6 mins read
Published about 4 years ago

No matter how hard I try, I always struggle with patience. It’s been my hardest lesson to learn, as you’re always quick to point out. When left to my own devices for too long, it’s like I forget what the word patience means.

It’s been a few days since I’ve seen you, and you’re going to pick me up after work. My body is buzzing with eagerness and anticipation, so to pass the time I take some naughty photos for you. When I text to ask permission to send them, I don’t hear back…

I know I should be patient.

…may I please send you the treats I made for you, Sir?

Still nothing.

Hours go by, and for a while, I’m able to amuse myself with the book I’m reading and the shows I like to watch… but still no response from you.

‘He’s busy,’ I tell myself. ‘He’ll respond when he can.’

With the sun going down, I spend some time getting ready to see you, making sure I’m properly washed, scented, and decorated. I take time picking out some delicious lingerie… nude lace with black trim… and a tight, short dress you haven’t seen yet but will surely love. Topping it all with stilettos, a black choker, and red lipstick, three of your favorite things.

Sigh. Now I’m all dressed up and waiting.

And still no word from you…

I know I should be patient.

… hope your day at work isn’t too hard… I’m happy to send treats if you need a break…

Aaaaaand still nothing.

It’s nearly nine by the time you text back. Nothing about my texts or offered treats, just: Meet me downstairs in 20 minutes.

I tell myself that reading the tone of a text is almost impossible… but I can’t shake the strong sense that I’m in a lot of trouble.

Dutiful as can be, I’m downstairs in ten minutes just to make sure I’ll be waiting for you when you arrive. I’m well practiced at ignoring the looks I get when I’m dressed up for you, but I still feel a lot of eyes on me from passersby.

When you pull up, I feel a moment of relief. But then you open the door and I see the stern look on your face. Uh-oh.

Climbing out of the car, you look me over approvingly and beckon me to you. I scurry over and lower my eyes, in an attempt to show you I can behave. You take my chin and lift my face to yours, tsk-ing at me.

“Someone had a very impatient day.”

“Yes, Sir… I’m sorry, Sir.”

“I was in meetings all day, slave. If I’m busy and can’t get back to you, what are you supposed to do?”

“W-wait, Sir…”

“And did you wait?”

I want to lower my eyes, but your grip on my chin forces me to keep looking at you.

“...No, Sir…”

With a heavy sigh, your gaze leaves mine, but you don’t release your hold on me.

“You know, persistent texting is basically a modern-day form of whining. Which means that while I was off trying to get work done, you spent all day whining at me to pay attention to you. Isn’t that right?”

“Y-yes, Sir, I’m so sorry, I-”

“A simple ‘Yes, Sir’ will do.”

My voice comes out small. “Yes, Sir.”

Adjusting your grip, you grab my face and squeeze. Leaning in close, you murmur in my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

“I think you need to be reminded of your place, slave. Tonight’s lesson will be all about how to stop whining and keep your mouth shut. Is that understood?”

When you lean back, I look up at you, wide-eyed, not sure if that was a test… You smirk and take hold of my lower jaw between your thumb and forefinger.

“You may answer, slave.”

“Yes, Sir. I understand.”

“Good. Now get in the car.”

It’s never a good sign when you order me into the car instead of opening my door for me. There will be no gentle instruction tonight…

When I climb into the passenger seat, you look me over again.

“Nice dress.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Show me what’s underneath it.”

I start to pull down the straps of my dress, but you correct me.

“Under the skirt.”

Lifting my skirt, I show you the delicate lace panties with the bold black trim. You sigh and shake your head, tsk-ing again.

“Those are incredibly sexy. It’s too bad you don’t get to wear them.”

And with that, you reach over and yank them down to my ankles.

“Take them off.” I do as instructed. “Now hand them over.”

Doing as I’m told, I watch you examine my panties in a none-too-subtle manner, catching the attention of some pedestrians. With my skirt hiked up around my waist, they likely got quite an eyeful… You smirk, glancing between me and my panties.

