A Tailor-Made Story
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All names, characters, situations and incidents portrayed in this story are fictitious. No identification with actual persons is intended or should be inferred.
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“So, you write stories.”
I nod.
“What kind of stories?”
I already saw this coming. I could lie, of course, but I like her, I trust her, and I think I’d like to share this part of me. So I open up my laptop and show her my Author’s List.
“O…kay. You write porn.” She checks out the list. “BDSM?”
I shrug; what can I say?
“Only reading and writing?”
“It’s just me, here,” I reply, “so, yes; it’s all in my head.”
“But now there’s you and me; would you allow me to experience one of your stories?”
Do I get this correctly? I check her out, but her daring look convinces me. I take a deep breath, and… “Okay, take off your clothes.”
I’ll be damned; she really follows my order! Unceremoniously, her clothes drop on bursa escort the ground.
I briefly look at her; I know it’s my turn now. She wanted a story; not just sex. “And now, put on your jeans again… I said ‘jeans’; not ‘panties’.
“And now your shoes… and your jacket. Nope; no bra or shirt.”
***
I take her to the city centre, into a clothes-shop. “Pick yourself a skirt and a shirt; something playful.”
I raise my shoulders in answer to her pleading look after I told her to try them on; “It’s your story…”
The clothes fit nicely, and I tell her to change back into her old clothes again. I pay and take her to a café, where I tell her to get changed in the toilet, while I order our drinks. I was prepared; I give her a pair of scissors to remove the price-tags.
“It’s warm enough today,” I reprimand her; “Take off that jacket.” I do enjoy watching the nipples pressing through the thin fabric; she’s nervous, but also excited.
After finishing our drinks, we move on.
She refuses, when we’re about bursa escort bayan to enter a sex-shop, but again I raise my shoulders—what did she expect?—and eventually, she does follow me inside.
Yes, she has some experience with a small butt-plug. Aghast, she watches me picking up a butt-plug set consisting of various sizes, a decent-size dildo, lubricant, and a bottle of toy-cleaner. I’ve accepted that I’m going to spend some money on this particular story. Obviously, she’s not happy when I give my cash-card and code for her to pay, but I leave her no choice; she wanted her story.
Next is the pet-shop. Of course, they also sell such items in the sex-shop, but spending money is one thing, wasting money is something else. I find her a dog-collar and a riding-crop. Again, it’s her task to pay. Once outside, I put on her collar, and kiss her on the cheek; “Are you okay?”
She nods, but that’s not the type of story she’s taking part in. “I can’t hear you!”
“Yes, I’m okay.” And then, after my stern look; “Yes, görükle escort bayan I’m okay, Master. Thank you.”
I can tell she’s not happy about the fact that I won’t let her put the riding-crop in one of the bags; while I’m carrying her old clothes and the other purchases, I make her hold the crop in her hand. I think her obvious attempts of trying to hide that thing only attract more attention, but that’s her problem.
Then the household store; another address for saving money. Wooden spatulas work just as well as BDSM-paddles, but come at a fraction of their price. And they also sell clothespins. Her anxious look, when seeing me picking those items from the shelf, is priceless in itself.
And finally, the DIY-store. Of course they sell rope; you can get bundles of convenient lengths. I wonder how often those end up in the bedrooms. I skip the tie-rips and tape; this should be enough for now. This time, she really pleads with me, but I am adamant, and mighty satisfied with myself, watching her paying for the rope, with the riding-crop still in her hand. I’m sure people will make the connection… And I’m sure she knows that too.
This is everything we need, I guess, so I take her back home.
***
Once inside my house, I look her in the eyes; “Is this enough for now, or do you want me to show you how this story ends?”
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