we went shopping

There is a limit to how much “Christmas niceness” Amanda can bear, it seems. To be fair, she genuinely enjoys my mom and is happy being with us during the season of good cheer. She is less taken with the religious aspects of Christmas that I still hold on to, but she appreciates they are important to mom and me and respects them as family traditions. But at the end of several days of joy to the world, it seems Amanda needs to push it all away as if it were too many Christmas cookies.

Today Amanda announced she and I were going shopping for the day. She dressed me in nothing but my winter wool coat and high heels. And a collar, of course. I spent the day in public places while naked underneath.

It’s been a while since she’s done this to/with me. As you may recall, she used to take me hiking in the Colorado mountains, rendering me in various degrees of undress. She has conducted public park adventures with me topless, and had me work in her downtown office (when she had one) for an afternoon as I was perkily bare-breasted. But COVID hit and somehow limited her options for public display of me. (I never understood that — it seems during COVID when no one was walking the parks would be the perfect time to walk me half-nude on a leash.) And then my Pennsylvania events took me away from her for a time.

In any case, she is here now and felt she needed to undermine my peaceful holiday with a day of ever-possible sexual embarrassment.

The coat I wear is of a soft wool that doesn’t unduly scratch my bare skin underneath. It’s in cream white, short in length, coming down to a couple inches above my knees. This would be stylish atop a pair of tight jeans or even dressy with a skirt hem peeking out from below, but without either I look like a big snowball with legs.

It’s a wrap coat, and though it has buttons, Amanda doesn’t use them, instead cinching the coat tight around my waist with the tie. It has a deep V front that makes me self-conscious. I tend to try to tug the lapels closed, and Amanda says “Stop doing that.” I obey and say nothing — it’s an old dialogue, well-worn: “People will see my boobs”; “That’s the point”; “There are children”; “They’re used to them”; “There are men”; “Yes.” We don’t have to repeat my litany of self-consciousness — we well remember how this conversation goes.

Actually, the people group whose judgments I am most sensitive to I never mention: other women who wonder why a whore in white is shopping in the mall on a Tuesday morning.

This is one of those days when “nothing happened” but anything could have, which is the real story.

One of her long-considered plans for me has been to have me approach a strange man in a mall and offer him a blow job. In fact, Amanda has had me prepare “practice scenarios” for this, mostly introductions and dialogues that convince a stranger I am an ordinary woman out shopping who wants this sort of adventure. The trick, I find, is in the segue from talking about the weather to proposing a brazen sexual act. If it weren’t so serious a possibility, it would be the fount of much humor: “Speaking of sunny skies, I could brighten your day considerably…”

I have never practiced these on a human of the male persuasion, although Amanda has had her fun hearing them. She likes arguing with me the hypothetical of whether I am more of a slut if I give a man a blowjob for free or if I ask for money.

All of this is brain-play, her mental dominance of me, erotically playful but short of a more intense mind-fuck. Still, all this goes through my mind as I walk the mall in my wool coat. I see men alone, think about their lives and wives, and wonder if Amanda’s greatest rush here would be in using me or in allowing them to use me.

The mall is packed, filled with families, and I look like a walking snow globe — all reasons this will not happen today.

Even so, I know Amanda loves being here with me in the possibility of such a scene, knowing I am thinking about it and imagining ways in which it might go down.

So to speak.

Early in the shopping day, Amanda finds a corner off a service hallway, and pushes me against the wall. She opens my coat and palms my breasts. I worry that a mall worker will walk by, but I stand docile and receptive. Amanda reaches into her handbag and pulls out a Ziploc containing something. Inside are two weights on chains. She hooks each one onto each of my nipple rings. They don’t hurt, but I feel their weight, and they make my nipples extend and droop. She closes my coat, and we continue shopping.

Later, Amanda has me try on dresses in Macy’s, not to buy me one but to get me out of my coat in the dressing room. There’s a moment when she knocks on the door of the cubicle, and I open it, thinking she’s the only one in the entryway. But there’s a woman standing behind her, likewise waiting on a friend or sister in another cubicle. It’s, of course, a place for women in underwear, but I am not wearing any, and this woman gets in a full stare, slightly surprised by my flesh and, no doubt, the weights dangling from my nipples.

Early afternoon, Amanda steers me to the rest room, the one in Macy’s which is less popular, it seems. There, she takes my coat and I walk into the stall naked. It is then I realize that Amanda could walk out of the rest room, my coat in hand — indeed walk out of the mall entirely. She doesn’t, but later admits she thought about it.

We do some real shopping as well, shoes for Amanda and a sweater for me, residual Christmas gifts from each of us to each of us. We have coffee at a Starbucks and a soft pretzel at Auntie Anne’s. We sit at the fountain in the center of the mall and talk about what life might be like this next year. It’s all rather normal and fun and lovely.

In the car about to go home, Amanda opens my coat and arranges it to show my flesh and mounds and weighted nipples. She drives home via the Interstate, looking for a driver of a big rig she can pull up alongside, showing me off. She finds not one but two, the second tooting his foghorn to my utter embarrassment. I look away but do not turn away, allowing them their looks.

Amanda is the yin-yang of naughty and nice, and in the surfeit of Christmas sweetness, she finds her balance by offering me to the wolves.

But by the end of things, nothing actually happened. All day, she kept me in her control, in sexual tension in public, which is her deep pleasure. But there were no events and nothing actually happened.

At night, before sleep, I write in my journal: “We went shopping.”

9 thoughts on “we went shopping

  1. Your submissiveness is truly a thing of beauty, shae. It is selflessness without limit. True submissives all have beauty regardless of their physical appearance. But your TRUE “without limit” pushes that beauty over the top. The fact that you are still so readily embarrassed and humiliated after years of slavery places that beauty far beyond indescribable.
    When Mistress Amanda shows you off to a trucker, he is more than likely to announce your description and state of undress for ten or fifteen miles in both directions on CB channel 19. If Ms A had a hand-held CB radio, she could not only listen to the truckers discussing you, but if she wished, you both could join in the conversation.
    Thank you for your frankness in disclosing your slavery and usage in your blog, shae. I look forward to each posting and I am sure that others do, as well.
    Happy New Year to you and Mistress Amanda.

    Liked by 3 people

  2. Although it was not really an event to write about, you tantalize our senses with your lovely language and submissiveness.
    And Amanda teases that she was thinking of letting you walk naked through the supermarket.

    We know that ‘something has happened’ in CO. So we wait.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. If you have a blowjob for free you’re a slut if you get paid you’re a whore sluts do it cause they love it whores do it to get paid


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