“Looks like you’ve already wrecked these a little, slave. Always so eager, aren’t you?”

I’m not sure if that’s a hypothetical question, so I stay silent.

“Aren’t you?” …It drives me crazy with desire when your voice gets so commanding.

“Yes, Sir…”

Sighing, you lay my panties on the dashboard and turn to me.

“You’re doing a decent job of keeping your mouth shut now, slave, but after today’s antics, you clearly need a lesson that will remind you to do so in the future. So. Tell me what the point of tonight’s lesson is.”

“To… keep my mouth shut, Sir.”


“Um… To stop whining.”

“That’s right. Now open your mouth. Wider.”

Reaching over, you shove my panties in my mouth. Sitting back with a wicked grin, you drink in the sight of me.

“Spread your knees, wide. And sit on your hands.”

I’d recently gotten a full brazilian, just the way you like it, so you’d been taking advantage of my freshly waxed pussy. And now you’re clearly enjoying making me expose myself - to you and whoever happens to walk by.

Taking out your phone, you lean over to make one last adjustment… pulling the straps of my dress and bra down, you let my tits stay covered, but just barely. Then you sit back and take a few photos. I hear the chime that means you’re recording, and do my best to look penitent.

“Are you enjoying your training, slave?”

I nod, my mouth full of panties.

“Hmm, let’s see…”

Reaching between my legs, you move your phone in as well, capturing your exploration up close. With your free hand, you spread me open and play with my wetness, making me squirm.

“Hold still, slave.”

I do my best to obey while you torment me.

“You really are loving it… You’re so warm and wet… Not that I’m surprised. A naughty little slut like you can’t get enough of this, can you?”

I shake my head no, but you laugh quietly and pull the phone back to film all of me.

“Answer me.”

I do my best to say “No, Sir…” but through my panties, it sounds more like “oh fur.”

You smile and pat me between my legs.

“That’s a good girl.”

Putting away your phone, you reach over and buckle my seatbelt. (Safety first!)

“I want you to stay just like that, slave, until I tell you otherwise. Understood?”

I nod and feel my cheeks flush red. This is the first time you’ve driven me around with a pair of my panties shoved in my mouth. It’s a new level of humiliation that I’m ashamed to realize is only making me wetter.

When you start driving, I try to reassure myself that we’ll be on the road, and who looks in other people’s cars? Probably no one will even notice…

The very thought must’ve somehow jinxed me because at the first stoplight we come to, we pull up next to a convertible full of what can only be four frat boys. One of them immediately realizes that my top is slipping off, and there’s no disguising a mouth full of panties…

He jostles his friends and they all crane their necks to get a good look at me.

“That was fast,” you laugh. “Didn’t think you’d have an audience so soon.”

It takes them no time to figure out that my bottom is fully exposed, and they all grab their phones while one yells to you, “Show us her tits!”

With a ‘what can I do?’ shrug, you reach over and oblige them, pulling my dress and bra down until my tits are on display. They all cheer and whoop at the sight. Cursed by the longest stoplight ever, the guys have ample time to snap god knows how many photos that will end up who knows where…

As we pull away, I realize I’m practically panting in my seat. The exhilaration and embarrassment of that moment nearly put me over the edge. Glancing over at me, you’re obviously getting a big kick out of it.

“Did you like that, slave?”

All I can manage in return is a whimper.

“I think we’ll leave your tits out for the rest of the drive, too. Will that help you learn your lesson, slut?”

I whimper again and nod, but you reach out and slap one of my tits.

“Answer me.”

My muffled “yef, fur” makes you laugh, which only turns me on even more. I might explode before we get wherever we’re going…

Eva Monroe is a gal’s gal, guy’s gal, gal about town. She has a very active imagination and lots of opinions and frequently writes those things down. From screenplays to news articles to academic essays, Eva loves taking on the challenge of writing in new mediums, and her smut-tastic adventures with Bellesa are some of the most fun she’s ever had. Eva also co-produced two award-winning short films and has an MFA in screenwriting. Eva Monroe is not her real name.