There’s a certain kind of arousal that comes from being pampered. A slow, smoldering burn; like an ember that is gently fanned to a red-hot state, and kept just shy of breaking into flame. And when you’re being pampered, and the man doing the pampering whispers in your ear how he loves treating his little slut to pretty things, you become fairly certain you might melt anything you come in contact with.
After an enjoyable lunch at a local watering hole, my lover took me shopping for some dressy heels – something that would look fabulous with the new dresses I bought, or with nothing else but a smile.
It was the weekend, of course, and the mall was crazy busy. I am not typically the best with crowds; all the activity and noise is overstimulating and exhausting, but he kept me close by his side, and the steel collar necklace he had put on me earlier had a calming weight to it. I felt unusually steady and unfazed by all the people milling around us. My relative ease likely also had to do with watching his expression as I tried on each pair of heels. I watched him watch me slip and buckle the straps around my ankles. I watched him watch me walk, teetering occasionally in a pair of 4″ stilettos. I watched him admire the view as he stood up, and I sat, giving him a peek down my low-cut top. His gaze was so intense as to be near tangible, and his desire so evident, I was conscious of nothing else. In fact, that subtle, sly smile on his face made me feel as though I was the most beautiful, desirable woman he’d ever seen.
I felt proud, in that moment, to be his slut. To stand there in the middle of a store, feeling sexy and horny, and more than just a little objectified. I loved it. And it didn’t matter to me who might have had an inkling of what was going on. All I could really think of at that point was all the wonderfully wicked things he was going to do to me once we got home.
“We’ll go to Victoria’s Secret next time,” he tells me as we leave.
Oh me, oh my….