Show and Tell - and Then Show Some More
by Mr. Flip
Author's note: This story was inspired by Lazerou's recent "My Very Own" story on this site. I intend for this story to have more of an ENF theme to it, but there is significant bondage and discipline involved in this part of the story.
Let me start with some background info that will set the stage for my continuing story.
My name is Patricia Schofield. I am a 27-year-old woman, and I'm deeply in love with another 27-year-old woman, Cassandra Campbell. We are very much alike physically, but polar opposites otherwise. We have a dominant/submissive relationship; she is the dominant, I am the submissive. Sex is a HUGE part of our relationship, and it goes well beyond the wonderful physical episodes in bed. For the last several months, she has required me to get completely undressed every time that I enter her townhouse and then remain naked there until I leave. And then, last Saturday, she displayed me naked and bound all day at a Show and Tell event followed by a naked trip to our favorite restaurant for Sunday brunch. I should point out that she remains clothed at home and on these trips out in public; I am the only naked one. I don't really mind being naked at her home, but I sure don't like being naked out in public. However, I reluctantly go along with it because I love her so much and because our sexual lovemaking is so wonderful.
We both work for a large software company; I am a secretary; she is a top-notch programmer. She has submitted a request to the company for me to come to work completely naked. That request is still pending, but in the interim, she dresses me in provocative clothing without any underwear - no panties, no brassiere.
She has nicknamed me "Pet", because it sort of fits my place in the relationship, and it is similar to "Pat" which is what other people call me. I am required to call her "Ma'am" or "Madam"; other people address her as "Cassie", but I never do.
The previous chapter ended this afternoon (Friday) as I was leaving work for the day. It had been a difficult day, because my lover told me that I had to massage my clit each hour during the day. This was part of my punishment for wearing a T-shirt yesterday that she had not authorized me to wear.
And now my story continues.
After thinking so much about my lover today during the hourly clit sessions, I can't wait to see her in just a few minutes; I can feel my pussy tingling in anticipation. As I'm driving along, I find myself going well over the speed limit. But I sure don't want to get a ticket, and so I slow down and drive safely the rest of the way.
I'm happy to see that my usual parking spot is available in front of her townhouse, and I pull into it. I can feel my heart racing as I hurry as fast as my sore heel allows me to go up the long walkway to her front door. I push the doorbell button, and I primp myself as I wait to see her gorgeous face.
But there is no answer even after waiting for a couple of minutes. I must have beaten her home, and so I dejectedly use my key and let myself into her house. Just to be sure, I yell loudly, "Hello, Ma'am, I'm here." But there is no answer. I glumly remove my T-shirt, which is the only item of clothing that I'm wearing today, and I drop it on the bench in the entryway. I check my cell phone for messages, and I look for handwritten notes in the usual places such as the kitchen counter and the refrigerator door. There are none. Just to be sure, I check the garage, and her car is not there either. She's not home, and she hasn't left a message.
The first thing I do is to make sure my T-shirt is okay. The brief ripping sound that came when I snagged it on my desk at work is troublesome. It sounded like it came from the shoulder seam, and so I examine the shoulder seams, left and right, inside and outside. There is no gap in the seam, but I do see where a few threads have broken in the stitching. I sigh, because I know that even though this is very, very minor, I must tell my lover about it. I fold the shirt neatly and put it on the entryway bench where it belongs.
I'm now naked and alone in her house, and I'm not sure what to do next. This morning, she said we would discuss dinner; so, there's no meal to fix right now. I wander into the living room, and I contemplate just standing there or sitting in my assigned dining chair. But I want to be useful to her, and so I go to the garage and get a feather duster and a dust cloth. And I start make the rounds of the rooms starting in the living room dusting all of the furniture.
A few minutes later as I'm working in the dining room, the doorbell rings, and I yelp with glee. My lover is home! I put the cloth and duster on the kitchen counter and rush to the front door. I throw open the door and exclaim excitedly, "Welcome home, Ma'am, how was . . ."
I stop in mid-sentence and stare wide-eyed at a man holding a pizza box. And he is probably even more surprised than I am, because he sees my totally naked body - a full frontal view - only a couple of feet in front of him. I immediately duck behind the door and stick my head around and say, "What. . .?" I'm sure that I have a bewildered look on my face as I try to shield my body from his view.
He says, "Pizza for Campbell. Are you Mrs. Campbell? Cassie Campbell?"
I just stare it him for a few seconds as I gather my thoughts. Several things occur to me almost simultaneously. One, my lover has ordered a pizza for dinner. Two, why didn't I look out the sidelight window before throwing the door open? Three, my lover always comes in through the garage after work; why did I think she would come in the front door? Four, my lover would be upset if she saw me hiding my naked body behind a door like this.
Reluctantly, I step out from behind the door so that he can see all of me again; I struggle to keep my hands at my sides so that my pussy and boobs are fully visible to the guy again. I still haven't regained my composure, but I manage to say, "No, I'm not Mrs. Campbell, but I'll pay for the pizza. How much is it?"
The guy must be a college kid, probably only 19 or 20 years old. His mouth is hanging open, and his eyes are wide open with the eyebrows raised. He stammers, "Uh, uh, okay, Miss, s-s-sorry. It's tw-tw-twenty two d-d-dollars sev-v-venty fi-fi-five cents including tax-es-es and de-de-delivery." He is just as embarrassed as I am - or at least, that's what I'm telling myself right now.
I say, "Okay, let me get it." I'm still flustered as I try to calculate how much tip to add. My lover always says "Start at 15% and round up." What is 15% of $22.75? I'm terrible at math that isn't based on nice round numbers. Oh fuck it, I'll just give the guy $5 extra. But isn't the free girlie show that I just gave him worth that much? Uh, no, my lover wouldn't like that answer. So, $5 it is.
I let go of the door and turn to get my purse. The wind swings the door all the way open, and the pizza guy must think I was inviting him in, because he steps inside. I see him out of the corner of my eye and say, "Please, stay outside."
He mumbles "Sorry, Miss." And he retreats back to the other side of the threshold. That makes me feel only a tiny bit better, because he still has an unobstructed view of my behind as I bend down to get the money from my purse which is sitting on the bench next to my T-shirt. I know I just have to let him look at my asshole and pussy lips as I fumble around looking for the 75 cents in the coin compartment. I finally find that in small coins, and I open the wallet compartment. All I've got is a ten dollar bill! It's the end of the week, and I have used up almost all of the $200 allowance that my lover gave me last Sunday. I usually keep a twenty dollar bill folded in a "secret" compartment at the bottom of the purse for emergencies such as this, but I spent that two weeks ago when I also ran out of money.
I turn back to the guy and say, "Sorry, I don't have the cash. Can you wait til my friend gets home in a few minutes?"
"Uh, um, Miss, I'm sorry, but I've got a bunch of pizzas in the truck to deliver, and they'll get cold if I wait. How about a credit card?"
I smile and say, "Ah, good idea." And I bend back down giving him a second rear view of my privates, and I pull out my American Express card. I turn back and hand it to him.
"Uh, uh, sorry again, Miss, but we only take Visa and MasterCard." He hands the card back to me.
I only carry the Amex card, because my lover allows me to carry only one credit card, and she says Amex has the best rewards program. I have two Visa cards and a MasterCard, but I'm not permitted to use them until I get my finances under better control. I tell him, "But that's the only card I've got."
