Almost ready to go. She’s putting the final touches on my hair and makeup. He’s lacing me into a black underbust corset. My tiny tutu only reinforcing how exposed I am. A mini top hat that matches my collar and cuffs.
My hair curled. Made up like a harlequin doll. My nipples stained to match my dark lips. Black ballet boots and thigh high socks with pretty little ruffles. Delicate chains attached to each cuff.
Each takes an arm and guides me to the car. Heels so high I’m as wobbly as a drunk baby deer. The ride is to short and we arrive to soon. Helped out of the car we approach the venue. This time the support is as emotional as physical.
A kiss on the forehead as we pause to open the door. “No tears tonight, you don’t want to ruin your pretty makeup”, is whispered in my ear.
As we enter, curious eyes turn to see who has arrived. So many people! And the majority fully clothed. I’m led inside, stopped and turned to face into the room. I’m not sure what’s happening next, but I think I would feel better not watching.
Each of my chain is fastened above me. Immobilized more by my precarious stance than the physical restraints. The corset and collar ensure perfect posture. The heels so high, my legs are at full extension, muscles tight. A ball gag inserted before you go behind me, out of sight.
People approach, some look curious other predatory. A blindfold is slipped on. I’m relieved but before I can relax in my dark sanctuary, I feel hands on me. They are soft, gentle but foreign. They are too cautious to be hands I know. More hands. I hear you talking to your friends, occasionally feel your hands. So casual and relaxed as my mind churns. Humiliation and fear give way to lust and excitement.
You know this too as your hand cups my ass. Your fingers gently part the folds, feeling the wetness before they enter me. I’ve been craving that touch. Touching where no one else’s hands have touched. The one spot I need it the most, ignored.
I can’t understand why I am behaving like this in public. People can see, they are watching. It doesn’t matter anymore, I need to feel more. My balance is too fragile to move into you. Unable to pull you closer, I can’t even tell you what I need.
I am helpless, but to accept what I am given. I am a plaything you have shared with others. I am a toy to be enjoyed. I am content.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/1273uhd/puppet_mff_exhibitionism_reluctance