Fitting Room Humiitation

It had been a couple of weeks into our arrangement, and everything, pretty much, had happened in the house. If we went out for a drink, or a walk, or anything like that, then we were normal girlfriend and girlfriend. There was something exciting about how it switched on and switched off. She had rules for me - rules which governed these switches. The minute we were back through the door, I was to strip down to my underwear and kneel. I was never to walk fully erect in the house, and had become adept at crawling. She wanted me down there so she could kick me, if she felt like it, or stand over me; sometimes she'd sit on my back, or my face. In the house I had to call her mistress, and was to ask for permission before doing anything, or stopping doing anything. But, as I say, outside we were girlfriend and girlfriend. She'd maybe whisper something mean, or pinch me, secretly, but that was it.

Then, one day, we were out shopping. She'd found a nice dress, a pink one, with little flowers on. She was more feminine than me. She was actually less domineering, outwardly speaking, even though I was always the slave in the bedroom. We'd been together for ages, and had lots of sex, kinky and normal, though we knew what we liked. Anyway, she had found this flowery, pink dress, and said it would be nice to wear in the summer, on holiday, so she wanted to try it on. We started following the signs to the fitting rooms.

I said I'd look at some shoes whilst she went into the cubicle, and that she should come out and show me, and started to veer off towards the shoe section.

'Nope! - I want you to come in with me,' she'd said, casually, adding an extra-long 'pleeeeease' after I didn't reply, one that went up at the end with a flick of her leg, in that cutesy school-girl way that really annoyed me but also really turned me on, and then annoyed me even more by how much it turned me on. We were very different people: I only wore black - I still mainly wear black, though it feels a little less aggressive, now that I'm older.

'Ok. Going to be a squeeze.'

I winked at her, playfully, looking over at the very small fitting rooms that we were now standing outside of. It was my attempt to match her cutesiness, though it never came naturally to me. Very little did come naturally to me, actually, even in my relationships: though I enjoyed being romantic and doing couple-y things, they always took a bit of effort. Submitting to her had come incredibly naturally, the minute we tried it, and then again and again in every new scenario: from the longest and most intense, to the shortest and most playful. We had tried the other way, a couple of times. She really enjoyed being mine, but I wasn't good at the controlling, or the ordering about. It was actually one of the things that would come between up, years later.

We went into the fitting room, which was slightly bigger from the inside, and I remember thinking it would have been more than adequate space for one person, even if it did seem cosy for two.

I moved to kiss her. We were always affectionate in public, holding hands, little kisses, boring our friends with our love for each other, and we were in private now anyway.

'No!' She said, aggressively. Then, 'take off all your clothes, now,' she whispered, firmly.

It was her mistress voice. I recognised it immediately. Though we were still us when we were in our scenario there were obvious differences; she would never talk like this normally, not even in an argument. I panicked, for a moment, realising that I was going to comply, and trying to make sure I thought about it for enough time to know that I wanted it. I could feel her eyes on me, burning through my black top, undressing me with her impatience. Delaying would only have gotten me into more trouble. Maybe she'd punish me straight away, I thought, or maybe she'd have to wait until later, and I knew that if she did it would only become more and more brutal.

And I did, want it, this, now, in the fitting room. I could feel how much I wanted it between my legs. I wanted to be her slave, naked, in public. So I started to take off my clothes, which was difficult because I was shaking from the fear and the anticipation and the arousal, plus the room was small and somehow this petite girl had this way of seeming huge when she became my mistress.

'Quicker, slut.'

'Yes, Mistress.' I said, far too loudly, forgetting to accommodate for the location. I was normally loud in my submission to her, proud of my status as her permanent sex-object. But normally we were just at home. She put her hand over my mouth, and whispered in my ear, 'you will not speak until we leave the shop, you will only nod your agreement. Or shake your head if you need me to stop.'

I nodded my head furiously. Even more than my fear of being caught, or my fear of being punished, was my fear of her stopping. I wondered how far she would go. Would she let me bring her to orgasm? Would she allow me to orgasm? Would that be too dangerous? For a second I remembered all of our equipment, and thought it a shame that we were without it. Though of course I loved her body, and was happy just to be two bodies together, it was always more fun with our dildos and rope and other things. We had invested a lot of money in sex. It became a real issue when we broke up. We had decided to split the stuff as equally as possible, and attempted to remember the cost of things, in the end resorting to a very depressing googling of prices and making a spreadsheet; it was awful, and in the end, I threw all of my half out anyway. When I used it on myself I just cried, and the thought of using it on someone else made me sick. I don't know what she did with hers. I can imagine her humiliating someone else with it, telling them about me - about us - and making them feel secondary. Can you still smell her cunt on my dildo? Are you going to lick it clean like a good little whore? Unless she isn't a mistress anymore. She had always enjoyed it the other way around - maybe she's finally found her own mistress.

