As Master Commands . . .
written by:
PetiteVedette

Not long ago I became the property of my new Master and it wasn't long before He began giving me special assignments and new habits to form. For example, recently, as a punishment, Master declared that from now on, though I am still allowed to cum everyday (in fact I must do so at least once a day, though that's not precisely a problem) I am only allowed to do it in the comfort of my home Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Sunday . . . on those alternate week days my itch is to be scratched somewhere in public: a bathroom stall at work, or a dressing room in the mall. I did have one particularly enjoyable interlude in a questionable port-a-potty at a public fair (but that's another story).

Master also wants me to be constantly available to him ; so, though it may sound cliché, I am not allowed to wear panties at all. Not even at work. Master wants me to know at all times that I am his property, to know that my pussy is constantly exposed. Of course doing so holds certain perks for me as well. Just working the bar in a short skirt with nothing underneath is beyond arousing. I know there is no way anyone can know but sometimes I just feel like people can tell just by looking at me. Given enough time I know they'll be able to smell the evidence if they can't see it. Master loves the thought of some patron being only feet away from my vulnerable wet pussy, and I must confess, slut that I am, I get off on it too.

Anyway, a couple of weeks ago, Master gave me an assignment. He loves my toes: loves to see them painted in dark and whorish colors, loves to see them covered in His cum, and especially loves to see them peeking out of some four inch stiletto heels. So, Master decided that I needed a new and sluttier pair of heels for when we are together. He told me one morning that my assignment was this: Go to a shoe store, one where the attendant still tries the shoes on you personally, and find that perfect pair of slut heels. Sounds simple enough, but knowing Master, of course there was a catch . . .

Master wanted me to wear a skirt, without panties of course, thigh high stockings and go to the shoe store and have the attendant fit me for shoes. His face would be only inches away from my naked pussy. Would he know, would he see? What would he do? The thought embarrassed me but it also excited me; so, after a little research I found a store that still does things the old fashioned way and I made plans to go there the next day to accomplish my mission.

That next morning, I stood in front of the mirror trying to figure out what to wear for my little adventure that afternoon. Should it be a longer more demure skirt? I would still be obeying my Master's command though it was not pushing it as much I suspected he desired . . .also, I know my Master likes that blush that comes on my face when I am humiliated. It was the flush I got when I pulled out a skirt I had in the back of my closet that I hadn't worn since some college Pimps n hoes party. One of those micro pleated plaid numbers—very catholic school girl gone street walker. I set it aside and rummaged around in the back of my closet until I came across the white knit thigh highs with the little red ribbon around the top—they looked the embodiment of innocence with the promise of anything but . . .

For a top, I thought to complete the look with a white button down shirt. Very professional, somewhat tight—if left unbuttoned it definitely worked—maybe a little lacy bra sticking out. My face was completely red as I envisioned walking into a posh shoe store in this outfit—it would be like that scene in Pretty Woman and of course Master would whole heartedly approve.

I put on the outfit piece by piece and the reality of what I was about to do really sunk in. I panicked, could I actually go through with this? Did I honestly think I had a choice? What Master commands is a fait accomplit—should I fail I would risk his displeasure and his punishment. The last time I was punished I was not allowed to cum for three weeks. Sure, that may not seem bad to you, but that doesn't mean that I wasn't used sexually, or didn't still masturbate for him every day . . . I was just allowed no release at the end of any of it. That is extremely frustrating for a girl with my drive.

I stood back and looked at myself in the mirror. I really looked like my Master's slut—the image was terrifying and completely arousing. I let my hand drift down to caress my aching clit when I realized that today was a Tuesday—I was by no means allowed to touch myself in the house . . .not to mention that cumming was expressly forbidden until after the task was completed. Grunting with frustration I dropped my hand to my side, took one last look in the mirror and grabbed my keys to head to the store.

In the car, I figured that swollen bud was perfectly fair game, though honestly it was more like torture since I knew that cumming could not be a part of the equation. I kept a light touch circling my clit as I drove the 8 miles to the mall—my slit was positively dripping with need and the tang of sex was hovering around me like cheap perfume. Finally, I realized that if I didn't lay off I would be cumming hard and soon, so I reluctantly placed both hands on the wheel gripping tightly to keep them in place. The need to cum nearly overwhelming me.

Eventually, I pulled the car into the parking lot of the mall. One of those upscale department stores was my destination. I sat there, keys in the ignition, hand on the gear shift, holding it in park but not releasing it. I was so close that I could feel the fear and embarrassment crash over me. In this outfit, I not only looked a complete slut, but I really felt like one. . . and as wrong as this may be it felt right and I was really getting off on it. But could I really expose myself like this to some unsuspecting shoe salesman?

I played the scene out in my head; it ran like some cheap porno. I walked in and a hunky well built shoe salesman walks over to offer me some help. He sits me down on a chair and kneeling in front of me—his look tells me he knows my predicament.

