The Toy

The warm smell of coffee and baked goods and the low murmur of conversation fed my delusions of being a writer in the mold of Hemingway during his Parisian days. That, truth be known, is why I worked in a café. It may also have been why, despite the fact that my laptop was always up and running, I was as often as not scratching out ideas with a fine tip pen into a journal rather than typing. The sounds of silver clinking on china and cups wobbling on saucers were lacking, but otherwise my local Starbucks was at least a simulacrum of Hemingway's Pré aux Clercs. Of course, in Hemingway's day, two or more people would have sat down at a table and talked across it, but today, except for the baristas and the customers at the counter, no one was actually talking to anyone else on the premises. They were all talking to and texting with others, via cell phones and PDAs, who were miles away.

I wrote the preceding diatribe for two reasons. First, I was sitting in just such a café outlining a story on my scratch pad when I saw the little pop-up box out of the corner of my eye that indicated that I had a new email. Said email was the starting point for this little tale. Second, it is useful for the reader to note that I am not precisely one who practices the wild and crazy lifestyle exhibited by many of my characters. Instead, I might best be described as bookish and cerebral, but with a mischievous streak and a borderline disturbing sense of humor. I was just a daydreamer with an overactive imagination who was trying to work the defects out of his writing. That is the necessary context for the events that followed.

I checked my email, and there was an unusual message in my inbox. It read: "I loved your story entitled 'Stern Task Master'. I've been hoping to be taken by a master like the one you describe. I don't ever do this, but I was wondering if you knew of someone who was looking for a sub. I noticed in your profile that you are from Indianapolis too, and figured you might be in contact with others who follow the lifestyle. Do you have a sub? I'm sorry if this is too forward. As I said, I've never done anything like this before, but am desperate."

The little devil in me began to type a reply.

"I only consider subs who show some commitment. If you want to be considered, you need to get a shirt that has just six little letters and an apostrophe on it. You can make it or have it made, but it should say, simply, 'I'm A Toy.' It needs to be in big print so it can easily be read and should take up most of the front of the shirt.

"Next, you need to go to the big mall downtown on Saturday for two hours from 3:00pm to 5:00pm. You need to walk all floors and go in at least twenty shops." I continued typing my directions.

"Now if at any point during that two hours any adult approaches you and asks about, or comments on, the shirt, you are to recite the following poem: 'I'm a toy for fucking; For spanking and sucking; Oh, if you should take me; Just please do not break me; But bend me and breach me; And punish and teach me'"

I then hit "Send", confident that this would be the last that I heard from this person.

Two days later, it was on a Thursday, I got an email from the same address. By now I had almost forgotten about this person, and was certain that she had concluded that I was daft and moved on with her lives. Hopefully, she would not be too tormented by my sadistic humor. I figured she, like me and nearly everyone else, were just in it for the thrill. Who would go to a popular shopping mall in early December- right before Christmas- at one of the busiest shopping times of the week wearing a shirt proclaiming to the world that she was an amusement device? Particularly, who would do it if an inquiry by any adult, of either sex, would result in her having to recite an embarrassing dirty little rhyme? It was her hometown, and the probability of running into someone she knew in this medium-sized city could not be inconsequential. It was madness.

And yet... When I opened the email there was a file attachment. It was a photo. The text of the email said simply: "Is this OK?" I opened the file to see it was a photograph of a white T-shirt laid out on a colorful stripped bedspread that had a simple declarative sentence on it. In bold black block letters arranged in three lines of one word each, it said: "I'm A Toy."

Was she calling my bluff, or was she really planning on playing this out? I wondered. If it was a game of chicken, I couldn't very well swerve first. Against my better judgment, I wrote a response that said: "It's fine, just make sure you don't cover it up with another garment. Of course, you'll need to wear a skirt that is above the knee and no panties. I'll be watching you."

A one word reply came almost immediately. "Understood."