Tears form in my eyes as I stand there totally nude in front of this nice young guy. What am I going to do? I know where my lover stores her supply of petty cash along with my other credit cards. I grudgingly decide that I have no choice and I must open that drawer of her desk even though I am not allowed in there. I say, "Hang on, I'll be right back."
I leave him standing there with the door open and the cold air pouring in while I hobble over to the desk in the living room. I take a deep breath and pull the top side drawer open; this is forbidden territory, but I have no choice. I see the stack of cash on one side; there must be $300 or more there in all sorts of denominations. On the other side, I see an envelope marked "Pet's credit cards". I'm glad the envelope is not sealed, and I open it to pull out a Visa card. I look at it carefully, because I haven't seen it for over a year. It says "Patricia Schofield". And I'm fortunate, because it is still valid until the expiration date next month.
I hobble my naked body back to the front door and hand the guy the Visa card. Even as he's running it through his machine, I see his eyes focused on my pubic triangles and pussy lips. He hands me the machine along with a stylus. I add the $5 tip to the amount, and I sign my name on the tiny screen. I often wonder if the credit card people ever look at those electronic scrawls which look nothing like my signature on a piece of paper. But the pizza guy doesn't care - after all, he got his money, and he got to see a pretty naked woman up close for several minutes. He's a happy man as he hands me the pizza and says "Thank you, Miss". He walks away, and I close the door.
I hobble into the kitchen with the pizza box. Since I have no idea when my lover will be home, I turn the oven on and set it to its "warm" option. I put the pizza (including the box) into the oven, and I hope it will be good when she gets home. But I'm not certain if that low oven setting might cause the cardboard container to catch fire; I decide to flip on the oven light and watch the box carefully through the oven window. I stand back in front of the oven and focus my eyes on the little window in the oven door.
As I stand there naked in the kitchen, I hear my stomach growl. It really wants that yummy Cowboy Style pizza of sausage, pepperoni, and black olives. And I know that there is Heineken beer in the refrig. Beer and pizza - one of my all-time favorite junk food meals! But I know I must wait for my lover before touching that wonderful smelling pizza.
A couple of minutes pass, and then my cell phone rings. It's the wonderful ringtone that tells me my lover is calling. My heart skips a beat, and I hurry as fast as I can back into the entryway and answer my phone after four rings; I hope I'm not too late. "Hello, Ma'am", I answer cheerily.
"Hi, Pet." Just the sound of her voice is music to my ears. Before I can say anything else, she goes on, "I'm just getting into my car. I'll be home in 15 minutes. I've ordered pizza, and it will be delivered shortly; probably just about the time I arrive. Where are you?"
"Oh, Ma'am, I'm at your place. And the pizza has already been delivered. The aroma is wonderful."
She says a bit uncertainly, "Oh, they were really fast. Did you pay for it or put it on my tab?"
Oh, what a dumb-shit I am! I had completely forgotten about the account she has set up with that pizza place. Why didn't the pizza guy mention that as an option?!? But I say sheepishly, "Um, I paid for it."
She replies, "Good girl. I'll reimburse you. See you in a few minutes."
"Bye bye, Ma'am." I hang up the phone, but I realize that I made the pizza payment a much bigger deal than necessary. She's probably not going to be happy when I tell her what I did.
I shuffle back into the kitchen, and I take my place back in front of the oven to watch the pizza box in the oven. It is still intact; no sign of a fire.
The minutes pass slowly, but finally, I am elated when I hear the garage door opening. I move my naked body over next to the kitchen door coming in from the garage. And a moment later, that door opens and my beautiful lover walks in. She's smiling at me as I exclaim in my best "housewifey" voice, "Welcome home, Madam. You look marvelous. How was your day?" But before she can answer, I throw my arms around her and give her a series of big sloppy kisses.
I think I caught her a little off guard with my enthusiastic kisses, because she has a perplexed look on her face as we break apart. But then she smiles and pulls my naked body tightly against her, and she takes the initiative giving me full mouth-to-mouth kisses. I feel her hand dip down my back to my bare butt, and she gives my left cheek a gentle squeeze; this is part of her usual routine when we meet like this, and I just love it when she squeezes my butt like this.
The loving embrace lasts for what seems like an hour, but it was probably only a minute or two. As we pull apart again, we are both breathing heavily and smiling - almost laughing - as we stare each other in the eyes. She lightly squeezes my left boob and twists the nipple - this is more of her wonderful routine, and I feel my nip tighten as she turns it between her fingers.
I manage to slowly repeat my question, "How was your day, Ma'am?" We finally let go of each other, but we're still looking deeply into each other's eyes.
She answers, "Well, Pet, it was actually a very, very good day. I got to spend the entire day coding in my cubicle. I put up a 'Do Not Disturb' sign, and I was able to accomplish a lot." She pauses for just a moment and then continues, "But I'm sure that's boring compared to your day. Get me a beer, and I'll go sit in my easy chair while you stand in front of me and tell me about your day. I haven't seen your perfect naked body since this morning; that was over 10 hours ago, and . . ."
At that instant, we hear a faint DING-DONG coming from her iPad case which she had put on the kitchen counter. And my lover says, "Oh, Pet, look at the clock. It's 6:02 PM. Time for your session."
I give her a puzzled look, because I thought the clit thing ended at 5:02. But before I can say anything, she goes on, "I programmed my iPad to ding at two minutes after the hour today. And that reminded me to think about you while you were stroking your clit. Could you feel me telepathically thinking about you?"
"Uh, no, Ma'am. I'm sorry I didn't. At least not directly. But I was certainly thinking about you at those times, and I was thinking about how I can behave better for you."
"Well, that's what I wanted from you today. I'm going to turn off the alarm now, but you'll do one more session for me now, and I'll get to watch. And then we'll go into the living room, and you can tell me how the other sessions went. Did you do it sitting or standing today?"
I meekly answer, "Sitting." And she leads me by the hand over to my assigned dining table chair, and she says, "Okay, Pet, sit. Turn the chair so I can see between your legs clearly. Scoot your butt forward a little bit. Okay, good. Now do your thing."
I'm now sitting with my ass at the front edge of the chair and my legs spread wide apart. My lover squats down in front of me, and I spread my pussy lips with my left hand. My right hand pokes around inside trying to find my clitoris.
My lover giggles, "Your tiny little nub is difficult to find, isn't it?"
I'm very nervous with her watching me so closely, and I continue to search vainly for my little clit. She says, "Up a little bit, Pet. You're all the way down at your cunt." She's right, of course, and finally I get my fingers on it. And she mockingly says, "Ta da!"
I start stroking my clit, and I say out loud, "I resolve to never wear any clothes that my mistress has not authorized. I resolve to never wear any clothes that my mistress has not authorized." And I continue with that while trying to run a little one-minute stopwatch in my mind. A couple of times, I accidentally close my eyes, and my lover scolds me, "Eyes open. Look at me, Pet."
I've lost track of time, and I just continue stroking and repeating my mantra until my lover says, "Okay, Pet. That's good. Time's up." I've really worked myself up, because I'm panting and my hands are very wet from my gushing cunt juices. I just sit there with my legs spread, and I'm holding my hands up in front of me. I'm staring blankly at my lover. She says, "Clean your hands, Pet." And I know that this means using my mouth rather than a towel or a tissue. I do as I'm told; I do each finger individually and then lick the palms and backs of my hands.
