Under Wraps - Love Under Lockdown

To be fair, this happened with pretty much every buttoned shirt I had ever worn. My tits were so big that they never quite fit inside entirely, the material always parting around the fourth or fifth button, giving a generous view of the healthy, pink flesh beneath. It also didn’t help that, no matter how long or short my skirt was, my ass was pretty hard to ignore, my hips wiggling as I walked, my tits bouncing in time.

It was quite a display even going down to the corner store. The beach was even worse; even the most modest of summer clothes made me come across like a sex kitten, let alone a bathing suit, or God forbid, a bikini. Horny boys from 19 to 90 literally drooled over me. I couldn’t actually remember the last time I had gone swimming.

It didn’t end with the sweater. As the day went on and the temperature rose, the buttons on my shirt began a downward trend. I swear I didn’t notice. I didn’t even look. I kept my eyes on the scripts as another button came loose.

I began to wonder if I had just been convenient. A toy for Damien to use for his own pleasure, never to be used again. It was this last part that upset me most. It wasn’t the idea of being used; I wanted to be used, to be controlled and submissive to my sweet master. I just couldn’t stand the thought that it wasn’t true. That Damien wasn’t really my sweet master at all, and never wanted to touch me again.

I felt a whimper come up from my throat, the idea being almost too much to bear. I barely swallowed it down in time. I had no idea what he would have done if he had heard me. Would he yell at me, berate me? Would he hurt me? Or, worst of all, would he do nothing at all? Pretend I didn’t even exist? A spanking, even with a switch, could never compare to the pain of that. To think you had an honest connection with someone, even if it was only sexual, and then find out that you were wrong.

I almost cried when it happened: a move so subtle I wasn’t a hundred percent sure it had happened at all. Just a flick of the eyes. Then another. It was true. It was real. He was looking at my tits. He wanted me, even if he shouldn’t. Even if it was wrong. He wanted me. And I wanted him.

Slowly, and without looking at him, so as to not make it obvious what I was doing, I undid another button. My shirt was flying open, barely able to contain my tits. Only the bottom three buttons were still fastened.

He took a real look then, both long and longing. His gaze pulled to my beautiful, bountiful bosom as though by magnets. Taking the waistband of my skirt, I slyly wound it, puling the hem ever upwards, over my knees, over my lower thighs, and beyond.

“Stand up,” Damien ordered.

“Yes, sir,” I whispered in my “pet” voice.

I pushed the chair back and stood before him. My skirt was, at that point, much closer to a belt, barely touching my hips, though still being technically long enough to go out in legally.

Pushing himself back from the table, Damien looked at me, cupping his hand against the raging hard-on pressing up against his pants. He didn’t do anything for a long moment, just stared at me and played with himself. I stood still, like a good girl, arms by my side, gaze on the floor, waiting for my master’s orders.

“Come,” he said finally, sparking every nerve and synapse inside me.

Resisting the urge to run, I went to him and stood beside him. Taking me by the wrist, he pulled me down, spreading me out over his lap. I could feel the bulge of his imprisoned cock pressing into my belly. I liked the feeling and took solace in it.

“You’ve been a very naughty girl, haven’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied, a thrill running through me.

“You were showing your body. Trying to tempt me.”

“Yes, sir, I was.”

“Are you a dirty little temptress?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Say it!”

“I’m a dirty little temptress!” I said, the words coming out almost as one.

He lifted my skirt and put a hand between my thighs, stroking my pussy through my panties.

“That wasn’t very nice, was it? Distracting me while I was trying to work.”

“No, sir, it wasn’t. I am very, very naughty.”

“You do realize that I am going to have to punish you.”

“Yes,” I said, the word coming out like a sigh of desire.

Using one hand to hold me down, pressing me even harder into his cock, he used his other hand to pull my panties down and off; I bent my knees to help him near the end. Forcing my legs apart with his hand, he softly stroked my pussy, making me hum with the pressure. If that was meant to be punishment, I was all for it! Pride comes before the fall.