I recently sighed a contract with an online Mistress. My main duty under the contract is to write or edit several publications I'm preparing for sale.
If I displease her, she assigns me essays - writing of her choosing that doesn't contribute to my writing goals.
I sent her a late response and she assigned me to write about a man following a woman in a mall because of her sexy pencil skirt. Here's the "essay:"
What was that? Something attracted my left peripheral vision. I move that way, peering between the customers strolling through the atrium of the mall on this first warm day of spring. I predicted the girl watching opportunities would be better-than-average, and I was right. The ladies, glad to shed their slacks and winter coats, sported heels and skirts of all lengths. Something half seen stood out.
There it was. Among the opaque and beige tights, a pair of black spike heels and shapely calves drew my eyes to follow the one pair of seamed, black hose I’d seen all day. So very few women appreciate fine lingerie these days.
I followed, making sure she met my Rules of Non-Stalking.
- Over 18? Check.
- Ready to drop it if she’s uncomfortable? Check.
- Remember not to follow her out of the mall? Check.
I vowed to treat her as though she were my online Superior, Maitress Yvette-Louise.
Hooked, I followed her around, drinking in the details. Tight purple pencil skirt just above her knees, a nice slit that showed me a good deal of stocking as she strode confidently. Her matching upper garment appeared formfitting from behind. Dark hair flowed over her shoulders.
She entered a dress shop and I followed, positioning myself near a rack so I could see her. As I fingered garments and pretended to view price tags, my eyes followed her. From her profile, I saw a large, swelling bust. Better and better, I thought. She turned and our eyes met for a moment before mine dropped. Face oval, attractive, but definitely not beautiful. Her crimson red lips were rather thin, I thought. Her figure, however, was excellent. Confidence and authority oozed from her. She chatted with a saleslady briefly, then carried a couple of dresses toward the dressing room.
Not wanting to be too obvious, I returned to the atrium and sat on a bench. A few minutes later, she emerged, carrying a package.
I took up my position as close behind her as I could, staring avidly at the backs of her legs. My pants got tight and I surreptitiously adjusted myself. When she stopped and turned sideways to look at a window display, I saw her in profile with one leg thrust forward. Could the protrusion on the front of her thigh be a garter? Was she wearing real stockings? Wow, what a gal!
She swung into a coffee shop with me on her heels. She ordered, then walked to her seat. I ordered, then rested my elbow on the pastry display and casually glanced her way. Looking at her phone, she crossed her legs. To my surprise and delight, instead of tugging her hem down, she slid it partway up. My penis twitched and rose in my pants. She was wearing stockings. I saw an inch of her thigh above her tightly stretched nylon and one garter clip. I hadn’t had such a view in decades!
At that moment, she turned, looked at me very deliberately and smiled as the attendant called out our drinks. Without thinking, I picked up both and walked towards her, one eyebrow raised inquisitively. As I stretched out my hand with her drink, she put her finger to her lips, then gestured toward the empty chair at her table.
She took the drink from my hand as I lowered myself to the seat. She held my gaze, nodding in satisfaction. She spoke in a deep contralto. “Do not speak. I am a sexually predatory female. I only require your silent obedience. I will never do anything against your will or harmful. If you choose to serve me, I will show you joy as you have never experienced. When I am done with my drink, I will leave. If you take my package and follow me, you agree to do whatever I say.”