Zoe

It's half BDSM and half exhibitionism, with maybe other things thrown in as well. I flipped a coin and here is is in BDSM.

It is intended to be an awaking story, a sensual story, an erotic story, but please be aware it's mainly about buildup; there is not a lot of fast-and-furious sex in it. That may follow in another tale, but not yet. If that's what you want or need, there are lots of good alternatives around.

Have fun either way!
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After breakfast, I took a long shower.

Afterwards, my heart already beating, I sat down at my dressing table. Looking at my image in the mirror, I wasn't sure if I should be pleased, disturbed, amused or what. I knew that in any case I was pretty excited about the day. My inner Zoe was turning cartwheels in her excitement.

When it comes to makeup, I generally go with the less-is-more philosophy. Today, I definitely wanted better than that. I took my time; there was no hard-and-fast timetable. I wanted 'seductive but not slutty', 'daring but possibly submissive'. It took me a couple of tries but I think I got it.

Finished, I moved on to my hair.

I'd been to my stylist the night before. I'd pressed her to cut it short, far shorter than I was used to. She had asked me if I was sure and I'd grinned at her, invented a cute bloke I wanted to impress and told her to go for short, sexy and sassy. She had hit the nail right on the head.

A kind of a raggedy bob with an uneven fringe gave me a lot of flexibility and yet, to my eyes, looked really sophisticated, really hot. It took my creamy blonde hair and, seen in the salon mirror for the first time yesterday, made both it and me look amazing.

It was also easy to recreate and maintain; a few minutes with brush and comb brought it right back. I licked my lips, smiled at my new image. Mirror Zoe smiled back. I thought she looked pretty good!

Turning away from the mirror, I picked up an unmarked bag from a shopping trip earlier in the week. According to the net, 'Kay's' was the leading sex shop in Melbourne, their stock sophisticated rather than skanky.

The rope in my hands was soft nylon, 5mm thick. I thought its scarlet colour looked remarkably good against my skin.

There had also been silk cord for sale at the store - darker, almost wine-red in colour and so soft it felt like it would fall through flesh without pressure, leaving behind no mark and no damage. Sadly, my purse had begun to shudder and moan every time my fingers even went near it. And, although natural fibre was more traditional, I wanted something softer, at least to start. Nylon it would be.

For years, almost since I had entered puberty, the thought of what I was about to do today had been at the forefront of my fantasies. I'd read every book, every article I could find on bondage and exhibitionism. There weren't many, of course, at least not at first. The local library was hopeless and my parents kept the internet pretty-well locked down for their kids. Even when they bought me my first smartphone, parental controls were welded in place.

Things improved overnight when I got my first job and could afford an unlimited phone of my own. And it my 'over-nights' became much, much more fun, let me tell you. A new world had opened for me.

So I'd been 'getting ready' for a long time. I guess you could say I was like somebody who's dreamed their whole life about Scuba diving and who's bought all the gear and who's spent hours polishing it and touching it and reading about diving and had a shelf of books - but had never actually gone diving.

Yeah, that's me.

But today was - if I could keep my nerve - The Day.

The shibari pattern I'd settled on was a simple tortoiseshell. I picked up the rope and folded it in half. Near the top end, I tied a series of simple overhand knots the length of my hand apart. The loop created by the first knot was large enough to slide over my head; once that was done and the rope allowed to fall down my front, the remaining knots were spaced evenly down my chest and stomach.

I passed the two free ends between my legs and up my back before threading it through the loop at the nape of my neck. Passing a length down and under each arm, I brought the ends through the second loop in front of me, between the first and second knots. Then back to the ropes over my spine, the forward again. And back. And forth.

Eventually, the ends of the line were tied off after several ties around my upper thighs, much like old-fashioned garters. Looking at the mirror, I was struck by the bold pattern of diamonds overlying my torso. Although a large knot was commonly positioned over the subject's clitoris, I had other plans for today. Reaching down, I shifted the two cords to rest outside my labia.

Looking at my image, I shifted my breasts so that they protruded more fully between the cords. My nipples were already hard and I caressed them gently. Already I felt a welcome tautness in my groin, a promise of... what?

I wasn't entirely sure, but was eager to explore.

