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Window Shopping, part two
by Abe Froman
© 2006
This story from inspiration to final text is courtesy of my muse and my Lady, Miss Porcelaina Valeriana. It is
dedicated to her and her wickedness and beauty.
The following story is a work of fiction. It contains scenes of an adult nature so if you are under 18
stop reading now. This story contains explicit sexual language and fantasies involving the mental
and physical control of others. If you are offended by such activities, do not read any further. This is
purely a fantasy. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead is purely coincidental.
Please send any comments/suggestions to me at froman.abe@gmail.com. They are appreciated and
warmly received.
This story may be reposted or archived provided the following conditions are met:
1) The story is not altered in any way
2) The story contains my name and disclaimer
3) You do not make money from the story
I was blinking, feeling the burn in my eyes, the tears
stinging. The light was so bright but I just had to see her
eyes. Her smile, her lips, her skin; they were all perfect but
her eyes, they were a treasure I had to have. I completely
understood those men who years ago sold all they had to sift
for gold in frozen rivers in the middle of nowhere. There
was simply no other choice.
I held my eyes closed for a full five seconds, all I could
stand, and opened them once more in order to gaze for an
extended time. This time, instead of finding her glorious
gaze washing over me along with the glow of the sun lamps,
I saw only normalcy bland, normal, everyday women and
men, crossing and passing each other on the sidewalk.
I wasn't standing anymore, I wasn't bound, and I wasn't
with her. I was, in fact, seated in a rather comfortable chair,
gazing out the window of my corner Starbucks. My coffee
was on the low table, inches from my left hand, with steam
escaping from the opening in the dome lid. My newspaper,
opened to the weekend lifestyle section, was spread before
me.
I was hit, nearly overwhelmed with two sensations at once.
First was disbelief could it all have been a dream? I was
just where I had started and nothing seemed to have
changed around me. Paranoid glances over my shoulders
didn't reveal anyone looking at me in any strange way, or at
all. My face and my skin seemed warm, but I couldn't
discern if it was the affect of the lamps, or embarrassment
after waking from an erotic dream in a public place. I
certainly had the hard-on that went along with those
dreams.
Secondly, and nearly overwhelming, was a sense of deep
loss and depression. Her eyes had been taken from me. I
didn't matter if they were never real they were gone.
I stumbled home in a haze, not really seeing or hearing
anything, but just trying to hold on to the memory of the
sight of her. It felt like it was dissolving in my mind, out of
my grasp like sand falling through my fingertips.
Home at last, I tore off my clothes and stood before the
mirror in my brightly lit bathroom. Visible as clear as day
were tan lines on my skin. The outline of a bra on my chest
and back even the lines of the garter belts were clear.
Where it hadn't been covered, my skin was red burnt. It
had been real! She was out there, somewhere, to be found
again. I could see those eyes once more.
She had left me a keepsake as well. The pink panties, so
embarrassingly pretty with their lace trim, were still
stretched over me, outlining my rigid cock. There too,
confirmed when I slid them off, were clear and crisp tan
lines. I stepped into the shower, realizing that I was still
covered in sparkling glitter. I had been too dazed to realize
if that had caused any stares on my way home.
I spent all of Sunday in the Starbucks, so wired by the end of
the day that I took hours to finally get to sleep. I was in no
condition to go to work, so I called in sick on Monday. I was
back in the shop all day. Despite those many hours and
many dollars spent, she didn't reappear.
When I dared leave, I scoured the neighbourhood, trying to
find that studio, that storefront. I wondered, each time a
pair of eyes met mine, if I was recognizable. Were they
saying to themselves, 'there goes the faggot I saw in panties
and fake tits, stretched out in a store window'?
But I never found recognition, and I never found that
window.
Months later, with my tan lines all but gone, all I had left
was that pair of panties, tucked away in the back corner of
my dresser drawer, to convince me that I wasn't insane
those pretty panties and the enduring feeling of emptiness.
My social life atrophied due to my own disinterest and my
work became a grind. It was nothing but a different location
to be in while I ached for something more.
