I’m spending a quiet day at home, or at least that’s my plan until my phone buzzes on the coffee table as I finish straightening up the living room.
“Good morning, my beautiful little submissive. I know you were planning to spend the day at home but, alas, I have other plans for you. Here’s task # 7, an away task that may provide a dose of thrills and a risk of humiliation for you. When getting ready to go shopping, or out to eat, play with your pussy until you’re well aroused but DO NOT cum, then dress as usual, but do not wear any panties. You may wear anything you like, a dress, skirt, jeans, or shorts, whatever is acceptable where you’re going, but no panties underneath to cover your aroused pussy. You’ll have the thrill of feeling naked down there and thinking about it the whole time you’re out. Depending on how daring you are in what you choose to wear, you may have the added risk that someone could glimpse what you’re hiding, which could be both thrilling and/or humiliating. Don’t wear anything that could get you in trouble. This is to be a fun day or evening with some thrills for you. When you return home, go to the bed, strip naked, and play with your breasts and pussy until you cum. I don’t have to remind you about the video that’s to be sent to me.
Master”
My heart hammers in my chest the instant I read Aaron’s message, a volcanic heat erupting through my veins. He always knows exactly when I’m slipping into complacency—when I need his reminder of ownership, of who I belong to.
I set the phone down with shaking fingers, mind darting through options. The grocery store is too banal. The mall is too crowded and careless. Then I remember Sarah’s rave about the new boutique café downtown, the one with breezy outdoor seating and impossibly handsome baristas.
Perfect.
I type back, fingers trembling: “Yes, Master. I understand and will comply.”
He replies almost immediately: “Send me a photo of your outfit before you leave. I want to see how daring my little submissive chooses to be.”
My pulse spikes. I slip into the bedroom, heart pounding like tribal drums. I peel off my cozy loungewear, muscles quivering, and sit at the edge of the bed, legs hulking apart. My fingers brush my slick center—already damp from anticipation. I close my eyes and coax my trembling hand in slow, deliberate circles around my swollen clit.
A rush of memory floods me: last night’s dinner party, standing naked inside my closet while guests chattered feet away. The raw exposure sent fresh tendrils of arousal winding through me as I sped my strokes, teetering on the edge of release before jerking to a stop. My pussy still throbs with frustrated need as I force myself upright and stride to the wardrobe.
I need something public yet thrillingly naked beneath. My gaze settles on a deep-blue midi dress—light enough to kiss my skin with every step, long enough to appear innocuous. The flowing hem will swirl around my calves, whispering secrets to me all day.
I slip the dress over my head; the soft fabric slides over my hardened nipples, making them spike in perfect peaks. The dress drapes around me, deceptively modest. I turn to the mirror—no panties underneath—and I can feel the shy outline of my arousal pressing against the thin cloth.
Click. I capture a full-body mirror shot, my lips curved in a wicked, secret smile that only Aaron will understand. I send it with the caption: “Heading to that café downtown. Is this daring enough, Master?”
While I swipe on a light layer of makeup, his answer pings: “Acceptable. The wind might make things interesting today. Remember who you belong to with every step.”
My stomach flutters. Wind? I hadn’t considered that. The dress suddenly feels like a blade’s edge, ready to betray me.
“Yes, Master,” I reply, breaths short and trembling.
I finish with a slick of gloss, strap-on sandals, and gather my purse and keys. Even the act of walking across my bedroom floor sends a shiver of air brushing against my exposed sex. Every step hums with danger and delight.
Outside, spring tempts with a gentle breeze through the trees. The first gust lifts the dress around my knees and my heart stutters. I press the fabric down, and clutch my purse tighter—this is going to be harder than I thought.
I slide into the driver’s seat; the cool leather against my bare flesh elicits a soft gasp. I steady myself, start the engine, and the drive becomes a trial in willpower. Every red light and every pothole jolts my awareness back to the slick heat between my thighs.
At the café, I pause by my car to center my racing pulse. “You can do this,” I whisper. “It’s only a few hours.”
The outdoor seating is packed. I slip inside to order, trapped between two sharply dressed businessmen. Though clothed, I feel utterly naked—like everyone can sense my exposed secret.
A tall, bearded barista with smoldering brown eyes steps forward. “What can I get you today?” His gaze lingers a heartbeat too long.
“Lavender latte and avocado toast,” I manage, voice steadier than I feel. As I reach for my wallet, a sudden breeze sweeps through the door. The dress billows, and I clamp it down, cheeks flaming.
His eyes flick to the billow then back up, darkening with…something. Hunger? Interest? The possibility ignites a fresh wave of arousal that pulses straight to my core.
“For here or to go?” he asks, voice husky.
“For here,” I whisper, heart thudding. “Outside, please.”
He nods and gestures to a partly shaded table. I thread through the patio, acutely aware of the metal chair pressing cool against my naked bottom. My phone vibrates in my purse: Aaron.
“How are you feeling, my little submissive? Exposed? Aroused?”
