It Went Very Wrong

This is NOT a good situation. Why would anyone else park this far out from the store? Why, especially, would a couple of women do so? Yet there they are, at least seven rows removed from the nearest cars in a huge parking lot that belongs to a large chain discount store in midwestern America. What are they doing here?

Someone could wonder what I am doing here, too, and why I would care that two middle-aged women were parked facing me (in the next row! I mean directly facing me!).

Well, the answer is that I'm sitting in my car naked, naked and chained to the steering column with clamps on my nipples, a strap around my balls, the strap connected to the clamps by a chain that pulls my cock and balls taut when I sit and pulls my nipples down by the connecting chain. Oh, and I have a vibrating plug in my butt. My hands are cuffed to the steering column, and a chain connects to my ankles, which are also cuffed.

I'm not going anywhere until my Mistress/Wife returns from her shopping and releases me, and I have no way of knowing when that will be. She can take hours to shop and in the past has done so. Yes, we do this a lot. We have an active sex life and a vibrant BDSM relationship. We both like putting me in challenging predicaments and, frankly, being bound in a public or quasi-public situation turns us both on, though I have to admit that as the one out in public it can be emotionally harrowing. I dread being caught even as the possibility of being caught turns me on.

(We do take precautions so that small children can't see, but it is a sedan-type car so teenagers and older people can see me, but they have to be standing right next to the car. Neither of us is much interested in corrupting minors.)

The possibility of being caught lends itself to all of the usual fantasies about forced sexual acts and the humiliation of the situation. I'm sure your imagination is at least as good as mine, so I'll leave it to you to fill in the details. I'm describing something that actually happened.

So, I've been sitting here for some time; I really don't know how long. With the car shut off and the keys with my wife, I have no way to know what time it is or how long it has been. But I'd guess at least an hour, judging from how much the position I'm forced into is making me ache in various places. My nipples are numb except when I move to get more confortable when they ache enough to remind me that they're clamped and pulled down toward my cock and balls. The vibrator isn't enough to get me off; they never are. But it does remind me that I'm sitting on it, and I find myself wanting to find a more comfortable position, even though that is quite impossible.

During such as session as this one, I try to sit still and relax into a reverie of what will happen after she gets back from her shopping. But I can't help keeping some of my attention on my environment. My wife tries to find a parking spot well away from other people, but rarely do I get as much room as this time when I have, as I said, seven rows between our car and the next rows. What I don't understand is why these two middle-aged women parked as they did. Of course, as I said earlier, one has to stand virtually next to the door to actually see into the car in any detail, and even to see much beyond the steering wheel, one has to stand pretty close.

Once these their car is parked, these women get out of it, talking to each other and seemingly paying no attention to me, except that they both looked right into my eyes as they parked, so I knew they knew I was there, even if they knew nothing else.

It was the passenger who turned back in my direction and seemed to look more closely, almost peering. She would possibly have noticed that I didn't have a shirt on, but I kept my hands as low as possible so she could not see the cuffs or chain. However, she must have been intrigued by something she saw, because instead of moving with her friend toward the back of the car and on to the store, she walked right up to the driver's side window.

When it's warm, my wife leaves the windows down so that I get some air, and this was a relative warm late-spring day. So when this woman gets to my door, the jig is up. She can see all down the front of me. I am not looking at her. I am looking away and hoping she will go away. (Or I am hoping, like a four year old who has been caught in the cookie jar, that I can suddenly become invisible. It doesn't work now any better than it did then.)

I hear an intake of breath. "Oh, my!" she says. Then, "Nan, come here and see this."

"What?" her friend asks.

"Well, I believe I have found a pervert!"

"A what?" her friend says, sounding shocked. Then, from beside her friend, I hear her say, "Well, I'll be damned."

"Pervert!" says one of the women in a level tone. I'm still not looking at them, and I know that my face must be quite red from embarrassment. And, damn, damn, damn; my cock picks that moment to cycle back to full attention.

Suddenly, I am slapped. Not hard, but enough to get my attention. "Pervert, look at us."

I turn my head to look at the trunk of the one nearest me. I get another slap, this time harder. "Look at my face, you piece of garbage."

This is bad. I wish my wife would come back now and scare them off, but there is no deliverance coming, so I look up into the face of the woman.

"You piece of filth. I've a mind to call the cops and have your naked ass hauled into jail. Tell me why I shouldn't."

My mind is racing. I don't want this. I'm sure my wife doesn't want this. How can I get out of it? I'm thinking furiously, but nothing is coming.