Standing back before the mirror, I turned this way and that, admiring the effect, running my hands gently over my bewebbed body, gently pinching my nipples.

I twisted my hips and felt the ropes around my body twist and shift, an improvised but most elegant sleeveless straightjacket, constraining not movement, but what - modesty? mood? Here and there, my skin was gently caught between adjoining cords. It was an incredibly erotic feeling. I felt my nipples harden still more and, for the first time, a wetness between my legs.

I went over to my jewellery box and took out a treasured keepsake, a short necklace once owned by my grandmother and given to me by my mother when Gran died. At the time, its design had meant nothing to me; the chain of sterling fingernail-size triskelions had been nothing more than artistic spirals - a Celtic design, perhaps?

It wasn't until much later that I'd read of the symbol's link to, shall we say, an alternate culture. By then, Gran and Popsy were long beyond my ability to ask.

Gran? Could it be...?

I doubt I'll ever know. One thing is certain, though - I won't be asking Mummy Dearest.

I settled it around my neck, fastened the clasp. The polished silver stood out nicely against my tan. I hadn't initially known what the triskelion design represented, but out on the streets, who knows who might see it? It could be my entrée into another new world.

I tingled at the potential.

Reaching again into the shop bag, I pulled out a tiny box with another treasure, this one definitely new. I removed two flat clips of sterling-silver wire, much the same as paper-clips. Lacking the second loop, they nonetheless clipped firmly on my nipples, stimulating them and keeping them stiff. At the same time, they laid quite flat against my boobs, meaning I could wear a thin dress braless and not have them visible.

I skipped knickers and bra. That was the whole point of the exercise.

It should have been a miniskirt, right? I had one ready, but on putting it on, the thigh ropes were well below the hem. I thought of changing the rope pattern, but I'd put too much trouble into it, felt too committed to it. It was elegant in its beauty and made me feel the same. No, I would have to skip the miniskirt.

I settled for a red knee-length red circular skirt. It was a bit formal, but would work for dressy casual. A plain white leather belt emphasized the narrowness of my waist.

I hesitated while choosing a top. If I'd had more confidence, I'd have gone with a plain white blouse, something thin enough to show my braless state to better advantage. I decided that would have to wait until I had a bit more confidence and settled for a short-sleeved, form-fitted black blouse with a red polka dot pattern. Add to them a pair of black (OK, super dark blue) ankle-strap heels and I figured I had a winning combination.

I had one last thing to do.

It could have been vibrating panties. It could have been a small bullet. It could've been an old-fashioned egg. Instead, I reached into a drawer for the final purchase, a 'new-fashioned' vibrator, rather like an egg but far more sophisticated. It had no less than 12 settings and its batteries would run for over two hours. A small extension or finger would rest on top of my clitoris when the thing was fully inserted.

I thought it would suit my purpose nicely today. I'd already washed it carefully and ensured it had a full charge. I set it for a random vibration pattern.

Inserting it was no problem. Although I never been with a boy I'd cared enough about to actually have sex, I'd lost my hymen so long ago as a little girl that I couldn't even remember it. Yeah, go figure, all this sexy trouble and still untapped...

Anyway, the instructions suggested lube, but I was already so wet that it proved unnecessary. I had to rest one leg on a step for the right angle; it slid in with not much effort at all. I felt full - happily so. Looking in the mirror, it was essentially out of sight, with my lips hiding the clit extension and just a ring-size loop of string exposed.

The plan was simple enough, I thought - hop on the first tram which came along, take it at least 15 blocks and then walk home. On the way, I had set myself two tasks. The first was to stop and order a coffee -- sitting down for it so not to permit myself the luxury of takeout. I also had mentally highlighted my resolve to flirt with the waiter there. When I was done my coffee, I would stop in a shop and buy something mildly embarrassing - condoms, maybe?

And I would not permit myself an orgasm until I reached home again.

So simple, right?

I looked at myself in the entryway mirror and took a deep sigh. Showtime, girl!

As I looked, I could feel the first arousing tingle deep within my ladybits.

I again looked at Mirror Zoe for reassurance and watched her grin nervously at me. Taking a deep breath, I opened the door and stepped outside into the warm sunshine.

