“Good morning, Rachel. Have a seat.”
I did as told, smiling at the laptop’s camera. The screen showed the same image of the woman on the MAX car with her bare breast.
“I trust you had a good week,” M said.
“I did. Thank you so much for the flower. It’s beautiful.”
“Open the box.”
M’s commanding tone excited me, but I tried not to appear overly eager as I opened it. Inside were three items: A beautiful taupe-colored silk blouse, a pair of sunglasses, and a blonde wig. I held the wig up to the camera, its long hair hanging down.
“You think I should have more fun, M?” I joked.
His voice was serious. “It’s to protect your identity.”
I held up the sunglasses and he said, “Those, too.”
“And why do I need my identity protected?” I asked, trying to sound playful but wary of what his answer might be.
“You’re going to do things for me, Rachel. In public. I want to make sure no one you know recognizes you.”
My heart was beating faster, wondering what sort of “things” M was referring to. I again looked at the woman in the picture. No sunglasses, but was that a wig? It was hard to tell. I was hoping he wasn’t going to send me to a MAX car to recreate that image, because I didn’t think myself capable of doing that.
M seemed to sense my trepidation. “We’ll start slowly, though,” he said. “Don’t worry.”
“Okay,” I said timidly.
“Take off your shirt and your bra,” he said firmly.
I remained seated as I removed my shirt and undid my bra, putting both on the desk before sitting back and looking directly at the camera.
“Lovely,” M said.
I smiled. “Thank you. Did you look at my picture this week?” I asked.
“Yes,” he replied.
I wanted to ask him if it made him hard again, if he’d masturbated to it. I kept quiet, though. M was in charge here.
“Put on the wig and sunglasses.”
As I removed the wig from the box, I saw he’d also provided me with pins to put my own long, thick black hair up. I did my best, creating a bun from my curls, then covering it with the blonde wig. The entire time I was perfectly aware of the fact that M was staring at my large breasts, and my body began to tingle with excitement. The sunglasses were by Dior, the black oversized frames adorned by a floral design in tiny crystals at the temples. They were lovely and looked expensive. I put them on and sat back in the chair, crossing my legs in front of me and letting my new blonde hair cascade down over my breasts.
“You like?” I asked. I was enjoying this new concept of flaunting my sexuality in front of someone who appreciated it. I could get used to this.
“Very much,” M said, adding, “though you look better without them.”
I blushed. “Should I try on the blouse?”
“Not yet. Go stand in the window like that.”
I hesitated only a second this time, then got up and stood in front of the window. If anyone could see in, they would know that I was topless even though the blonde hair covered my breasts. Twenty-seven floors up, though, the only people I had to worry about were in the building across the street. Their windows were tinted, so I told myself the windows in this building probably were, too.
“Pull your hair back.”
His command startled me. I’d forgotten that M could somehow see me here. In my initial interview with him, he’d ordered me to stand here and expose a single breast. My reluctance to uncover my boob for more than a second or two — which I thought he couldn’t possibly see — had brought a stern rebuke regarding my inability to follow instructions. That had nearly cost me the opportunity to be his sub.
I swept my new blonde hair off my shoulders, displaying my breasts to the world and feeling the same rush of excitement I’d felt when I stripped in my office to take that selfie. Standing there, holding my stomach in as best as I could, I waited for M’s command. The seconds passed, becoming minutes. I didn’t say a word, never asking if it was okay to return to the desk. I don’t know how long I stood topless and exposed in that window, but it felt like an eternity. By the time M said, “Good, sit back down now,” I was thoroughly wet. As I walked back to the chair, looking around the room for hidden cameras and seeing none.
“Put on the blouse. Without the bra.”
The silk felt expensive as I lifted it from the box. Under the blouse was a book that I hadn’t seen before titled, Conquer Me. I glanced at the blouse’s label: Prada. I slipped it on and was stunned to find the fit was perfect.
“Should I button it?” I asked.
“Yes.”
