tagBDSMOn Display: In the Desert

On Display: In the Desert

byjen123jen©

Frankly, I don't know why I do it. The risk is great - to my physical body, to my job, everything. What would my boss think? My parents? Hell, what would anyone think?

I'm standing in the middle of the desert, about a mile off the dirt road, which I drove down for three miles from the highway, hoping my little car was going to be okay the whole time. Then, hiking the mile, working my nerve up the whole time. It's spring, about 75 degrees, and going to be a beautiful, sunny Arizona day. I'm about to follow his orders - again. Deeper into this; every time, I go deeper down this road of kinkiness, risk, danger, excitement. I'm dripping wet and, if I were allowed to touch myself, could have a huge orgasm in a matter of seconds. I'm not allowed - yet.

It started out slowly. At first, the assignments from him were easy, though still exciting: "Don't wear panties to work today." "Don't wear panties again - and wear the shortest skirt you own."

Hey, on casual Friday, why not? Hardly anyone's in the office, a little excitement...

"Ask a friend - male or female - to go see a movie. Don't wear a bra or panties. Wear a button up sweater or a light jacket. Go to a movie theater off the beaten track, or go at a time not many people will be there. Once the trailers start, excuse yourself. Go to the restroom. Unbutton the sweater or jacket. Unbutton your blouse. Go by popcorn. Lean over the counter to choose which candy you want. Give the boy a show. Don't leave until you know he's seen your nipples."

Okay, that was harder. I did it, blushing the whole time. He saw both nipples. I bought the popcorn and candy and practically ran to the restroom and masturbated standing up in a stall.

I find the largest tree around - still pretty small, I know, but easily identifiable. It's by a big boulder, near the so-called trail I've been following. At the base of the tree, I tie the string with the car key. I now head back to the car. Next time I'm here I'll still have on the collar and leash I'm wearing now, but not much else.

What else has he made me do? This little hike, all worked up already, gives me way too much time to think.

Wilder: "Go buy a plain white t-shirt in the petite department of a store. It should be at least two sizes smaller than what you normally wear. Wear it and tight jeans grocery shopping - you can go somewhere far from home, if you must. No bra. Buy a full cart full of groceries. Go Friday night after work near the beginning of the month when everyone is shopping."

The stares I got that night. Glares from women. Drooling stares from men. Me - normally shy, showing off. Embarrassed. Humiliated somewhat. Loving it. My nipples were rock hard and I was virtually topless, and surprised I didn't get arrested.

"Shave your pubic hair. Keep it smooth by shaving every few days." Then, "Let it grow in over five or so days, until it starts to itch. Wait an extra day. Then shave and start over." He is devilish.

"Sunbathe nude in your backyard" No problem - early spring, my white skin needs sun, my backyard moderately private unless someone looked over the fence or I was in the wrong place in the yard. But... "Using SPF 35 sunscreen and a q-tip, write ‘Slut' directly above your cunt." Standing in front of the bedroom mirror, naked, shaved, with sunscreen and q-tip in hand. Hand shaking. What about going to the gym? What if I go on a date? Get in a car accident? Writing it, then laying face-up in the sun for two hours at noon. Skin all pink. Repeating on Sunday. If I sunbathed naked, I redrew the word. It lasted all the following winter - glaring out from my otherwise very tan skin. Showering at the gym was an exercise in timing - waiting for others to leave before I showered or went in the sauna.

Then, "Take a weekend trip to San Diego. Go to the nude beach. Strip naked and enjoy the day (apply sunscreen ‘slut' before leaving hotel room). Be sure to walk up the beach at least a mile, then back, past your towel, and the other direction a mile, at least three times. Know that everyone can tell that you're my slut."

I did them all gladly. The orgasms I had! When he let me, that is. I had to send detailed reports of my efforts, my experiences. He'd read them, then pick them apart, Instant Message me questioning every detail to see if I'd slip up, to prove to him that I'd actually done the things he'd ordered me to. Then he'd let me have an orgasm, but always somehow - or somewhere - that made it amazing. Naked in the dressing room at the department store, naked at 11AM during the biggest sale of the year. Fucking my cunt (he makes me call it that) with a banana while sitting in a (nearly) deserted movie theater watching the latest Star Wars - then eating the banana. Skirt hiked up in the car, blouse unbuttoned, on the way home from work, stuck in traffic on the freeway. Yes, people saw. Yes, they honked. Yes, I want more.

Today, if someone sees me, they're going to know I'm not a nature lover just wanting to strip down and enjoy the day. Now it's black - sometimes red - Sharpie permanent markers. Thick tips. Standing in front of the bedroom mirror, figuring out how to write backwards. "Slut" Big - three inch big letters is what he said, right on my stomach, in red marker. I know from last time they take two days to wear off - if I'm scrubbing my skin red every time I take a shower. "Whore" and "Cum lover" on my legs in huge letters. "Sex slave" - on the small of my back. "Spank me" on my ass cheeks.

I'm back at the car - still no one around. This is a generally unused area, I know - except for mountain bikers and rock climbers. It's taken me about 30 minutes to walk to the tree, another 30 back. Now it's 7:00AM. People will start showing up soon. Early risers mostly - the majority won't be here for at least a few hours.

Taking off my sundress and throwing it in the backseat. Changing shoes - he told me I could wear shoes, but what a joke - high heels. SLOW, in the desert sand/dirt. The magic marker obvious on my again winter-white skin in the morning light. The leash stays on, attached to the thick leather dog collar. I wonder idly if it will leave a rather unique tan line. No worries - it's locked on and the key is buried in the back yard at home.