Saturday came soon enough, and it was a beautiful day. Azure skies streaked with high wispy white cirrus clouds were clear and vivid. The air was crisp. It was more like a mid-autumn day than winter. By December, Indiana winter weather could easily be freezing and snowy, and so this was a nice respite.

I decided that I had to make a trip to the mall out of severe curiosity - though I really doubted the woman would have the nerve to go through with the entire exercise. After about an hour, at almost 4:00pm, I saw a woman ambling my way with a white shirt with black block letters that said "I'm A Toy." She had a green sweater on that was long in the back, but it did not close across the front and left the message unobstructed.

She was a bosomy soccer-mom of about 40 years old. She had auburn hair worn shoulder length and styled in a comely manner. She was definitely prettier than I expected, and I found myself getting aroused as I watcher her. Not one to be put off by a few curves, I tried to imagine the pendulous orbs and round buns obscured by her clothes.

At first I had an irrational fear that she would pick me right out of the crowd, but then I realized that she was trying to avoid eye-contact. It was, therefore, relatively easy to observe her without a risk of being observed. I was able to trail her for almost an hour. She did exactly as I requested walking the entire mall, and frequently going into stores. Despite seeming a little nervous, she did precisely as she had been told.

In fact, I followed her around until about five minutes before 5:00pm arrived, and brought with it the end of her commitment to spend time in the mall. She had worked her way around such that she was getting closer to the parking deck as 5:00pm approached. The woman was in the home stretch when I tapped her on the shoulder and startled her. I hadn't planned on contacting her, but after seeing her, and the attendant arousal resulting from my strange attraction to busty red-headed motherly types, I couldn't help myself.

"Sorry, I couldn't help but notice your shirt, what does that mean exactly?" Despite a tanned complexion with subdued freckles that made her hair coloring appear natural, I could see her face blush with an incredible quickness. I realized that I was being an ass, but couldn't quite help myself. I could have introduced myself so she would know I was the one who had given her the order and was thus in the know about her little poem, but, instead, I let her think I was a random stranger.

"I...I'm" Her voice cracked a little as she started to speak. She spoke in a low tone, presumably to avoid being overheard. It was bad enough that she had to deliver the poem to one stranger, she certainly didn't want a group gathering for her little poetry recital. She took a deep breath, let it out, and started over. "I'm a toy for fucking, for spanking and sucking. If you take me, please don't break me. But bend me and breach me, and punish and teach me." She said it quickly though softly as if to get it over with.

The meter was a little off, but I couldn't fault her for not getting the verse across. "Ah, it sounds like my lucky day. You're a pretty little toy." As I spoke, I stepped toward her, put my hand on her shoulder, and looked her in the eye -which she instinctively averted.

"Do you like strange men to use you as a sex toy?" I asked.

"Yes, I suppose." She replied anxiously.

"You suppose? Don't you know? Shouldn't you know?" I found that her deferential nature emboldened me, and, what's more, I found I enjoyed being emboldened.

"I'm sorry. I've never done this before, but I've wanted to." She said.

"Why now?" I asked.

"My need finally overwhelmed my fear." She replied, still not daring to look up.

"What kind of vehicle do you have?"

"A Dodge minivan."

"Perfect. Take me to it."

"Yes sir."

I followed as she led the way. We left the clean, bright, and colorful environment of the shopping mall in favor of the dark, shadowy, and utilitarian space of the multi-level parking deck. As we walked through the deck on the floor on which she had parked her car, there were almost no vacant spaces. There was also a fair amount of traffic cruising slowly around systematically hunting for an open parking space.

