Mistress can't blame you.
She knows that you need someone to do your thinking for you. She knows that you need someone to control you. But she wasn't there.
Sara was there.
You couldn't remember why you were in the bar or what you had ordered. All you knew was that your glass was half-empty when you first noticed her.
Her hair was black, streaked with the first wisps of grey. Her face carried the authority of early middle age, and her eyes asserted an effortless authority. Her dress was long and flowing, suggesting at the stunning beauty it hid from unworthy eyes.
"Come", she mouthed at you. You stood up mechanically and walked over to her stool, leaving your glass behind. You stood beside her, hands clasped behind her back. You lifted your head to meet her gaze in anticipation of her turning to you.
She ignored you for several agonizing seconds. Finally, she turned and placed her hand on your shoulder and then your cheek. You leaned your face into her caress, and she whispered "are you a good girl?" You were only able to look up to her and nod.
She groped her way around your body, starting with your breasts. She moved to your ass next, and you were already leaking down your legs and had soaked through your panties and the front of your skirt. You heard her suppress a laugh when she got to your cock. She makes you lick your slickness off her hand.
"Please help me!" you whispered to her.
She turned you so you were facing away from her and towards everyone else in the bar. You could feel her breasts pressed against your back.
She ran her hands up under your shirt to your breasts, cupping them gently then pinching your nipples harshly. You squealed, your body unable to decide between moaning and screaming. She lifted your shirt over your head and tossed it aside. She unhooked your bra with one nimble hand and ripped it off of you.