But my pussy is still soaking wet, and I'm afraid that my 'gina juices will drip out onto the chair seat or the carpet below. My lover also notices this, and she hands me a box of Kleenex saying, "Clean your cunt." I wipe my pussy and drop the wet tissues into the nearby waste basket.
My lover says, "Okay, you did that well, Pet. Now, get me a beer. I'm going to sit down in my easy chair, and you're going to stand in front of me and tell me about your day. I'm certain that it was much more interesting than mine."
My Clit Chronicle
I give her a pleading look and say, "Uh, Ma'am, can we eat first? I'm really hungry, and that pizza smells oh so good."
Suddenly her tone changes and she says tersely, "No, Pet. You will eat when I decide that it's time for you to eat. Now, get me my beer."
I bite my lip to try to stop the tears from welling up in my eyes. The tears have started not because I can't eat the pizza right now, but because I have made her angry all of a sudden. I turn and try to run into the kitchen, but my sore heel slows me down. I get a bottle of Heineken from the frig, pop the top off of it, and hobble back into the living room. I'm almost crying as I hand the bottle to her. She says frostily, "Get some tissues and wipe your eyes." I grab a handful of Kleenex and try to dry my eyes without much success. I have to step back as she pops up the foot rest of her chair, and I watch as she leans back and takes a swig of her beer. I'm now standing naked about two feet in front of her stretched out easy chair. I continue to bite my lip as I wait for her to say something.
Several seconds pass before she finally says, "Okay, Pet. You're going to tell me about your day. Mostly I want to hear about your clit sessions, but if anything else of interest happened, I want to hear about that, too. Let's start with the 8:02 session."
Oh, god. How am I going to remember what happened at each of the 10 sessions? But I need to do my best to tell her what happened, and I can tell she wants me to start talking right now.
"Um, uh, okay, Ma'am. The alarm bell went 'DING-DONG' on my computer at 8:02, and I . . ."
"Dammit, Pet. I don't give a shit about the fucking alarm. Tell me about the masturbation. Where did you do it? Did anyone see you? Did your hands get wet like they did a few minutes ago? What did you think about? That kind of thing."
"Sorry, Ma'am. I did it sitting in my secretary's chair at my desk. I hiked up the shirt so that my ass was sitting on the edge of the chair, just like I did here. I was worried about someone coming by and spotting me while I was doing it, but no one did. My hands got a little bit wet, but not like tonight. I cleaned them with a tissue. I closed my eyes and silently repeated my little mantra in my mind while I was rubbing my clit. I used exactly the same words that I spoke to you tonight, but I did not say them out loud. When I finished, I pulled my shirt back under my butt. One of the researchers, Avery Maxwell, may have seen me adjusting my T-shirt, because he had a strange look on his face as he walked by at that moment."
She says, "Two things. First a question: Did you make a mess on your chair? You know, did your cunt juice get onto the chair seat?"
"Um, I guess so. But to tell you the truth, Ma'am, I didn't really notice."
"So, you didn't cover the chair seat with anything? Not even a paper towel?"
"Sorry, Ma'am. No, I didn't cover the seat." I wonder if she's going to discipline me for getting the chair wet?
"Okay, Pet. Second thing, you shouldn't have used a tissue to clean your hands. You know how you're supposed to do it. With your mouth, right?"
I bite my lip as I say, "Sorry, Ma'am." And I'm now pretty certain that she will punish me somehow. And I've only just started my recollection of the day! How many more times is she going to chastise me in the next few minutes?!?
"See, Pet, that wasn't so hard, was it? Tell me about 9:02."
"Um, I was going to do it at my desk again, but Bill had a meeting in the conference room with a few researchers. So, I went to the ladies' room. I went into one of the stalls, took off my T-shirt, and sat down on the toilet. I spread my legs, masturbated, and repeated my mantra. I was the only person in the restroom. After I finished, I washed my hands and returned to my desk. I decided that doing it in the restroom was better than at my desk, and so I did the rest of them in the ladies room as well."
She says, "Good except again you didn't clean your hands correctly. Go on. 10:02."
Uh oh, I never cleaned my hands using my mouth today; I'm in trouble now. I'd like to tell her that a couple of times I really did urinate as well as masturbate during the day, and I know she wants me to wash my hands after peeing. But I just go on as she instructed, "Um, let's see. We had a department meeting from 10 til 11, but I promise you that I did both of those clit sessions. Um, um, for the 10:02 one, I went to the restroom, did my thing, and then arrived a few minutes late to the meeting. No one was in the bathroom." I pause for a moment and reluctantly add, "I washed my hands. Um, for the 11:02 . . ."
She interrupts, "Wait, Pet. So you were late to the meeting?" I silently nod and she presses on, "Did you tell Bill that you'd be late? Did he ask why you were late?"
"Um, . . ."
"Dammit, Pet. Quit umming. If I hear another 'um' come out of your mouth, you are going to bring me your paddle, and a few minutes later, you're going to have a very sore butt. Understand?"
I bite my lip again to avoid breaking out crying. I've made her mad at me again. "Sorry, Ma'am. Yes, I understand."
"Okay, answer my questions. Did you tell Bill? What did he say?"
"No, I didn't tell Bill ahead of time." I see her face tighten up with anger, but I continue, "But I did see Suzanne Collins, one of our researchers, in the restroom, and she said she'd tell Bill that I was in the bathroom. Bill didn't say anything about my being late then, but he mentioned it later at our daily 4 o'clock meeting. He said he was concerned about me because I seemed to be acting strangely today; he said it was unlike me to be late for meetings, and I was late for two of them today. That is the 10 o'clock and the 4 o'clock meetings. He didn't ask exactly why, but he did ask if my request to come to work naked had been approved and if that was the reason for my strange behavior. I told him 'no', but he didn't ask me why I was late. I believe that he just thought I was peeing in the bathroom each time."
"So, Pet, let me get this straight. At 10:02 and 4:02, you were supposed to be in meetings with your boss, but you also had the assignment that I gave you to do. And you decided that the clit session had higher priority. Is that right?"
"Yes, Ma'am", I say proudly.
"Good girl. You made the right choice. But I'm still concerned that you didn't tell Bill ahead of time that you'd be late."
"Actually, Ma'am, at 4 o'clock, I did tell Bill that I was going to the restroom. But at 10 o'clock, I didn't. I'm very sorry, Ma'am."
She smiles a bit, and that makes me feel better. She says, "So, I guess when you said 'going to the bathroom' to Bill that he probably assumed that you were urinating rather than masturbating. So, you sort of lied to him, didn't you?"
I lower my head a softly say, "Yes, Madam, I did mislead him, and as you say, that's sort of like telling a lie."
"And you probably did that all day, didn't you? That is, each time you encountered someone on your way to the restroom at 2 minutes past each our, they probably assumed that you were going there to piss rather than stroke your tiny clit."
"Yes, Ma'am, that's right. I never told a soul today about my clit sessions."
"All right. I don't like you lying to folks, but in this situation, it's okay." I let out a tiny sigh of relief as she pauses for a moment.
"Okay, Pet. We're up to 10:02. What about 11:02?"
"Ma'am, the 11:02 one was awkward on several counts. First, the 10 o'clock meeting ran over, and it was still going on when I heard the DING-DONG alarm go off. As I ducked out of the meeting, Bill gave me a funny look without saying anything. I just raised my wide-spread hand to my mouth and ear as if I had to answer a ringing phone. Again, I know that this is a lie, but it seemed like the best way to get out of the conference room and head for the ladies' room." I demonstrate the hand gesture to her.