I took off all my clothes, folded them and put them on the chair. She told me to turn around and bend over with my hands against the wall and my legs apart. In this position, I waited to feel her fingers enter me, or maybe even her tongue. She had gone down on me so many times before our arrangement, and sometimes I missed it. But it wasn't very mistress-like to eat out your slave, especially from behind.

What I actually ended up feeling was one of our butt plugs shoved into my mouth. 'You have ten seconds to make this as wet as you can before it goes in your arse.'

I sucked furiously, confused thoughts racing through my mind. She clearly had planned this, and even brought toys along. I was staring at the dress that was hanging up directly in front of my face, when I saw it was a size six, which she would never have fitted into, and I realised how set up all of this was. I felt tricked. It was incredibly erotic.

The plug was ripped from my mouth and quickly brought to the entrance of my arse. With her free hand she grabbed my panties from the chair and shoved them into my mouth, along with her fingers; she was making extra sure I didn't give us away with my yelps as she shoved the plug into my arse. I started to shake; my legs were barely able to keep me up. I could barely stop myself from making a mess on the floor, especially after she whispered 'good girl' into my ear, and started to softly kiss my neck as a reward. When I look back on this day, when I'm masturbating, or being fingered or licked or fucked by someone who's not very good, I never get past this bit without cumming.

She took my panties out of my mouth, rubbed them against my aching pussy, and then threw onto the floor.

'It goes without saying that you are not allowed to come. If you're good I'll let you finger yourself tonight whilst I eat.'

I nodded.

'Good, now kneel down facing the chair,' she said, as she pulled down her jeans and her panties and sat down on top of my pile of clothes.

There is something really sexy about people naked but still in clothes; she was ten times more beautiful with her jeans round her ankles than she would have been naked. It reminded me of sex in fields and in the backs of cars from when I was younger.

She placed her hand on the back of my hand, weaving her fingers underneath my hair, giving herself a proper grip, and then pulled my face to her pussy. I started to lick, though barely able to move back enough to do so, with the force of her hand. She would eventually relax her grip a little and let me service her - she just wanted to remind me of her power first; she always did this, and I always tried to start immediately, desperate for the chance to show her how much I loved her, loved her even more as a mistress than I did as a girlfriend, if that was even possible.

I began at the bottom, tongue-fucking her and then suckling on her labia, until moving up to play with her clit. I hadn't eaten many girls out - it was all fingering and dildos when I first came out, fucking straight girls in denial who really just wanted cock - but I knew this one well, from all angles, and in all of its different states. I could still draw you a diagram of her pussy, with all the key spots, even though I haven't seen it in years. Usually I would work slowly, building up tension, taking my time to give her the best orgasm I could, maybe a couple in a row, but today, here, I knew to be quick, and worked optimally.

Within a minute or two she was bracing herself with her doorhandle, and when I looked up to her face I could see her biting her lower lip to stay quiet. She was staring at her reflection in the mirror opposite. I wasn't allowed to look in mirrors, especially not naked, because it turns me on too much, and because my body was her possession so only she should be allowed to see it. It was one of the rules that I was less certain about when we started, but I grew to love it. Home alone sometimes I would just stare at my body in the mirror, and I get so turned on by how naughty I was being. I wasn't allowed to cum alone: she would leave me in a chastity belt so that I couldn't. But I still enjoyed looking at myself in the mirror, and would tug with my nipples and spank my own arse, and take some pleasure from that. I barely take any pleasure from masturbation anymore, any form of it, now that there aren't rules governing it. She never caught me looking at myself in the mirror, though I always hoped that she would, but sometimes, if I felt really guilty about it, or if I just really wanted to be punished for a bit, I would admit to her that I had broken the rules whilst she was out. She would hurt me, and scold me, and deny me things, all the while shouting threats to put up security cameras in the house so she could always watch me, said she might even upload the videos to the internet ("slave does chores in chastity", "sub waits for hours by door for dom to get home"), or set up a live feed for people to watch.

I had been staring up at her for only a few seconds, watching her watch herself as I suckled on her sex, when she looked down.

'Don't you fucking dare look at me.' She said, in a shouted whisper that was probably too loud, but at this point I don't think she cared. 'Focus on your fucking job.'

I decided maybe we could afford to waste just a few seconds, and I wanted so desperately to give her the best I could, so I didn't bring her over the edge immediately, but moved down to lick her arsehole instead. This was my signature move. Technically, it was edging, which you would think would be a total no-no for submissives like me, but she liked it, and it always made her squirt, which I'd then have to swallow, which helped maintain our unequal status as lovers. Usually I'd do it a few times, sometimes too many and then she'd have to punish me, but that day, as I tried to move down, she tensed her hands around my skull, and kept me at her clit. Message received I thought, a thought which I communicated the only way I could, by rapidly flicking my tongue against her clit, a quickie it is! whatever you want, Mistress! Anything!

