Dammit, there were so many rules to remember that she was sure she'd mess up a hundred times before the night was over. And he had said something about punishment being severe and immediate. He had given her a chance to get out of it, even a chance to renegotiate the rules and punishments, but she had declined. This, strict and rigid discipline, was exactly what she wanted. More than that, it was exactly what she had needed for so very long.
But was she really ready for it? He had shown her that she could be a perfect little slut in private, shown that to her beyond her wildest fantasies. And he had assured her that he wouldn't have offered to take her out in public in this role if he wasn't absolutely sure she could do it. Still, she wondered. Her head swam with all the new rules, and she felt like everyone, absolutely everyone, was looking at her.
Yes, she was dressed kind of slutty (Rule #3 – Dress exactly as instructed.) but no more than some of the other women out tonight. She felt a little trashy compared to him in his jeans (that fit him Oh So Well), white oxford shirt, and dark sport coat but he had prepared her for that. Then she thought, maybe it was actually him that was causing all of the people to look at her. She hated that. She didn't care that he was older than her, why should they?
Okay, so the way he held her hand (Rule #6 – Always walk on his left side. Rule #12 – Never let go of his hand unless and until he tells me to.), always held her hand, and how he kissed her forehead whenever they stopped at a crosswalk (Rule #4 – Say thank you for any display of affection.) left no question as to their relationship.
But he wasn't that much older. Not like her dad or anything. Well, not quite anyway. And she was particularly glad he was with her and holding her hand now. This was not a nice part of town. Not that it was exactly dangerous but you heard stories.
Stories, she thought; it was stories that had gotten her into this situation in the first place. She had always been a little uncomfortable with how much she thought about sex, and the kinds of sex she thought about. She had met some people online that had helped her get over most of the shame and the guilt but, once in a while, she still felt like a bit of a freak.
Then she met him. He made her feel okay - actually, more than okay, good - about being a freak, about being what and who she was. Then he made her feel safe, protected, and secure, right before he terrified her in exactly the way she'd always wanted to be.
And she was terrified now. He glanced over at her. Was that a look? What was she forgetting? Then he smiled. Whew. Just messing with her... again. He stopped, turned towards her, and brushed her hair behind her ear.
"Are you ready? Absolutely sure you want this? This is your last chance to stop without using your safe word. What is your safe word?"
"Martini."
It was instinctual. He checked in with her often in the early days of their time together. It had become so ingrained that she thought it whenever she was scared, in our out of a scene.
He cocked his head, waiting for her confirmation. She nodded, a solid, definite yes. She was more than ready; she was anxious.
He turned back and led her another half block to a pretty seedy looking bar: chipped paint on the door, loud people inside, lots of neon signs. It was not the kind of place she'd ever go into on her own. But he was here, and this is where he would make her darkest fantasy come true. He opened the door and told her to let go of his hand.
She did, and he slapped her hard on the ass, almost knocking her into the place.
The calls started immediately. A dozen men and a few women whistling and calling her "hot" and "sexy" and things she hadn't heard used in public before. She paused and felt his hand on her shoulder. He was there, so she was okay. She was offered drinks and lewd sexual acts several times as they worked their way to the back of the bar. She just shook her head (Rule #5 – Do not speak to anyone but him.) and kept moving. When they got to the very opposite end of the bar, he squeezed her shoulder and they stopped. He leaned down and spoke into her ear above the noisy crowd.
"What would you like to drink?"
She smiled, figuring out his real purpose was to give her an opportunity to use her safe word.
"Tequila, please, Sir." (Rule #2 – As always, he is Sir with a capital S.)
His eyebrows raised and he smiled. She knew that would throw him a bit. But she wanted a little help with her courage. And she knew this would be her only drink. He was firm about people being completely in control of themselves during play.
He ordered her drink and a rum and coke for himself. He made sure both were top shelf, which was rare in this kind of place, both because he wanted them to have a decent drink and to get a little extra attention in the bustling bar. He insured the ploy by tipping big. The attention was quick to materialize.
"Hey sweetcheeks, why don't you send grandpa home to bed and hang out with someone more fun."
How rude! No one spoke like that about him! The guy wasn't even cute. But she checked herself (Rule #7 – Let him handle it.) and just looked at him blankly. He definitely handled it.
"Because she deserves someone smart enough to wear shirts that button. Now push off, junior, before the bartender realizes you just swiped his tip."
The bartender glared at the rude boy and called over the bouncer. Rude boy argued he hadn't taken anything, but his appearance and behavior and Sir's big tip won out over his protests.
She sipped her drink as he laughed with the bartender. Then someone bumped into her and she glanced back at them.
"Hey, I saw that." His voice was firm but not mean. "Checking out other guys while I'm standing right here? What do you think you're doing?"
She stammered an apology, begging and pleading that she wasn't checking anyone out. That he had bumped into her. (Rule #9 – Always be explicit and specific.) She was terrified, just like he knew she’d be and just like she wanted. And people were paying attention too, lots of people, just like she wanted.
"Yeah right. Look, if you want to see his dick, just ask. I'm sure he'll show it to you. Won't you buddy?"
"Hell yes!"
The crowd that had formed taunted and cheered. Women hooted and guys yelled and one obviously gay man loudly stated that if she didn't want to see it, he did.
"Go on, say it. Go ahead."
(Rule #10 – Do what you're told.) She blushed furiously and mumbled something incoherent.
"Oh, c'mon, you'll have to do better than that."
She could feel herself blush and she looked directly at the floor while she asked if she could see his penis. That's the word she used... on purpose, knowing what reaction it would bring.
"Penis? Are you kidding me? Guys have cocks and that's what you're longing to see, isn't it? Isn't it?"
"Yes, Sir.