1. Trust


    Date: 7/17/2015, Categories: BDSM, Shemales, Author: klammer, Rating: 100, Source: xHamster

    sweetie,&#034 she said, with a lean and a kiss. &#034Do you need anything else?&#034 I blushed. No, it wasn't that suggestive a line, but I'd once tried to make her sit in the car, when it was raining cats and dogs, and ran into a store to get something she said she needed. And when I'd asked that, she'd told me what it was she also needed, which was probably the only thing she needed. I let her get her hair wet, rather than try to by feminine hygiene supplies. &#034Uhh, a lighter,&#034 I said. I relaxed into the seat, a little red-faced, to wait, and reflect. It's the little things that count in a relationship. One of my friends had told me that in college. He was living with his girlfriend, off-campus, and the reason he told me is because they had just had an enormous screaming fight, based, on the surface, on the fact that she bought the groceries, and liked her peas fresh or frozen, while he preferred the mushy kind out of a can. It was one of those ridiculous little stories that stays with you. He'd been laughing when he finally admitted to it, and then, to my surprise, had gone off to make a compromise, instead of simply giving in. I recalled dates from my past, and times when I had dashed into a store to get something for a girlfriend. Leaving her in the car. I recalled that it had made me feel important, and gallant. Now I wondered how it had made her feel. Taken care of? Or taken in charge? It *was* kind of pleasant, being waited on. But the waiting wasn't as ...
    pleasant, nor was the feeling of incompetence. Once more the battle between security-in-dependence and fear was on. I began to wonder what caused the fear. Fear of not being taken care of? Or fear of being noticed, dependent on a woman? She came back, handed me a bag, and started up the car. I turned my head away after I opened the bag. I didn't want her to see the tears. It was not a nice trick. Virginia Slims, a pink lighter, and some breath mints. We were at the restaurant before I had fought my composure back. I left the bag in the car. She didn't say anything. Good thing, too, because I was simmering. Once more, she was in charge, but this time, whenever I started to do something from my usual patterns, she subtly spanked me. Figuratively speaking, of course. She made me feel gawky and a fool, so that dinner was actually a pretty miserable affair. And no cigarette to finish it, not until we got to the car and I smoked one of the foul VS's. I was acting pretty subdued by that point. What I was was steaming, just smoking mad. You know what kept me from saying anything? The panties. Even cotton ones. Suppose I made a fuss, right? She could just expose me. Well, she could, couldn't she? She seemed to be having a nice time, and continued to act quite affectionate, putting her hands on me, teasing me, flirting. But as soon as I started to do the same, she'd pull away sharp. In fact, as we stood in line at the box office, I realized that she had maneuvered me into *clinging,* in that ...
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