Still trembling slightly from exposing myself at the window, I fastened the buttons and presented myself for M’s viewing.
“Perfect. A beautiful body like yours deserves to be seen, Rachel. Little by little, you are going to learn to let people see it.”
I knew by now that he meant exhibitionism, but I didn’t understand why. Wouldn’t he rather have me naked in front of him, ready and willing to let him do absolutely anything he wanted with my body? I was so ready for that, ready for this man to defile the body he professed to like so much.
“Is that what you want?” I asked, hoping he’d elaborate.
“That would please me greatly,” M said.
I took a shaky breath.
“I want to please you, M,” I said.
“Good. Today you’ll walk to O’Bryant Park, where you will sit and read the book. I will text you from time to time with further instructions.”
That didn’t sound so difficult, though the “further instructions” could prove problematic. I grabbed the book and stood up, shoving my clothes into my purse. Poor Whitney looked confused when I emerged in disguise, but smiled as we both said goodbye. One of these days, I was going to pepper that girl with questions about M. Not today, though.
3
Once outside I was grateful for the sunshine that kept me warm. It was bad enough that my big boobs swayed as I walked, I definitely didn’t need hard nipples attracting even more attention. I reached O’Bryant Park after a tense ten-minute walk. Calling this little place a “park” is misleading; it’s a one-block square of mostly brick and concrete, with a public bathroom used by the downtown homeless population. Still, the park attracted people during the week because it was a nice enough place to spend a lunch hour. On this particular Saturday I only saw a handful of people there.
I chose an isolated, a short brick wall where I could sit while I read. No sooner had my butt touched the brick than M’s ringtone played loudly on my phone. I turned the volume down then read his text.
Good. Unbutton two more buttons and begin reading.
How did he know I was here? Could he see me? Was he around somewhere? I looked over the people in the park, paying special attention to men. Nobody was looking in my direction, though, and I quickly unfastened two buttons, opening my shirt to just above my breasts.
Looking at the cover of the book, I discovered that the entire title was Conquer Me: girl-to-girl wisdom about fulfilling your submissive desires. Good, I was tired of reading bad erotica about the subject and welcomed something more substantial. I hadn’t even read halfway through the foreword when my phone buzzed. It was M, calling me this time.
“Hello, M.”
“Hi Rachel. You look ravishing today,” he said.
In a biologically impossible feat, the sound waves from his voice seemed to vibrate my clit.
“You can see me here?” I asked.
“I have my ways,” he said. I looked around again and saw nothing that would indicate I was being watched.
“Rachel, undo another button.”
I unfastened it without hesitating. My cleavage was beginning to peek out.
“One more,” M said immediately.
This time I did pause, but only for a moment. I reminded myself that I was well disguised with my wig and sunglasses. Someone who knew me co
uld walk right past without recognizing me, and none of my friends would ever think I’d show that much in public. I unbuttoned another button and my blouse pulled open from the force of my breasts. I was suddenly exposing major cleavage.
“You look beautiful, Rachel. Now read for a while.”
Just like that, he hung up. I sat on the little brick wall, my legs crossed and the book on my lap. I tried unsuccessfully to hide my cleavage with the blonde hair. With my head pointed at my book, I looked around in my peripheral vision and saw one man across the park staring at me. Could that be M? I wondered. I doubted it, as this guy was short and skinny and not particularly well-dressed.
I resumed my reading and hadn’t gotten very far when a man in suit and tie walked past, slowing noticeably as he did. I saw his shoes stop a few feet in front of me. Looking up, I was greeted by a smiling, handsome guy. M, maybe?
“Hi. Doing some reading?” Definitely not M. This man’s voice was thin and reedy. His eyes kept moving from my sunglasses to my cleavage, then back again.
I smiled. “Yes.”
“Beautiful day for it,” he said. “I’m Eric.” He offered his hand, which I shook, feeling my breasts sway slightly as I did.
“I’m Megan.”