I pause while she takes a drink of her beer. I wish I could do that, too, but obviously, I am not going to ask her for permission to get a beer. I continue, "But, Ma'am, our ladies' rest room was closed with an 'out of order' sign on it. There was a guy in there working on the plumbing; he said he couldn't let me use a toilet, and he suggested I use the other women's bathroom; that is, the one in the other half of our building. You know, the customer service department." She nods as I pause again.
Going on, I say, "So, I went out of our half of the building to go into the other half. But the security guard noticed that I wasn't wearing my badge, and I had to go back to my desk and get it before he would let me into the other department. When I got to the other . . ."
"Wait, Pet. Did you say you weren't wearing your employee badge?"
"Yes, Ma'am, that's right. I hadn't put it on after showing it to Henry, the guard, when I arrived this morning. And Bill is not a stickler for us wearing our badges in our area. I'm sorry, Ma'am."
"That's disappointing, Pet. Badges are required in our company. You'll do better in the future, right?"
I whisper, "Yes, Ma'am." And she says, "Go on with your story."
I almost say 'um', but I catch myself just in time. "Anyway, when I got to the other ladies' room, it was a busy place. All four stalls were occupied, and there was another woman waiting ahead of me. Eventually, I got into a stall, and I did my assignment. There were ladies on each side of me plus a few more waiting in line. I left the restroom and went back to my desk."
"Pet, that sounds like a long time. What time did you get back to your desk?"
"Oh, not 11:20 or 11:25? How do you know it was precisely 11:23 AM?"
"I looked at the time on my computer screen, because I was worried about having been away from my desk for so long."
My lover smirks a bit and says, "Well, we certainly agree on that. It took you way too long to do that session. You said that everyone else in the department was still in the meeting with Bill. So, when you left the conference room at 11:02, why didn't you just do your clit thing there at your desk? No one would have seen you, would they?"
Actually, I hadn't even thought about doing it at my desk, and she has a point, because the meeting was still going on when I returned to my desk to get my badge, and that was about 11:10 or so. There would have been plenty of time to repeat what I had done at 8:02. I mumble, "Sorry, Ma'am. I didn't think of that."
She takes another drink of her beer and asks, "You said you took off your T-shirt in the restroom stall so that you were naked when you were masturbating. Right?"
"Yes, Ma'am." But I'm puzzled what she is getting at.
"Well, what did you do with the shirt for those few minutes that you were naked?"
"I hung it on the hook in the stall."
"Good girl. So, the shirt never fell to the icky bathroom floor?"
"No, Ma'am." Why is she nitpicking like this? I am famished, and I'm not even halfway through the story of my day. And I'd really like to pee pretty soon.
"Okay. Let's go onto 12:02. What happened then?"
"Just after noon, Michelle Donaldson, the secretary from the customer service department, came to my desk and asked if I wanted to go to lunch. I said 'yes', but I stalled her for a minute or so until the alarm went off. And I said I needed to go the bathroom. And she said she'd go with me since she needed to pee. Fortunately, our restroom was now open, and we went in there. While she was peeing in one stall, I was in another doing my thing. I washed my hands, and we went to the cafeteria for lunch."
"I thought you had a falling out with Michelle earlier this week. Right? Did she have a change of heart?"
"Yes and yes. She seemed upset with me on Monday and Tuesday, and we didn't eat lunch together on Wednesday and Thursday. But she apologized for her behavior, and we patched things up. I think she's going to be my friend again."
"Good, I'm glad you two are still buddies. What about 1:02?"
"I got back from lunch right at 1 o'clock. And as soon as the alarm went off, I went to the restroom and masturbated. No one was there. No issues this time, and I was back at my desk about 1:05."
"All right. 2:02?"
"The same thing. Just a trip to the ladies' room, and I did my thing, and got back to my desk quickly. And 3:02 was the same as well. No problems either time."
"Good. But this is getting a little bit boring. So, let's go onto 4:02, but I want you to be pleasuring yourself while you talk. Understand?"
I blush and whisper, "Yes, Ma'am." And I move my hands between my legs, spread my pussy lips, and uncoil my tiny clit from behind its hood.
She giggles, "I see that you located your little nub this time. So, for 4:02, you said you were late to your meeting with Bill. What else?"
I start stroking and massaging my clitoris, and I catch myself almost saying "um". Too many things to think about at once. "Okay, Ma'am. Let's see. About 4 o'clock, I shuffled some papers to make it appear as if I was looking for something, but that was a ruse to pass the time until 4:02 when the alarm went off." I pause for a moment here and moan as I feel myself getting aroused. I go on, "Ah, sorry, Ma'am. Anyway, I then told Bill that I needed to go to the bathroom, and that's what I did. But I was surprised to find two of the four stalls occupied; both of the lady researchers, Suzanne and Julie, were in there. I know it was them, because Suzanne talked to me from the next stall and later she yelled at Julie to hurry up. It was a bit embarrassing knowing that someone I know well was peeing only a few feet away while I was masturbating. But I finished my session, washed my hands, and walked back to my desk with Suzanne."
I pause again as my arousal is heating up, but I know I have to continue the story. "But as I was hurrying to get into Bill's office, my shirt caught on the corner of my desk. It stretched enough that I stumbled to the floor briefly, and I heard a slight ripping sound. I unsnagged the shirt and composed myself before joining Bill in his office."
She raises her eyebrows and asks, "Did anyone see this? It sounds like your ass and pussy were probably visible."
"No, Ma'am. Oh, Ma'am, I mean, yes my private parts were visible, but I looked around as soon as I got up. Only Bill and Suzanne were nearby, and they were facing away from me. So, no one saw me."
She scowls, "But you ripped the shirt! That sounds serious to me. Were your boobs now showing through the tear?"
"Oh, no, Ma'am. It was only the shoulder seam. The shirt looked fine from the outside, but when I got here, I studied it more thoroughly, and only a few threads broke on the inside of the seam."
She says angrily, "Bring me the shirt, Pet. But I don't want your cunt juice all over the shirt. Clean your hands, and then dry them."
I remain standing there naked in front of her while I clean each of my fingers using my mouth and tongue. Then, I lick off the palms and backs of my hands before limping into kitchen to dry my hands with a paper towel, and then I drop the towel in the trash bin and go into the entryway to pick up the shirt. But on the way back into the living room, I hesitate briefly before stepping onto the carpet. Normally, my clothes are not permitted in the living room or any other part of the house except the vestibule. Just yesterday, I was spanked for doing that. But she explicitly asked me to bring her the shirt, and so, I assume that it is okay to carry it into the living room. I let out a silent sigh of relief as she takes the T-shirt from me without saying a word.
I resume my position in front of her watching while she starts to examine the shirt. Then, I remember that she told me to masturbate, and so, I spread my legs and start massaging my clit with my fingers again. She notices my movement, looks up at me, and smirks. Her reaction tells me that I'm doing the right thing, and I smile back at her as I masturbate a bit more intensely.
