Home > it hurts so good, nipply, submission > My IKEA shopping experience

My IKEA shopping experience

Since moving into my apartment in San Francisco, I’ve been spending an absurd amount of time and energy getting furnishings.  While I had some basics – bed, nightstand, and closet with a bit of shelving – I needed a few more items to really feel moved in.  I initially scrounged through Craigslist hoping to find what I needed for cheap, but after dealing with flakes, no-answers, and sorry-already-takens for a week, I finally caved and decided to go to IKEA.

What I thought would be a tedious but necessary trip to the megastore took a very interesting turn, however, when I mentioned it to T over chat the night before. He said that he was thinking of going as well to look at shoe racks.  Now, after my last visit a couple days prior, we had talked about the possibility of my being his “pet” for an afternoon.  It looked like meeting at Ikea would provide such an opportunity.

I immediately received a set of rules of behavior for the outing.  Once I accepted them, we made plans to meet the next day, Sunday.  I went to bed that night filled with anticipation and not a little anxiety.  And maybe a little bit turned on.

I left for the store close to noon, after waiting the morning for yet another no-response Craigslister.  I met up with T at the entrance lobby to Ikea, and when I saw him the butterflies in my stomach all started flapping frantically to get out.  But when he asked me if I was ready, I nodded.

“Then kneel, please.”

collarI looked up at him, the shock plainly lit on my face.  He waited expectantly as I turned my head from side to side, eyed the people walking around us, then quickly knelt on the floor of the lobby, my ears burning.  I saw his hand go into his pocket, at eye level with my head, and take out a thin, smooth silver collar.  I felt it circle my neck, and with a small click T secured it with a lock.

He helped me back up to my feet, and we turned and walked into the main hall.

Here were my rules for the day:

1. Pet will always use the word Sir when speaking to me.
2. Pet will always obey all commands given.
3. Pet will conduct herself in the proud manner appropriate to her position as my pet.
4. Pet will keep hands behind her back, crossed at the wrists, when idle. While seated crossed at the wrists on the lap is acceptable.
5. Pet will not use furniture, eat, or operate vehicle doors without permission.
6. Pet will accept punishment for transgressions of the rules.

With that in mind, I kept my hands behind my back while we walked through the store except to check out a lamp or dresser.  We browsed through each area, noting the many pervertables in the kitchen section, and in the offices and desks area, T sat down at an office set-up and had me kneel in front of him again.  My reservations about what other people in the store might see were quickly washing away by now; I slid easily to my knees.  We imagined this taking place in a more domestic setting, and I laughed that if it were really in his home office, he would get no work done.

We moved on to bedrooms and closets, looking over small dressers for me and shoe racks for him.  T found some racks in one of their modeled bedrooms, which even had a walk-in closet.  T entered one of these closets and I followed.  There were dressers and shoe racks and things inside, but all I really remember is suddenly feeling his fingers around my nipple, pinching deep through two layers of cloth.  He continued to check out the inside of the closet, and I concentrated on not making any noise.

We walked down aisles of wardrobes, and upon opening one, T said,

“This would be perfect: to have you tied on your knees in here, with a rope around your neck tied to that bar to keep you upright, and when it’s bedtime I just close the door…It would give me something pretty to look at in the morning…”

With that image at the forefront of my mind, we continued down the aisles.  Eventually we reached the end of the top floor and came out to the food court area.  Sneaky Ikea, putting a restaurant at the end of their maze of furniture, knowing we’d come out hungry.  So we got some food and found an empty table.  I got drinks and napkins before T allowed me to sit and eat.

Then we headed downstairs to collect our actual merchandise.  After hunting down each item, paying, and getting everything to our cars, we made a side trip to a nearby Home Depot so I could get bulbs for my new floor lamp, as well as rebar for the upcoming Burning Man.  After that, T asked if I wanted to continue with him for the afternoon, to which I promptly responded, “Yes!”