I glance around and text, “Both, Master. The barista might’ve seen it when the breeze caught me. I can’t stop thinking about it.”
His approval crackles through my veins. “Good. I want you to imagine what he saw—what he’s imagining as he makes your coffee. Does it make you wet?”
I press my thighs together, friction sparking fire. “Yes, Master. So wet I’m worried it’ll show.”
“Perfect. When he brings your order, drop your napkin. Then pick it up slowly.”
My breath hitches. “That’s cruel,” I type, even as my pulse rockets.
“It’s an order,” he replies. “You’ll obey because you’re mine.”
I watch the door behind me—and there he is, tray in hand, coffee steaming. “Lavender latte and avocado toast,” Marcus says, setting them down. His nametag glints in the sunlight. “First time here?”
“Yes,” I breathe. “It’s lovely.”
He steps closer, conspiratorial. “The lavender’s from a local farm. The owner supports small businesses.” His warm eyes lock on mine. “I’m Marcus.”
“Nikki,” I answer, wincing at the real name I’ve given him. Aaron’s command pounds in my skull.
Marcus hesitates, then offers a slow smile. “Enjoy your lunch. Let me know if you need anything.” He turns away.
Now or never. I knock my napkin deliberately off the table. It flutters onto the floor. Marcus pauses mid-step, ready to rescue it.
“I’ve got it,” I say, voice coiled with faux innocence. I rise and bend forward, dress sliding up my thighs. A fierce breeze rattles through, lifting the hem just enough to let cool air graze my bare pussy.
I hear Marcus’s sharp breath behind me as I pick up the napkin. When I straighten, his gaze is dark, loaded with something thrillingly possessive.
“Careful,” he murmurs. “It’s windier than it seems.”
I whisper, “I’ll be careful,” though my cheeks burn with shame and excitement.
He glances back once more before disappearing inside. My phone glows: “Task completed, Master. He definitely saw.”
His reply is instant: “Describe his reaction.”
My fingers shake as I type: “His breathing changed. He looked…hungry. Told me to watch the wind. I think he’s watching me now.”
“And how does that make you feel?”
“Exposed. Vulnerable. Incredibly turned on.”
“Good girl. Enjoy your meal. Then walk past the counter on your way out. Make eye contact.”
I tuck my phone away and lift the latte to my lips. The taste drifts over me like velvet even as my body hums with need. My nipples press hard beneath the dress; I cross and uncross my legs, searching for relief.
I feel Marcus’s eyes on me through the window. Each glance ignites a fresh spark in my core. College students at the next table provide cover for my ragged breathing. One of them steals glances—can he sense what’s happening beneath the fabric?
My phone buzzes: “Time to leave. Remember eye contact.”
I rise, smooth the dress over my thighs, and approach the counter. Marcus is wiping down the machine but switches into service mode the moment I step up. “How was everything?”
“Delicious,” I answer, voice low, meeting his gaze squarely as Aaron commanded.
He leans forward, voice dropping to a private rumble. “I hope you’ll come back—maybe catch me on my break next time.”
My pulse skips. “Perhaps,” I whisper and turn to go, every step a thunderclap in my veins.
Outside, the breeze surges. I clutch the dress and hurry to my car. Once inside, I collapse against the door, thighs pressed together, breath ragged.
“Mission accomplished, Master. Heading home now,” I text.
“Good. Drive safely. No release until you’re home in bed as instructed.”
I pull away from the curb, every bump, every red light a shock to my overwhelmed senses. Finally, I burst into my driveway, fling open the door, and nearly fly into the house.
In the bedroom, I set my phone on the dresser, angle it toward the bed, and hit record. My hands tremble as I peel the dress over my head, the fabric sliding off, revealing gleaming flesh glistening with anticipation.
I climb onto the bed—legs spread, back arched—just as he taught me. My fingers come to my breasts first, squeezing and rolling the swollen peaks until I moan into the silence.
“My good little submissive,” I whisper to the lens, voice thick with need, “you made me expose myself…to a stranger. It made me so wet, so desperate for you.”
One hand drifts down, the other never leaving my nipple as my fingers find my swollen clit. I gasp as the first wave of pleasure crashes through me—every nerve ending ignites, every muscle tenses.
“May I cum, Master?” I plead into the empty room, ritual echoing through my mind.
My back arches as my orgasm rips through me, hot and merciless after hours of denial. “Thank you, Master,” I moan, voice trembling with release.
I collapse against the pillows, spent and trembling, each aftershock a pulse of bliss. Slowly, I stop the recording and send it: “Task #7 completed, Master. Thank you for today’s lesson.”
His reply is almost immediate: “Beautiful performance. Your obedience was exceptional.”
A warm glow fills me. “Will I see you soon?” I text.
“Tomorrow night. 8 PM. Wear something easy to remove.”
My breath catches at the promise. “Yes, Master. I’ll be ready.”
I curl beneath the covers, my body still humming, my mind replaying every electric moment. I drift toward sleep wearing nothing but the echo of his commands and the memory of my own tremors.
