Out for a Treat
To some I would suspect our romance is not exciting. We are both fifty. I am a married teacher, the lighter red of the two of us, with long red hair, a muscular frame saved from manishness by rather opulent curves that leave me working out constantly to keep fit from drifting to fat. My Lady is of an age and height, but a B cup to my G, in every way the Lady to my peasant farm girl.
My Lady and I had been shopping. As we wandered through the store she was babbling happily, and I was floating along, pushing the cart and springing to grab whatever she decided we required. I was drinking in her cheerful burbling like the finest champagne and growing somewhat giddy with it. She has been trying to teach me to keep some sort of decorum in public. I am told that since Victoria is no longer on the throne, that curtseying when accepting instructions in the grocery store is considered improper. I am working on not embarrassing her in public.
“Honestly pet, there is a time and a place for such displays. If you act that way in public every time, what will people think.” My Lady offered conversationally, watching the clerk’s face as I hastened to bag and order things in the cart, so that you would not have to lift anything heavier than your card to pay
Seeing me blush and smile, and realizing with a sigh this was not going to discourage me, she turned it into a command I could recognize, and order I could obey.
“Brat!” My Lady chided, swatting my bottom, my yoga pants concealing very little as my muscular ass stretched them to a thinness little different from body paint.
“Yes My Lady!” I offered cheerfully, smiling at her unrepentantly, seeking the clerk’s eyes widen and her begin to blush as well, realizing our relationship.
Raising my chin to meet hers, My Lady smiled but offered in her firm voice.
“Now pet, such displays are a treat. When I choose to take ownership of you before the whole world, it is a treat. Pets do not get treats every day, or they are not special. You want special treats from your Lady, don’t you Jan?”
Pressing the hand she had on my chin with both of mine, I pressed it to my cheek, before releasing it and adopting a more proper public pose. My Lady chuckled softly, the teenage check out girl’s eyes were very wide above her mask.
Loading all the groceries into my car, I smiled shyly beneath my mask as My Lady watched me work. It seems like a silly thing, but to work under her eyes excites me. The most pedestrian task, undertaken under her eyes is itself both an offering and a flirtation. To do what she wills is an offering, to do it joyfully, mindfully, respectfully, even worshipfully is a flirtation.
I know there are true brats who defy their Lady, seeking to force their owner to bring them to heel just to feel their owner’s dominance. I can’t do that. I try My Lady’s patience enough. I know I sometimes respond too eagerly, want too much. I guard every day against being a burden, of demanding too much attention, too much of her time and energy with my needs. I do not seek to defy her. I am just not as skilled as I should be, and too often require her direction so that I may improve in her service.
She indulges me shamelessly.
My Lady looked at her phone, then looked at the sky. She smiled. You can tell me all you want about how masks take away social cues, but that is among strangers. When my lady smiles, I see it in her eyes, as I do when she frowns. A good pet reads those signs instinctively, learning their language with all the care and fanaticism of a monk pouring over holy scripture for secrets only the select may know.
“I think its time for a treat Jan. I will take you for ice cream.” With that, she walked directly from the car down the street where the large ice cream cone statue out front argued the ice cream parlour was open, despite the season and Covid-19 restrictions.
As we entered, she gestured me to the display, and told me simply.
“Whatever you like Jan, or is it Wendy who wants to be rewarded?” My Lady asked.
I am Jan. Wife, mother, teacher. Yet for My Lady, sometimes she asks me to be Wendy, who does not have such duties, or any thoughts beyond being pleasing for her Lady. Wendy who has no shame, only hunger to serve.”
“Wendy!” I begged. “If it please My Lady.”
She nodded and gestured for me pick my ice cream. I chose Tiger tail, the black licorice and orange combination had the stripes of a tiger and the contrasting flavours had always been a treat for me. It’s only real draw back is it is messy, and stains.
The old man behind the counter finished making the cone, its stripes full of calories I did not need, but could easily work off under My Lady’s skilled and demanding direction. Placing the cone in the stand, the man looked surprised when I did not touch it. My Lady paid, and picked up the cone. We went outside to where the wrought-iron chairs and tables were spaced safely apart from each other. I pulled My Lady’s chair out for her, and then pushed it beneath her when she was ready to sit.
She leaned forward and said to me.
“Mask off my little Wendy-doll. Time for your treat”
I leaned forward and looked into her eyes, eyelashes fluttering as I gave myself to the enjoyment of my ice cream. When I am given a treat, I am to give myself to it. To wallow in the sensation, holding nothing back. I lapped at it, slurped it giggling as I licked up the side of the cone and her fingers like I was sucking a cock, as one fragile shard of black licorice tried to escape down the side of the cone.
Men on our side of the street and the opposite where starting to watch her feed me.
“Now Wendy, you don’t want to spill on that lovely blouse. You should unbutton a bit, to keep it safe.”
