Couples #sexshopstories

A couple came into the store last night. They were just starting to get into BDSM.

“Are you a submissive?” I asked her.

She said yes.

“You don’t seem like a submissive.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I’m not really. It’s for him.”

They bought a ton of stuff. Even spent extra on cuffs that would not irritate the skin of her wrists.

Unfortunately, she wanted some fetish attire, but we don’t really carry much so I sent her to the dressing room with what little we do have.

Earlier, another couple had come in and spent almost $500 dollars. They shopped for two hours. Their story is pretty sad: they’ve been married for 23 years, and they have 5 daughters. But she has a brain tumor and so they’ve decided to live it up. They’ve recently become poly as well. 41 years-old.

A male customer came in also. One of the good ones. A couple of weeks ago, I had given him advice on having anal sex for the first time. He came in to thank me, and to tell me it went so well that he and his wife did it 3 days in a row. He said she’s just now starting to get “freaky” (whatever that means) because she’s going through menopause.

Later on, my coworker called me over to find out if I knew of any places to have sex. I don’t, but I had some tips so I shared those with the woman who made the inquiry. She looked at me funny and said, “No offense, but you don’t seem like the most credible source. You seem so innocent! What could you possibly know about sex?”

Preconceived notions: everybody’s got them.

sex shop stories #10

A biker comes into the store to peruse the vibrator section.

I ask him if he needs any help and he boasts that he probably has a better collection than I do.

Referring to the wall before him, I insist that “my” collection is better, but eventually concede. I’m not really into vibrators so much.

He asks what I am into. I nod to the bondage section.

“Would you spank me?” he asks.

“I don’t spank.”

“Oh, so you’re a submissive,” he says. “Well, can I spank you then?”

“No.” I try not to scoff. “Not just anybody can spank me. Not everyone knows how to spank, either.”

“So how can I get on that list?” he asks.

Then he says he’ll get on my list somehow and that when he does, he’ll punish me because my underwear doesn’t match my all-black outfit. I hadn’t realized that a peek of red lace was barely visible out of the top of my skirt.

He has the right idea, but he’s a stranger.

wanting and waiting

He told me to bend over his bed, chest down. I waited like that while he worked at his computer.

I tried to be patient. To not shift or sigh. To breathe naturally, as if I could do this all night, every night.

I hated waiting and wanting as much as I loved it. I respected it for this.

Finally, he spanked me.

I had to cling to the sheets. I was no good at holding position or at being quiet.

Afterward, my body was warm, my limbs loose with the rush, my head light.

He laughed at me for being in la-la-land and went back to work on his computer.

Saturday night

Any other Saturday night at the club, watching the dancers could lure me into a trance. But not tonight. I was too distracted.

At first I tried not to look at him, taking refuge in my friend instead.

When the night slowed down, he finally sat down next to me and sighed. “You haven’t said hello.”

I leaned in closer. “Hello.”

He slid his hand into my hair, grabbed a fistful near the base of my neck, and guided my head until my upper body was stretched out across his lap.

“Hi, how are you?” He asked my friend, another submissive who nervously responded that he was fine.

I gently bit his arm – I couldn’t help it.

Without a word, he yanked me up and went back to running the room.

I felt like I had taken a hit.

When he returned, he was holding a blindfold. In minutes, my wrists were cuffed and secured to the cross.

The dark eased my mind open.

I plunged fast.
 

My head emptied of everything except

 
     the music     always the music
 
the waiting          waiting for the moments when he would come close
     his voice when he did
 
          the pressure of him
 
the absence
 
                    the warm promise of a hand
 
     a press
                              here
                                        there
 
               the sting          the stroke
 

He thwacked the cross around me – once, twice, more – bringing me back. The sound made me gasp.

Or yelp. Or whimper. I don’t know which. All three.

He slapped my face, drizzled water into my mouth, and untied the blindfold.

I didn’t open my eyes for awhile. When I finally blinked, all of these people were looking at me.

He loves an audience.

My hair was in my face. I tried to force half a smile. I wanted to please him.

It will hurt when he tires of me.

It’s just play it’s just play it’s just play is so hard to remember.

He must be afraid I’ll fall.

I should not think so much. Let go. Enjoy the feeling.