I'm always a little insecure sitting in the Uber. Mostly, it's because I'm wearing a black kilt, which is not typical going-out clothes here, but also because even the most cursory look is going to find the handle of our ever present crop.
I endure and we remain fairly quiet on the way up. We can hardly chat about the entertainment to come in front of our friend in the driver seat. Anyway, the club is only about 10 minutes away tucked between a bridal boutique and a shoe store on a long shopping boulevard.
It's past 11 so there's no one out shopping and there aren't any bars or restaurants on that part of the block.
The driver drops us off at the corner and we pile out.
"Slave. Let's duck into that entryway over there." She's pointing at a little alcove a couple feet deep that leads to a door. It's shielded and slightly hidden from the sidewalk. Though it's fall and typically chilly, it's not too bad and there's no rain. There are a couple people walking along the sidewalk but it's pretty deserted.
"I think we're going to try something different this time. Let's be a little better prepared heading in." We normally go directly to the bathroom and put on our accessories and get ready before getting into the action. I have to agree it would be better to not have to take that step as it breaks the magic a bit.
"Put on the ankle and wrist restraints." I shudder a little as the thought of being seen walking around with those on. It would be quite humiliating out of context. But, we're only a hundred or so feet away from the entrance to the club and we're probably 50/50 to cross paths with a pedestrian along the way.
"Ok, now the collar."
Then she looks at me with that smirk I saw much earlier in the day. "Put your underwear in the bag." I hesitate for a moment and look at her with a raised eyebrow.
"Slave. I won't punish you on the street for obvious reasons, but that hesitation has cost you. The price will be paid once we get inside."
Dammit! I reach under the kilt and slide them past the restraints and over the combat boots. In case you're wondering why I'm wearing underwear with a kilt: Uber = dirty seats = ewww. She stuffs them into our bag. Then she pulls out the leash.
"Lift your kilt." I take a quick look around to make sure no one is close by and lift it to expose my semi-erect member. She reaches down and attaches the clip to my ring.
"Give me your jacket. I want you in full slave mode heading in." I pass it to her.
"Oh slave. I said ... full ... slave ... mode."
"Mistress?"
"Put your shirt and kilt in the bag."
It's hopeless. I know not to hesitate but I'm trembling at the thought. This is actually a little dangerous because if we're seen by the police, it's going to be very difficult to make the case that my nudity is an artistic demonstration and not just a weird sex game.
I take off the shirt quickly and then set to work on the buttons and latches on the kilt. Just as I release the last button and one side falls away, we hear the sound of footsteps only a couple feet away.
I press my back against the door and one end of the kilt against my exposed junk. Mistress in her wisdom pushes into me and starts making out covering me with her body: two lovers in a doorway.
I close my eyes as they come by, but can't help but open one slightly to see two thirty-something women walk by chatting, but just as they're passing I catch the eye of one of them and see it spring wide as she registers that something particularly naughty is afoot. Her pace falters but they walk on. Seconds later we hear a burst of laughter from them.
We're both giggling as she steps back from me. I'm expecting her to hand me my jacket at least but instead I get a smack to the face.
"Why, Slave, do you persist in disrespecting me by not standing with your legs spread and hands at your side? We'll deal with that, too, in a few minutes."
"You will, of course, remember your behaviour earlier today at the club. When we are walking and you are on your leash, you will maintain a respectful distance behind me. Let's go."
And without so much as a glance down either side of the street, she pulls on the leash and drags me from the darkened alcove into the brightly lit shopping plaza.
If I had it my way, we'd run the whole distance. But, she has other ideas, in her thigh-high red PVC boots and tight fitting PVC dress she sets a stately but excruciatingly slow pace down the street.
I look and there are people everywhere. Admittedly, the adrenaline has given me super-human hearing and telescopic vision, so the couple walking towards us might actually be a few hundred feet away, perhaps not within ogling distance as they seem to me. Still, the walk takes a good couple of hours and my heart is thumping through my chest.
Finally, we reach the door, but the couple that was a fair distance off is now considerably closer and they seem to be looking a bit more intently at us.
Buzz! Mistress pressed the button. No answer. They're getting closer. Still no answer. Christ. They can see me now and they're pointing. Buzz! She tries again. They are almost up to us, not 20 feet away when the door's magnetic lock finally releases.
I'm ready to bolt. But mistress is looking in their direction and I know her well enough to see she's trying to figure them out. She opens the door, but doesn't move and now the couple is right beside us where they stop.
I'm standing naked on the street wearing nothing but restraints, boots, a leash to my retreating penis, and a crimson face and this early forties couple is gawking. Mistress is standing impassively with a slight smile.
"He's been a very bad boy and I'm going to take him upstairs to provide some training." The woman snorts out an explosive laugh and the guy just stands there shocked.
"Slave. Wish the nice couple goodnight."
My parched throat allows me to croak out the meekest of goodnights, before I turn back to face the stairs and follow her up
Whenever we go to parties where she gets to use her kinkware, she always draws quite a lot of attention. So as we enter, I hear the typical disturbance in the Force that her presence brings. However, as I look around I realise that it's not just her that's getting the stares. It's apparent that while people will frequently get into my predicament eventually, it normally takes a while at the party to work up to it.
Typically, this would have had me blushing and self-conscious but after the incident on the street, I've been inoculated for at least a while.
It's not a huge party. The place is probably just a little over a thousand square feet, but the whole apartment has been converted into a dungeon replete with all sorts of BDSM equipment and furniture.