As she came, I heard very small peeps come out of her mouth, like a cartoon character does when they're mad, and I imagined steam coming out of her ears. She pushed my head down pressing my nose and my eyes into her cunt as she ejaculated onto my face, clamping her legs together, squeezing my head, and shaking.

Once the orgasm had subsided, she relaxed, and let me lick her clean, without instruction, and redress her. We did this at home a lot, usually by the door, the minute she got in, or just before she left. Often, she left me home, ordering me, sort of, to stay. Obviously, she never had that much real control over my life, but I never went out much anyway; she was always the socialite of the couple. So, if she knew I had nothing to do, she would give me chores to do, and go out and shop with her friends, knowing how exhilarating it was for me merely to anticipate her return. She would fuck my face, like this, on a chair that we had moved next to the front door, and then I would clean her and dress her, and she'd leave without a word, as if I were an object in the hall. She liked to label me as an object, and would call it wanking when we had sex: I loved the degradation. She sometimes wrote 'object' or 'fucktoy' on my face, and we agreed it was a shame that I couldn't have a tattoo across my forehead so everyone would know.

Once I had dressed her I would kneel, head bowed, until she left the house, and only then stand up and get going with my chores, returning to the door a little before the time she said she'd be back to wait for her.

I was kneeling like this in the fitting room, that day, with a wet face: I was acting as though we were at home, because that was the only way I knew how.

She laughed at me, which made me embarrassed: 'you'd stay like this all day, wouldn't you?'

I nodded.

'Even if I left?'

I nodded.

'Would you turn and shut the door after me?'

I shook my head, because if mistress wanted the door open I would leave it open - it would have been breaking the unwritten rules to close it - and I knew that if she did, genuinely, leave, then I would stay like this and wait for her return.

'What if another girl came in? and saw you like this? with my cum dripping off your face, and a large plug in your arse? would you stay then?'

I nodded again, though I was starting to feel scared as it became almost possible that she might do this. Playing out the scenario in my head, and knowing that I would do all of these things just to please her and to remain in my character, was scaring me, and making me so incredibly wet. I wanted desperately to touch myself. I imagined how she would punish me if I did. Maybe she'd spank me, bending me over her knee. I imagined how loud it would be. She'd made me count out loud, and thank her - everyone in the shop would know. Maybe she'd open the door, throw me into the shop, and tell everyone what a disobedient little slut I was.

'Maybe I'd leave you in here for them to use.'

I kept nodding.

'Pathetic ... Oh just stand up you fucking, miserable cunt.' She moved to slap me hard across the face, as she would have at home, but stopped just in time, and pinched me hard instead, leaving a red mark on my cheek.

I stood up, keeping my head bowed. Though she was standing to the side of me, I did not turn, but remained facing the chair, and waited for instruction.

'I would like you to keep the plug in for the rest of today. Is that ok, slut?'

She placed a gentle hand on my arm, letting me know that I could say no, if it was too much, and I wouldn't be punished. But I nodded, excited by the idea.

She motioned to the chair, and ordered me to dress. As I did so, I - or rather we - noticed a large wet patch on the back of my t-shirt from where she had finished whilst still sitting on my clothes.

'Oh goody,' she said, almost in that cutesy way, from only a few minutes ago, though still with her domineering voice on, 'my perfume!, so everyone can know what a slut you are.'

As I went to pull my jumper over my head she grabbed it out of my hands.

'Don't you want everyone to know?'

I nodded my head, to say that I did, and she put the jumper in her bag.

She picked up the dress, claiming not to like the colour after all, and thrust her bag into my hands for me to carry. We left the fitting rooms. The shop was much busier than it had been, and where there had been lots of empty stalls when we arrived there was now a queue. We got a very strange look from the girl who went into our stall, and as we were leaving she called back to us: 'excuse me, girls, you've left something.'

Both of us were confused, and looked blankly at her.

'What?,' my mistress asked, without walking back.

'Well ... eerrmmm ... in the corner,' the lady embarrassingly replied, clearly put out by the whole situation, and wishing she hadn't bothered at all.

We looked at each other with complete shock, realising that she meant my panties, which we'd forgotten, lying dirty in the corner.

It might seem a strange thing not to notice, but I often didn't wear them: at home I wore the belt, and in public she picked my clothes, and often (accidentally, on purpose) she forgot panties, or a bra, and would leave me exposed. It was a small form of control that we both enjoyed. That day I had been given completely normal clothes to wear. It hadn't crossed my mind until then that they must have been part of her ruse.

We laughed, and I looked lovingly up at my girlfriend as she shouted, 'keep them', and we ran off.

Running forced my arse-cheeks together, and the plug pressed further into me. I prayed to God that I had done enough to warrant some pleasure this evening, feeling her wetness on my back, from the shirt, and my own now dripping down my thighs, without any underwear to catch it.

Outside the shop we were girlfriend and girlfriend, again. I kissed her, lightly but passionately, she told me that she loved me, and, being finally able to talk now that we'd left the shop, I told her I loved her too. So we went off to find some lunch.