Silly Sid
Fru(strated)
7/6/08
Updated 8/19/17
Ch 2. Power
"Oh, and by the way," Shelley said, "don't wear that sweater."
I tossed it back on my bed.
"Have a great day at work!" she said, gave me a quick hug (tingles!), and left the room. I could hear her grabbing her purse and keys, and, two minutes later, the engine of her car.
I heaved a heavy sigh and walked slowly out of my room. I didn't close the door.
I walked to work, looking at the ground. I just knew Shelley was going to call me again today, and I knew it was going to be bad. She'd been taking me to steadily raunchier bars and seedier clubs. I knew she was there to protect me, but...I was still afraid of what came next. You know, sex clubs. And stuff. I wondered if Richard would be there.
Would she be lending me out to those big, scary people who knew what they were doing, who knew how to hurt you? What would I even do about it? I mean, she's the one who would be protecting me from those doms, but what would she be doing? Would she take a sub of her own? Maybe, because I'm not a sub or a dom, they would just let me be. You know, stand along the walls in this...oh damn, this little leather mini-skirt and thigh-high boots. Shit. Shelley'd set me up, hadn't she? Good thing she was buying most of these outfits, I would have been all the way broke if I'd had to shell out for some of this stuff.
Lately, it seemed like she had a new outfit for me practically every other day. She'd burst into my room with a self-satisfied grin on her face and tell me that she had just THE outfit for me, and I just HAD to wear it because she just KNEW it was going to look AMAZING. And she'd squeeze my arm and tell me I was beautiful, so I'd sigh and take the bag from her and put on whatever was inside. Sometimes it was a flimsy-looking sundress, sometimes short-shorts and a halter top, sometimes just a miniskirt so short that felt like it barely covered, well, anything at all. And there were usually shoes, which were inevitably of the impractical variety and almost always at least twice as tall as any heels I'd owned before.
I punched in and took my place behind the counter. I fiddled with the bottle of shoe-spray, and watched the old men throw spares and splits. When the blankness of boredom set in, I leaned my elbow on the counter and thought about this morning and daydreamed, but it was like...not normal daydreams? Somehow. I know it's impossible. But it felt like I was floating around in a sea of fuzz, like when the video you're trying to watch has been removed for copyright reasons and everything is grainy, and then everything felt all melty and I...
*
It was like I was sitting on my bed, and it was like Shelley came in and sat next to me and started to take off my jeans. Somehow, I wasn't disturbed by this or anything, because in this scenario, all I wanted to do was kiss her. My sexy Shelley. Oh, be my lover, lean over and press those lips against my neck, slide them up to my ear or down to my breasts...Dream Shelley would always comply. She always did whatever I said and whatever she did was heavenly, from holding me to licking my pussy until I screamed and moaned and came. She always told me it tasted sweet, too, sweet like raspberries, which was funny because...
* I jolted out of my guilty haze whenever the door opened and felt twice as awful as before the whole thing started. Three times as bad when I remembered what I'd been daydreaming about.
All day, whenever I was starting to forget any of it, like when this girl came in with her dad and beat her own all-time record, or when I was really busy dealing with that tour group who didn't really speak English, I would look down for some reason, like to grab a lollipop for the girl or shoes for the tourists, and I would see the skirt and the boots. I would remember what I'd been thinking about doing to my roommate, and I would get red-faced, and someone would leer, and I would wish I had never been born. Especially when I ended up touching myself in the bathroom, rubbing and clenching until that hot sigh of relief swept through me. Twice.
Shelley did not text me that day as I'd feared. She just flat-out kidnapped me after work. She breezed through the door like she owned the place, told my boss to his face that she was taking me early because he didn't really need Sid to help close, now did he? and grabbed my elbow. She hustled me out to the car like I was a prisoner or something.
Oh well. What was I gonna do? Shelley had the time and willpower to work out. She was much stronger than I was. Her hand felt like it was sending little sparks into my arm.
Richard was in the passenger's seat, so she popped open the back door for me and flourished; I slid in behind Richard.
"Hey there, Sid. How was work?" he asked.
I shrugged. "OK."
"You guys ready? Seatbelts?" Shelley asked.
I reached behind my shoulder and dragged it down, pushed until I heard the click. Shelley turned the key. I didn't bother to ask where we were going; I'd see soon, and then I would know. It was probably going to be some kind of S&M club or strip joint or, or, I don't know. Something else from my nightmares.
But Richard and Shelley were dressed like normal people. I didn't see a grocery bag anywhere, either, so they weren't planning to change. But I—I looked down. Huh? I was wearing jeans and a t-shirt. A much nicer shirt than I would have chosen myself, but where had the skirt and boots gone? I'd felt leather on my skin all day, but now I felt denim. I hadn't changed. Those guys had been leering at me, though, checking me out. I thought it was the skirt. What was going on?
My puzzlement waxed again when we pulled into a well-lit parking lot on the good side of town. It was a restaurant. Not too fancy, but not a chain, either.
"Hungry?" asked the friend who was clearly hiding something. She smiled.
I shrugged. She unlocked the car and we all headed towards the restaurant. This was going to be awkward. No matter how normal this place was, no matter how pedestrian, it was worse than all the bars she'd ever taken me combined. I was going to have to sit with the happy couple and watch them cuddle up at the table. I was going to be a massive third wheel, and there were only so many times I could excuse myself to the bathroom in one meal.
Why couldn't they have kept up that whole "not talking to Sid" thing? I would rather make mac and cheese every night then do this. Richard pushed open the door and ushered us both inside.
"Table for three?" the hostess asked. Cheery and perky.
"Y'know, maybe..."
