Fantasies are hot.
I have a bunch.
It’s a lazy Saturday afternoon and you’re on a mission.
Your objective: get a fresh white shirt for your cousin’s wedding.
So, you head to your favorite men’s store.
The mall parking is cramped but you manage to get a spot all the way at the back of the lot.
You survive the trek through the black-top concrete, sweating your ass off in the hot and humid sunshine.
Upon entering the air-conditioned palace of shopping, you take a moment to enjoy the cool air, forgetting all your troubles for a moment before some crying child snaps you out of it.
A faint music plays some one-hit wonder from three years ago and is barely audible over the sound of all the shoppers.
You make your way through the mess carefully, dodging through the various families deciding to have reunions in the middle of the corridors forcing everyone else to go around them until arriving at your destination.
You walk into the store, the glass doors shutting behind you and separating you from the pandemonium of the mall.
You take in the sight of the store, row upon row of high-quality shirts, gorgeous suits, and stylish casual wear.
As you take a look around, marveling at the merchandise you will never buy, a tall slim salesman quietly approaches, taking note of where your attention is held, which styles you hover around.
You can’t help but notice him, his handsome features, his impeccable style.
You try to pretend like he’s not there but he sees you.
His attitude is that of the lion or tiger watching his prey, looking for weaknesses and openings.
He stays just out of sight, for he knows approaching you too quickly would spook you.
He is an experienced hunter and he’s hungry.
He’s not going to let you get away.
While you’re taking a look at the selection of ties, he makes his move:
“Well hello sir, I see you’re admiring our lovely ties. Is there one that has stood out to you?”
“Mmm, I do like that one there” you reply, pointing to a burgundy paisley in a classic, thicker style.
“I didn’t realize I was dealing with a connoisseur. You have an eye for quality. That particular one is hand-made by Italian artisans using the finest silks on the market. It sells for $400. Would you like to see it?” he says, his voice full of an irresistible charm.
That’s a lot of money for a tie, you think to yourself, more than I’m comfortable spending for myself.
“Ummm, sure? I guess. I mean… I would like to see it, please” you answer with a clear lack of any kind of certainty.
“Certainly, sir. With pleasure” answers the salesman, his grin unmistakenly infecting his tone of voice.
He pulls the tie out from behind the display, the gorgeous fabric shining in the lighting like a diamond, and lays it in front of you.
Looking at it up close, you can tell that it’s quality is way beyond anything you’ve ever worn.
It is, without doubt, the single finest piece of clothing you’ve ever seen up close.
“It’s… it’s amazing. I’ve never seen such amazing detail” you eventually manage to stammer. “It’s just so beautiful.”
“Do you want to feel it?” he says as he presents it to you, entering your personal space without invading it.
In fact, you welcome it.
You touch the tie and you feel paradise.
You know you will never feel such a fine fabric, touch something so soft ever again.
You even feel something along the lines of unworthiness, as if you’ve committed some terrible sin against reality itself by knowing a pleasure you shouldn’t have.
“It’s absolutely divine. I can see why it’s so expensive. It’s just so much better than anything else I’ve experienced.”
“I think I’ll wrap it up,” the salesman says in a playful tone of voice.
“Oh no. I would never buy something so nice for myself”, you answer.
“I’m well aware you’d never buy it for yourself. I’m telling you to buy it for me” he replies, the earlier playful tone becoming much more commanding.
“Ah, um… I’m not quite sure I’m following you, Sir” you say, clearly confused.
“It’s very simple: you’re going to buy this tie for me. You will enjoy spending your hard-earned money on a complete stranger and you will thank me for the pleasure.”
“I’m… uhh… I don’t…” you can barely talk.
Your mind is going a thousand miles an hour and your mouth is going two miles an hour.
You’re just so overwhelmed by feelings: embarrassment, shyness, repulsion, submissiveness, and a strange kind of pleasure you’ve never experienced before.
You try to make sense of what’s happening, but you can’t.
You’ve entered into a new headspace and all you can do is watch yourself from the sidelines.
You’re sinking into yourself, losing agency over your own actions, losing all control.
And in a way, you love it.
“I don’t remember allowing you to think, little one.
I remember speaking very clearly and giving you an order.”
You should speak up, but you can’t.
You know you’re being taken advantage of and you can’t help but feel *good* about it.
“You’re right sir, I’m sorry. Do you take credit cards?”
“I do, and I never give them back.”
The handsome devil was right: you enjoyed buying something for a stranger.
You enjoyed being taken control of.
And you made sure to thank him for the opportunity.
Too bad you forgot about your shirt.
Winners will have to do, for you.
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