The Bookstore Ch. 03byzenmackie©
by lamignonne and Zenmackie
Every streetlight made Marie cringe. It took all her willpower not to scrunch down in the seat, but she held her position, sitting up straight with her hands behind her head. She was trembling. She looked at him beseechingly, pleading with her eyes, but he kept his eyes on the road.
They stopped at a red light. He turned to her and said, "Spread your legs."
The words sent a pulsing, hot rush of lust straight to Marie's pussy, making it throb. She gave a little sob as she obeyed, terrified by this exposure but helpless to defy his voice, his evocative commands.
Whimpering, Marie parted her legs as far as she could, so that her right knee pressed up against the passenger door and her left knee against the center console. Her pussy gaped slightly, the moisture there gleaming in the dim light.
The light turned green. As he accelerated, he slid his right hand gently up her thigh, murmuring, "You look very sexy right now, princess."
Marie wished she could say thank you. He'd barely acknowledged her since he'd left her tied up in the hallway in the bookstore, and she'd been gradually losing her courage. He seemed to know just when she needed reassurance. She felt a little better now about sitting here like this, her breasts, with their clamped nipples, thrust forward, her legs spread obscenely wide—but she was still deathly afraid of being seen. They passed a few cars going the opposite direction, and while Marie tried to tell herself the glare from the van's headlights would prevent the other drivers from seeing her, her body shook with the effort to hold still.
He must have noticed her flinching, for he suddenly reached over and yanked the panties further down over her face, covering her eyes with the seat of the fabric.
This time she didn't know whether to be thankful or not. She couldn't see a thing, and for a moment it made her anxiety worse, but after a minute or two she was able to relax slightly, telling herself that the panties, at least, would keep anyone from recognizing her. She imagined her Master studying her exposed body, her body that he had positioned this way. He thinks you're sexy like this, she reminded herself...and she was able to focus on her arousal instead of her fear. She didn't dare let herself imagine where they were going, or what would happen when they got there.
She felt his hand slide up from her thigh and onto her stomach, where he began to massage her in slow, comforting circles while he continued to drive. The sweetness of it, the tenderness, made her want to weep with relief. Mmmmm.... She felt the tension begin to drain away and she sat up straighter, the better to lean into the warmth of his hand. And when he said softly, "You're doing very well," the happiness that welled up inside her made her feel like melting right off her seat and onto the floor.
He began using the back of his hand to caress the underside of her breasts and she shivered with pleasure. Her nipples, which had long since gone numb, began to tingle painfully. He encircled her left breast with his hand and began squeezing it in a slow, gentle rhythm, teasing her with the tips of his fingers. She moaned aloud.
She heard the window next to her beginning to lower, felt the cool air rush over her naked skin, giving her goosebumps. The van began to slow.
"Put your head out the window, princess." Marie immediately leaned over and did as instructed, feeling the wind press the fabric of her panties against her face. He had kept his hand on her breast, however, and now began massaging it more deeply. "Let everyone hear how much you're enjoying this."
Everyone? The word conjured images of crowds of curious onlookers, driving on all sides of them, straining to hear her helpless moans. Marie firmly suppressed her imagination. She knew there was probably no one near enough to hear her; this was just his way of further exposing her, testing her submission, and delighting in his mastery over her.
But it made no difference whether the streets were empty or thronging with people—he had told her to do something and she would do it. She began moaning out loud, as loud as the panties in her mouth would allow, in rhythm with the motion of his hand on her breast and the waves of pleasure that were rippling through her.
He'd said she was enjoying this. Even as his hand reached for her other breast, his comment distracted Marie for a moment. She thought about it, her mind racing. The pain of the nipple clamps when he jerked the chain, the hurt she felt when he ignored her or treated her roughly, the humiliation of being leashed and naked in public—all of that was very real. But there was no denying that these same things made her pussy wet, made her deliriously horny, more wildly aroused than she'd ever been. And then when he praised her, or told her she was sexy, or even just smiled at her, she felt such blind, irrational joy, and so strangely fulfilled. No, she didn't enjoy it, Marie thought, it was more like a need.