So we dropped my car off at his place, and he drove me to a nearby mall.  We walked through several shoe stores and I tried on more heels than I’ve ever put on before.  For each pair, I walked down the aisle and back, and sometimes stopped to see what the shoes looked like in the mirror.  I was surprised to find myself enjoying this – me, the girl who owns 6 pairs of shoes, among them flip flops, sneakers, and hiking boots.

Much as I had to actually experience spanking, caning, bondage, and a plethora of other kinks and fetishes to really get their appeal, my afternoon spent trying on shoes to model for T gave me a much better appreciation for shoes and the people who love them (and I mean really love them).  At one store, T told me to pick any two shoes to try on, and one of the pairs I chose felt incredible.  It was a kind of shiny black strappy heel, with thick straps tapering as they ran down the foot.  It’s hard to describe exactly, but every time I moved a foot, the straps clung, gripped, or shifted in the most delicious way.

In any case, we didn’t exclusively look at shoes, but they were definitely the focus.  And it was during these last few hours that I made two infractions to the rules.  While walking back to T in a pair of heels, I forgot to keep my hands crossed behind my back.  And then T realized that I had not used “Sir” at all throughout the day except when repeating the rules back to him in Ikea at the beginning.

Oops!

I had been aware of the latter, since I have a lot of difficulty calling someone “Sir” to begin with.  It takes getting used to, I suppose, and I am very much out of practice.  But it was still an infraction, and I was left to wonder what the punishment would be.

After a quick food court dinner we left the mall to head back to T’s place…  But not before T had me hand him my underwear in the parking lot, much to my embarrassment.  Even more embarrassing was the obvious evidence of just how much I enjoyed the, ah, shopping experience.

Back at the house, I spent the first half hour or so on a pillow on the ground, nestled against his legs as we watched TV.  We watched Night Shift, and soon after it started I was invited to sit on the couch and massage his feet.  I love giving massages, too, though the only feet I’ve really ever massaged are my own.  So it was fun to get deep into the arches and soles of his feet, and I elicited the most delightful groans.

I love those kinds of sounds.

Much of that night passed in a blur.  I remember more nipple torture, orgasms, and more foot massaging.  I ended up half-asleep against T’s legs, Law and Order playing, and my ankles tied.  T announced after the show ended that it was bedtime, and as I was immobilized with rope and almost asleep, he carried me upstairs to the cage.  I crawled in, he locked the door, and I promptly fell asleep.

The clang of the lock coming off and the door opening was my alarm clock for the morning.  I peered drowsily from the mound of blanket around my face to see T at the door, taking my legs and gently unfolding them and massaging them.  My muscles protested as I straightened from my half-fetal position, making me groan.  As I crawled halfway out of the cage, I heard T say,

“I want you to take your clothes off.”

Still only half-awake, I struggled to take off my clothes, my ankles still bound in the rope from the night before.  T helped me to my feet, and in the space of a few minutes I was gagged, handcuffed, and in black heels.  Oh, yes, and a red clip on each nipple.  Then he turned me around and bent me over the top of the cage to accept my punishment for the previous day’s infractions: 5 strokes with a cane.

m1205aI will not lie – if it had been more, I might have started crying.  By number three I could feel my eyes tearing up, though I’m not sure if it was the pain or the shock that caused that.  I felt like it didn’t so much hurt, but I can’t place why the sensation was almost enough to make me cry.  (And I admit: I almost wanted more)

After the fifth stroke I just stayed in place, breathing through the impact.  Then I felt fingers slide between my legs.

“Oh, someone is wet.  Did you enjoy that?”

But I couldn’t answer because those fingers had start to move and slide and, well, I was gagged anyway.

I don’t remember how many times I climaxed, but once I was able to stand steadily on my legs again, T fed an end of rope through the eyebolt on the front of my gag and led me to his bathroom, to his full length mirror.  I stared at the image in front of me; leather covering almost the whole front of my face, nipples painfully taut and aching in the clips, legs precarious atop shiny black heels, hands still shackled behind me.

I felt beautiful.

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