The old man in the ice cream parlour moved so he was standing just inside the class, at the edge of his counter to watch as I unbuttoned my blouse, exposing most of my 48G. I carefully held my blouse open with my hands as I leaned forward to lick the cone in My Lady’s hand.
True to form, some ended on my face, and some on my chest, but Wendy-Doll does not have to be concerned for her appearance as Jan does, so I concentrated on enjoying my treat. Making happy kitten noises as I lapped at my treat, I saw My Lady smile indulgently. It pleases her to treat me, and to see me pleased by her treats.
When I finished, we walked back to the car. The stains of the ice cream were still on my cheeks, and on my cleavage, most of which was still on display. I would never be less than properly dressed, nor ever, EVER less than neat and clean when out in public; if I was Jan. It pleased My Lady that Wendy show her lack of discipline to the world.
I walk differently when I am Wendy. Jan is a professional woman, working in schools filled with testosterone crazed teenagers and administrators who look at their colleges as the only legal snacks for their attention in a buffet that whets their hunger all day long. Jan walks with a no nonsense briskness that minimizes hip motion, and a resting bitch face that makes it clear she is not to be disturbed. Wendy sways. Nothing exaggerated, but nothing suppressed either. Wendy bounces along happily.
My Lady walked casually but with dignity, I flitted along beside and behind her, excitedly babbling about everything and everyone we saw. Always moving, always reaching out to squeeze My Lady’s hand in between waving happy greetings at passers by. My Lady smiled indulgently, passers by gawked somewhere between subtly and openly, depending on how much of a look at my chest they stopped to take in.
Arriving back at the car, My Lady took off her mask and made a production of looking at me, as if in surprise at my state.
Seeing her stern look, I put my hands behind my back, thrusting my chest out, and cast my eyes to the ground in the classic pose of a girl who suspects she has done something wrong but would really like it to be overlooked, just this once.
“Wendy, look at the mess you have made of yourself. This won’t do. Stand still and let me clean you up.”
I stood stock still, and My Lady took two fingers, and offered them to my mouth.
“Wet them.” She said.
I took her fingers in my mouth and sucked on them lovingly, hungrily.
She took them and wiped the ice cream residue from my chin, then offered me her fingers to clean. I sucked them clean again. I heard a woman somewhere behind me gasp and began to blush.
Taking her fingers from my mouth she smiled softly and cleaned the ice cream from my cheek, and let me take her fingers hungrily into my mouth to suck again. I whimpered as I did so, trying to move closer. My lady put her hand on my chest and pushed me back against the car. It was hers to control our contact.
I heard one young man swear and call to his friend to “check this out!”
Done with my face, my lady began with the residue on my breasts, rubbing my breasts to remove the residue then offering it to my lips to clean. My tongue swirled around her fingers as I wanted it to swirl around her nipples, her clit, her puckered pink rosebud, her toes. What she offered was her fingers, so to them I made love.
I was almost in a frenzy when she finished cleaning me to her liking. Now she stepped forward, her coat was long and she had allowed it to fall open. When she stepped forward, pressing me into the car, it concealed her hand between our bodies.
One hand grips my throat, lightly, pinning me in place. I freeze. She breathes softly. “Hands behind your head.”
I knit my fingers together behind my head, elbows wide, open and helpless for her to control. She uses only a little power. I have more strength, you would think I could easily break free, but I cannot. This is My Lady, I could no more resist her than the night resist the dawn.
She slipped that hand into my black yoga pants, I had no panties underneath. Rubbing her hand over my pussy, feeling the heat, fingers trailing over me, teasing me.
“My precious little pet, so hungry to hump my fingers, so needy.” I was whimpering as pressing against her. If my hands were free I would be trying to push her against me, into me, but they were bound by her will behind my head.
Her fingers rubbed my clit, sliding up and down my folds under my pants. Her hand on my throat kept me from pushing more than my hips forward.
“My Wendy Doll,” She whispered. “My wolf, my precious animal, let yourself go.” She thrust into me, her fingers under my pants sliding into me, driving into me.
I heard voices laughing and swearing, looking at my reactions and speculating what was happening. I could not care, could not stop.
“Whose is this?” You asked as you drove your fingers into me
“Yours!” I gasped
“What are you?” You demand, louder, your eyes burning into me as your fingers drive urgently into my madly thrusting center.
“YOURS!” I scream, uncaring who hears.
You push forward against me, rubbing my clit with your thumb as your fingers saw inside me, you almost growl in my ear.
“Mine!”
I cum. Helplessly, hopelessly out of control, only your knee pushed between my legs and arm pushing me back into the car keep me from falling bonelessly to the asphalt. You push against me, holding me until my body answers me again, eyes never leaving mine. Finally I bow my head forward against your shoulder and you kiss my tears.
“Mine.” You say, your arms now holding me, like a mother as much as a lover. Keeping me safe, when all my defenses are stripped away.
You have to buckle me into the car, my hands are trembling so much. I smile softly, and shyly offer.
“Thank you for my treat, My Lady.”
You pat my hand as we leave the parking lot. It is a good day.
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