Beauty at Long Odds

While they waited for the walk signal, he said, “See the girl across the street?”

“Yes, Sir,” she replied.

“What is she doing?”

It seemed too obvious, but all she could think of was, “Waiting to cross?”

“What is her left hand doing?” he asked, patiently.

“Holding her skirt, because it’s windy, and she doesn’t want it to blow up and show her panties to everyone.”

“Yes. ‘Clutching’ is my shorthand for the grip and the reason.“ He led her away from the corner, so there would be more time to talk. ”It’s extremely rare for a skirt to fly up that high,“ he continued. ”If it’s a tight skirt, or one below the knee, that won’t happen. If the fabric is heavy, like the lined wool skirt of a business suit, it won’t blow up. If she’s carrying something like a purse or a briefcase, the skirt won’t have enough freedom to move. And if it’s just plain windy, rather than full of unpredictable, swirling currents, the skirt won’t have enough lift.

“Now, if all the right things come together: length, style, fabric, freedom to move, blustery breezes… there’s a very small chance that her skirt will fly up and anyone who happens to be looking at that exact moment will get a nice view.

“In that event, a good girl yields to nature, and allows herself to increase the beauty of the universe.”

She took in every word with perfect attention, and felt her cunt grow wet and slippery, the inevitable, submissive reaction to his voice, words and tone alike. “I understand, Sir,” she said.

Having missed a few cycles of lights, they returned to the corner to wait.

“If all the right factors combine, against the odds, then you will allow your beauty to be shared. If you clutch, I’ll spank you then and there, in public, and continue when we’re home.”

His mention of discipline had its usual effect: her cunt-honey overflowed; she felt it meandering down her thighs.

He hadn’t allowed her panties that day. She felt the strong wind swirling around her legs.

— Frenulum

P.S. All of the above is my own stance on the matter of clutching. For the record, the wind-blown revelations I have seen amount to roughly 1.5 per decade. So, ladies, if it happens, consider it a message from the universe that you were chosen for your beauty.