Forced Exposure

The car jerked slightly as Alissa pulled into a parking space and I looked around. Green trees rustled in the hot, southern breeze and the scent of moisture, of wet earth, penetrated even the sealed and cool environment of the air conditioned car. 

White, baked concrete stretched in aimless paths through verdant, well-manicured grass, and a number of stately buildings, each looking prim and proper, stood at various squared off points of the compass. Better yet, those same sidewalks were mostly empty, with only a few, meandering students crisscrossing the campus.

I love summer break.

I glanced at my friend. Like me, she was wearing a pair of shorts, though admittedly hers looked cute. The denim cut completely covered her ass, leaving everything to the imagination, and thanks to her age, a full seven years younger than me, her blouse, tied just beneath her magnificent breasts and leaving her belly exposed, looked fashionable. Alissa could still pull off the teenager slut look.

Me? Not so much. There was no mistaking that I was a woman in my prime. My hips were too wide, my breasts full and lush, rather than perky. My limbs had thickened slightly, and only a daily battle with what I eat was keeping my middle from looking like a muffin top. I swear that sometimes I think I’m becoming a rabbit. All I eat are salads.

My outfit did not compliment my form in any way, unless someone mistook my preferences for a desire to be identified as a porn star. The shorts, a gift from Julie, were tight and cut a little short, leaving half of each butt cheek exposed. I could feel the crotch of the stupid things digging up into my body, the feeling of a permanent and uncomfortable wedgie a constant problem.

The shirt wasn’t much better. I’d worn it before. It was nothing but a kind of undershirt that some men like to wear; frequently called a “wife beater,” though I hate that name for it. Julie had gifted it to me a few years ago, for an assignment, where it had been doused with enough baby oil to become permanently translucent in a few important areas. Worse, the shirt was meant for a man three times my size in height, and at least a hundred and fifty pounds wider. That meant that the shoulder straps were basically all that was covering my breasts, and the dip in the collar went well beneath my bosom. The wide arm holes meant that a ton of side boob was showing, and I had to be insanely careful on how I moved, lest I flash the world my top.

Which, unfortunately for me, was the whole point.

“Let’s go!” Alissa said eagerly, switching off the engine and opening the car door.

I groaned. “Please, Alissa. Not here,” I said with timidity. My eyes were rapidly going back and forth, scared to be seen.

She sighed and got out of the car, only to look back in at me. “If not here, then where? You want to walk the Galleria like that?” She demanded. “Look, I’m trying to help you here. Do you want to fail this assignment?”

I gave her a torn look. “No! But … “ I didn’t know what else to say.

Alissa sighed. “I get it. I do. But I’m about a minute away from starting the timer on this thing. So if you don’t get your cute little ass out of the car and start shaking it, you’re going to end up handcuffed to a light post out here.” Her eyes sparkled. “Which, to be honest, I love the thought of. What an amazing punishment! Master Brandon sure knows how to flip your switches, doesn’t he?”

I frowned at that and grabbed the door handle. Alissa was right. This was probably one of the few places that I could get away with what Master Brandon, one of my online doms, had in mind. Inspired by one of Julie’s recent attempts to get me naked in a more public setting, Brandon had decided to force the issue.

Alissa let out an appreciative hum as she rounded the car and got another good look at me. I was wearing a pair of high heeled sandals, as well as the slave bell anklet Kari had gifted me.

“Let’s make sure everything is working,” Alissa said smartly, reaching into the small canvas bag she was carrying. I watched with trepidation as she pulled out a small, purple, key fob sized device, equipped with two sliders. Then with a knowing smile, she slid the first one up, just a bit.

The rest of this story is no longer available on Michael Alexander's BDSM Blog, but is available for purchase, contained in Breanne Erickson's book "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 17."  Get it now at Amazon.com!