The story of shopping ; candlelight gratis.

(The gratis part is on the left).

So today, other than taking whore out to dinner at the brothelⁱ restaurantⁱⁱ I also took self-same whore out shopping. We didn't end up buying much for her, it was mostly stuff por el hogar -- coffee grinder, liquadora, ten pounds' worth of candles, incandescent lightbulbs, a pair of shoes for me, some shirts also for me, cufflinks for meⁱⁱⁱ and generally speaking me, me, me!

She did get to carry it all, of course, which does make quite the impression on the locals, especially the middle aged female fraction of said locals. As I'm fond of saying, let them get used to it. Or, if you prefer, as the whore in question put it : "that's what slaves^iv are for".

She did get a bunch of station adequate and job-relevant stockings, of course, I'm not that much of an ogre^v, and besides she also got a see-through loose-knitted top. Which she went to try on in the dressing cabin as is customary, but then emerged to model it for me, as per standing orders.

The catch being not that you could make out her nips through the holes, which of course you could, but that she wasn't wearing anything under her dress. Also as per standing orders. So once she took it off to try on the top she was approximately covered from neck to navel but no more, and as a matter of consequence there she stood in short order, stark naked in the middle of the tienda, freshly shaven lips and well toned butt on full display. Isn't that what whores are for ?

I personaly think she cut quite a lovely figure. The other customers did their very best to happenstantially not notice. The girls working there idem, except for one middle aged woman who got all indignant, hands over mouth, eyes popped etcetera -- but had the common decency to be shocked in silence which I very much count in her favour. And besides -- let them get used to it!

But the catch is (lots of catches in the lace, wouldn't you say ?) that while she was getting dressed for being naked, I was sniffing from behind this incredible blondy in a yoga suit. Chick was as tall as my whore -- which is tall enough -- and sported an absolutely splendid figure, nice juciy ass, big tits, slim waist, a pleasure. She knew it, too, took her time paying eight dollars, then took her time filling in whatever frequent textile miles form for promotional purposes (while "surreptitiously" checking me out of the corner of her eye) and so forth. Eventually she moved a little downstream and stood there, killing time with her phone. So I tell my gal "Ima pay, you go talk to her".

Which the moll did, blondy's name is Jennifer (I know, right!), her number I'm not at liberty to share and... well that's that, they're going to have coffee sometime this week.

Isn't that what stores are for ?

1. She doesn't work there. Actually, she doesn't work anywhere, she's just my personal private whore. You know, just like a private jet -- except with more suction. [↩]
2. Yes, they have this here, a casino-brothel-restaurant complex. I recall the restaurant was quite good a decade ago ; I can confirm it stayed that way. [↩]
3. I'm the guy who can take whore to jewelry store and walk out with a pair of cufflinks for himself y nada mas. The clerk couldn't fucking believe his eyes, at any rate. [↩]
4. I suppose this opens a rather scholastic dispute over categories, to establish whether a slave can be a whore, and vice-versa. The solution is rather simple however : she can be whatever the fuck I say she is. Because, you've guessed it... that's what whores are for! [↩]
5. I even bought her icecream! Which she couldn't eat, her hands being full, but it's the intent that cunts, amirite ? [↩]