Show me.
I'd been expecting that, but it didn't mean I liked it. I was still new to sending revealing pictures, was still feeling my way towards trusting they'd be received with privacy, care. Respect.
I took the picture and sent it without looking. There was no rush this time, I just couldn't bear to look. If I looked, I wouldn't send it.
Good girl. Did you put your bra back on?
Yes.
Take it off. Put on the tight tank top again.
I did it without complaint. There was an enormous mirror in my bedroom, and I turned and looked at my reflection. God, I hated my breasts. They were too big, and without the support of my bra, I was hyper aware of their heavy weight. He knew just how to get to me. I mean, this would be nothing for most people. I'd rather have pulled off my jeans and walked the dog with my lacy black undies hanging out.
I went downstairs and checked both kids were still happily playing at the neighbour's house, then called the dog and fastened her lead on her collar. It was a weird thing, but I got a little jolt every time I did this now. I'd had the dog for eight years, and I'd spent the first seven and a half years going through this motion without a second thought. Now, every time I did it, I wondered when I might have a collar round my neck, and who'd be the one to attach a leash to it.
I checked my phone before I left, just in case. It proved a smart idea.
Grab your nipples. Pinch them, pull at them. I want them standing to attention for your walk.
And then, underneath that...
I'll expect pictures. I want to see your pretty breasts basking in the sunshine.
I swallowed back my immediate response -- they were not pretty -- and focused on the final few words. He did not mean...
You want me to flash?!
It only took a heartbeat for him to respond.
Yes.
But this is my neighbourhood! I LIVE here.
No answer. Which was answer enough.
"I can't," I told the phone. "I absolutely fucking cannot."
But I was already planning in my head the best places to take a sneaky picture, little spots on the road or the trail where there was a chance to lift my top and not be seen. Gah! A curl of anxiety twisted in my chest at the same time as my whole pelvis clenched, reminding me of the plug seated deep inside me. I was wet, too. I could feel the dampness in my panties.
Hopelessly turned on and utterly appalled, I did as he instructed, turning my nipples into headlights before I left the house and started walking. I made it as far as the corner before I realised that my usual no-nonsense stride was far too jaunty, was making my breasts sway and bounce in a way that just seemed obscene to me. I clamped my arm over my chest and glared at a truck driving slowly past, though it was a woman behind the wheel who didn't so much as glance in my direction.
I started walking again, much more hesitantly this time, my arms clenched to my side to try and reduce the movement. I walked past three other people on the way to the trail, and every single one of them looked. I hated it, shame thick and heavy all around me, but my clit was pulsing and the damn plug was wiggling in me with every cautious, deliberate step.
When I hit the trail, I came to the first spot -- because pictures, he'd said -- where there was a sharp corner and a convenient large bush to duck behind. I looked behind me three times then dug my phone out of my back pocket and went down onto one knee, like I was tying the shoelace on my slip on shoes. Glancing around one more time to make sure the coast was clear, I whipped my top up and exposed my breasts to the thick green foliage of the bush. I felt it judging me as I took a picture and yanked my top down. A cough was all the warning I got before a middle-aged woman walking a terrier rounded the corner just in front of me.
"Hi," I squeaked, jumping to my feet and doing an extremely bad job of not looking guilty. My heart was thumping in my chest.
She gave me the barest of smiles before walking on. My fingers shook as I headed down the trail, phone in hand, forwarding on my proof.
Well done. How long did you keep your top up for?
Two seconds! I replied, too discombobulated to watch my smart mouth. Idiot.
Well, that isn't very long, is it? Could to ten next time, please.
I stared at the words, extremely glad he wasn't here in front of me to hear the curses I wanted to hurl at him.
I'd already used the most discreet spot for my first picture. The only other spot where I could hope to remain under the radar was just before the trail crossed over the road. It was usually quiet there, little traffic turning off the road to take the back way into the neighbourhood. If I could just avoid the dog walkers...
My hopes were crushed when I got there, though. There was a white van, parked on the road. I could see the driver from a hundred feet away. Just sitting there, looking about. Didn't he have places to be?
"Fuck off!" I said aloud. "Go on, shoo."
He didn't. I paused and perused him, thinking hard. There was nowhere else to fulfil my task. It was do it or not do it.
"Damnit."
The dog was sniffing around in the grass in the dappled shade of a tree, getting a moment's relief from what was still a punishing sun. Struck by inspiration, I pulled a dog bag out of my pocked and crouched low in the same shade, pretending to pick up imaginary mess. This time, there was no faffing about, no double checking. I stuck the bag back in my pocket and hiked my top up, taking a picture with the deep blue sky peeking through the leaves above me. It looked decent, I realised. Artistic. I fisted my hands so I wouldn't give in to temptation and started counting to ten.
I also looked over at the man in the truck.
Who was looking back at me.
We held gazes and numbers fell right out of my head. It might have been ten seconds, it might have been the rest of eternity. We stared at each other as he digested what I was doing. Wondered why. The spell broke when his mouth curled up into a wide grin. I pulled my clothes back into position and started walking as fast as I could, bouncing bosom be damned.
Of course, I had to walk right past the front of his fucking truck. I kept my head down, hiding my face from his gaze.
It took me a few minutes before I'd composed myself enough to send on the second picture, along with a short message: I counted to ten.
Well, I tried to. And I was utterly certain than longer that ten seconds had passed while I crouched there, under his watchful eyes. I hardly dared look at his reply when it came through.
Congratulations, baby, you're an exhibitionist.
I don't fucking think so, I thought, mind on heading home and getting back into my bra as quickly as possible.
As soon I was in the door, though, the very first thing I did, was stick my hand down my pants and rub myself to a knee-trembling orgasm.
Okay, maybe I was an exhibitionist a little bit.
