Supermarket Turnip

Supermarket Turnip


I have a very low opinion of men generally, their stupidity, inadequacies, emotional insecurities, limited sexual potency, and their desperate need for female approval, make them, in my mind, contemptible creatures.
I encountered a perfect example of the male species at my local supermarket a few weeks ago. A few minutes into my weekly shop I became aware of a pair of lust filled beady eyes, trying to discreetly follow me around.
Every aisle I went down ‘boggle eyes’ joined me, if I lingered there; he also loitered, pretending to be examining a possible purchase whenever I glanced his way. I mean, really! What person examines a box of cornflakes? You either buy it or not!
It was after the last of his ridiculous product scrutiny pantomimes that I chose to march my fully laden shopping trolley headlong into him, catching him square on his anklebone. It elicited a wonderful squeal of agony. Followed naturally by an abject apology…from him!
You may have thought that a bruised ankle, would be have been sufficient to cause him to abandon his new found obsession with me, but the way he seemed entranced by my smirk at his pain, made me feel his stupidity was far from exhausted… Or if you prefer a more poetic turn of phrase - I read in his eyes, in that brief moment I held his gaze, his souls desperate longing to please me.

It was at the checkout that we next met when surprise, surprise, he had engineered things to be right behind me in the queue. He tried his best to act as if it was a happy coincidence, smiling innocently at me and trying to get off a joke he had obviously being rehearsing ever since we collided. I was having none of it! Not even waiting for him to finish his feeble joke, I demanded to know, in a loud voice, why he had been following me.
His mouth dropped in horror as those around stared in his direction, and his face lost all colour. Completely incapable of speech, he just stood there, his bottom lip visibly quivering; I had shattered his fragile male ego with just one sentence.
He was at that moment like a drowning man, his embarrassment so acute that his brain simply couldn’t function. Then with the same assertiveness I used to so affectively destroy him, I now used to rescue him. I took control - Instructing him to load the conveyor belt that was now free, with my shopping.
With gushing thanks and apologizes he dutifully set about the task, his face now a lovely crimson colour, carefully placing all of my trolleys considerable contents onto the conveyor belt. I just stood and watched, smiling at the checkout girl, who seemed fascinated by the spectacle of this well dressed man’s rapid demotion down the social pecking order.
When he had finished loading my goods, I shooed him passed me to the far end of the checkout to begin the bagging process. He was now putty in my hands, and the checkout girl laughed to hear him mumble further apologizes as he timidly squeezed passed me to attend to his new duties.
Naturally when the sniggering checkout girl announced the cash total of my weekly shop, £87, I didn’t hesitate to declare, “He’s paying.”
In a daze he fumbled for his plastic and handed it to the girl, who I was pleased to note, abandoned her customary politeness and without a ‘thank you’ snatched the credit card, laughing openly at him.
It was at this point my predatory eye noted some key facts. In just the few seconds I had, as he opened his wallet, I identified all six of his credit cards. I also scrutinised his abandoned shopping basket, which guessing from its contents, he lived alone. His sorry looking shopping I kicked to one side, allowing the elderly lady next in line to unload hers
.
Then it was out to the car park, looking for all intent and purpose, like a happily married couple, having completed a pleasant shopping trip, him pushing the trolley, me walking alongside. Except the conversation was anything but pleasant.
I immediately began berating him for the indecency of his behaviour, which elicited from him a mantra of sorrys. As we approached the cash machines, I stopped our procession. I lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, and then closing in on him like a cat with a mouse, I blew the smoke from my lungs into his hangdog face.
Informing him,” You deserve fining.”
“Yes”, was all he could mumble.
I pointed regally to the cash machines, and like a poor lamb to the slaughter he scurried off towards them. I strolled over to a near by bench to enjoy my cigarette. I sat crossed legged which in my short skirt left my legs elegantly on full display.
However, no sooner was he at the cash machines then he was running back to me with a problem, taking in the wanton beauty of my crossed legs as he did. I knew what his question was going to be, so did not even wait for his stammering words, “Sorry, but…what…how much…” to make a full sentence.
“The max!” I instructed him.
Back he went, returning two minutes later with £250 in crisp new notes.
I often find in public situations, some men try to conceal the humiliation of handing over their hard earned money to me, stepping close and clandestinely passing it to me, it is a question of how much self-respect and dignity I have allowed them to retain. I generally choose not to correct them in this matter, as it is a good barometer of how far they have travelled down the road to perdition.
With ‘goggle eyes’ I was pleasantly surprised, when with no remaining shame he simply stood before me, head bowed, eyes focused on the floor, and openly handed over the money.
It revealed to me what an excellent job I had done in such a brief time, to so effectively break him. It was on this evidence that I chose to turn the screw even more.

On our journey across the car park to my car I deigned not to speak, instead walked ahead, allowing him to drink in the vision of feminine beauty that had so effortlessly enthralled him.
Once he had loaded the last bag into my car, I slammed the car boot down, just missing his fingers, and instructed him to follow me to the nearby cosmetics shop. Once inside I stocked up on an array of cosmetics, make-up and perfumes. The bill came to £224! To his credit he didn’t wait to be told but had his plastic ready as soon as the girl announced the grand total.
Silly vanilla girls might think that he was simply hoping to win me over romantically with his generosity, but such girls will never learn. Until they have taken control of a man and got their talons buried deep into his soul, they will never know what it is to be truly worshipped.
This man knew I was way out of his league, he knew our relationship could never be anything now but worshipper and Goddess. He knew in his soul that serving me financially was an honour and a privilege and all he would ever be worthy of; and now engaged in it with no hope of receiving anything in return.

We parted company, quite comically, with him stood as I instructed, with shoes removed, to attention close by the side of the car, with his toes tucked in front of the front wheel. He was again mumbling some half articulate sentences, the gist of which related to his hope of assisting with my shopping another time. The poor enamoured fool seemed oblivious to his predicament.
I sat in the car with the window down, engine on, and foot resting on the accelerator. I told him that what I was about to do was in order to safe guard other young women from his stalking, and as a reminder to him to always show women the utmost respect and deference.
“ Please, I will.” He pathetically begged. At last the reality of what was about to happen dawning on him.
I paid no heed, gently applying my foot to the accelerator pedal, the offside front wheel rolling slowly over his toes.
I am not sure what the exact pressure the front end of a BMW Z3 can deliver, but judging from his reaction, quite a lot it would seem. The scream was enough to make me wish I had not wound down my window.
He fell towards my car, his hands holding onto the roof for support. I stopped as I came level to him, his head slumped by my open window, and his breathing now a strangled mix of laboured gasps and quiet sobs.
I comforted him with a gentle caress of his cheek and wiped the first of his tears away with my index finger.
“Are you sorry?”
“Yes.” Came his heartfelt sob.
I patted his cheek, a parting farewell
“ Good boy.” Were my final words to him, and with that I drove off.

I have to date spent over £1,500 with the two credit cards I made him hand over to me, and as yet he has not blocked either cards use, which I am pleased with.
I cannot say I have seen him since that day at the supermarket……but then broken toes can take a while to heal.