Her thoughts fled as his hand slid down to cup her pussy.
Marie's whole body went rigid; her head whipped back into the car and her hips rose. "Yes, please!" she cried, forgetting about the gag, and the words came out muffled and garbled. She heard him laugh and flushed with humiliation. She was acting like a sex-crazed maniac. She forced herself to hold still, but he only gave her pussy a light squeeze and took his hand away. She heard his signal click on, felt the car turning, and then they were slowing, and then stopping. There was a rustling sound as he rifled through the bag he'd brought with them. "Don't move," he said.
She heard his door open and close, and for a heart-stopping moment was afraid he was going to leave here there. She fought down panic, knowing that if he left her in the van, alone and blindfolded, she'd never be able to hold her position...
...But he was still there, opening her door, and Marie felt weak with relief. "Hands behind your back," he said, and she obeyed. He pulled the panties on her head back and off, pulled the damp wad of white panties out of her mouth and dropped them to the floor of the van. Marie's hair fell over her eyes and without thinking she reached up to smooth it.
He immediately grabbed the chain between her breasts and twisted it, bringing her numb nipples painfully back to life. She gasped and her eyes filled, but she understood and put her hand behind her back again.
He fixed her hair himself, running his fingers through it, then arranging it over her shoulders. He leaned back and looked critically at her, as if assessing his handiwork. It made Marie feel objectified, like she was his toy, his plaything. She loved it.
Finally he looked her in the eyes. Hers were wide with apprehension and a bit teary. "No talking unless I give you permission," he said sternly. "Understand?"
"Yes, Sir," she whispered, and he smiled and said, "Good girl." Marie's heart soared.
He stepped back and gestured for her to get out of the car. When she did, stepping carefully down onto the pavement, he pushed her in front of him and grabbed her wrists, gripping them together in the small of her back with one of his hands. A second later she felt cold steel encircling her wrists. The handcuffs, she thought. That's what he got out of the bag. Now her hands were cuffed behind her back, palms out. The cuffs were tight, she realized, too tight for her even to think of sliding her hands through them, but not painful.
While he was cuffing her Marie had a moment to look around. They were nowhere she recognized—a small parking lot in an alleyway, behind a row of buildings, it appeared. Suddenly she recalled her nudity, and all her fear came rushing back. Her heart pounded as he came back in front of her and grabbed the end of the belt that was still hanging loosely around her neck. The leash! She'd forgotten she had it on. Leashed, with her hands cuffed securely behind her back, she'd have no choice but to follow him anywhere he chose to take her, Marie realized. The thought made her knees weak and her pussy flood with heat.
It was like one of those intense dreams where she knew she was asleep but couldn't make herself wake up. Two days ago she'd been a normal girl, albeit one with more than slightly kinky fantasies. And now she was naked and handcuffed in a parking lot, with nothing to identify her and no idea where she was--completely in the power of this man who was leading her along by means of a belt around her neck. She had to be crazy, she thought as she stumbled along behind him, watching carefully for broken glass or worse on the ground. She didn't know this man; he could be taking her somewhere to murder her or sell her into slavery or allow her to be gang-raped.
Then she smiled. Liar, she said to herself. You do know this man—and he knows you, better than you know yourself. Looking at his strong fingers wrapped confidently around the makeshift leash, she realized suddenly that she no longer felt any fear. She was his and he would take care of her.
They were approaching the row of buildings. He stopped and knocked on a non-descript metal door which might have been painted red a long time ago but now seemed vaguely brown in the dim light from the parking lot. Looking over his shoulder, Marie saw that someone had scrawled the word "Erothèque" on the door in large, uneven block letters with a black marker.
After a moment the door opened and Marie heard him say, "Hi Theo, thanks for waiting. You go ahead, I'll lock up." Marie cringed behind him for a moment, thinking she was about to be displayed to a total stranger. But there was no one there when he led her inside.
They were in a dimly-lit hallway. Marie noticed a vaguely familiar, rubbery smell. He dropped her leash and pushed her gently in front of him. She heard the heavy door to the alley closing loudly behind them, and then his warm hand was on her back, nudging her forward down the hallway, to the left, and out into the store.