I lock the car door and stand next to the car, attach the clothes pins, one to each nipple. I slam the car door and slowly, on the high heels, head back to the car key at the base of the tree, carrying a wind-up egg timer, a bandana, a small bottle of water, and a canister of mace, "Just in case," he wrote. The leash swings between my swinging breasts, and the chain rubs against my clit as I walk. I'm not allowed to cum until later today.

It's slow going in the heels. I'm dripping wet and wishing I could just stop and cum, then get back in the car and go home. But he'd know. I'd have to tell him. He wouldn't punish me - at least, not in the spanking and stuff - he'd know that ordering me to slap my ass 50 times with a hairbrush would just turn me on anyway. No, his punishment is harsh: no communication. That happened once. No matter how many emails I sent, begging, pleading, offering to do the wildest, riskiest things, he wouldn't answer until he knew I learned my lesson. I've learned! No, I'll keep walking, every sense straining to hear the approach of hikers, or mountain bikers (they're quiet and can sneak up on you!). I do have permission to hide - wherever I can, in this desert area, if I must. But I won't, I know.

Half the fun is the risk of being seen. Another 1/4 is the planning, the dreaming before and reliving after. The other 1/4 is actually being seen, the gasp from the person, the look of scorn from women, being called a slut or hussy from them, or the drool, the lust in the mens' eyes, the blush that starts at my face and quickly centers in my cunt - I've almost cum just from being caught. I still try to avoid it - I'm not stupid. But the excitement is just delicious.

The clothes pins hurt. The first time was the worst. "Strip now." (Noon on Saturday) "Go to your clothes line and get two clothes pins. Come back to the computer." I had replied that that is the part of the yard where I could be seen from two different neighbors. His reply. "Go now. Walk slowly." Walking slowly to the backyard, praying that the neighbors aren't out in their backyards. Getting the two clothes pins. Back at the computer, putting them on. Then walking slowly to get two more, then back again, him pushing my buttons, knowing the risk of neighbors seeing me naked, then with clothes pins decorating my nipples.

From there, wearing them under my loose blouse grocery shopping. Wearing them under the tight t-shirt to the movies, or out for a walk at sunset. Then ordered to wear them outside the shirt, pinching my nipples, while filling up the car with gas, going inside to pay, cringing at the security cameras and the late night cashier staring, his eyes almost bugging out.

I get to the tree with the key. I have to wind up the egg timer to 15 minutes and place it on top of rock a ways away, which I do. Then back to the tree and tie the leash to it, getting down on all fours like a good slut puppy. A drink of water to finish the bottle, then setting it aside... and the final touch, the bandana as a blindfold. There I wait, legs spread, my cunt juices dripping down my thighs I'm so wet, wearing high heels, a dog collar and leash, and a blindfold, with magic marker all over my naked body, waiting for someone to discover me and going out of my mind with excitement.

The fifteen minutes drag by. Is the timer broken? Is that someone coming? What if it is? No, it's no one. Half hoping someone comes along, half dreading that. How to explain what I'm doing?

I relive buying the dog collar and leash while tied there to the tree, his slut puppy. I had to get dressed up in a little black cocktail dress, complete with high heels, thigh highs, no bra. I spent an hour just on my hair and makeup - he had written that I was to make myself look stunning, as if going out to the fanciest restaurant in town. I knew something was up in that it was only 1:00 in the afternoon on a Saturday.

When I was done, I was to check my email. My assignment: go to the large pet store in the stip mall. Look for a nice leather dog collar for myself. Try on at least ten collars, right there in the store. After picking one out, leave it on to try on at least five leashes, connecting them to the collar around my neck. Select one. Remove the leash and collar and take them to the most talkative seeming checkout clerk, who I knew would ask what kind of dog I had, which she did. I replied, blushing deep red in my fancy, completely inappropriate outfit for a Saturday afternoon, "Oh, these are for me."

Of course, she didn't get it. "No, I mean, what kind of dog?"

Two people in line behind me, an older man and a younger man, both wide-eyed looking at me. "No, really, they're for me to wear, not for a dog. I guess I'm the dog."

I was rewarded by coming home and checking my email, where I was told to go out in the backyard wearing the new collar and leash, get down on all fours in my fancy clothes, in the middle of the yard, and masturbate. I was allowed to cum while barking like a dog, wondering what the neighbors could see, wondering what if they could hear me barking, wondering if they thought it was a dog or could tell it was me barking while cumming.

It's almost impossible to keep from touching myself, but I keep my hands away from my cunt and nipples, as one touch would send me over the edge. Finally the timer goes off, such a foreign sound out here, and so loud. I tear off the blindfold, stand up and get over to it as quickly as I can, shutting it off. Anyone within a mile would have easily heard that. Grabbing my key, I headed back. I'm to head back to town and a self-serve car wash, where I'll be allowed to cum - after washing the car, and myself.


The walk back to the car was uneventful, thank goodness, but very exciting, now that it was the time for more people to be using the trails. Once in the car, I put on the clothes for the return trip: an extra-large white t-shirt with "I swallow" written in red marker on it by me the other day, and I keep the heels on. The t-shirt hides the words on my chest, and it does come down to barely cover my cunt, but it leaves the lettering on my legs exposed, and "I swallow" isn't much better than what else I have written on me. Still, it's safer while driving, and it's what he ordered.

Just as I finish pulling the shirt on, an SUV approaches, down the so-called road to the parking area. As I drive away, four men look down on my car as I pass, probably seeing my cunt peeking out from beneath the shirt, the words "Whore" and "Cum lover" big enough for them to read . Had I taken another five minutes along the trail...

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