She holds the shirt up and scans it front and back very quickly. Then, she focuses her attention on the shoulder seams from the outside. She shrugs as if to say that they look okay, and she then turns the shirt inside out to look at the underside of the seams. She spots the problem on the left seam, right where it joins the collar. She picks at the loose threads, and then she pushes her pinkie finger through the tiny opening. I gasp audibly when she shows me the tip of her finger coming through the fabric - I had no idea that the shirt was damaged that badly. She says, "A few broken threads?!?! It looks a lot more serious than that to me." I'm now certain that I'm going to be punished. I continue stroking my clit, but tears are welling up in my eyes, and I know I'm not allowed to wipe them away. I'm surprised when she drapes the shirt over the arm of her easy chair and merely says, "5:02?"
"There were no issues with the last clit session. No one was around, and I was able to focus my full attention to the task at hand. Oh sorry, Ma'am, that's sort of pun, and I didn't intend it." She just giggles briefly and says, "Continue."
I say, "After I got back to my desk, I closed things up and came home." I pause briefly and then say, "But, Ma'am, there were a couple of personal phone calls just before 5 o'clock. First, Annie called to remind me about the hair appointment tomorrow. Then, moments later, Mrs. Harding called to remind me about my commitment to her tomorrow at 11:30. She said that she gave you directions."
"Yes, she called me about 4:30 and told me where we need to be. That reminds me, I need to finish up my preparation for my talk to those customers. I will do that this evening after we get finished. Now, is there anything else you need to tell me about that happened today?
I almost say "um" again, but fortunately I remember at the last instant. "Actually, I need to tell you about the delivery of the pizza."
Doggie Style Pizza
"Oh, that sounds interesting. But let's hold that til after dinner. Just the mention of pizza makes my mouth water. And I've heard your stomach growling the last few minutes." I wasn't aware of my tummy complaining, but I'm not surprised, because I'm really, really hungry now. I meekly say, "Sorry, Ma'am."
"All right, Pet. You've got a bunch of prep work to do for dinner. But first, do you need to use the toilet?"
"Yes, please. Thank you, Ma'am."
She likes to watch me piss, but not while I'm taking a dump. I blush and say, "Yes, Madam, just number one. Do you want to watch?"
She pauses for a moment before saying, "Uhh, no, not this time. But first get me another beer, bring me the Time magazine that arrived today, and then use the half bath."
I limp off to the kitchen and get another Heineken from the refrigerator. After opening it, I hobble back and hand it to her along with the magazine. I'm about to turn around, but she says, "Thanks, Pet. But wait. You are limping noticeably; is your heel still sore?"
"Yes, Ma'am, it still aches quite a bit."
"Sorry to hear that. Let me look again. Stand next to the chair, facing that bookcase." I take my position with my bare butt near the right arm of her chair. She continues, "Lift your leg, and let me look at your heel again. Brace yourself on the bookshelf, if you need to." I grasp the edge of the bookcase to steady myself while I bend my left leg up behind me. She grabs my foot, and I feel her gently poking the sore spot. I wince.
"It looks redder than yesterday. Did you step on another stone?"
"No, but I did step on an uneven seam in the parking lot, and that seemed to aggravate it."
She then again kisses the spot, and I immediately begin to feel better. She lowers my foot back to the floor and playfully squeezes my right ass cheek. I wince a bit because my ass is still sore; I wish she would kiss it, too. She says, "Pet, you're going to have to soldier through this. We've got a lot to do tonight and tomorrow, and you're going to be on your feet most of the time. And you need to be more careful in the future. Now, go pee and then get dinner ready for us." She hands me her empty beer bottle.
"Yes, Ma'am. Thank you, Ma'am." I head back to the kitchen and then out to the garage. I'm still limping, but it really doesn't hurt as much as it did before she kissed it. In the garage, I drop the beer bottle in the recycle bin.
The half bath is a really spartan room in the corner of the garage next to the washing machine. It looks as if a previous owner built it from old fixtures, because the toilet is an industrial model with a U-shape seat that has a crack in it, and the sink is outdated and chipped in several places. And the room itself has a concrete floor and bare wallboard; no paint or finish on either. My lover hasn't used this room in years, but I am often told to use it. My lover has put a tall dressing mirror in the small room right across from the toilet. She has applied a decal to the mirror that says "Remember what your #1 and #2 priorities in life are." Anyone who sees it might think it's just a motivational saying, or they might pick up on the play on words that my lover intended - #1 is slang for urinating, #2 is slang for defecating. But to me, it might as well say explicitly, "Your number #1 and #2 life priorities are to please your lover." And one of the things my lover wants me to do is to keep my legs apart as I pee and watch the urine pour out. So, I sit down on the toilet and look at my totally nude body in the mirror as I pee. It's embarrassing, but what can I do?
I clean myself and wash my hands before returning to the kitchen. I'm happy to see that the cardboard pizza box is still intact in the warm oven, and I decide to leave it there until the last moment before serving the pizza. I get out two plates, two forks, and two knives, and I arrange them on the table in the proper manner. The napkin holder is already on the table in easy reach from my lover's seat. She hasn't told me what I'm having to drink; I'm hoping for a Heineken, but until I'm told, I won't say anything or put out a glass of any kind at my place.
I say, "Madam, it's almost ready."
But as I start to open the oven door, she says from her easy chair. "Good, Pet. But first go get the pink rope."
I gulp and say meekly, "Okay, Ma'am." She gave me the pink rope last Christmas as a gift. Pink is my favorite color, and so I thought it was a gag gift at first, but she has tied me with it several times. It's 25 feet long, and it works well to tether me to the living room rafters. It's stored in the "rope drawer", which is what she calls the bottom drawer of the dresser in the guest room. But that drawer holds more than just ropes; she also stores my collars, cuffs, and gags in that drawer.
I hurry into the guest room and get the rope. I carry it back into the living room, but I see that she has gotten up from her chair and is now in the kitchen. She has pulled out the cutting board and the big rocking pizza cutter; she puts the butcher-block board on the kitchen counter and takes the rope when I hand it to her. I'm not sure what to do, because obviously I'm supposed to cut the pizza and obviously the rope is intended to tie me somehow. So I just stand there naked next to her in the kitchen.
Without saying anything, she undoes the rope from its neat coil and puts one end in my left hand. As I hold the end of the rope, she takes the other end of the rope and says, "Hold this tightly at your waist." When she's satisfied, she says, "Twirl." I now know that she's going to wrap the rope around my bare waist. More precisely, I'm going to wrap it around my own waist. I slowly turn my naked body as she guides the rope to its proper place on my waist. When the first revolution is complete, she gives a firm tug on the rope constricting my waist. And she repeats this tugging after each revolution until the entire 25 feet of pink rope is around my waist. She takes the two ends of the rope from my hands and ties the rope off in a knot behind my back. I am now wearing a wide pink rope belt, and nothing else. I'm a bit puzzled, because my hands are still free, but I wonder how much longer that will last.
She says, "Okay, Pet. Get the pizza out of the oven and cut it into slices." That's a strange order, because the pizza restaurant always cuts it into slices; sometimes the slices are difficult to separate cleanly, but a normal dinner knife is all that is needed to separate the slices. But I do as I'm told, and the pizza is now on the cutting board.
While I am removing the pizza from the oven and then from the box, she goes to the table and picks up the plate and utensils from my place. She puts the plate back in the cupboard, and the knife and fork back in the utensil drawer. I'm getting an uneasy feeling, and my fears are confirmed when she pulls out two plastic doggie dishes from the bottom cupboard.
