Shopping

Once upon a time there was a little boy who felt towards the women he liked as if he had found the goddesses to adore and pray to. He was naive enough to believe that it was perfectly normal to have a little shrine for your beloved and that the right Mistress would one day come along whip wielding and with an endless supply of rope and leather body bags and keep him in her torture prison. 

Our boy, lets call him Aziraphale, would look at websites of Mistresses like Princess Sierra and quietly get scared that one day he may end up just passing through all his hard earned cash to one of those Mistresses. But being scared did not beat the curiosity so our little boy kept looking. He kept constant taps on the websites of several professional mistresses and had profiles on all sorts of early versions of fetlife and informed consent, on all the kinds of boards that existed in German, Russian or English. 

But our boy who was just that a 18 or 20 years old who did not feel grown up at all was scared. Too scared to go to munches or any such events so he looked in the real in the vanilla life. One day he found a girl that he really liked and when he groomed her he remembered being the sub that he was. 

He had smartened a little and never offered to pass her all her money (at least not at the start), but he dreamed of being kept teased, serving her, cooking for her, cleaning for her and oh yes coming along shopping with her. 

The wisened up boy as well as the reader will now likely say "What fool." But our little boy was foolish enough to advertise his excellent capabilities as a shopping companion. He thought it was sexy, a great opportunity to be subservient, patient. 

Patient? Indeed he was a very patient person but he had never reckoned with her. The first few shopping trips  were fine. They bought shoes (and bliss he had to carefully hide his hardon), lingerie (jup same thing happened). The next time it was normal clothes and there was no hardon. In the first few years she did not have a car and he used to come along to ASDA to carry the bags for her on the bus. 

But the ASDA Shopping got gradually more difficult. She loves shopping, and she is the slowest person shopping. So our boy trolls along, frustrated annoyed. Here and there he is summoned to calculate Weight Watchers Points for her (without a calculator and she won't be pleased if once at home she gets a different result), get the off things from other isles that she has forgotten. He starts looking at the other women, jealously - no matter how ugly they are or old, they all complete the aisle twice as fast. 

By the time they get to the checkouts he is frustrated, helps packing. She corrects him, frozen vegetable does not go in the same back as Ice cream, salad has its own bag must not mix with fruit. He is frustrated and carries the bags to the car and the home into the kitchen. 

She drives back, he is quiet, tired of being so slow, but at home he is thankful. Thankful that she allowed him to come along. Thankful that she keeps nagging him for the little details. Thankful that she will accept a massage and a cup of tea. She might mention how good that she has a professional massage later that week though.