“How do you feel?” he asked.
“Naked,” I replied.
“Naked is what you are, not how you feel,” he responded after a slight pause.
“No. I feel naked,” I insisted. “And vulnerable. A little embarrassed. Slightly humiliated.” This seemed to satisfy him.
“I also feel like your little naked pet.” THAT made him extremely happy, even though he only smiled slightly, his eyes never leaving the road.
Whitman and I were visiting friends over the weekend, and as we traveled a four-lane highway through small town after small town, he looked at me and said, “Take off your pants.” I was a little shocked, because this wasn’t a particularly “Dom/sub” moment. I did as I was told, though. Not that big of a deal, right? No pants. I’m in the car, who can see? We drove on for miles, chatting normally for about 15 minutes.
“Take off your panties.” I squirmed in my seat. “Really?” I thought, but did as I was instructed without saying a word. NOW I was feeling a little more uncomfortable. I mean, really…truck drivers could see in the window as we passed them on the road.
Another fifteen minutes or so had passed. “Take off your top.” Now clad only in my bra, I tried to keep up a semblance of normal communication, like this wasn’t KILLING ME to sit naked in a car hurtling down the highway. Whitman had warned me that the punishment for one of my Naughty Points would be hard for me. I had no idea how hard. I kept thinking to myself, “PLEASE let this be it. SURELY he won’t have me COMPLETELY NAKED.” Surely he WOULD.
Obviously.
What was I thinking?
Finally completely naked fifteen minutes or so later, I could no longer carry on conversation normally. Whitman gazed at me with a satisfied look. “Now masturbate.” I noticed the wetness between my legs (way back somewhere between removing panties and bra). I had been holding my legs tightly together since I was naked, and my thighs were wet already. My breath caught as I slipped my two fingers between them. I was shocked at HOW WET I was already.
I began to masturbate slowly, and leaned my head back against the seat, never taking my eyes from Whitman. I COULDN’T take my eyes from him. After passing through a few more tiny towns, he slapped my inner thigh. HARD, and said, “You can cum. I recommend it, actually.”
Within seconds, I was on the edge, straining my hips against the seatbelt that held me close to the leather seat. THAT made me even. wetter.
I came.
I didn’t care who saw.
It was for him.
Afterward, when I was dressed again, I just wanted to curl up next to Whitman with my head on his shoulder. Lesson learned. Really. Now, just 7 more points to go…