By William D’Arc 2022
An evening with Sandra, my sub-in-training at the time, at the San Francisco opera
Sandra had two very good seats for the opera Carmen, lower section just right of center, at the well-appointed San Francisco Opera House.
Though I am not usually an opera fan, I agreed to accompany her on the condition that lifestyle training would continue even in that formal, fancy setting. Over the years I have learned that a test of real willingness — especially in someone new to power exchange — is to bring the lifestyle to vanilla world with the same dedication normally reserved for in-private adventures. There are many high-energy ways to discover whether someone truly wants to commit to this way of life. Not just occasionally, but 24/7. I wanted to give Sandra that opportunity. I wanted to see how she would do.
You may already know how I feel about sharing my property, my submissive. There is a quiet pride that arises when a beautiful sensual woman attends her Sir and is, by her manner and dress, clearly present for others to enjoy too. It was my plan to advance her training in exactly this way.
Sandra and I were coming from different parts of town so agreed to meet at the downtown plaza. As I walked up the theater steps I saw her there waiting for me. She was wearing the classic ‘little black dress’, a slip dress really, mid-thigh length, low in front showing a nice landscape of bare skin supported by thin straps. She was holding a silver colored sequined bag and looked nervous as I approached.
Standing alone between marble columns at the top of the marble steps, the dress clung to her figure like a second silky skin. There was nothing underneath it — that much was immediately obvious. Exactly my preference, as she knew after several weeks of sweet, nose-to-nose training. Let there be nothing but single thin layers between a woman’s bare skin and the rest of the world. Let her be naked-in-black on this formal occasion. I expressed my satisfaction by kissing her hello, running my hands along her spine and backside. No bra, no panties, no thong. Perfect. She smiled at me. We walked into the building arm in arm and found our seats.
The first two acts seemed to go by quickly. I found myself caught up in the story, the performances, the rowdy music. But when intermission came I was happy to get up and stretch. Sandra and I walked out from the auditorium to the lobby together. I left her standing beside one of the interior columns and went hunting for champagne. I thought it would be interesting to put her on display, alone, glowing-beautiful, for the few minutes I would be away. Just to see what might happen.
When I returned, two glasses in hand, Sandra was talking with three men who had gathered around, all wearing tuxedos, standing tall and looking sharp. Sandra was smiling and chatty, easily engaged with all three at once. I excused myself for interrupting, said hello to the group and handed her a glass. She gave me another twinkly smile in return. She was having fun.
The men stood back at my arrival, whereas before they had been as close as possible to Sandra no doubt enjoying the little black dress and trying to connect with her on several levels. I encouraged them to continue the conversation. It was my pleasure to sip champagne and tickle Sandra’s shoulder blade with the tips of my left hand fingers. For me she was the perfect center of attention. I had no obligation to entertain any of those men and could just relax, smile and nod. And watch Sandra shine.
The highlight of those few minutes together occurred when she laughed at something one of the men had said, juggling the sequined purse and a half-full glass, causing one of the tiny straps to slip from her left shoulder. An areola came into partial view for a moment or two. Silk fabric caught on the tip of the nipple and simply… hung there… emphasizing her beauty in a delightful way, teasing us with all manner of possibilities. She grinned sheepishly, immediately fixed the strap then stood straight as a board. I smiled back and with my free hand slipped the strap off the shoulder again, the three men watching, so we could linger there with the play of exposed skin against the black fabric in that bright corridor light. This time, without a word or a glance, Sandra let the strap simply lie in the crook of her arm. Half a breast was exposed but she didn’t protest. There were no complaints from her suitors. Certainly none from me. Perhaps these men were wondering at the kind of relationship we enjoyed. My hand thanked her for accepting the strap-play by stroking the bare shoulder skin and running fingernails up and down her bare back. One could feel the electricity in the air. I watched goose bumps rise on her arm. The barely covered nipples tighten hard while tiny papillae made an appearance on the surface of the exposed areola.
Marvelous.
A few minutes more and the ceiling lights flicked on and off announcing the start of the final act. I adjusted Sandra’s dress. We finished our champagne and said our goodbyes. Two of the men handed me business cards. One of them seemed to understand the opportunity he might have to help ‘develop her’ in his own way sometime in the future. Send the man an email, I thought, pocketing his card.
Sandra and I returned to our seats. She sat to my right and as the lights dimmed low as I pushed the hem of the little black dress all the way up her thigh with my closest hand. I ran a finger across the exposed valley between her thigh and pubis. She gasped and reflexively parted her knees. Bare labia came into view just as darkness swept the room. I whispered that she was soo beautiful, that she had teased those men soo nicely, that I was soo happy to have her as my companion. I meant every word. Then, in that second or two of total darkness before the stage lights lit, while eyes were adjusting, I stretched my right arm across the back of her chair, pulled her towards me, and slipped my hand inside the front of the little black dress. She gasped again. Was it the surprise of a palm against her breast or was my hand cold? No matter. But to warm the space I gently palmed the breast, positioning its nipple between the knuckles of my first two fingers. As the stage lights rose and music came up, people focused their attention on the stage, on the raucous players. I began to oh-so-slowly roll the nipple between my knuckles, pinching and pulling the nub, feeling it swell in my hand, gently massaging the full breast with my palm, constantly pressuring the nipple between the fingers of my right hand…
Glancing around our seats, the couple sitting next to her was locked on the stage. People behind us had their attention there too. No one seemed interested in my tuxedoed arm holding Sandra close, or my hand disappeared down the front of her dress. This has been my most frequent experience with public play — ‘the public’ is typically oblivious as to what might be going on just inches away.