As we enter the darkened room, the familiar feel of butterflies begins to flutter in my stomach. My palms begin to sweat, and my breath starts to hitch in my chest. But in spite of, or perhaps because of my nervousness I can feel a familiar tingle in my pussy and a wet warmth starts to seep out from between my lips, making my thighs slick.
My outfit tonight, the one He picked out for me to wear to this hotel bar, makes me feel sexy and confident. Hopefully, I can keep my confidence and please Him by being a good little slut for Him. I am wearing a flowy emerald blouse which is low cut and shows off my pale, ample cleavage. The long, tight black pencil skirt hugs my hips and frames my ass, holding my legs tightly and forcing me to take dainty steps in my tall black heels. Underneath my clothes I am wearing only nylons and a garter belt, and a lacey black bra that lifts and presents my breasts like gifts on a platter. I can feel the smooth silk of my blouse sliding over my exposed nipples, making them stiffen and sending little jolts of electricity down to my wet and eager pussy. My makeup is all smokey eyes and dark red lipstick, my dark hair is loose and falls in its normal curly confusion down my back.
His presence next to me adds to the fire burning between my thighs, He takes my elbow as we near the long curving bar. He directs me firmly to a seat near the end, pulling out my chair and guiding me into position before painfully pinching one of my already tender nipples before he slides my chair into the bar. I cross my legs, and wait demurely, with my hands in my lap pushing my breasts out without having to be told. I have learned my lesson in the past about not obeying him. I look at the bartender halfway down the bar and watch as he sees the cruel pinch as he walks towards us to take our order. I keep my focus centered on his chest, never looking in the bartender's eyes, but keeping my back straight and proud. I am always proud when I am with Him, no matter how hard the things are that He makes me do. I listen contentedly as He orders our drinks and when the bartender leaves to fill our orders He leans over and brings His lips close to my ear. I lean into Him, His power as strong a draw on me as if gravity itself holds us together.
I can feel His beard tickle my ear and hear Him say, "The businessman at the bar." I feel the nervousness in my stomach jump into my throat like a dagger of ice. I force myself to breath deeply, in and out, trying to bring my heart rate down. I can feel the blood pounding in my ears, and I feel certain that my racing heartbeat can be heard by everyone in the bar.
I look down the bar and see a middle-aged man, an average looking joe with strong features and a tired slump to his shoulders. His large hands hold a crystal lowball glass, the sleeves of his white shirt are rolled up and his tie is loose. He watches the TV above the bar, wearily sipping his whiskey, seemingly oblivious to the world around him.
As I observe the man, the bartender returns with our drinks. I keep my position, waiting for Him to take the first sip of His beer. I watch as He raises the dark brown bottle and drinks half the beer in one gulp. When He lowers it to the table, He gives me an almost imperceptible nod, and I gratefully pick up my whiskey soda and take a delicate drink. I wish I could chug it, but tonight He wants me to act like a lady. It makes what I am about to do all that much sluttier.