At first he is shocked but as he reaches out for my foot he smiles wickedly. He removes the shoe from my right foot and lifts it onto his leg—spreading my legs and giving him a much better view. He starts massaging my foot and ankle and of course I sigh contentedly as my legs fall further apart. I don't even realize it but his hands are shifting higher up my leg and his face drifting nearer my helpless pussy.

I am lost in the feeling of the massage of the temptation when I feel his hands lifting my leg onto his shoulder, and then pushing my other knee wider. His face draws closer to my dripping slit and as he hungrily stares at this feast laid before him he takes a good sniff. Next thing I know, he reaches his tongue out to lick me from the bottom of my slit to the top—to that greedy little button that wants all the attention. He bring those wonderful hands and gently massages my inner thighs as his tongue continues those slow and torturous licks—never really entering me and never giving me the pressure I need on my clit.

I am writhing—teased to the edge of my endurance—when I can take it no more. I grab his head and pull him close as he sticks that wonderful tongue deep inside me. Fucking me with it. One hand continues its massage while the other finds my clit and circles taps and pinches it. I am going to cum on this complete stranger's face in broad daylight and in public.

I am teetering on the edge of a powerful orgasm . . . when I come to my present surroundings. I am still in the car but one leg in on the dash and one hooked over onto the next seat. I have two fingers pumping my pussy and the other working hard on my clit. The climax is literally about to overtake me and I know I have to stop. To disobey my Master is unthinkable. I sit there breathing hard, perhaps I could lie to him—he would never know that I had cum before his permission was granted. But somehow I knew he would know. . . Master always knows. I withdrew all the stimulation and collapsed back onto the seat back leaving my legs spread wide. I drew my fingers to my mouth and sucked them clean. I love the taste of my sex. Normally I enjoy tasting it on someone's spent cock—or in his (or her) mouth—but sucking my own juices off my fingers was the next best thing. I was far too aroused to care anymore what anyone thought of me. Just the hope that that scenario might play out in reality was enough to have me bring my legs together, exit the car and head into the department store.

I had to walk carefully, the skirt was very short and without panties on underneath I was constantly imagining my imminent exposure. My bravado was fading slightly as reality was setting in. I got many a look as I walked the mall. Girls looked at me with jealousy and disdain (inwardly calling me a slut no doubt) but the guys just stared and drooled (which served to explain the looks I was getting from the girls). I just kept my eyes forward, head up and kept walking. I was completely embarrassed and self-conscious but there was no turning back now. I entered the department store and made my way into the heart of the shoe department.

Under the guise of checking out the shoes I covertly surveyed the floor for an appropriate hunky salesman. My options, an older buttoned up woman (definitely not), a younger teenage girl (most likely illegal), and an average Joe looking guy. He wasn't out of shape but he had a bit of pudge around the midsection. He had a fairly unfortunate hair cut and was wearing a sweater vest. Honestly, I thought to myself, this is charity—this poor guy could use a little excitement.

My decision made I selected a gorgeous pair of black heels, way out of my price range, and made my way over to the target. He had been watching me, though trying to keep it from appearing obvious and tried to busy himself with something as I approached—but he was fidgeting as I stopped in front of him and asked if he would be able to help me out. With a nervous cough, he brought his eyes up from the table he was ‘fixing' they lingered on the way up, taking in the sights, no doubt. And finally, determinately meeting my gaze with his he asked me how he could be of assistance.

I handed him the shoe and asked if he would be able to find it in my size. I told him though that I wanted to make sure I got the size just right and asked if he would mind measuring my foot first.

The moment of truth was upon us. He was not the hunk of my fantasy but what would he do when faced with my sopping pussy so close to his face. He pointed to a chair and asked me to take a seat while he went to retrieve one of those foot measurement devices. I realized upon sitting that this chair was a fair bit lower than I expected—my knees were actually raised above my hips—with my legs spread even a fraction of an inch he would have a complete view—there would be no guessing, no wondering if he could tell—if he glanced up from a shoe for one second he would see me in my glory.

A moment of panic had me nearly up and out of the department, but he returned and sensing my exit door slamming I took a deep breath and held out my right foot for him to get to work. He slid my heel off my foot and placed my stocking clad foot into the device. Glancing up, he began to ask me to stand so he could measure accurately, when I could tell that my little secret was no longer a secret. I was now on complete display. After a second of staring in disbelief he pulled his gaze back down hastily and asked me to stand up for the measurement. I complied and he swiftly adjusted the metal sliders until my size was determined.

Again taking a seat—I gestured towards the heel I had already given him and ask if I could see that in my size. He nodded, took another quick glance up my skirt, and quickly got to his feet promising to return soon.

He was gone for a while, I thought perhaps he meant not to return at all, that I had chased him off to his good clean virginal girlfriend, or something like that. The older sales woman gave me a dark look and I shifted guiltily trying to find a position that was at least somewhat modest given my current predicament. I have no doubt my face was burning red at this point—but having come this far there was certainly no turning back.

