Parking Lot Ch. 01

I often take my work lunch in the parking lot outside a local deli; listen to news, read a book, watch the women as they move from vehicles to the mini-mall stores and back. Such different shapes and personalities; I fantasize about them all.

The 20 something's who stroll in and out of the tanning and nail salon; their painted-on jeans and bare midriffs, tiny tops and bone-lean shape of youth. Ah yes, I recall the flat tummy years; if only I valued more what I had then.

Often I look at young Moms with infants and toddlers. Bending into the back seat to strap the child seats; yes, very pleasant. Thank you Madam. Child bearing adds some nice changes to a woman; rounder, a bit fleshier, more for someone like me to dream of being underneath.

Then there are the older women with even more life in their memory. Some have let preservation of shape lose to years of intake exceeding metabolism; such a shame that they have let go of some level of physical maintenance. But some HAVE maintained the edge. Grown with the maturing changes a woman lives through her life; maintained, no, increased, their confidence, along with their knowledge and experience. That sense; which exudes from a woman-of-age who has lived, likely has mothered; who knows the reality of marriage, or marriages. Ones who have not, through it all, relinquished control to the pull of gravity and the appeal of calories; at least without a damned determined fight.

Yes, these are the women to visually linger upon. To savor the moments of their parking lot stroll; storing the images in this perverted mind of mine. To wonder about being privy to what is beneath their cloth; to stare upon the mature breast, the fuller bottom, the feet with many miles. Dreams. Dreams of serving them, and submitting to them....

Today, there is as fine an example of such a woman as I can recall. She strode with pride, confidence and black strappy sandals. With fitted black slacks that hugged her well; not too tight, yet far from baggy. No panty line and no hose I could detect; perhaps a very brief undie, perhaps not even that. The white blouse with some fabric decoration, and open neck and ample evidence of full, round bosom; indeed, a woman's breasts deserving of lengthy, loving, pleasing attention.

A ring-less left hand I notice, red nails and toes to nearly match the lip color. This is no shrinking middle aged divorcee; this is one who knows her power and the strength of what she is.

I stare. I gawk. I visually study her every step from car to Chinese diner. She may even notice the looks; no reaction though. She dines-in apparently; so plenty of time for me to dream, relive the fresh visual memories and forget the novel earlier I was reading. Time to mentally write my own.

When she returns to her auto, she needs to pass my passenger side; I had lowered that window; just in case. Her stride is slower on the return trip; a full meal perhaps, an allowance for me to gaze a little longer? On passing my front window she makes eye contact; I give a small smile and just a tiny nod; meant to convey the lightest hint of an offer for contact. No response.

As she passes my window she pauses.

"You do this often; don't you?" she asks.

"Pardon me?"

"Stare at us....you do that a lot; don't you?"

"No disrespect intended...but yes, I enjoy looking at beautiful women."

She bends enough to make eye contact.

"No disrespect? MANY of us consider that ultimately so! What in the hell right do you think you have to stare at a woman?"

"You were not invited to do to so." With this she begins to move away.

"Please". I stammer,

She pauses just a moment.

"Please...please, forgive me. You are right; I am wrong to do this. I mean it out of sincere appreciation for a woman...I mean that. Misplaced appreciation? No doubt. Disrespect? Please believe that is not so."

She moves back a step, lowers her head enough for another eye-to-eye; and in a low, even voice she continues.

"Don't fool yourself; you little pig."

"You are a man; and a dirty old one as I see now."

"And one who needs to cease this little noon-time abuse you so obviously look forward to."

I need to say something..."Again, I am sorry. You are correct; I am an old fool. Please do not allow my behavior to spoil such a beautiful afternoon. Good day Madam." I move to start my car.

She seems to snicker a bit; "So, I can smell that you smoke."

I pause; "Yes; I do".

"Good; I have run out and would enjoy one. Come to my car....and give me one."

She walks away, to her vehicle, opens her door, begins to enter; as I leave mine, close my door; move to her passenger side, and join her.

In silence she looks at me and merely offers her hand; fingers open, in the classic gesture. I remove one and she takes it. Between her lips she merely watches my eyes as I light it for her. One puff, maybe two; the exhaled smoke towards my face.

"Camel Lights? Such a compromise; you ARE in doubt who you are; aren't you?"

"I've tried them all; this one is not bad."

She moves her sight from my eyes to straight out the windshield; lowers both of our windows and exhales one or two more outside, in silence.

"Men; they ALWAYS think with their dicks."

"Excuse me?" I reply with; with what? Surprise, anticipation?

"Don't they? Think with their dicks"

Thinking a moment I guess I must agree. "Yes; we do; from pretty early years on."

A slight smile crosses her lips as she looks outward. "Show me yours."