For that is where they were—a sex shop, Marie realized. She'd been in a couple of stores like this before, with girlfriends, when they were in a silly mood and felt like doing something risqué, so she wasn't shocked by the sight of the wall of dildos and penis pumps. However, as she looked around, it became obvious that this wasn't an ordinary sex shop. Half the store seemed to be devoted to bondage and punishment devices. Marie's heart beat faster as she quickly took in the racks of paddles and whips, ropes and leather straps, and several mysterious pieces of furniture, some with signs on them that said "Try me." All the lights were on in the windowless shop, but there seemed to be no one else present.
Marie became aware of him standing behind her. She could practically feel his eyes on her ass. All at once she felt more naked than she had in the car or in the parking lot. Nervously she turned to face him, and was taken aback by the hot intensity of his gaze. He looked like he wanted to ravish her on the spot. He stepped closer and closed his fingers on her jaw, tilting her face up and running his eyes over it as if to memorize it. "I was going to wait to bring you here," he murmured, and his voice had a wry tone to it. His hand moved to the back of her neck, up against her scalp, and he clutched a fistful of her hair, pulling her head back and exposing her throat. He went on, "But I find I just can't wait to possess you, sweet princess."
Marie wasn't sure what he was talking about, but this was the first time he'd revealed any of his feelings to her. She wanted to consider the meaning of his words, but her thoughts fled as he kissed her for the first time. It wasn't a gentle kiss, and as he plundered her mouth Marie was very conscious of her nakedness, his firm grip on her hair, and her bound hands, glorying in his power over her.
When he broke the kiss she was shaken and gasping. Her mouth felt bruised. Words seemed to bubble up in her; she was dying to tell him how good he made her feel, how much she wanted him, but when she opened her mouth to speak she suddenly remembered he'd forbidden it. She snapped her mouth shut and hurriedly looked at his face to see if he'd noticed her close call. He definitely had—he was smiling that ironic smile of his, and he said, "Good girl." The smile faded as he added, "On your knees."
The stern tone sent a little shiver through Marie. How can his voice sound so tender some of the time and so commanding the rest of the time? Marie wondered as she tried to gracefully sink to her knees. She bent her legs as low as she could, then leaned forward slowly, but she still landed jarringly on her knees on the thinly carpeted floor, and wobbled a bit, almost tipping over. "You'll get better at that," he said, sounding amused, and her face turned red.
He leaned back against the doorway they'd just come through and studied her for a moment as she knelt at his feet, leaning back on her heels, her eyes demurely lowered. "Now," he said firmly, "you can ask me three questions."
Marie was startled and her eyes flew to his face for a moment, to see if he was serious. He looked like he meant it. Her mind raced. She remembered how she'd come to the bookstore tonight intending to talk to him about what they were doing, about what it was doing to her, but somehow that resolution had gotten lost in the heady excitement of being with him. Now that he'd given her permission to talk about it, though, all her burning questions came urgently back. She considered for a moment, then quietly asked, "Why do I like this?"
She fell silent, and when he didn't answer right away uncertainty welled up inside her, uncertainty and the sense of shame she'd been suppressing all evening. Suddenly she leaned so far forward that she nearly fell over as the question burst out of her again, almost as a sob, "Why do I like it...oh god, so fucking much?"
Tears sprang to her eyes and her mouth fell open as she began to sob in earnest, staring up at him, begging him to answer. To her shock she saw a look of confusion, or doubt, cross his features. Then, in a moment Marie knew she would remember for the rest of her life, he fell to his knees in front of her and took her by the shoulders. He looked deeply into her eyes for a long moment and Marie saw there a depth of tenderness she would never have imagined possible.
He reached up and gently brushed her tears away with his thumbs, shaking his head slowly as he said, "I don't know, princess. I don't know why you're like you are or I'm like I am." He combed her hair back with his fingers then leaned forward and kissed her for the second time--a warm, comforting kiss that continued as he pulled her into an embrace. When he pulled away there was a twinkle in his eye as he added, "But aren't you glad we are?"
