You drive, of course, your black-nailed hands sure and confident on the controls of your red Maserati as we crawl through the streets of Manhattan, headed uptown towards… I don’t know where. The top is up and no one can see me through the tinted windows. For the moment I’m safe.
“Almost forget,” you say with a grin that says you never forget anything. “We need to make a quick stop.”
Fuck.
You pull into a parking garage on Broadway and you find a spot and kill the engine, then sit there looking at me. “What are you waiting for, slave?”
“I can’t get out of the car, Mistress.”
You cock an eyebrow. “Can’t?”
I shrink back into the leather seat at the deadly seriousness of your expression. “Please, Mistress. If someone sees me…”
“I thought we settled this, slave. Do you want me to drop you at your house instead? Knock on the door, tell your wife I found you wandering the streets? Or–” You pause. “Tell her the truth about where you go on your ‘business trips?’ Let you sort *that* out?”
I swallow hard, suddenly finding myself near tears. “No, Mistress.”
“Good answer,” you say. “You’re such a pretty girl like this. Let’s show you off. Come around and open my door like a good slave.”
I sniffle.
“Don’t make me say it again,” you snap, and the whiplash shock of your tone jolts me out of myself and I find my hand on the door handle. *Fuck fuck fuck.* I open it and lever myself out of the Maserati.
“Good girl,” you say behind me as I close my door. And when I open your door you smile up at me and my heart melts a little. I’m so fucked up right now. Humiliated, terrified… but so obsessed with you, so infatuated, that I can’t figure out if that matters. I hold my hand out to you and you take it and lift yourself out of the car, light as a fairy.
This parking garage smells of exhaust. This level is empty–thank God–but I can hear voices in the stairwell as we near the elevator. Three men, complaining about the Knicks’ loss last night. My face reddens as we get closer and they get louder. You hold on to my hand. “It’ll be okay,” you murmur. “I’ll keep you safe.”
You press the elevator button and we wait as the voices ascend. As the door opens and I’m about to step in–desperate to step in–the men come around the corner. Broad-shouldered, red-faced, meaty hands, construction worker types. They look at you–look twice at you, because who wouldn’t–and then look at me. You squeeze my hand harder and I know what you want. I don’t get in the elevator.
“The fuck?” the tallest one says, his jaw falling open.
“Holy shit,” the roundest one says. “Holy shit.”
The third just laughs. I turn my face away, face burning beneath the makeup. I’m starting to sweat and feeling a little nauseated. The elevator door dings closed. My escape is gone.
You drop my hand. “Is there a problem?” you ask them, turning towards them. *Stepping* towards them.
“You, uh, girlriend? She’s kind of a freak,” the round guy says.
I dare a look. You’re standing there in your pretty black dress, staring arrogantly up at them. You’re so ferocious. So beautiful.
“I’m a freak too,” you tell them. “And I’m fucking him. Am I fucking you?”
The round one’s mouth opens and closes, and the third one laughs harder.
“Am I fucking you?” you demand again, moving closer, pure aggression on your face. I watch in awe, almost forgetting to be embarrassed.
“No.”
“That’s right. Would you *like* me to fuck you? I’m very good at it, I promise.”
The tall one says “I’d fuck you.”
“Would you wear a dress to do it? You’d look pretty.”
“Fuck no,” the round guy says.
“Then my *girlfriend* has bigger balls than you do, wouldn’t you say? And that’s why he gets to fuck me.”
The third guy laughs even louder, and then the other two are laughing, too. It could get ugly but somehow it doesn’t.
“Props to you,” the round guy says to me when he’s done laughing. “Good luck with her.”
You smile and watch them go.
“Holy shit,” I say when they’ve left. I don’t know what to feel. Humiliated? Safe? Aroused? They’re all in there, those emotions and more.
“I told you I’d protect you,” you say, looking up at me. So perfect. “So I’ll ask you again. Do you trust me?”
“I trust you,” I say immediately.
“Mistress,” you remind me.
“I trust you, Mistress.”
“Good. Now we need to go shopping.”