“Mind if I sit with you?” Eric asked politely. I wanted to say no, but as he started to sit, my phone buzzed. I quickly looked at M’s text:
Time to learn something about men.
“So what do you when you’re not reading, Megan?” Eric asked.
“I’m a buyer for Nordstrom’s.” First thing that popped into my mind. My phone buzzed again and I discreetly glanced down.
Undo TWO more buttons a few seconds apart and watch what happens.
I hesitated. He wanted me to do this now, right in front of this guy?
“Are you working today?” Eric asked. “Or just enjoying downtown?”
I looked up to Eric’s eyes, a beautiful shade of green and quite expressive.
“I was at Powell’s,” I said, referencing the nearby bookstore. “And I thought I’d get some sun.” I felt my brain shift into that other mode, the one M was coaxing out of me, in which I quickly obeyed him before I could talk myself out of it. My hand drifted to the button between my breasts, slowly sliding it through the buttonhole. My blouse shifted open a bit more and I felt my nipples stiffen. Eric gave no indication that he’d seen me do it, though he kept stealing peeks.
“And what do you do, Eric?” I asked. Something very strange was happening. Normally when I talk to a men, I feel ill at ease, unsure of what to say. As I watched Eric struggle to deal with my overt sexuality, I realized that he was the one who looked uncomfortable.
“I’m an intellectual property attorney,” he began to say. My hand lifted again to my blouse, “at Milford, Gottlieb and Morgan, mostly copyright cases.”
I held the next button between my fingertips. I was scared to death, but couldn’t deny the sudden wetness between my legs. “Sounds fascinating,” I said, my insides churning. “Is the park always this empty on weekends?”
Just as I’d hoped, Eric looked around the park. I quickly slid the button through and my blouse opened more. It was now unbuttoned to just above my navel, my plunging cleavage on display. Eric turned around and suddenly tried as hard as he could not to look at my chest.
“Um… yeah. There usually aren’t many people here on Saturdays.” He stood abruptly, looking down but focusing on my sunglasses instead of my partially exposed breasts. “Hey, I’ve gotta run. Nice to meet you, um…”
“Megan.”
“Megan! Have a great day,” he said, taking a final brief glance downward before walking away.
I watched as he left the square. Nobody else was around at the moment. I sat and anxiously awaited instructions from M. He wasn’t texting or calling, damn him. I knew he wouldn’t like it if I buttoned back up without his permission. A couple of homeless men shuffled past, blatantly staring but saying nothing. After a few minutes, my phone buzzed.
You’ve come a long way, Rachel.
So I’d pleased him. I smiled as I anxiously waited for his next command.
Button up and go home now. I’ll call later.
Breathing a huge sigh of relief, I quickly buttoned the blouse up to my neck and headed back toward my car.
As I walked, I thought about what I’d done, about my interaction with Eric. He had been completely flummoxed by my overt display of sexuality. I had taken the power away from him during the short conversation. It was intoxicating. After a couple of blocks, I undid a few buttons, just to the top of my cleavage. I noticed the stares I got from men and felt like Joanie, the buxom redhead in the TV show Mad Men whose curvy figure creates havoc wherever she goes.
4
That night I was on cloud nine. Or at least part of me was, the part that kept congratulating me for going outside of my comfort zone, for obeying my dom without question, and mostly for making a pretty hot guy totally lose his shit. There was a lesson in there somewhere, about believing in myself and the pure power of my femininity. Another part of me, which seemed more rational, couldn’t believe I’d exposed myself in public and fretted about the possibility of being assaulted or arrested if I did it again.
I chose not to listen to the rational voice. I wanted this relationship with M. Even in its current bizarre form, it was already the best thing that had happened to me in ages. Screw rationality and common sense. Fuck caution. I was ready to sink into something. Wholly. Completely.
I stayed home again based on the wording of M’s last text: Button up and go home now. I’ll call later. If he said he’d call, I could count on him to do so, and I wanted to be home when he did. Sure enough, at eleven o’clock my phone started to play the song Fade Into You, by Mazzy Star. Okay, so it was a little obvious lyrically, but it’s also one of the sexiest songs I’ve ever heard and I wanted it to announce his phone calls to me.