Marie sobbed again, but this time with relief, and she smiled at him through her tears. "Y-yes, Sir, I am." Her lips trembled a little as she added, "I'm glad I'm yours, Sir. Thank you."
He smiled back at her as he thumbed away her tears again. "That's right, you're mine, princess," he said softly. "So I think you deserve something nicer than this." He loosened his belt from around her neck and lifted it over her head. He quickly put it back through the belt loops on his pants and fastened it. Then he dug the handcuffs key from his pocket, reached behind her and expertly unlocked them, sliding them into his back pocket. He pulled her gently forward onto her hands and knees, then stood and walked past her and down one of the aisles, calling "Come over here," over his shoulder.
Marie understood that she was supposed to crawl and started after him, keeping her head up so she could see where he went. He had managed to bring her closer to accepting her sexual desires and where they were leading her, and calmed her turbulent feelings to a great extent. But now she had new things to wonder about. He didn't have to take the time to reassure her. He must have known she'd go along with him, obey him, anyway the way she had up to now. And then there was the way he'd looked at her and held her, so gently, and knelt with her, rescinding some of his dominance—what did it mean? They'd known each other for just over 24 hours, even though it sometimes seemed he knew her intimately, somehow. Surely this didn't mean he was in love with her...did it? Was she in love with him? Marie only knew that she'd meant it, had never been more serious when she'd said "I'm glad I'm yours." She wanted to belong to him, to be his possession. Was that the same thing as love? She didn't know.
She was almost relieved that he'd switched gears again, becoming her stern Master once more. Tenderness from him was wonderful, but confusing. She didn't want to think about anything right now. She just wanted to be here, in this strange store, crawling for him.
She reached his side and peeked up at his face. There was a wicked gleam in his eyes as he said casually, "Turn around and do it again. And this time arch your back more. I want to see that cute bottom sticking up."
Her face flamed, but Marie obediently turned around and started crawling back the way she'd come, trying to push her ass out and up as she went. She knew he had a perfect view of her pussy as her thighs moved, propelling her down the aisle. The chain between her breasts swung as she went. The humiliation made her pussy start to throb again.
When she had come full circle, she hesitated there on her hands and knees, looking up at him for approval. The hopeful expression on her face was enchanting, but he just said briefly, "Good. You can sit up."
She leaned back on her heels, her thighs modestly pressed together, and he frowned. "Spread your legs more," he ordered, sounding impatient. "I shouldn't have to keep telling you I want to be able to see your pussy."
Marie's flinched at his hard tone and hastily parted her thighs. It was hard to keep her legs open like this, but she realized she loved kneeling before him. It felt natural somehow, and it made her feel safe. She saw that he'd stopped next to a display of collars, many of which came with a matching leash. There were big, menacing iron and steel collars, dog collars—some with words printed on them, mostly "Slave," or "Slut," plus a few that said "Bitch"—leather collars, and some delicate metal ones that could almost pass for necklaces, if it weren't for the shiny loops, made for attaching a leash, that hung from them. "Choose one," he was saying.
Her eyes scanned the selections. To be perfectly truthful, she liked the thick steel collars the best, the ones that looked like something a real slave would be forced to wear. But she didn't know how often, or where, he was going to make her wear it—maybe she should pick one of the more discreet items. She was reminded of a question she hadn't voiced yet. Hadn't he said she could ask three questions? She looked up at him, remembering not to talk, but trying with her expression to ask permission. Amazingly, he knew just what she wanted. "Have another question?" he asked. She nodded eagerly, and he gestured for her to go ahead.
But now she couldn't figure out how to phrase what she wanted to say. "How often—I mean, will you want—" She broke off and started again. "Can I still keep my normal life?"
For a moment she wasn't even sure what she'd meant—and then, only then, did she realize how much her entire life had been shaken to its roots. That there was now a before and after, and how sharp the divide was between them. She was afraid he'd take offense at the question and watched carefully for his reaction. To her relief, he was calm and direct and seemed to have understood perfectly what she was asking. "I have no desire to interfere with your studies or your social life," he said. He smiled evilly. "But I will demand a lot of your free time."