and asked how I liked it. I told her it was a lot, and I wasn’t used to that sort of pain, and that I’d probably take it better out of public. She understood and switched to other ways of hurting me for the time being. At one point, she dug her nails in deep into my left thigh, lifted and pulled, shook it several times, lightened her grip so I thought it was over, and then she shook it again. It was all I could do to keep semi normal in appearance. That nail dig left marks. Luckily the ramen place was both loud and dark. 

Eventually we finished and walked back to her car. She started smoking a cigarette, and when we got to her car, she said, “You want to be my ashtray, huh?” and we discussed what that might look like. Tapping ash into my mouth, of course, and possibly leaving cigarette burns elsewhere on my body. She drove me back to the train station and, of course, hurt me along the way, including slapping my tit. She told me that she enjoyed our time together and wants to see me again. She informed me, in a matter of fact way, that she almost never asks for a second meeting. “Most people bore me,” she said. I don’t bore her. That’s both good and bad for me. It makes me feel special and eager to please, but of course, what she finds not boring about me is that I’m fun to hurt.

When we stopped at the station, I got my things and then shyly asked if she wanted a kiss. She said yes, and I leaned in, expecting a nice, soft girl kiss. Stupid little mouse. She bit my lip and my tongue and grabbed me hard. Eventually it stopped, but she kept a grip on me with her nails. I asked in a small voice, “Do you want me to get out of your car?” She responded, “Get out of my car” in a dismissive voice. Before I walked away, she told me to let her know when I got home safely. I boarded the train full of subby, happy, somewhat overwhelmed feelings

When I got home, I saw that MLAM had texted me, and I told him a bit about her and the date. He asked how she handled my first date rules, and I reported that nothing seemed to phase her, including the fact that I have to ask a man for permission to cum. I also told him that the Lioness is the person who I’d told him about who smokes and wants to use me as an ashtray. His response was to say “tell her I’d like to talk to her.” Gulp.

I asked if he could tell me what he wanted to talk to her about, or if it wasn’t for me to know. Of course he said, “None of your business, bitch. Let the adults talk.” I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I liked that. A lot. It worked well, considering they’re both older than I am by a decent number of years, and since she’s a woman, “Let the men talk” or something similar doesn’t work. Plus, calling me bitch and pointing out that I’m not a real adult was a good mix of name calling, condescension, and insulting both my intelligence and maturity. Being counted as not one of the adults and being condescended to reminds me of my physical and mental inferiority and makes me feel submissive.

I gave her his contact info this morning and she told me she would text him later today. She also called me “little mouse” again, and it’s just so perfect. Normally I’d say I’m “nervcited,” about two people collaborating in topping me, but with the these two beautiful, intelligent, and most concerning of all, sadistic, people, it’s more like scared and nervous and curious and anxious and feeling stupid that I’m excited. My life is going to get a lot more interesting, fun, difficult, and painful.

“No, you may not use the bathroom.” He ignores my desperate pleas as the 5 bottles of water he made me drink before the party quickly catch up with me. He tells me to stop bothering him and let him talk to people. Before I can ask again, he grabs me around the middle and squeezes me against him, continuing his conversation as if nothing is happening. I moan from the pain-tinged arousal that always results from having my full bladder compressed. The other people in the group hide their smiles and stifle their laughter, but I blush anyway, embarrassed for them to know how much this is turning me on. When he lets go, I stand next to him and dance from leg to leg as I try to focus on the conversation.

When it starts to hurt, I say in a quiet voice, “Please let me pee? It’s starting to hurt and I’m worried I’m going to wet myself.” He tells me to speak up, that it’s rude to whisper in a group. I look down at the floor, my cheeks flushed, but there’s no denying the way my cunt feels as I say, loud enough for everyone to hear, “May I please pee? It really hurts and…and I’m worried I’m going to wet myself.” He grins at me, enjoying my distress, and turns to the group, “Should I let her go to the bathroom?” he asks. The others laugh and respond, half kind, half cruel.

He considers for a moment before saying, “Let’s compromise. You may piss, but you may not use the bathroom. Sit on the floor.” He points towards the wall. I stare at him, not understanding. He gives me one of those looks and says more sharply, “Sit on the floor. Back against the wall. And spread your legs so everyone can see.” I slowly walk to the other side of the room, my bladder aching, and position myself as instructed.

The whole party is looking at me now. He walks over to me and says, “Go ahead. You have permission to piss.” “But…but I can’t. Not in front of everyone! You have to let me go to the bathroom, please!” I respond in horror. He grabs my hair, forcing me to look at him, and slaps me in the face. “Did you just refuse? And tell me what I ‘have’ to do? I think you’re forgetting how this works.” He slides his hand under my panties and continues, half turning to the group, “Besides, I can tell how much you want to do this. Your cunt is fucking soaking. You know what? Since this is your birthday party, not only am I going to forgive you for the backtalk, I’m going to be extra nice.” He hands me a vibrator. “Hold this on your clit. In addition to permission to piss, you also have permission to cum.”

Thoroughly embarrassed now, but reminded of my place by his voice and the slap, I turn on the toy and press it against my throbbing clit. I close my eyes, still feeling the pressure of everyone looking at me, and attempt to relax my muscles, trying to focus on the vibrations running through my cunt. After a minute, I’m finally able to let go. As soon as I do, I feel the relief of my emptying bladder as my panties are soaked in warm piss. I look up to see everyone watching, some people amused, some aroused, some disapproving. The humiliation and arousal and release of finally, finally being allowed to pee overwhelm me and I cum hard, legs shaking, body trembling, head pressed back against the wall.

When I’m finally feel able to think again, still shivering with aftershocks, legs gone numb, I slowly open my eyes to see him crouched over me, smiling, “Happy birthday, pisswhore.”