Ah, nothing follows up a really rather nice birthday quite like a day of just lounging around on the couch. I popped across the street to grab a McDonald’s breakfast, on account of 1) it’s birthday weekend, I can treat myself, and 2) I was feeling a little worse for wear after last night. Again, not like we got completely smashed or anything – it wasn’t actually too bad. But I only really drink, like, a few times a year, so it’s a bit of a surprising feeling to wake up with.
I mentioned as much on Twitter earlier, but it wasn’t that slutty of a day in the end! I mean, not really surprising – other than the general idea of “we should go and get ramen”, the actual stuff was planned by friends – and they’ve got no idea how slutty I am. And really, why would they? Sluttery, to me, isn’t something I’d share with even my closest friends (which these two pretty much are) – how do you share something like that? Even the idea of being like “hey, you know kink? Yeah I’m kinda into that,” fills me with dread. I just have no real concept of how normal kink is in “the real world”. It’s weird, isn’t it? I’d gladly share details of my sluttery with you, with a bunch of strangers on Twitter, but not some of the people I care about most in the world. And who knows? They could all be hardcore kinksters thinking the exact same thing.
Really, anyone could, right? That woman I passed on the street could be a dominatrix by night. I’ve mentioned this on past Commando Days, but I do wonder if my own sluttery shines through, to those in the know. Would a passing Domme go “oh, wow, I could really see him chained up in my dungeon,”? Catcalling is gross and vile, obviously – but just as it is with the “wifey” stereotypes becoming something really interesting through the lens of malewifery, that same role reversal idea makes it really interesting to me, imo. Imagine, if you will, a group of a few Dommes hanging out in a street corner. They see a tall Morgan-shaped slut walking past (it’s me. the slut is me) and immediately subject him to wolf-whistles, and calls of “nice cock!” and “cute butt!”. Obviously embarrassed, I keep walking, head down, and they continue with “oh, c’mon, you’d look so much prettier if you just gave us a smile!”, and “what’s the rush, why not hang out with us for a little bit?”. It’s only once one of them says “just give us a quick peek!” that I stop in my tracks. My brain’s fully conditioned at this point, and I don’t really have any other choice. I must obey women. All women, any woman. And that sounded just enough like an order.
So, I stop, and slowly turn back around to face them. Face their direction, anyway – I’m still looking down, I don’t dare make eye contact, not while I’m this flushed. They look at each other, predatory grins quickly appearing on their faces. I quickly scan the area, and once the coast is clear, I grab the bottom of my shirt, and pull it up high, for them to see. They let out a single, low whistle, appreciating the clamps on my nipples, the chain dangling between them. I glance down myself, and notice a hint of lacy red poking out the top of my pants. I quickly let go of my shirt and turn back around – fuck, did they notice? I go to start walking away, but – “Ah-ah-ah, not so fast, don’t think I didn’t see that…”. I stop dead on the spot, face burning red as I hear them approaching from behind. I nearly jump out of my skin as I feel a hand grip my ass and give it a quick squeeze, while another arm hangs loosely over my shoulder.
“Show us the rest, slut. Right here, right now.”
I’m surrounded on all sides, shielded from the world by a circle of powerful women. My hands are shaking as I fumble with the zipper, and eventually the woman in front of me just rolls her eyes and yanks them down herself. I’m wearing the bright red lingerie – Mistress’s orders, naturally – but somehow, that isn’t what draws their attention. They’re too focused on what’s clearly underneath it, the obvious shape of a chastity cage hidden beneath red lace. Devious grins once again cross all their faces as the Domme in front of me takes my chin in her hand and forces me to look in her eyes.
“Why don’t you come with us for a while, slut? Oh, yes, don’t think we didn’t notice how eagerly you obeyed once we gave you a command. I think we could have a lot of fun with you…” She notices for the first time, the collar I’ve had hidden beneath my actual shirt collar, and tugs it out into the light, to read the puppy tag attached to it. “‘Morgan’, huh? And… Oh, so you’re Charlotte’s whore! Let me just give her a call – I’m sure she won’t mind sharing her toys with us…”
…damn, where did that come from? I’ve not written anything that horny while locked up in a while – I definitely needed to take a few breaks during that. Thanks for reading!