I waited patiently, mouth open. Made sure I was available for every drop that you offered me. It was important, I knew, to let you decide where that would be.
Underneath my knees I could feel the slightly uncomfortable friction of a carpet rug made more for standing than kneeling. In some instances, the discomfort would have taken over the experience - I've always been particular about fabrics. But here it only fanned the flames.
Your eyes locked onto mine as the hand that was rubbing your cock, still slick with my wetness, held it out towards me, the speed of rubbing increasing. An offering, and a demand.
A hunger already satiated buzzed through me - tension building from your gaze and gliding down until it dripped from my well-fucked pussy. The beginnings of a new game.
I practiced keeping my eyes open, as long as I could, fighting the protective instinct against the spray I knew was coming. Kept my mouth open, tongue dipping out with its own beckoning. Waited until the spray came.
The first first spurt hit my cheek, and I could feel it dripping down my face, in the path tears usually fall, as the second one took my tongue up on its request for attention. As your cum filled my mouth, and slowed to a trickle, you took your cock and wiped it on my face, leaving the final dribbles as a glistening layer on my skin.
"Good girl", you said. "Time to go to dinner now, let's get dressed."
I began to walk into the bathroom, habit propelling me, until I heard your voice behind me.
"Not so fast. I said, get dressed. Go to the bathroom if you need, brush your hair - but I did not give you permission to wash your face."
I trembled slightly, feeling the hint of a blush rise. Stopped in front of the mirror to examine my face. The momentum of the first spurt had been fast enough that most of it had worked its way off my face, landing on my chest, a drop resting on the top of my still peaked nipple. But a sheen remained where it traveled, and on the other cheek, where my skin had been used for your cleaning. My lips, still puffy from kisses, told an obvious tale of fucking.
I wondered whether the people we saw out would think I had been crying or fucking, or if they would even notice anything. I wondered which of those I was most afraid of - the knowing, or the not knowing.
It didn't really matter either way. The point, after all, was not their participation. You already had all you needed to win this round: my knowledge that they could know. That the evidence of our play was on my face, that the game was by no means complete.
I put on clothes with this in mind. Boots just tall enough to be fun, but practical enough for walking. My light green silk skirt whose slit goes high enough to create opportunity. A cozy sweater with the perfect drape. No bra. I wouldn't be cold, but I also wouldn't be completely covered. Brushed my tangled hair into a low bun, putting my cheeks on display. Added my favorite earrings. Two can play this game.
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After a few blocks of walking, we arrived at the restaurant. Our table was outdoors, tucked into a little nook, a heat lamp providing warmth and lighting.
Already feeling the arousal blooming, I knew immediately this location would be a blessing and a curse. Fewer people could see us, but it would be easier for you to tease me. My appetite turned towards anticipation moreso than calories, though I liked the food here, and I appreciated that you never sacrificed quality for games. Hedonism was welcome in every way.
We sat down next to each other, in a move I used to find cringe and now found more sexy than sweet. I mentioned that I wasn't that hungry and you shot a teasing smile at me.
"Not hungry, really? I think there's at least one part of you that's more than a little bit hungry"
As you smirked at me, your hand found its way between my legs, slipping gracefully through the slit in my skirt and landing one finger on my already soaked panties. I felt your touch like a jolt through my system, the bolt of energy it generated contrasting with the lightness and stillness of the touch itself.
Satisfied with my response, your hand went back to parse the menu, as you casually contemplated options. Miso pasta, crudo, roasted veggies, homemade bread. Our waiter arrived, bearing cups and water and specials, and I waited through a speech I normally enjoy hearing with about 25 percent attention. Soon enough, the order was in, and your hand took up its place on the inside of my thigh. Too close for relaxation, and definitely not enough to satisfy.
You turned to me, taking in the extra brightness in my eyes, a giveaway of my arousal state. Leaned in and told me, "Your face looks so beautiful with my come all over it. And your nipples, so ready to play. I wonder what expression your face will be making by the time our appetizers arrive. I bet it's you that will be ready to be eaten .... But too bad. You'll have to wait"