Claiming (3/?): “Go pantiless after.”

I suppose I should finish what I started... wrote most of this a while ago.

These events occurred circa. October 2009. Read part 1 and part 2.

[via Maria's Photo]

Day #2, continued.

The first thing he wanted to do was make use of me being so turned on. We had moved back to email now, and I sat there, waiting eagerly for him to tell me what he wanted me to do.

I'm pretty sure my jaw dropped when I read his next message: he wanted me to find a restroom to masturbate in, and wanted me to go pantiless after I was done.

Just picture it, will you, for a moment? Me, unassuming in my grey puffball dress, walking through the library - which was silent except for the occasional rustle of pages, filled with students intent on their work. Me, filled with so much nervousness and excitement that I was practically sizzling with emotion...

I went down the stairs, floating in a dizzy haze, and found the restroom. I entered the biggest cubicle, took off my boots, took off my leggings, finally took off my panties. I folded them nicely and set them down, then set about getting myself off.

It didn't take me very long. I was already soaking wet and had mental fodder enough... but the thing that kept playing over and over in my head was the word used. How Sir wanted to use me, how he wanted me to feel sore and exhausted and worn out and used, used, used...

This library was one of the less "popular" ones, and so the restroom was completely empty, and also silent. Every breath, every slide of my fingers inside me and back out were clearly audible, and I hoped and hoped that nobody would walk in until I finished.

I was lucky. Just as I felt my orgasm begin to swell, somebody loudly pushed the door open.

I gave myself a few moments to calm down before I pulled my leggings and boots back on and tucked my panties into my jacket pocket. My leggings were made of silk, and I could feel the material against my damp pussy - cool and soft.

I walked slowly and self-consciously back to my spot. I sat down and immediately sent Sir a message, telling him I had done what he asked.

His next demand was that I take a picture of my panties with my phone and send it to him. I considered walking back to the restroom and taking the picture there, after a quick look around I realized that so few people were in the library that no one would notice if I took the picture right where I was. I quickly took my panties out of my pocket, crunched them in my hand, and shoved my hand under the desk. I opened my hand, clearly displaying the panties (unfortunately, white with bright pink stars and, for some reason, Superman logos on them) and snapping a picture.

He had a few more instructions for me for the rest of the day. He wanted me to find a collar or choker of some sort that I could wear when I was doing tasks that he set me. I had a cloth choker, which he told me to use. He asked me what the rest of my day looked like. I didn't have anything to do except go to dinner with a friend. He told me that I had to excuse myself during dinner and bring myself off again.

Shortly before dinner, I went back to my room to look for the choker, that I hadn't worn at all before this. I couldn't find it in my dresser or among my clothes. I took down the storage boxes from the top shelf of my closet, and rifled through them, then grumbled loudly in frustration.

The choker wasn't there.

I checked all the drawers and boxes over again. I was so frustrated. Sir wanted me to use that choker, and I wanted to use the choker, but the choker was not there. I wanted to try my hardest to do what he wanted me to do, but I couldn't, since I guessed that I must have left it back home, halfway across the globe. (An email to my sister asking her about it later confirmed my suspicion.)

I apologetically told him about what happened. He immediately reassured me, and asked if I had anything else. I was relieved. He knew I don't like being talked down to or humiliated, and I'm glad he remembered and didn't do either of those things. He ended up choosing a simple bracelet - silver with a plain amethyst clasp - for me to wear when I was submitting to him.

Soon I had to go to dinner, so I put on the bracelet and went over to my friend's place... It soon proved that excusing myself to get myself off would be difficult. My friend wanted some advice on a problem, so I felt bad about interrupting her. Eventually our conversation wound down, so I went to do what Sir had asked.

My friend didn't live in a dorm, she lived in an off-campus house. She directed me to the bathroom... it was right next to the kitchen, and the door didn't lock. Great. I had to hold the door shut with one hand, and I could hear everyone talking and hanging out in the kitchen. Using my fingers against my clit, there was no way I was going to come, I was too distracted.

I had come twice that day already, but Sir wanted me to have come three times. He'd be making me pay for that transgression later...

To be continued...