“Hello.”
“So how do you feel tonight?” he asked.
“Sexy,” I said, not even sure myself why that was the first word I thought of.
“You should. You were beyond sexy today.”
“Were you watching the whole time?” I asked.
“Yes,” M said. “Did it feel uncomfortable, exposing yourself like that?”
“A little.” I couldn’t lie to him.
“Good. It’s supposed to. But you noticed the effect it had on that man, didn’t you?”
I was still confused about that whole interaction.
“I noticed something.”
“Of course you did. Men become discombobulated in the presence of a strong, beautiful woman. Especially when that woman wears her sexuality like you do.”
Beautiful. Was he calling me beautiful? Or did I hear that wrong?
“He did kind of fall apart when I undid that second button,” I said.
“Did it excite you?” M asked. “Sexually?”
“Not exactly,” I responded. “Not because of him. Doing what you tell me to do excites me sexually.”
“Good girl. Were you wet today?”
“I was. Several times.” Like I am right now, I thought.
“I’ll bet you’d like an orgasm,” M teased.
“Honestly? I’m dying to come.” Come on, M, do it, I thought. Tell me to touch myself.
“Not tonight, my dear. You’ll have to wait.”
What the hell? I wanted an orgasm.
“Okay,” I whimpered.
“Do not masturbate tonight,” he said. “Not even a little.”
The only sound was my breathing.
“Goodnight, Rachel,” he said.
“Wait,” I hurried. “Can I ask you one question?”
“Only one.”
“Did you like watching me today?”
He paused before answering, “Yes, very much. Now goodnight.”
“Goodnight, M,” I sighed.
I wanted him to touch himself, to let me hear him come over the phone. And now that h
e was gone, I wanted to touch myself, to release this day’s worth of sexual tension from my body.
Instead I did what a good sub would do. I obeyed.
And I ate ice cream.
♦
When I awoke Sunday morning, I lay in bed and thought about what I’d done the day before, imagining pulling my blouse wide open as I talked to Eric the lawyer and unashamedly letting him gape at my breasts. I longed for an orgasm, and knowing I wasn’t allowed to have one only made me want it that much more. I thought about meeting M for the first time, stripping naked for him and watching his face when he saw my naked body in person, then reaching to stroke his resulting erection through his pants. In my mind, he pulled me to his bed and thrust himself into me.
The excitement built to an unbearable level and I climbed out of bed to make some coffee. I slipped on some dark gray yoga pants, slippers, and a very thin white T-shirt that did a poor job of hiding my nipples. Grabbing my coffee mug, I moved out to my balcony where I sat and soaked up the warm sunshine as the caffeine got my blood pumping. My eyes were closed and I was lost in thoughts of M when I heard a voice.
“Morning, Rachel.”
I opened my eyes and saw my next-door neighbor, Todd. His apartment balcony was just a few feet from mine and he was sitting with a newspaper and his own mug of coffee. As we traded small talk, I couldn’t help but notice Todd stealing looks at my breasts. He was a handsome enough guy, and for the two years I’d lived here I’d avoided him more often than not, always feeling awkward in his presence. Today, though, I felt less so. This new sexuality I was discovering — “uncovering” would be more accurate — gave a welcome boost to my confidence.
After saying goodbye to Todd I walked straight to the mirror in my bedroom and appraised myself. Though my hair was a bit messy, I looked pretty good. My neighbor had indeed seen my nipples through the thin cotton, the areolas plainly visible. Rather than being horrified by the thought, I actually was okay with it. Better than okay, in fact; I felt good about it. Todd had seemed different with me than he normally was, as if my nipples had rendered him more docile and put us on an even keel. I liked the way that made me feel, and I had M to thank for that.
Forced to Bloom, The Complete Series: (BBW Alpha Male Billionaire BDSM Romance) Page 5