I start crying, and she says, "Oh, Pet, what's the matter? I thought you liked to be tied up."
I actually do like to be tied up; it's kind of erotic to be constrained like that. And I blubber, "Tying up is okay, but I don't like eating out of the doggie bowls."
"Well, Pet, you are eating that way tonight. And here's why. I don't think you behaved very well today at work, and you earned yourself another discipline demerit. There were several things you did wrong. First, you made a mess on your chair; you should have put a towel over it. Second, you didn't clean your hands correctly after masturbating. Third, you didn't tell Bill ahead of time that you'd be late to the morning meeting. Fourth, you were very late doing your 11:02 assignment; you could have done it easily on time while sitting at your desk. Fifth, you weren't wearing your employee badge as required by our company. Sixth, you ripped your shirt."
She takes a swig of beer from the new bottle and continues, "Those are the specific things, but I'm also concerned that you essentially lied every time you went to the restroom to masturbate; you implied to everyone that you were pissing. You could have just told anyone who asked that you were going to the restroom to jerk off. It would have been embarrassing, but you would not have lied."
She pauses for just a moment and then says, "Finally, your description of your day just now was pretty boring. I had to tell you to enliven it by playing with your pussy. Pet, you were an English major in college, and you should have learned in a composition class how to tell a story to make it interesting."
She has a point there, and I say, "Ma'am, I'm sorry. I'll try to do better in the future."
"I sure hope so, Pet. But your discipline for misbehaving is going to be eating out of the doggie dishes. Now, put two slices on my plate, and you are also allowed two slices. Cut up your slices into bite-size chunks."
I spend a couple of minutes cutting my pizza slices into tiny pieces that I'll be able to get out of the doggie dish with my tongue. She holds the doggie dish next to the cutting board while I scrape the pizza pieces into the dish. It sure doesn't look very appetizing, and it looks even less so when she puts the dish on the floor in the kitchen. Then, she puts the second doggie dish next to it on the floor and fills it with beer from her bottle.
I take a step towards the dishes, but she says, "Pet, go get two wrist ropes. I know we don't have pink ones to match your belt, but normal yellowish brown rope will have to do."
I start crying as I head back to the guest room. I get two 18 inch long ropes that she calls "wrist ropes" from the rope drawer and return to the kitchen. I hand the short ropes to my lover. She ties a rope to each of my wrists, and then she crosses my arms tightly behind my back and ties my left wrist to the pink rope belt on the right side near my right hip. Similarly, she ties my right wrist to my left hip. And finally she bunches my long hair on top of my head securing it with hairpins. She says, "Bon appetit, Pet."
I'm still crying as I drop to my knees in front of the dish. And I carefully bend over and lower my mouth to the doggie dish. Using my lips and my tongue, I'm able to pick up the first bite of pizza. It tastes wonderful, and then I bend slightly to my left and take a sip of beer from the other dish. But it is humiliating to be eating and drinking like a puppy dog. It's hard to keep my balance with my hands tied so securely behind me; I'm afraid that I'm going to fall face first into the doggie dish. I can feel my breasts dangling freely below me in this degrading position. And my lover reaches in from behind and spreads my knees, legs, and feet even wider. I know that she has a clear view of my ass from her seat at the dining table, and my wide-spread legs make my anus and pussy dramatically visible to her.
I continue to cry as I eat the small pieces of pizza and take an occasional sip of beer. In my effort to get at the pizza, I am slowly nudging the doggie dish along the kitchen floor; it's soon going to be up against the baseboard and slightly under the lip of the cabinet, and I won't be able to get my face in there. So, I make a slight adjustment to the angle that I'm facing into the dish hoping to avoid trapping the dish under the counter, but suddenly I lose my balance and fall over on my side. I let out a pleading wail, and the piece of pizza in my mouth falls out onto the floor. I don't say anything except to continue to sob loudly, and I curl my knees into a fetal position.
I guess I'm hoping that my lover will take pity on me and come help me. But all I hear from behind me is a brief laugh followed by, "Get up, Pet. Be sure to clean up the mess you made on the floor, and then finish your dinner. That's all the food you're going to get tonight. But hurry up; we've got lots of things to do tonight. You've got 10 minutes to finish. I want to see those dishes empty."
I blubber, "Y-y-yesss, M-m-ma'am-m." And I struggle back up to my knees and then shuffle over to the bite of pizza lying on the floor. It's hard to get the piece of half eaten pizza into my mouth from the smooth floor, but I finally sort of slurp it up. Nearby, I see a smeared spot of tomato sauce on the floor, and I realize that my right boob has dragged through the sauce that drooled from my mouth when I fell. There's no way I can clean my tit with my hands tied behind me, but I use my tongue to wipe up the small pool of red sauce from the floor.
I shuffle on my knees back over to the doggie dish holding the pizza, and I lower my mouth back into the dish. Just as I pick up a bite, she says, "Turn your ass towards me and spread your legs." I chew down the piece of pizza as I re-adjust my naked body so she can see everything from behind. I continue to eat the pizza pieces as fast as I can; the dish is still slowly moving towards the baseboard, but I've modified my technique so that I should be able to finish the pizza before the dish gets trapped.
When I finish the last bit of pizza, I use my tongue to lick the bowl clean. My head is now up against the cabinet as I finish licking the bowl. Then, I shuffle back to the bowl of beer and slurp up the Heineken as fast as I can.
As I lick up the last bit of beer, I hear her coming up behind me. She says, "Time's up, Pet. Stand up." I struggle to my feet, and she bends down to pick up the doggie dishes. She says, "You know, Pet, these plastic bowls are basically crap. I'm going to ask Debbie in the club to make you some nice ceramic ones with your name on the front. What do you think?"
"Um, yes, Ma'am, that's a good idea", I reply without much conviction in my voice. But I immediately realize that I said "um". I steel myself for some additional punishment.
But she doesn't seem to notice, and she looks me over. I can't see what my face looks like, but I can feel it is covered with pizza sauce, tears, and mucus. She gets a damp cloth and vigorously wipes my face clean. And she spots the sauce on my right boob. She gently holds the breast in her left hand and cleans the sauce off of the nipple in a light twisting motion with the cloth. Both of my nips immediately stiffen up. She uses a tissue to dry my face and boobs.
Then she stands back and looks me over - almost an appraising look. She says, "Oh my, Pet, do you know how adorable you look in that 'outfit'? The tight rope gives you almost an hour glass figure with your hands tied out of the way. Your full boobs are stretched a little bit, but somehow they seem even fuller. The pink rope contrasts nicely with your dark pubic triangles. Turn around for me, Pet." I do as she told me, and she continues, "And your crossed arms seem to put a gable roof over your cute ass. I almost wish I could leave you like this forever. We will definitely do this again. Turn back around." She pauses for a moment as I face her again, and she continues, "But, alas, reality returns." And she unties my hands, unties the knot in back of the rope belt, and says, "Put the ropes away and then clean up the kitchen. When you're finished, come stand in front of the chair." She leaves me and goes over to her easy chair to read the magazine.
I unwind the pink rope from my waist, and I literally breathe a sigh of relief, because I can now breathe normally. I carefully wind up the rope the way that she has taught me, and I coil up the short wrist ropes as well. I put the ropes in the required places in the "rope drawer" in the guest room.
As I'm leaving that room, I pause in front of the tall mirror to look at my naked body. The rope marks on my waist are clearly evident. How long are those marks going to stay there? I compose myself, and I think about letting my long hair down from its bunch on my head. But my lover hasn't told me to do that, and so I just return to the kitchen as I am.
Back in the kitchen, I quickly put the doggie dishes in the dishwasher, and I pick up her plate from the table along with the utensils. She says, "Don't start the dishwasher, Pet. It isn't full enough, and I don't want to waste the energy on a non-full load." She didn't need to tell me this, but I reply, "Yes, Ma'am, I understand."
We only ate half of the large pizza, and the rest of it smells so wonderful and looks so tempting. But I know that I'm not allowed any more of it tonight, and I just re-arrange things on a shelf in the frig to make space, and I slide the pizza box in. I take the second empty beer bottle to the recycle bin in the garage, and then I survey the kitchen. It was a quick clean-up.
Pizza Payment Problem
I meekly walk back into the living room and stand in front of her chair. After a few seconds, she looks up from her magazine and smiles at me. I ask, "Ma'am, do you want another beer?"
"No thanks, Pet. But you said there was more to tell me about your day. The pizza delivery. Was that a problem?"
"Yes, I need to tell you about the pizza. I heard the doorbell . . ."
She interrupts, "Okay, Pet, while you are telling the story, I want you to play with yourself some more. Mostly your boobs and nips this time, but a little more cunt action as well."
I blush and start twisting my nipples with both hands. She nods her agreement and I continue, "When the doorbell rang about 5:30, for some reason, I was certain that it was you coming home. And I was so excited at the thought of seeing you that I just flung open the door without looking. The pizza man was probably even more surprised than I was. After I realized that it was not you, I momentarily ducked behind the door. But I immediately remembered that you would not want me to hide like that. So, I . . ."
She cuts in again, "That's right, Pet. Good girl for remembering. I want everyone to see your beautiful equipment."
I blush again when she says "equipment", but I know what she means. As I resume the story, I start kneading my full boobs which are certainly part of the "equipment" that she is referring to. "Anyway, I got out from behind the door, and I made sure that I didn't hide myself for the rest of the transaction." I hesitate for a moment while continue kneading my fleshy mounds. Then I say apologetically, "Ma'am, you're probably not going to like this, but I had to pay for the pizza with a credit card, because I didn't have enough cash. I only had $10 in my wallet."
"Oh, Pet. Those extra points from your Amex card will come in handy. How much was it? I'll reimburse you."
"Um, Ma'am, I'm sorry, but I couldn't use my American Express card, because they only take Visa and MasterCard." I let out a breath before continuing, "I had to get one of my Visa cards out of the drawer. I know . . ."
"What!!! You opened that money drawer in the desk!?!?" I meekly nodded. "You're damn right that I don't like that. You know that you're not permitted in that drawer. That's my private property!! You've just earned yourself another DD. You are really piling up these discipline demerits today, aren't you?"
I start crying, and after a moment, she goes on, "No, Pet, that's a serious one. You get two DD's." I continue to play with my boobs, but I start wailing because she is so angry, and it's all my fault. Through my tears, I can see her glaring at me, and that makes me cry all the harder. This goes on for a few minutes, but finally, her anger seems to fade, and eventually she smiles at me and says, "Pet, I'm sorry for getting so upset with you. I'm going to remove the second DD, but you still deserve a DD, because that drawer is off limits to you. I will figure out the appropriate discipline."
She continues to look at me. I momentarily wipe my eyes and mouth with my left hand, and I slip my right hand between my legs and start fingering my pussy. She watches as I shove two fingers in and out of my cunt several times, and then she says, "Go on with your story, Pet."
I lower my left hand down between my legs to join my right hand in masturbating. I say, "There's not much more to tell, Madam. I added five dollars to the tab as a tip for the guy and signed the electronic thingy. After he left, I put the pizza in a lightly warm oven, and then I watched it carefully to make sure that the box didn't catch fire. I just waited patiently until you got home."
"All right, Pet. I think you realize that you didn't handle the pizza delivery very well. You've earned a DD for going into my money drawer. But on top of that, you opened the front door without looking - anybody could have been there - a burglar, a rapist, any kind of a bad person. And you also hid your gorgeous naked body behind the door. And there were alternative ways to pay the man. I know that you keep an extra $20 bill hidden in your purse for emergencies, and that plus the $10 you said is in your wallet would have covered the pizza bill. Also, you know that I have an account with that pizza place, and you could have charged it to that account."
I pause a moment to make certain she's finished talking, and then I respond, "Yes, Ma'am. I understand I screwed up. And actually, I'm sorry, but I don't have that extra $20 bill hidden in my purse. I'm sorry, but I spent it a few weeks ago, and I forgot to replace it from the allowance that you give me."
She sighs and says, "Oh, Pet, what am I going to do with you? Your money skills are just terrible. Go get your paddle."
I bite my lower lip as I feel my eyes watering up again. I stop masturbating and go into the entryway to get the paddle. When I return, I notice that she has moved to the "paddling chair" which is where she always paddles my ass. I hand her the paddle and I'm about to drape my naked body across her lap when she says, "Wait, Pet. Go get a towel. I don't want your juice on my slacks."
She is still wearing the nice professional outfit that I helped her pick out this morning, and so it is completely understandable that she doesn't want my wet pussy resting on her leg. I make a quick trip to the hallway bathroom and grab a towel. When I get back to her, I lay out the towel over her legs and lap. Then, I submissively stretch out my naked form in the usual way on her lap. She reaches her hand between my legs from behind and says, "Yep, as usual, your cunt is going full steam right now. I just hope the towel is heavy enough to take it all." She pulls her hand out, and a few seconds later the first whack lands on my bare butt, followed an instant later by the second. I dutifully count off the ten smacks - five on each cheek. I'm not sure if she's finished or if she's just pausing, and so I remain lying across her knees. She reaches under my chest and gently squeezes my left boob before lightly lifting her hand; this is her silent instruction to me to stand up. She hands me the towel, and I'm relieved to see that it is only a little bit damp where my pussy rested against it. She says, "Hang it up, Pet, and come back here. We've still got a lot to do."
Oh, how my ass hurts now! It was already sore before this paddling, but now it is downright painful. I sneak a peek at it in the entryway mirror, and it is as red as I've ever seen it. I give my right butt cheek a light squeeze, and I have to restrain myself from yelping. Oh shit, it really, really hurts.
Back in the living room, she has retaken her seat in the easy chair. But rather than being all stretched out like before, she's sitting on the edge of the seat. I take my spot standing in front of the chair again. My hands really want to rest on my ass, but there is nothing they could do to relieve the pain. So, I just keep them at my side as I wait for her next instruction.
Building a Fire for my Lover
She says, "Okay, Pet. It's getting cold in here. I want you to build a roaring fire, and I'm going to go get out of these clothes."
"Yes, Ma'am." Even though it's springtime, we've had a long string of cold days. But the furnace has been working fine tonight, and so I'm surprised that she thinks it's cold in here. Usually, I'm the one who feels the chill first, because I'm always naked. However, tonight I really hadn't felt it. But it doesn't really matter what I feel or I want; only my lover's desires matter. And if she wants a fire, then I'll build her a fire.
