* * * Part One * * *
The shop is stylishly furnished, the exact opposite of what you would expect in a sex shop in a dark, shabby side street. Behind dutifully covered up display windows opens a sparkling world of colorful latex and rubber, leather in all shades and shapes, glistening stainless steel and wonderfully skimpy cloth rags. My eyes almost pop out of their sockets as I stumble inside for the first time.
In contrast to the winter cold that reigns outside, the air of the shop feels boiling hot and I wish I could shed some clothing items. I look myself up and down, over that thin, girlish, light pink mini dress that barely covers my butt and becomes almost transparent in the right lighting, and I feel naked. The bow is still in my handbag, the one my Mistress had tied around the packet with the dress, next to the letter with the short but precise instructions - not more than the time, the address and the short sentence "Wear this, nothing else, go to the staff and ask for lesbian bondage magazines."
My stomach rolls into a knot as I recall those instructions, but I have promised to follow them unconditionally so I resist the urge to turn on my heels and flee back into the anonymity of the dark side street. I stalk slowly over to the counter while trying to keep images of greasy sales clerks und lusty looks out of my mind, then around a clothes rack full of see-through underwear and come to halt somewhat surprised and insecure.
The girl who sits there, I consciously call her girl because she can't be much older than eighteen, looks like she has sprung from one of my wet fantasies. She reclines her juvenile body in a futuristic chair made from black leather and chrome and smiles at me from a delicate face framed by strawberry blond shiny curls. The high cheekbones give her a slightly exotic touch, and she owns a lithe, trained body as the finely carved lower leg clearly shows that peeks out from the tight red leather dress and, glowing like silk in the warm light, rests casually on the table before her. I stare at her and swallow.
She doesn't seem to mind my stare, or if she does, she is concealing it with masterful skill, and she rises with cat-like elegance and walks around the counter to me.
"Can I help you?" Her look from the big green eyes is self assured, and even though she's a good few inches smaller than me I have the feeling of having to look up at her.
I want to sink into the ground as I recall my task, and I stall, while a deep blush runs over my cheeks and she looks at me patiently. I'm probably not the only one, I realize, who gets nervous in a sex shop. "I," my voice is barely more than a hoarse whisper and I clear my throat, "I'm looking for - I - I'd like..."
I feel like being quizzed at school for the first time again, her eyebrows lift slightly, questioningly, and my nervousness heightens again. "I'm looking for lesbian bondage magazines" I manage to say hastily and take a big, relieved breath.
Her lips, enhanced by the light red lipstick, sparkle as the tip of her tongue runs over them, quick and unconsciously, but my eyes become glued to them. I'm entranced by her sweet, beautiful face and almost miss that she is talking to me.
"...not catch you," she tells me with an apologetic smile, "could you repeat it a bit slower?"
My stomach spins for a moment and I have the feeling of falling into empty space, like in an elevator that starts to move down. Her eyes look at me inquiringly, and I feel stark naked in front of her. I gather all my courage together, becoming worried that my Mistress might enter any moment and notice that I haven't fulfilled my appointed task yet, and I say slowly and with downcast eyes: "I am looking for lesbian bondage magazines."
My glance meets hers for a short moment, and she looks highly amused. She did understand me quite well the first time, I realize, and a short, surreal bout of dizziness washes over me, heat rushes through my body - and transforms into a strange, tense excitement.
"Those are over there in the shelf," she points at a magazine rack at the other side of the showroom, "come on, I'll show you."
My legs stumble beside her to the shelves, and with delay I notice that her hand is resting on my butt cheek and pushes a bit to guide me in the right direction. My first reflex is to side-step and avoid the intimacy by this stranger, but I'm spellbound and compliantly adapt my pace to the pressure on my backside. We are at the rack, and her finger trails over the rows of glossy magazines with all that beauty and obscenities on their cover pages, then she points at the lowest shelve with a smile. "Look, there they are."
I glance at her, then at the shelf with the magazines, then back at her. Her challenging look makes it clear to me that she doesn't think of leaving me here alone, and I have to do something unless I want to stand here and look silly.
The lowest shelf is just an inch or two above the ground, so I have to bend down far to reach it. I bend over and pray that my skimpy dress doesn't get a mind of its own and divulge the nudity hidden beneath it. My hand slowly extends towards one of the magazines and pulls it out, but at that moment I feel her hand on my butt once more, feel it brush downwards and have to suppress a shiver. Then my eyes open wide and my body becomes stiff in alarm.
Her fingers have lifted the hem of my mini dress, cool air brushes over my exposed butt cheeks and over my plum, which is obscenely visible between my thighs due to my stooped posture. Her fingers roam over my naked skin, brush over my nether lips and I gasp. Like through a curtain I hear her voice. "Tsk tsk, what do we have here? Such a depraved little thing, running around in public without underwear."
I press my eyes shut and wish to die, to be hit by lightning right here and now, but at the same time the situation has something so erotic, so wickedly lustful, I feel depraved and dirty and oh so sensuous. Her hand rubs up and down over my pubic, a finger presses on my slit and slowly parts my labia, and I breath faster. Lord, what is the girl doing to me? My hips start to sway in sync with her touch, my head shows me exciting pictures of the sweet thing so lewdly playing with my snatch, but suddenly I remember where I am and that someone else could enter the shop any moment.
My heart does a jump, and I want to stand up, but a firm hand pushes down my back, holding it where it is. "No no, stay as you are, sweetheart," her voice is like honey and leaves me with no room for discussion, "my god, you are sooo wet down there. Such a horny little minx."
She keeps on fondling my snatch, spreads my cunt juice everywhere on my nether lips, while her other hand shoves the dress up my back and over my head. The magazine drops from my hand and smacks to the floor, the dress following it, and the hand grips my breast and starts to squeeze and caress it.
She squeezes harder, and I hoarsely moan my lust to her. Just then I hear a second voice. Panic grips me, I must have missed the entrance door opening. "Such a sweet pussy," the new voice whispers, "and so wet. Is she your girlfriend?" Oh god, I want to die even more now, I want to disappear into thin air, anything, but I want away from here fast.