Locking the door behind me, I turned and headed down the steps, dropping the key into my bag as I went. I don't normally wear heels and wobbled just a little before riding-a-bicycle ability kicked in. Feeling surer of myself, I strode off down the footpath towards the tram stop.

I was pleasantly aware of the girth and solid weight of the vibrator within me as I walked. The vibrations were increasing as I went, but I figured it was nothing I couldn't handle.

Or, at least, nothing I couldn't handle initially. I was aware of a gradual increase in sensations. How not? But as exciting, as stimulating as it all was, I figured willpower - and the ever-present threat of public discovery and humiliation if that willpower failed me - would see me through.

I passed the usual neighbourhood shops. A couple of shopkeepers I knew waved at me. I'd grown to like the openness and friendliness of the people here since arriving in Oz six months ago from the other side of the world. I waved back. Maybe I'd stop in on my return, if I were still sane.

Soon I was at the tram stop. I closed my eyes, tried to focus inwardly on this particular moment of this particular day and on the sensations. I was torn between that and constantly checking to see if somebody had noticed, if there were looks of disapproval - or of interest.

There weren't - so far. To my surprise, I was both relieved and disappointed.

Standing there, I found it difficult to believe I was finally doing this, had finally dared. It'd been a fantasy of mine for as long as I could remember.

Fortunately, it wasn't long before the tram arrived. I boarded and sat down - no backing out now. There were a couple of good-looking young boys nearby, but they were lost in talking footy and scarcely noticed me. I wasn't sure if I was irritated or relieved.

I settled in for the ride.

I had of course been on Collins Street since I had arrived in Melbourne, but who could ever know it all in that time? It was fun just watching. I eventually hopped off and started walking back. I figured it'd be at least a half-hour before getting home.

There are a host of coffee shops and cafés in the area. I'd been in some, but, walking along, I waited until I found one I didn't know. It looked new, trendy and I decided to make my stop there.

Sadly, it was a waitress who greeted me, not a waiter, and while my dare-list didn't exactly ban flirting with another woman, I was already pushing my boundaries. I chose a spot in the warm sun by the window and ordered a cappuccino. The vibrator was revving up and down and I was more than a little aroused.

The place was anything but busy, but the coffee was excellent and I guessed business would pick up closer to noon. I forced myself to just sip the cappuccino; I wanted this to last.

I sat, trying to be aware of and yet not concentrate on rope and vibrator. Histoire d'O had the women of Roissy prohibited from crossing their legs in public. Would that apply in this case? Well, I'd never been to France, much less Roissy and I knew nobody named René. I crossed my legs.

And immediately uncrossed them. Crossing them had intensified the feeling from the vibrator, almost pushing me over the edge into orgasm.

I knew I would have to be careful if this whole plan wasn't to unravel in public. Well, of course not in public - that was the whole point, wasn't it? I squirmed in pleasurable discomfort.

"I like your necklace," came a voice from a nearby table.

Startled, I turned to see a slender man sitting nearby with another woman. In his 40s, his black hair was speckled with grey at the temples; grey also showed in a well-trimmed narrow beard. His grey eyes seemed to twinkle in amusement.

He wore white daks, a light grey jacket, white dress shirt and a pink tie. There was a small carnation on his lapel. On some people, it might have been silly; on him it looked amazing.

The woman with him was younger but still older than me, maybe in her early 30s. Straight, raven-black hair came down almost to her waist. Her figure was stellar. She had high cheekbones and a perfect chin. She was dressed in an elegant white linen frock; her eyes were hidden behind large round sunnies. Her only jewellery was a heavy-linked gold chain necklace. Beneath their table, endlessly long, shapely legs led down to white high heels which I realized to my shock just had to be Louboutins.

They were a stunning couple. Sitting there, despite all the care I'd taken, I felt quite ordinary, almost drab.

"Thank you," I stammered, unnerved at the steady gazes of the two of them.

"It looks quite old," he said.

"It was my grandmother's. I'm not sure where she got it."

"Ah, a family treasure! Such things are indeed worth keeping. But the symbol is a deep one, for those interested in such. Do you follow symbolism or are you wear it purely for its beauty and family connection?"

I gasped as the little vibe deep within me surged suddenly. One of his eyebrows went up, but he said nothing. His companion sat looking at me impassively.