Finally, my salesman returned. He had about 10 boxes piled in front of him . . .and I had only asked after one pair of heels. Maybe I hadn't scared him off after all. He kneeled back down in front of me—explaining that the heels I wanted were not in stock in my size but that these other heels were of a similar style. I lifted my right foot to his waiting hand and noticed his face yet again drawn to that area between my legs. We went through all ten pairs—I moved my foot about often, ostensibly to see the shoe from a different angle, but really to give him some better views.

My fantasy was taking over me again as he continued, I hardly even noticed the difference from one shoe to the next, all I could see in my head was his bad haircut buried between my legs—teasing that clit and pumping away in my gushing pussy.

I was getting so carried away that I hardly noticed when we reached the end of the pile. Bringing myself back to reality, I lifted my right leg to cross is over the other—giving him a completely unobstructed view for a second. It suddenly occurred to me that he hadn't stood since we began this; I let my gaze slide to his crotch. Was he being a good salesman or was he happy to see me—I suddenly needed to know.

I selected a pair of heels that was the least expensive and asked him to ring it up for me and I bent to collect my original shoe. I noted that he quickly gathered all the other boxes in front of him before standing up—effectively covering himself from my view. He seemed flushed and I was hoping that I had his "complete attention"—if the shoe barrier was any indication then I was having the desired effect. I smiled seductively and rose to my feet, bending down to secure the shoe on my foot. He coughed and as I was slowly straightening back up he quickly excused himself to go ring up my purchase.

I met him again at the counter—keeping the counter between us, standing directly behind the register to disguise his excitement. He fumbled with the keys as I leaned forward on the counter giving him a good view down the front of my shirt. This was actually getting to be quite fun. The slut in me loved tormenting this poor man—the slut in me also wanted to take him back to the stock room and fuck him like there was no tomorrow—but that was more for the land of fantasy and porn.

I completed my purchase. Thanked him for his help and asked where the nearest bathroom was . . . my assignment completed I desperately needed to cum. I was very tightly wound and very ready for release, too bad I couldn't take him with me . . .

I walked away from the counter swaying my hips—making sure to give him a lasting mental image—and briefly turned back to see him, eyes glued to my ass, watch me walk away. I smiled to myself and made my way to the bathroom.

There was no one in the room when I got there so I chose a stall and locked the door. I reached in my purse and pulled out my small pocket rocket. I lifted one foot onto the toilet seat and leaned forward till I was bent over my head resting against the wall. I turned the vibe on low and danced it gently around my sensitive clit. My little clit was so sensitive I worried I would cum too soon and I knew that the more I drew it out the better the orgasm would be. After all this build up I wanted one great cum so I teased it—never quite making that satisfying contact. I drew the middle finger of my other hand slowly up and down my glistening pussy lips—slightly dipping them in as they passed the opening.

My breath grew short and my muscles were tightening in anticipation—holding off much longer was not a possibility. I quickly slid two fingers deep into my pussy and began to pump myself hard as I allowed the vibe to come into direct contact with my swollen clit. My heavy breathing turned into desperate whimpers. I pumped harder and those whimpers turned into pre-orgasmic moans and muffled screams. The climax was about to break when I suddenly hear the clack of high heels on the tile approaching the bathroom door. Holding my breath I ceased all stimulation wanting desperately to cum but also wanting to remain an unknown presence. The woman quietly went about her business in the stall directly next to mine as I eased my two fingers back into my pussy. I started the fucking motion again but this time slowly. I was afraid to turn the vibe back on—thinking that the quiet noises it made would give me away. I laid it down on top of the toilet paper dispenser and set my free hand to caressing and teasing my clit slowly as I continued to build this coming orgasm.

I was really trying to be good—but this woman was seriously taking forever in the stall next to mine and it was near impossible to hold back anymore—I needed it so badly I just didn't care. My pumping grew faster and my breathing got heavier—I swallowed the moans biting my lip till I feared there might be blood. I could feel the edge approach and could seriously not hold off anymore. So, with my free hand I grabbed my vibe—switched it on, and as the light noises filled the room I reached down and flushed the toilet—that was all it took—it the 10 seconds that it takes for that toilet to flush, I pressed the vibe hard to my clit and my orgasm took me over completely.

I was so far gone I am sure that I made a lot of noise, I honestly don't even know but there is no way I could have suppressed all those squeals and groans. The tremors shook through me and as my legs began to give way I swiveled around and collapsed onto the toilet seat.

The woman in the next stall coughed loudly—flushed her toilet and moved quickly to the sinks. I must have made quite a bit more noise than I thought based on the way she was hurrying to get out of that bathroom—the hand dryer whirred to life for barely a second before I heard her clacking footsteps withdrawing from the room.

I smiled to myself, but was too content and exhausted to care. I brought my hand to my lips and happily sucked my juices off my fingers again. Sighing, I came back to myself, stood up and after wiping myself up a little I made my way out of the bathroom and back to the car. This would definitely be an assignment Master would be proud of me for—and one I might just have to do again soon.