The fire wood is stored in a little shed at the side of the townhouse, and that means I have to go outside to get the wood. The easiest way to get there is to go out through the big garage door, but I'm not allowed to do that without permission. My lover has disappeared into her bedroom, and so I don't want wait until she comes back to ask permission to go through the garage. So, I take a deep breath as I open the front door and then step naked out onto the front porch. No one seems to be around, but her front door is kind of set back and secluded from the neighbors, and so I can't see if Mrs. Simmons on the west or the Robinsons on the east are home or not from this vantage point. I have no choice but to go down the concrete walkway for 30 feet or so, and then take the short stepping stone walkway across the lawn to the front of the garage. Now, I am much more visible, and even though it's after 7 o'clock, the sun has not set yet. I'm still fortunate, because no one is around out here either. I scoot across the driveway as fast as my sore foot will allow, and I duck around the opposite side of the garage where the shed is located; there is just gravel on the ground here. The Robinson's garage is only a 7 or 8 feet away, and they have a larger shed that probably holds gardening tools. Their shed is only a couple of feet from my lover's shed. If they decided to do some gardening now, they would be sharing this small space with my totally naked body.
My lover's small shed is sort of a bin; both the top and the front have doors; the top door lifts, the front door slides. I decided to open the top, because it's easier to access the wood from the top. I bend in and pull out a bag of kindling material; it's kind of heavy, but I can carry it in one hand and carry a small log in the other. But now I wonder how many trips am I going to have to make to get enough wood for a roaring fire. Again, I have no choice - I need to make as many naked trips as necessary. I sigh as I pick up the kindling bag and the small log, and the way that I'm carrying them there is no way to cover up any part of my body. My boobs and pussy will be fully visible to anyone who I encounter. And if they look at me from behind, they will see the bright red ass that continues to throb. I cautiously make my way back to the front of this little between-the-garages area being careful not to aggravate my sore heel. I try to hurry across the driveway, but the heavy load definitely slows me down. And I make quick glances in every direction to check for people who might see me. Across the stepping stones and up the walkway to the front porch. I have to put down the kindling bag to open the door, and from the corner of my eye, I see the curtains move next door. Mrs. Simmons is looking at me out of her window! I smile at her and then complete my journey back into the living room.
My lover has still not re-appeared, and so, I sigh again and start out on my second trip to the woodshed. Mrs. Simmons is still looking out of her window at me, but I have to continue. I hurry as fast as I can out of her view, but she will have a good look at my bright red butt as I turn the corner onto the stepping stones. Again, no one is around, and I'm able to get to the shed without being seen. This time I just want as many logs as I can carry in my arms cradled against my chest. I pick out two pretty good sized logs and two smaller ones. It's difficult to get myself loaded up, but I'm able to get going. This time, my boobs are covered with the logs, but my pussy and butt are still visible to Mrs. Simmons and anyone else along the way. I don't see anyone except the old lady, but I confess my focus is on getting back inside as quickly and safely as I can.
But when I get to the front porch, I see I made a mistake. The door is shut and my hands are not free. I have to bend down awkwardly to set down the wood on the porch so I can open the door. I glance over and see Mrs. Simmons still watching me; she probably saw my asshole and pussy lips when I bent over. I tell myself that I have to ignore her and focus on my assigned task. I open the door; slide the door stop under it to keep it open, and carry the wood into the house one log at a time.
On my next trip, I leave the door slightly ajar, and I'm able to get four more good sized logs into the house. No one except Mrs. Simmons sees me.
But on the fourth trip, just as I'm about to walk back across the driveway with my arms full, a middle-age woman walks by with her dog. The dog actually sees me first and starts barking loudly at me. Fortunately, the dog is on a leash, and thus, the lady reins him in when he's about 5 feet from me. But she now sees that I am totally naked. She has a disgusted look on her face; I just say, "Hi" and continue on my way. I'm breathing heavily as I get back to the living room. Still no sign of my lover. I evaluate the supply of wood, and I reluctantly decide that I need to make one more trip to get some more of the smaller logs.
I head back out, and this time, the woman and the dog are standing at the end of the driveway. A man is standing with her. They are talking, but they stop when they see me step onto the driveway. But the dog continues to bark. I shyly wave a hand at them and make my way around to the shed. They've seen all of me - front and back.
I pick out five smaller logs and load them up into my arms. As I get to the front of the garage, I see them walking towards me up the driveway. I try to ignore them, but the woman says, "Hold it, young woman. What do you think you're doing?"
I stop briefly and reply, "Good evening. I'm getting some firewood." And I immediately start walking again trying to get out of this awkward situation as rapidly as possible.
The woman scoots in front of me and says, "Wait. That's only half of the answer. Where are your clothes?"
"Umm, uh, I'm not wearing any tonight. I'm a nudist. And it's cold out here. I need to get inside. I hope you have a nice evening."
I try to step around her, but she puts her hand on my arm, and I stop again. She says, "Do you live here?"
"Um, um, no, uh, but my friend does." Again, I try to continue, but she's now holding my arm firmly.
"Well, we don't allow such behavior here. My husband here is on the board of directors. We're going to report you. Let's see, the sign says 'Campbell'. Is that your friend?"
A gust of wind sweeps across my naked body as I answer, "Yes, Ma'am. Cassandra Campbell is my friend. Now, can I please go? I'm really cold, and these logs are heavy."
The lady pulls her sweater tightly around her, and her husband zips up his jacket. That gives me a chance to scoot by them and say, "Good night."
As I walk away from them, she yells, "You haven't heard the last of this, Ms. Nudist."
Then, I overhear the man say in a low voice to his wife, "Look at that butt. It's bright red; she's been spanked recently."
And I barely hear the woman reply, "Tramp." I have to bite my lip to avoid crying again.
Back inside, I dump the load of logs onto the hearth just as my lover steps out of her room. She's wearing her big fluffy robe. She sees the troubled look on my face and asks, "I heard voices. What's going on?"
"I ran into some of your neighbors, and they were not happy that I was naked."
She says, "You mean the Robinsons next door?"
"No, Ma'am. I don't know who these people were. A middle-aged couple; she looked to be Asian, he's Caucasian, fairly tall. They were walking their dog. He's on the board of directors. She said she was going to report me."
"Oh, that's the Lamberts. Yuki and Gregg. Who is she going to report you to?"
"I don't know. The police? The board of directors? The security patrol company?"
My lover says, "Probably the board. But Pet, don't worry about it. I'll handle it. Just get the fire built. Your nips are saying that you're cold, too. But first, we need to brush you off. Your front is covered in bits of bark. Come on out to the patio."
She leads me by the hand out to her private patio, and she gently brushes her hand across my chest, all over my boobs, and down my tummy. The little bits of bark fall to the ground. Then, she picks several more pieces out of my pubic hair. She says, "There, that's better. Get the fire going, and then give the rug a quick pass with the vacuum to get the rest of the debris. But hurry, we need to get going on some things."
I head straight for the garage to get some newspaper to start the fire. Fortunately, there are several days' worth of papers on the recycle pile, and so I don't have to scrounge in the paper recycle bin to find some of the advertising "rags" that show up in her mail. The newspapers work fine to ignite the kindling, and soon I add the small logs plus a big one. I stand in front of the roaring fire and let the wonderful heat wash over my naked flesh, but only for a moment, because she wants me to vacuum the floor. I quickly fetch the vacuum cleaner from the hall closet and run it over the rug where the bark pieces had dropped. I put away the vacuum and return to my spot in front of her chair. The warmth given off by the fire feels wonderful on my totally bare skin.
End of part 6
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