In a moment, the sensation decreased a little and I was able to respond.

"Well, I wear it in memory of Gran and it is really pretty..."

I paused. At the pause, the girl smiled slightly, briefly, almost as if in compassion.

"It is indeed," he said approvingly. "What of the symbol?"

I had to wiggle in my chair as the vibrator abruptly got stronger. It was becoming harder and harder to focus. Inner Zoe giggled at my predicament.

Pulling myself back from the brink, I said cautiously, "It was originally Celtic and stood for balance - mind, body and spirit, or mother, father and child, but always balance. What it meant to Gran, I am not sure."

He smiled at me. "So true. But you look warm there in the sun. Would you care to join us here in the shade?"

I was indeed hot, but it wasn't entirely due to the sun. I realized that I was very close to cumming. Holding off that onrushing orgasm was taking a lot of concentration and mental effort. I could feel perspiration on my forehead. I sagged as another wave of pre-orgasmic tremors took me.

The man looked briefly at the woman, then rose, walked to my table and held out his hand in invitation. "Come!"

Drained of almost all will but that needed to hang on, I took his hand and followed him to sit in the shade, facing away from the street and entrance.

"Pardon my manners," he smiled. "My name is Gideon. May I ask yours?"

"Zoe," I replied softly. The devilish machine had slowed down.

A little.

"Zoe, this is Claire," he said, introducing me to his companion. "Sadly, Claire has business elsewhere and cannot stay." It was not so much an explanation as a dismissal. The girl gave a small moue, but rose on cue and kissed his cheek. She extended her hand to me. I took it and found her grip was surprisingly strong.

"It has been a pleasure to meet you, Zoe. I do hope to see you again." She smiled again, this time with more sincerity. I noticed a slight accent, but couldn't place it. "It is indeed a lovely necklace. I hope you benefit from it." With that curious remark, she bent and kissed my cheek, then dropped her hand and left. Her poise and gait were as polished as any high-fashion model. Her bottom inside the skirt was exquisite.

I realized that, were I ever to meet her again, I would have either found a best friend or a terrible enemy.

Gideon cleared his throat. Looking past me and raising his hand high over his head, he waved his index finger down at us, back and forth.

Puzzled, I looked over my shoulder to see the barista nod at us before starting two fresh cappuccinos.

"Over here, Zoe," Gideon said from behind me. "We were talking and you are far prettier than she."

Flustered, I turned back. Gideon had leaned back in his chair, facing me. There was a grin of sardonic amusement on his face.

"So, Zoe," he said levelly, "Tell me about yourself."

I gulped inwardly. Deep inside, I realized that this wasn't what I'd planned and that this wasn't merely a good-looking man standing for a coffee. 'Flirt with waiter' had been left miles back in the ditch. This was something far more serious. That realization hit me at the same time as the damned vibe took off again.

I gasped, my hands clutched the arms of my chair.

I think my eyes crossed.

I would not - could not - have an orgasm in front of this man, a total stranger, not in public. That wasn't how the day-dreams ended.

The vibe slowed down, almost to nothing. I remained poised just short of the edge, simmering with frustration.

"Zoe," his deep voice repeated. Soft as it was, it was commanding in its presence, almost compelling.

I opened my eyes again, stared at him, tried to smile back.

I'd never felt so exposed before, so... overawed. But I realized that I liked it.

"Be honest now, Zoe. Be honest with both of us. You know what that symbol means, don't you?"

I bit my lip, lowered my eyes. "Yes," I said softly.

"What does it mean to you, Zoe, in the context of here and now?"

"BDSM," I whispered, barely audibly.

"Yes. And -- fair dinkum now - is that why you are wearing it?"

His pale eyes bored into mine, not turning away as two cappuccinos were delivered.

Once the server had left, I worked up the courage to answer his question. "Yes."

"And from that admission, I can tell you two things about Zoe," he said in a soft voice.

I looked at him and squirmed as another round of not-quite-orgasm hit me.

Without waiting for more of a response, he continued.

"You, lovely Zoe, are somebody who wants to be a sub, but doesn't know how. Am I correct?"

To my horror, I felt a full-body blush like a sunrise. How not to look sophisticated! In spite of myself, I nodded shyly.