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| dedicated_kitty |
We've been out for dinner. The meal was lovely, you were exceptionally attentive and I, well I squirmed and blushed my way through the evening, loving every single ounce of your attention, which ranged from gentle touches and kind words to filthy and degrading threats.
We're taking a slow, peaceful walk back to mine, enjoying the fresh night air on our skin while we discussed both of our plans for the week ahead. All of a sudden you stop and turn me to face you, "Your knickers are soaking wet, aren't they?" You've caught me off guard, you have this deliberate act of putting me on the spot when I'm least expecting it down to a tee and despite me being entirely aware of this tactic I'm helpless but to react every single time. My cheeks burn red under your gaze and I have to resist the urge to bury my face in your chest and hide. The silence seems to last forever but you wait patiently for my answer before prompting me again. The most I manage is a nod and a delightfully ashamed "Yes".
You don't acknowledge my answer, not that it deserves much of a response anyway, instead you take my hand and lead me to a nearby bench. You sit down and I perch on the edge of the seat next to you. You know all of the emotions that run through me in response to each of your actions, you decide how you want me to feel and then so graciously manipulate me to follow. I must be so predictable, or perhaps you're just damn good, or maybe both are true.
You take hold of my hand and rest it in your lap where you play with my fingers. I watch our hands but I know it's a deliberate act while your eyes assess me, I can sense a slight smile on your face and I feel grateful I don't know what it is you're planning in your head. Surprisingly, it's my voice that breaks the silence. "Please could we go home now, I'm getting really cold." I wrap my free arm around me, rubbing the top of my other arm as if to emphasise my point.
"Aww I didn't realise you were cold." Your voice sounds genuinely concerned and you pull me into you. "But we can't go just yet I'm afraid, there's something you're going to do for me, then we'll go home, I promise."
I nervously adjust my position in the seat while dread, arousal and anticipation flutter like butterflies in my stomach. I both love and fear your devious and creative imagination in equal amounts but all night you've had an extra little glint in your eyes and I had a feeling you'd be excelling yourself tonight. You stand up and pat me on the head in a way that's deliberately patronising "You just be a good girl, and don't show me up."
I watch you walk away and around a corner, all of a sudden I'm feeling alone in the darkness of the night. I consider following you, is that what I'm supposed to do? But it didn't seem like you wanted me to follow you, the conversation in my head carries on for a moment or two, I conclude I'm to wait here. I keep my eyes fixed on the wall of the pub on the corner where you disappeared. I don't have to wait long before you emerge again. My heart sinks and my clit throbs, both within a split second of each other as I realise you're not alone.
Your voice, speaking very matter-of-factly, carries in the night air, "Yep, she can't even keep them clean for a couple of hours, I'll show you..." Several seconds later you're both stood in front of me, a distant street light displays his eager grin which fails to hide his nicotine stained teeth and the gaps where others once stood. I feel nauseous as the smell of both stale and fresh alcohol on his breath hits me. I look to you, pleading silently, trying desperately to communicate my thoughts to you psychically. But I don't need to. You know them already, you know I'm imagining his hands on me and that the thought repulses me, but you also know that my knickers are clinging to a fresh wave of wetness as I contemplate my situation. Sometimes I get the urge to call you whatever offensive name comes into my head first, this is one of those times, I want to scream it so loud, but I can't do it, not for fear of repercussion but instead because I know you do these things for me as much as you do them for yourself. I settle for whispering something under my breath that goes unnoticed.
“This gentleman doesn't believe that you look like the kind of girl who walks around with disgustingly wet knickers on so I told him he could come and see it for himself. Are you going to be a good girl and show him?” At that second I wished that you were in that mood where you don't ask, and you just made me do as you want the moment I hesitate or show resistance, that would have been so much easier, but that wasn't you tonight. You were in a much more playful mood and I know you'd drag this out as much as you could just to prolong my agony.
I had accepted that this was going to happen so it was down to me to get it over with. I love the mental battle of these incredibly difficult situations that feel so impossible at the time. You always help me through them and for every second I'm there, for every second I'm thinking I can't do this, I don't want to do this, and feeling that all I want is to run away, I'm rewarded with an equally intense second of the most rawest pleasure. It's wonderful.
I lift my feet onto the edge of the bench and part my legs, pulling the fabric of my dress into my lap so the crotch of my knickers is visible. I keep my eyes on yours while I invite the stranger to violate me with his eyes, ours lock for a moment and I feel an ache deep inside me as I vividly imagine the hard nasty fuck I'll probably get once we're home, I'm convinced you're thinking exactly the same thing.
I'm dragged out of my dream as you direct your attention to the stinking man in front of me. “Sure, help yourself, she loves it.”
The man steps forward and kneels down in front of me, grinning that dirty grin again. I think I physically shuddered as my eyes met his. I close my eyes and drop my head back against the back of the bench, ashamed at my obvious arousal at my predicament. Gripping my ankles tightly, I fight the impulse to kick the drunk in front of me. I wince as his fingers press the fabric, the thought of his dirty hands filling me with disgust and shame, he wriggles his fingers in what I assume is a pathetic attempt to pleasure me. The fabric causing my lips to move makes my excitement audible to the three of us and a whimper of embarrassment leaves my lips as the squelch is heard again. I open my eyes as I feel you press your crotch gently against the top of my head. You stroke the redness of my hot cheeks and I look up to watch you watching him, checking his movements. I feel my hot flesh exposed to the cool air as he pulls my knickers aside. Your voice makes me jump a little as you interrupt his important work just before he invades me with his grubby fingers. You silently lift my hand and place it between my legs prompting me to pleasure myself in front of the stranger. I moan a little in protest but a sharp slap quickly stings my cheek and prompts me to comply. I move my other hand to join the first and tug the fabric roughly so it's comfortably out of my way, deciding I'd rather my fingers than his anyway. Two fingers part and separate my lips showing my one man audience what he wants to see. The coolness of the night feels so gentle and teasing against the previously concealed warm flesh.
I continue to perform for several minutes, a couple of fingers expertly working my swollen pink clit, while a finger from my other hand teases my aching hole, all the time thinking of being stretched roughly by your cock. Your hard on presses uncomfortably into my head now and just increases my desperation. My hips are lifting off the bench now as my orgasm begins to creep closer and any embarrassment I had before has left me and I no longer care who is looking at me.
You've been watching me closely, letting me edge nearer to my climax, but seconds before I fall you grab my wrists and lift them behind my head, “No, no, no, I don't think so.”
I whinge with frustration for a moment before I suddenly feel very exposed and shy again. I close my legs and sit up in a more respectable position on the bench. I look to the man still kneeling in front of me and realise he has been rubbing himself throughout and I can't help but feel that familiar flutter in between my legs again when I spot a wet patch on his trousers.
I stand up, his head just an inch or so in front of me. I scan the area quickly and confident no one else is around I lift my dress above my hips and invite him to take my soggy knickers as a souvenir. I don't have to offer twice.
| 12 May 11, 2:53 PM devil_boy UK, 24 mths  |
Another great story well written  |