The elevator comes at last and we step in, and when we get out we’re on Broadway, a block from the Hudson. Foot traffic is modern for New York, and while we get a look or two, the crowd itself seems to insulate us. Everyone’s got somewhere to be. I get glances, of course. But this is New York. Everyone’s seen everything.
We walk for a couple of blocks, and then we’re outside the first sex shop I’ve ever actually been about to go into.
“Just a quick pickup,” you promise. “In and out in ten minutes.”
At least if I see anyone I know here, they won’t want to see me any more than I want to see them. I swallow down my fear, give you a nod, and follow you in. You go to the counter and speak to the clerk, and a few minutes later we’re in an aisle full of terrifying looking toys–spiked cock cages, and tiny flat cages that hook onto genital piercings. Sounding rods (fuck no), electrical toys… you stop in front of a display of cock rings.
“This one,” you tell me, pulling a box off the shelf. “We’re buying this one.”
“This one” is a small box that shows a locking steel ring with the words “The Disciplinarian” in horror-movie font. My stomach turns. “Please,” I murmur.
“Please what, pet?” you ask sweetly. “Please buy this so we can play with it tonight? Very well.”
I trail behind you as you head to the counter, where you purchase the ring, a tube of lube, and a small roll of medical tape. You ask after the bathroom, and the cashier’s eyes fix on me but she doesn’t say anything other than give you directions. You take my hand and lead me to the back of the store.
“I’ll be good,” I promise fervently. “Please, don’t.”
“I know you’ll try,” you say with a wintry smile. “This will make sure you succeed. Now hike up your dress, slave.”
I whimper as you apply lube to my balls and the base of my cock, and lock The Disciplinarian around me with a tiny lock that jingles against the metal ring. The device is powered by a nine-volt battery, and you tape the battery to my hip.
“Perfect!” you excel when you’re done.
You poke a button on the controller and lightning shots through my groin. I grit my teeth and grunt.
“Works!” you say cheerfully. “The default setting on the intensity dial is only a 1, pet. But this one goes to 11. So let’s be on our way, shall we?” You grab my cock with your lubed-up hand and I harden immediately in your grap. “I think she likes it,” you say with a smile, and then you wash your hands and lead me out, the green dress tenting above my cock, each step rubbing the slippery fabric against my erection. “Stay close, darling. You wouldn’t want to get too far away. The instructions say it shocks the wearer if they get more than 20 feet from the controller.”
*Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck.*
We return to the garage, and to your car. I hold the door for you and close it once you’re in.
“Good girl,” you say when I settle back into the passenger seat. “You did so well in there.” You attach the controller to your keychain and insert the key. The engine roars to life. “Now, a pretty girl like you need a pretty name, doesn’t she? Yes. You’re a whole new you tonight, so you deserve a whole new name.”
I don’t say anything. My face is burning beneath the makeup again.
“What, pet? No suggestions?” You grin as you back out of the spot. “Hrm. Well, I have one idea. You tap The Disciplinarian’s little controller. “Tell me if you don’t like it. I promise to take your opinion *very* seriously.”
I only glare at you, so you pause, half-out of the parking spot. There’s resentment in my stare, I can’t help it. You were awesome in the parking garage, but this night keeps getting worse and worse. “What is the name?” I ask at last, and you smile and put the car into gear.
“A very pretty name,” you say. “So fitting for a lovely girl like you.”
“Please, Mistress,” I ask bitterly. “Tell me my name.”
You tap a button and lighting shoots through my groin again. I yelp and you laugh. “That was still only a one, darling. Beg me to tell you your new name.”
I grit my teeth. “Please, Mistress. Please, tell me the beautiful new name you’ve chosen for me. I’m sure I’ll love it. Please tell me.”
“Better,” you say brightly. “You *can* be taught. Very well, slave. Your new name for tonight is… Slutty McSlutface.”
I close my eyes and breathe deeply.
“You don’t like it?” I hear your fingerrsnails against the control. Hear it click to a new setting. “I’m so disappointed to hear that. Slutty.”
“I love it, MIstress,” I say hastily. “It’s perfect for me.”
“I’m delighted to hear that,” you say, and put the Maserati into gear. We head back out into the city, bound for… somewhere.
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