"Werp - Werp" The sound of the alarm chirped as she remotely unlocked the light metallic green mini-van. The vehicle had factory tinting on all the windows except the windshield, and it was facing a concrete wall. That was perfect. It would be dark enough to conceal activities inside the van as long as the interior light was off, but would lend the illusion of being out in the open. No one would be able to see the two of us in the van unless they shined a light in, but being able to see out would give the woman the feeling that prying eyes could see her. This would add a certain thrill to the process. Even if she knew on an intellectual level how unlikely it was that someone would see inside the car, there would still be a psychological feeling of exposure. The front windshield was not tinted, but it faced a cinderblock wall such that no one could see in, except in the unlikely event that they tried to squeeze through while walking in front of the van. It was not without risk of being seen, but even with the relatively high holiday season traffic it seemed fairly unlikely. Of course, if someone got into one of the cars on either side of the minivan, they might see movement through the window.

We entered the van through the sliding side door. There was a bench seat behind the driver's seat. I sat on that seat immediately behind the open space between the driver and front passenger seats, and I bid the sexy auburn-haired woman to kneel on the floorboard in front of me.

I brushed a stray lock of hair off the Toy's cheek. "You have some nice looking tits. Let me see them." I leaned back in the seat after stating my command. The Toy took her sweater off, and then pulled the "I'm A Toy" shirt off. She stripped slowly and methodically. She paused a moment kneeling in her D-cup bra with that tremendous cleavage. Then she reached around her back and unhooking the bra to release her heavy orbs. While the weather was relatively pleasant, it was still winter in Indiana. This meant that her nipples hardened almost immediately, and the skin of her areolas tightened up developing an inviting texture.

I traced a finger over each of the areolas in turn, and, seemingly impossibly, they tightened up yet more still. "Are you nervous that someone might see you topless in here?" I asked.

"A little."

"Why? You've got nothing to be ashamed of. You've got outstanding tits."

The Toy gave a wan smile, and flipped her hair back off her shoulder. I bent forward and popped one of her nipples into my mouth. She cooed lightly.

"Do you like to suck cock?" I asked her.

"Yes."

"Are you good at it?"

"I hope so. I want to be good at it, for you. I'll try hard, and I'm willing to learn to do it better."

"Let's see?"

She nodded and then reached forward to unbuckle my belt and unzip my trousers. I leaned back and raised my hips as necessary so she could pull my trousers down just a little to make access easier. She then eased my semi-erect member out the fly of my boxer shorts. Her hands were soft as she lightly stroked my cock toward an increasing state of erection. She then began to lick around the shaft and to kiss the head. This was pleasant, but then when she took my member into the warm softness of her mouth, the skin of my cock stretched to its utmost and darkened. She then began to bob her head taking in the first three or so inches of my cock into her mouth the pleasure hit a new level. She was right. She did try hard.

"Are you ready to take a little more?" I asked, knowing that she would not be able to answer. But the general nodding of her head indicated in the affirmative.

I reached under her hair caressing her cheek and around to the back of her neck with my right hand and put my left on the top of her head. I then pulled her head down further onto my member. I didn't face any resistance. I preceded to skull-fuck her vigorously. She gasped, gagged, sputtered, and drooled, but she kept at it without trying to pull away. I had had many pleasant blow jobs in my life, but had always felt the need to be quite polite and civil about the great gift I was receiving. Now, without such reservations, I was taking full advantage of her willingness to let me use her as I pleased. Her gagging and slurping noises were a sweet symphony to me. When I was on the cusp of blowing my load, I moved her face off my cock and shot a jagged stream of cum across her bangs, eyebrow, and cheek. I left the little dollop from my last spasm on her lower lip.

"Well. That was pleasant. Do you have a garage?" I asked.

"Excuse me... excuse me, master?" She amended her statement in response to my stern look, but, overall, looked perplexed.

"I'm going to take the shirt as a souvenir, and was wonder if this would leave you walking from the street with nothing under that sweater but those glorious titties. If so, I think I would be doing a service to your neighborhood." With that, I gathered up the shirt and got ready to leave. That was enough for a first session.

I left the woman wrapping the sweater tight across her front. Her ample mounds were straining to escape. I imagined her going home principally topless with her face bathed in my jizm, and smiled.

The Toy was the best gift I ever got for Christmas, better than the bike when I was seven, and it is a gift that has kept on giving.