Posted by: littlegirlyone | September 24, 2007

on his watch

her eyes scan the awning for the address, confirming what she’s already guessed. once satisfied that this is the place he chose, she waits for a break in the door traffic, and crosses the threshold. inside the coffee shop is warm and welcoming, an ironic contrast to how she feels at the moment. she’s standing in the entry, just taking in the space. a large loft curves out above her, the two-story windows pour in late afternoon light, and the whole room buzzes with caffeine, movement, and chatter.

she turns toward the windows, which look out on the busy street. there are people walking, people sitting outside on benches, at tables. there are people moving everywhere, in all directions. normally, this swallowed-by-the-crowd feeling would soothe her, but today it is the basis for a small lump of disappointment in her throat.

she will never be able to pick him out of a milling crowd like that.

after ordering her requisite hot cocoa, she finds a seat by the large windows and relaxes into the warmth of the light on her skin. she removes her coat, sitting up straight, quite aware that soon his eyes will rake over her. in fact, she’s not entirely sure he’s not watching her already.

she tries to stop thinking about all the things he knows about her that very few others know, and certainly no one looking at her would guess. she looks postively prim, she’s sure, sitting in her full skirted dress, her ankles crossed, with her legs properly bent at the knee and tucked to the left. she lifts her cup and saucer, sipping from the lip of the porcelain mug. she doesn’t wear lipstick, and leaves no mark on it’s pure white surface to indicate her mouth had been there. she returns the cup to the saucer, and waits.

her skin feels electric; every tiny hair on her arm is standing at rapt attention. she feels the current building slowly inside her, and she knows without daring to glance around to attempt a confirmation, that he is there. the warm light through the windows suddenly feels close and stuffy, the cup of cocoa looks wholly unappetizing, and her neck softens, even as her frame becomes more rigid with the knowledge that he is watching her.

as though he is her gatekeeper, her floodgates open and her mind races. he knows that she is wearing a particularly lacy pair of pink panties. she’d sent him a close-up of her undergarments just this morning, before she’d put the dress on. he knows that her bra is black, and he knows how it presses her tits into round, bouncy balls under the dress’ demure neckline. he knows that her pussy is completely bare, and that her arousal is dripping steadily under the penetration of his gaze. and worst of all, he knows that she is sitting, held open, on a large, black butt plug.

her face burns as she drops her eyes to her lap. she fumbles with her hands, looking with feigned interest at her nails, examining her cuticles. she is sure he isn’t fooled, that he knows exactly what this display of calm collection is: an act, and not a very convincing one at that. she has felt sure that he’s been watching her before, at times when she knew he could not be. but, knowing that he was indeed apprising her now, that he could see the way she blushed from her neckline to her cheeks, that he could see each subtle shift of her body weight as her ass tightened and released on the plug that he knew was invading her. the eroticism of her exposure washed over her in warm, luminous waves, as the adrenaline of knowing that he was there, somewhere, looking, faded to a calm, familiar acceptance of place.

he had asked more of her than just to come to this place, to sit for him in the window where he could observe her from any number of directions. he had warned her that she was not to try to find him, or guess where he was. not that she would have much to go on, as his physical manifestation remained a mystery. she was to sit, and feel, and direct her gaze to the foot traffic on the street outside the window. she was not supposed to look behind her to the cafe until the hour was up, not even if she felt him close, very close behind her. she was not to see him today. those were the rules.

oh, how she had hated him for asking that of her in the beginning. all her curiosity, all her desire to see him had welled up in resistance at the idea of sitting with her back to the room where he likely would be, allowing him to watch her without seeing him, too. yet now, as she lived it, the feeling of willing denial was exquisite pain.

she did it to herself. each task he asked of her, she agreed to. each moment of suffering, she had asked for in some way. it was inescapable that she did this willingly, for him, even as the desire to look wildly about, to guess his form in the crowd, welled within.

in the end, she did not move. she let herself relax into the waves of shuddering desire that washed through her body. she thought of him, singular and present, and his eyes upon her in this innocent place of coffee and chocolate. this place where friends meet, today became a place where a girl gave up a desire to see, and accepted her current position, which only required she feel.


  1. That is quite exquisitely tantalising. Do please tell us that this adventure will be continued!

  2. wonderful description of a journey into submission. it really is so much about just feeling. very nice post.

  3. this was really beautifully written, lg. it was masterful– probably my favorite of all of the things you’ve written.but come on, be a silly little girl again. dare to look… why should you let go of your little girl self, the one who would *never* be patient enough to deny herself in this way? 🙂

  4. mmmm… quite lovely.

  5. Such lush visuals, left me yearning for more and more. Very nice thank you.

  6. thanks you guys! it was really fun to let my inner creative writer out. and you’ve all inspired me to write more in this style, so keep your eyes on me!

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