It was a Tuesday and I was going through the motions in my
office, making myself prepare for an afternoon meeting of
some importance. I'd let myself be set up on a blind date the
previous weekend, so I also pushed myself to reply to her
emails. She had been lovely, poured into a dress with
intention, and it had been an enjoyable evening probably
the first time in a long time I'd been able to go more than a
few minutes without seeing those eyes each time I closed
mine. I was wondering to myself as I caught myself smiling
if this was actually "moving on."
And then, at 11:30 in the morning, there in the doorway of
my 10th floor office, without so much as a warning from my
assistant, there She stood.
"Hello, my Edward," she smiled and her eyes glistened.
Here eyes. I felt my breathing slow down and I felt the need
to be in those eyes. My eyes never left hers, but somehow I
saw the way her dark hair glistened red with highlights as it
framed her porcelain face. I became aware of the leather
corset forming and holding her hourglass body beneath a
fitted jacket and knee-length body-hugging skirt.
"I found your card when I was looking through your wallet
while you were tanning, so I thought I'd just stop by. I hope
you don't mind."
"Of course not, " I paused, realizing I didn't know what
her name was, what to call her.
"You may call me 'Miss' for now, my Edward," she smiled,
and I sighed, loving the way every that small change of
expression modified the shape of her eyes.
She stepped in and closed the door behind her and stood
before it, standing about eight feet from me.
"Please put these on, my Edward," she said as she tossed a
fluff of lace onto my desk. Lifting it in my hands, I found
that it was a white satin thong trimmed in pink ruffled lace.
My mind was racing, trying to form some rational thought
in the midst of it all. I knew there was work, spread out on
the desk, where her gift had just been. There was that lovely
girl, though I couldn't recall her name at the moment. There
was the door, unlocked behind her.
Really, there were only her eyes. I couldn't escape them as I
stood, unbuckled my belt and opened my suit pants, letting
them fall to the floor. I stepped out of my boxers, and placed
them in her outstretched hand. The panties, so tiny as I
pulled them on, barely covered me, especially in my
physical condition that moment. Making them fit over my
erection only pulled the t-back tighter between my ass
cheeks.
"Very pretty," she graced me. As her teeth became visible in
her wide smile I was oblivious of the floor to ceiling window
behind him since I had been transported to heaven. "We
can provide the finishing touches after lunch. Come along."
She turned, opened the door, and left. I followed her,
without a word, as the will to do anything different simply
wasn't present within me. I could feel the ruffles of lace
tight in my ass, as real as I felt the burning gaze of my young
assistant not only on me, and my clearly visible bulge, but
also on her, my Miss, with the look of hatred women reserve
for each other.
We paused in the lobby, waiting for the elevator, and she
tossed my boxers in the small trash can there between the
doors. They lay there, visible, right on top, and I ached to
push them down at least, out of sight, but I couldn't move
and then, moments later, we were in the elevator, alone.
Her scent was delicious, and with the two of us in that small
enclosure, I felt as if I was bathing in it. I was sure it was the
kind of ambrosia that would keep you young forever.
She moved with intention out on the street and I had to
move quickly to keep close. I followed her into an
expensive, exclusive salon that was near the office, but that I
had never noticed before. The receptionist, perky in a white
body-fitting smock smiled and welcomed us.
"Yes," Miss said, "He does have an appointment."
She gave the girl my name and in moments we were being
led through the glass door into the inner sanctum.
Our destination was an immaculate room not unlike a
dentist's office, but with the look and finishes out of the
pages of Architectural Digest. The pristine surroundings
made it all the more shocking when Miss spoke to the tiny
brunette girl who had been waiting for us, announcing, "My
Edward here would like his legs, cock and balls waxed."
I was stunned, and I silently flushed a deep red in the
corner.
"I see," the girl said, her voice high and trembling, "but we
don't normally have men as clients."
"Don't worry, dear, he won't be any trouble. Will you, my
Edward?"
"Of course not, Miss," were all the words I could form my
lips into.
"And besides," Miss added, "He's a very generous tipper."
"Alright then," she seemed resigned to it, or at least eager
for the money, "Go ahead and remove your pants and
underwear."
"Actually, he wears panties, not underwear," Miss giggled
out loud as made the correction.
My face was freshly red as I took off my suit jacket, then
stripped off my pants once more, peeling off the panties
while noticing the look of growing disbelief in the girl's eyes.