"All right, pervert. You won't talk, I'm calling the cops."

"No...no, please," I plead. The effort to speak caused my whole body to spasm, which caused me then to grimace and let out an involuntary groan of pain.

"Wait a minute, Luce," Nan said. Then to me, "Douche bag, you better tell us what this is about. It doesn't look to me like you did this all by yourself. Did you?"

I shook my head, No.

"Was this your idea?" she asked, and I could almost hear the gears grinding in her head.

"We-ll, um, uh, yes and no."

I didn't say anything more at that moment. It was as if I was too stunned for independent thought.

Nan reached past her friend and grabbed the chain that connected my nipple clamps to my cock and balls and pulled it painfully away from my body. "I really think you'd better start talking, don't you?" she asked in a quiet, firm voice.

"Ouch, okay," I said. "Please let go."

"No."

Then I told her, through the haze of pain as my nippled were being pulled from my body and she was practically lifting me by my cock out of the seat. "It's a game my wife, my Mistress, and I play. She puts me in some predicament while she goes shopping, and I have to stay in it till she gets back. We didn't mean to involve anybody else; we try to avoid getting too close to others. Really!"

"But," she answered, still holding my chain, "I see this excites you, doesn't it?"

No, dammit, it wasn't exciting me. But it was exciting my cock, and I couldn't deny that I was alternating between being excited and being terrified of what they would do.

Still, I decided to plead for mercy. I really had nothing else I could do.

"Ma'am, please let me go. My wife will be back soon (I hoped), and we'll leave. Please?"

She said nothing for several long moments, then she let go and stood up.

"Luce," she said, "We got one of those masochistic freaks, like my second husband. God I hated that prick, but I did get a good settlement out of him. So I ain't complaining."

"What do you mean?" Luce asked.

"He gets his jollies in these sorts of situations. He loves pain, and he probably can't even get it up any other way. That was sure true with that numbskull Ted when I was married to his sorry ass."

I wanted to argue that I didn't really love pain, but that a little bit--certainly not as much as she had just inflicted on me--added some spice to the situation. And my wife had never complained about my performance. But just now didn't seem the time to get into all that. I'm still hoping they just Go Away!

"So you're saying we should just leave him be?" Luce asked her friend. I might as well not have been there, which was fine with me.

"Well, what harm is he? I mean really? He's pathetic, and I don't know about this so-called wife of his, but when I looked inside I didn't see any keys, so he damn sure can't get out of this by himself. And look at how scared he is. I'll bet his thing has shriveled up to nothing by now.

She was right; it had disappeared.

"Well," Luce said, "I don't like it, but I suppose you're right. He does look pretty miserable and pathetic."

"But," Nan countered, "I think we should add to his problems. Maybe teach him a lesson."

That scared me. What were they going to do?

"I've got just the thing," Nan said. She reached into her purse and pulled out a tube of some sort of ointment. "You know I carry this for my bum knee, and when I put it on, it burns like the dickens. I'm gonna give him a thrill he's not likely to forget."

"You're gonna touch him?"

Nan chuckled. "Yeah...and he won't like it a bit."

I watched in horrified fascination as she squeezed about an inch of fiery orange gell into the palm of her hand, handed the tube to her friend, and began to rub her hands together. Then she reached back in and began to cover my cock with it.

Of course, her touch stirred me, and at first the stiring was pleasurable. The gel was neither cold nor hot as she worked it carefully all over my rising cock. No sooner had she finished and pulled back, than the pain hit me. If felt like she'd set fire to my genitals.

"Oh, God, oh, God, ohgod ohgod ohgod!" I hissed. I squirmed. I wanted madly to get away from the fire, the pain.

"Oh don't be such a baby," she said, wiping the remainder from her hands onto my upper arm. "You like pain? Well, you got it."

Then she turned away to her friend. "Come on, Luce. I'm done here."

"Oh, Nan," her friend cried as she watched me squirming. She had that sort of horrid, fascinated look on her face that people get when they see something they know they shouldn't see but are too fascinated to turn away. "That's so diabolical."

"Used to do that to that husband I mentioned. HE loved it."

I watched them walk away with tears streaming down my face. This was agony, and my wife was nowhere in sight. How long would this go on? And what is she gonna think when I tell her? I have to tell her. She'll probably laugh and clap her hands in glee when she hears about it. And, damn! She'll want to use some ointment on me, too. Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn!