It was warmer today, in the sixties, one of those days pretending to be fall but with the unmistakable scent of winter. Yet it was warm enough to justify me being outside, warm enough to make Amanda’s little scene in the back yard possible.
Blake arrived around one-thirty, as scheduled, but I was napping and missed the conversation he and Amanda had in the kitchen. At two, she roused me and laid out my outfit, then ushered Blake into the back yard while I got ready.
I have written about Blake before. He is some ten years younger than me, and looks even younger. With short, dark hair, he’s attractively tall and wiry, with strength that’s more sinewy than muscled. He hasn’t attended college, so I’ve learned, but has been seemingly successful in forming his own carpentry business, and is intuitively smart about matters pertaining to his work.
Blake is quiet and reserved and so is a bit of a puzzle to decipher. Perhaps that’s what makes him attractive to me. I am drawn to “interior” men, like mystery novels.
In the past, I have wondered about how he sees me. (For those new to my blog, Blake is the architect of Amanda’s house-bondage “stations” — the entryway wall, the wet bar, and the easy chair. He has done “bondage room” construction for other lifestyle people as well, but he doesn’t seem to be in the lifestyle himself.) While we’ve had previous encounters (here and here), and these have involved a limited intimacy, we aren’t really “friends” in any way. He knows what I am, a slave in the lifestyle, but I don’t know how he relates — if he enjoys the thought of me being a slave or judges me for it.
He and Amanda were on the lawn by the tree when I emerged onto the patio. Her look for me was a retro green-plaid skirt, flared and hemmed just above the knee. On top, she had me wearing just my cream-colored cardigan, button-down, shaping my breasts. While Amanda’s dressing me is an everyday thing, this outfit felt more like a presentation, perhaps because I’d been lounging in Pjs for weeks, or maybe just because it was Blake out there. Again, I wondered how he saw me, and I imagined it was either as a debutante or perhaps as a MILF. Or maybe just as a sorry slave.
They were talking about the installation of the dog run. “I’d like slate tiles,” Amanda was saying, “following the path of the cable. I want to have her out here in high heels and watch her step from tile to tile along the run.” So, it was clear to Blake this was for me not for a dog we might have been planning to adopt. I suppose Blake knew this when Amanda first called him, but I found myself blushing nonetheless.
The tie-out cable itself was not much of a job, except for where to attach the end opposite the tree. Originally, Amanda thought the terminus would be the aspen sapling on the east edge of the property, but Blake didn’t think that was secure enough.
While they were talking, Amanda called me to her and unbuttoned my cardigan. She undid me all the way down, leaving just the two bottom ones to keep my sweater closed at my waist while leaving it open above. Standing in front of me, Amanda coaxed out my breasts into the open air, my sweater panels falling away to each side. It was Amanda’s plan to keep me both warm and yet topless.
“There, that’s better,” Amanda said, stepping away. I felt the sun warming my breasts. I felt Blake’s eyes warming them too. I remember times ago he would look away, diverting his eyes, perhaps thinking he had no right to partake of me. Now he looks, maybe having learned it is my place to absorb stares of lust and longing.
The continued their discussion, and Blake suggested connecting the cable to the house itself, above the patio. “You can have her,” he said, “on the dog run right through the patio.” I knew Amanda was enjoying him speaking of me in the third person.
Humiliation is a coat of many colors. Crimson shame can mix with sunshine desire to create peach-flesh passion. One can feel exposed and diminished at the same time as feeling wanted and wanting. I remember in that moment I couldn’t help but wonder what this might have been if Blake and I had met in more ordinary circumstances.
I knew Amanda was suddenly imagining me leashed to the dog run while on the patio, perhaps serving drinks at a party while leashed above. To her the possibilities were, no doubt, delicious.
It had already been determined that the cable would be retractable, and could be hidden in its coil on the opposite side of the tree, out of sight. But Amanda, though she loved the patio idea, now struggled with the slate path being parallel (and redundant) to the brick pathway already in place from the patio to the far end of the yard. “Redundant,” she said. It wasn’t feng shui enough for her.
She spoke her concerns, and Blake had no immediate solution.
I stood, of course, in topless silence. Blake and Amanda were standing side by side, looking across the lawn to the patio. By chance, I was standing opposite them, in the path of their gazes. Amanda may have been focused on the patio but Blake wasn’t.
The sun felt good on my naked breasts, I must say, its rays coating them like warm butter. My nipple rings glinted in the sunlight. My blushed embarrassment notwithstanding, it was lovely to be outside and feel like a woman again.
Amanda asked Blake how much work it would take to create the tile path beyond the tree and out to the rise of the hill on the east.
“I can do it,” he said, “but it’s a bigger job then. You might want your landscaper to do it.”
Amanda nodded. “It occurs to me our neighbors might like the path coming into their yard. They walk over here all the time — this back way. The tiles would make it easier for Patricia, especially… And that way the path could curve to the side. It would look better that way.”
“Then again,” Blake said, “The holidays are down time for me. I have an open schedule until January. ”
I wondered if he felt the job might mean more exposure to, well, my exposure. I also wondered if, for me, the possible outcomes would be me in the presence of Blake versus me in the presence of a landscaping crew.
In my mind I was voting for Blake when Amanda said, “Deal.”
That solved, Amanda had one more thing to do. She instructed Blake to stand on the patio. At the tree, she attached a leash to the back of my collar. “Visualize the path we follow,” she told him.
Her instruction was to walk slowly in an arc to where Blake was standing. “Like a processional at a wedding,” she said to me.
“Is that a proposal?” I asked.
I walked, leashed from behind, as instructed — taking a step with one foot, then bringing my other even with it, then reversing the order.
It was later I realized this was entirely unnecessary. She just wanted me to step this way to give Blake the visual — my halting steps bringing me to full stops with every stride, sending ripples through my breasts each time. His pleasure, my humiliation.
Though in a way I didn’t mind.