I turn my head toward her with question on my face...

"Do it! Take your dick... out of your pants and show it to me!"

I hesitate. She moves her eyes to mine; "Now."

And so, as she returns her gaze out the front; I unzip, unbuckle, lower the cloth and expose. She waits, continues to look ahead and smokes.

"Stroke it."

I hesitate, while glancing around to check if others are leaving from their lunch hour errands.

"Come now...this is far from new...stroke it."

"Just as you have for all those years; all those countless times you give in to your dick's power over you."

With some stammer I speak; "I...don't know....if..."

"Quiet my little man; my little pig-who-stares-at-us. When I need you to speak I will let you know. Just stroke it."

And so I do; that familiar grip, fingers just so, as I like it to be.

"And look at me while you do this."

I follow the direction.

"Look at these lips: around your Camel Light. Think of them around that dick you have in your hand."

"Look at these breasts you so ogled a few minutes ago. A woman's tits. Think about the softness, the texture; my nipples as you lower your head to suckle them."

Now she turns to face me. "And these; look at these!"

With one move her right foot is off the floorboard and on the edge of my seat.

"A woman's foot. Open toed, painted toe; look at these."

I did. I looked and stroked; in silence, for some time.

And then for some time longer; staring.

"Aha, those balls are tightening up a little, dear one, are they? So obvious; so primitive a reaction. Those funny spheres hanging loose all the time, until little dickie says he is close. Then they scrunch up tight, to get close, little tiny muscles contracting, anticipating release."

"Make them a little tighter; while you gaze upon me."

More time passes; I know not how long. We are in silence. I stroke and look. Eventually she moves her hand; makes a motion with index finger to draw me and moves her hand to herself. My eyes follow. She touches herself; my eyes follow and my hand continues to stroke. The boil rises.

I look; at her fingers as they loosen a button of her blouse, then two. I look as she traces her nail down and up her cleavage; around her breast; repeatedly.

I look; as she finally moves her hand lower; below her waist. And I stroke while she touches that place and the boil rises and rises. So close.

My readers, this is the journey; I hope you understand, perhaps appreciate. I rarely have this chance to sink into the mindset of whom I yearn to be. This is that special place for me; hypnotic, open to any suggestion, keen to every and any command.

"Stop. Remove your hand. Move your back to the door. Open your legs completely to me."

There are no thoughts about others in the parking lot now; I am beyond those thoughts; she can tell this. I do as she said. I lower my pants more. I sink into the seat some; to expose myself. I sread my legs; as she said to do. My arms are out of the way; one around the back of the seat; one on the dashboard. Exposed. Hot. Submitting.

She moves her foot onto me and rubs her sole against me. I look down.

"Look into my eyes; not anywhere else. Answer my questions; my dirty little old man. Not long answers; simple answers."

"This is what you dream of isn't it?"

"Yes."

"YES?" the heel presses into me; harshly.

Yes Maam."

"Better. So this is who you are....a dirty old man, with blood-filled dick, exposed in near public display, with a woman's heel on you."

"Yes Maam."

"Yes, indeed. I understand you; dirty old man. I know what you need; what you crave; what you are.

"I may take some interest in you; for a time..."

"If I do; I will give you what you need; perhaps more than you expect. Give you as much as pleases me to give you; and take from you."

I strain; to hold on as she manipulates me with her foot. I strain; thinking of what is happening.

"So....are you mine to do this too?"

"Yes Maam; I am yours."

"Is this dick mine also?"

"Yes; it is yours. You...you are my Mistress."

"Do not give this freedom frivolously my slave. You must be MINE. THIS; must be Mine." That phrase accentuated with the deep probing of a heel; the hurt continues until I answer.

"I understand and it is so."

Suddenly her foot stops the maddening caress. She moves her foot to my face.

"Kiss........my slave."

And so the first touch of my lips to her beautiful toes.

"We are done; for now. I want you to here tomorrow. Noon." Tell me you will be here."

"I will Mistress".

"Good. Now listen closely......You will not touch that which is mine. Not even once. Not so much of a brush of your fingers.

"When you strip tonight, when you pee, when you shower in the morning; you find a way to do it without your hands. When you bathe; and you will very well, you touch it only with the soap; no hands. Should you even THINK about releasing yourself in bed tonight, I will know; and I will take revenge for your disobedience. Believe this slave!"

"Now leave me."

She turns, assumes a driving position; starts her car. I scramble to pull up my clothing and exit.

As I walk to my own car, she calls once more; loud enough for another in the parking lot to hear.

"SLAVE! Tomorrow; be here. Noon. Do NOT touch what I own."

She moves her car away, not looking back.

Tomorrow I think; tomorrow.

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