I knew I'd be a story over martinis this weekend.
It took over an hour, and it was merciless. The wax was
warm to hot as she spread it over me, and as she tugged
each stripe off I had to stifle moans and gasps of pain. For
my balls especially, the procedure was medieval torture.
But through it all, I was lost in Miss's eyes, as she watched
with approval and glee.
Finally finished, the girl looked at me with a mixture of pity
and amusement while she massaged a soothing cream into
my flesh.
I stood, hairless from the waist down, and looked to Miss for
her permission to re-dress. She smiled wide, looking over
me with approval, and her eyes glowed. It was enough to
spur on yet another erection, which was understandably
humiliating, as we were not alone in the room. She handed
me back the tiny thong. Once it was on, she picked up my
socks and tossed them in the trash bin, handing me instead a
pair of sheer pink stockings. She assisted me with the
intricacies of the garter belt and getting them properly
attached. Only then could I replace my trousers, shirt, tie
and jacket. Miss nodded with approval as I unfolded $200
from my billfold and placed it in the hands that hard
tormented me.
"Edward, my dear, we're running a bit late, so why don't
you call your little assistant and tell her you've run a little
long at the spa and that you'll be about one more hour."
She offered no further explanation to me, so I gave none
during the call. I could mentally picture Denise's face when
the word "spa" was spoken, and when reminded of my
afternoon meeting, I replied curtly that I had not forgotten it,
though I wondered if I would be allowed back in time. A
flash of Miss's eyes as we left reminded me that I didn't
really care.
I followed Miss once more, feeling the soft fabric on my legs,
and the panties touching me so much more intimately now.
It seemed almost too much to take, but I know I could refuse
her nothing I could never look into those eyes and speak a
word of refusal. I had felt what it was like to be without
them.
In the small tattoo parlour we entered, I was again asked
questions that I didn't get to answer. The owner, a very
large man covered from neck to wrists in various tattoos of
his own, merely shrugged when Miss answered for me, and
led the two of us into a small room nowhere near as posh
as the spa but antiseptic in a kind of stainless steel industrial
way.
He asked what I wanted, and where. Miss spoke up clearly,
with a hint of growing joy in her voice, "It goes on his ass.
He won't need to take off his panties to do it, since he's
wearing a thong today."
"Fair enough," he grunted. "Bend over the table and drop
'em," he instructed me.
So I found myself with my pants around my ankles, panties
and stockings exposed to the both of them.
"What's the tattoo?" he asked again.
Just in the corner of my vision, she handed him a crisp pink
card.
"Gotcha," he replied, with the tone I read as being reflective
of someone who had long ago seen just about everything.
Without further comment he set to work, and the tiny needle
began its painful dance over my buttocks. Without the
ability to look at her eyes, the procedure seemed to take an
eternity, though I discovered when he let me know I could
stand up and pull up my pants that it had been only 40
minutes.
I glanced around, wondering what could be next. Panic hit
me, as it became clear she was gone.
"Where where did she go? Is she waiting outside?" I
stammered.
"Nope. Gone. You're on your own sweetheart." He
shrugged, took his money and left.
I had to rush out myself even with the return of the
crushing sensation of her absence I was distantly aware of
my impending meeting. I wanted to search the city, walk up
every street calling out for her, but I had felt that torment
before, and I couldn't lose her and my job in one day.
I made it back in time, barely, with a sheen of sweat on my
forehead. I didn't help that I hadn't paid any attention to
where we were, being lost in the fine music of her body's
movement each time I had been behind her.
I made it through the meeting, the presentation and the
questions though the autopilot my previous preparations
allowed. Despite wanting to get out of there as quickly as I
could, I was held up by unending discussions, comments
and even small talk with two or three of the firm's partners.
Finally, after feeling each sensation so acutely during my
commute home, I was alone. I discarded my suit, leaving a
trail from my door to the washroom. Standing there,
stripped down to a thong and stockings, I found the phone
and cancelled my weekend date, claiming work deadlines.
In reality, I simply didn't know how to explain the words
"SISSY SLUT" in ornate script across my ass.
Please send comments and/or suggestions to
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