Coffeeshop 2

We sat beside each other in the dimly-lit coffeeshop. The cinnamon white coffee I'd ordered combined with his big brown eyes behind his big black glasses studying me as he spoke made me feel warm and hazy.

This was the first time I'd seen him in two weeks--we'd both just been really busy. It felt so good to be with him again.

"I really missed you, you know," I said.

His response was quiet, and I couldn't quite hear him over the classic punk the barista was playing a little too loudly. I asked him to repeat it.

"I bet what you really missed was my

cock

, didn't you slut?" As he spoke, he reached under the table and grabbed my knee. What he'd said combined with having him touch me sent an electric jolt to my pussy. I felt myself slipping into full-on slave mode from having him act Dom with me.

I closed my eyes. "Yes," I said.

"Say it," he said, beginning to trace his index finger up my leg agonizingly slowly.

I was scared of telling him that in a crowded coffeeshop, but I had no choice but to obey him. "Yes, your slut missed your cock, Sir," I said as quietly as I could. (Now that I was in full slave mode I couldn't refer to myself as "I" or address him as anything but "Sir" anymore.)

His hand was under my skirt now, at the place where my thigh met my pussy, which made me intake my breath sharply. It had been months since he'd touched me there, and I didn't have permission to do it to myself, so having him get so close was torture. He began to move his finger back down towards my knee.

"I bet you missed it so much," he said, still speaking quietly, "that you'd love it if I took you into the bathroom and shoved it into that slutty little mouth of yours, right now."

I was aghast. "

Here?

But Sir!" It was definitely true that I was aching to have him in my mouth, but certainly not

here

.

"You know you don't have any choice in the matter, slave," he said, beginning to trace his finger back up my leg. He was going faster this time, so it was only a moment before he was back to the edge of my pussy. "Anyway, are you going to pretend you wouldn't like it?" and he moved his hand over to my pussy, giving it the quickest of rubs before removing his hand.

"Oh!"

I cried out, more loudly than I'd meant to. I saw a couple who had been talking at a nearby table look over at us.

Just that tiny bit of pleasure, pleasure for the first time in months, made me ready to do anything he ordered me to.

"I bet you're ready now," he said.

"Yes Sir!" I replied, not even bothering to keep my voice quiet this time.

He stood up and began to walk towards the bathroom. I followed him just a bit behind, hoping no one was going to see us going into the bathroom together.

We stepped into the bathroom and he locked the door. I'd never been in the bathroom at this coffeeshop before, and I discovered that the walls were completely covered with graffiti. I also discovered that it was

filthy

. Somehow the idea of being taken by him in such dirty surroundings made it hotter, as if it were emphasizing how dirty

I

was.

"On your knees, slave," he said. I immediately dropped to them.

"I know how much you want my cock in your mouth," he said. "You do, don't you?"

"So much!"

"Well, one thing I want you to do before we get to that." He held one of his battered Converse up. "I want you to lick this clean."

This wasn't something he'd ever ordered me to do before, wasn't something I'd ever even fantasized about, much as it turned me on that he always wore Converse. I could see how dirty the shoe was and almost wanted to object to doing it, but I knew I'd just be in trouble if I didn't do as he said.

I began to lick the white rubber around the edge of the shoe. Even though I hadn't liked the idea of doing it, once I started to I found I actually

loved

it. It made me so wonderfully

degraded

. The dirt tasted terrible, but I was too turned on to care.

"Dirty, isn't it?" he asked. "Just like you." My pussy throbbed.

I licked the white rubber at the toe and then, finally, the bottom of the sole, which was so much dirtier. I clutched his leg as I did, thinking about how much I belonged to him, how I would do anything he told me to.

"All right slave, that's enough," he said. "Go over to the sink and rinse your mouth out." I stood and walked to the sink, using my hand as a cup to drink some water. Much as it had turned me on to lick his shoe, it did feel very good to rinse the dirt out of my mouth.

When I was finished rinsing my mouth, I walked back over to him. "On your knees," he said. Once again the simple order felt so good to obey.

He unzipped his jeans and dropped them and his boxers to the floor. He was moving far too slowly. I knew he was doing it just because he fucking

knew

how desperate I was to have him in my mouth.

And then there was his beautiful cock. I whimpered at the first sight of it. What he'd said when we were sitting at our table had been right--I

had

missed it. I knew two weeks wasn't really an eternity, but it had felt that way. Nothing made me feel better than having him fill one of my holes.

He wasn't hard yet and he began to stroke himself. I knew he was going to keep going for a minute after he was hard to drive me crazy, just like he always did. And I knew he was going to be successful, just like he always was.

Watching him jerk off didn't just turn me on because he looked terribly sexy. It turned me on because it reminded me that, while he had the freedom to do that any time he pleased, I couldn't without his explicit permission. It was just a reminder of my own denial, and any reminders of my denial always turned me on out of my mind.

He was hard now, and just as I'd expected, he didn't stop and give me permission to suck him. I needed him in my mouth

now

, but I knew better than to ask him for it. If I tried to influence him, he might not let me suck him at all.

He stepped forward to where I was and began to rub his cock against my face. I moaned. God, he really was determined to torture me as much as possible, wasn't he?

"So desperate to be full of my cock right now," he said. "Positively

aching

for it."

"Yes Sir!"

"What if I changed my mind, and said I'm not going to let you and left you with that ache?"

"Your slut would be so miserable," I said. "She

needs

you in her mouth."

"Well, I'm going to let you have it, but just keep in mind how much power I have over you, that I don't have to let you if I don't want to. And keep in mind, too, that I'm not letting you suck me because you're desperate for it--the

only

reason I'm letting you is because it gives

me

pleasure. That is

all

that matters."

"Yes Sir, your slut knows."

I didn't know how much more of having him rub his cock against me I could take, so I was so relieved when he said "Open your mouth, whore." I immediately and gratefully did, and a moment later he was inside me.

Sometimes he let me have control of the blowjob for the very beginning, doing what I wanted to him. And sometimes even when he was in control he started slowly, letting me get adjusted to being full of him gradually. But he had no interest in either of those things today. He just immediately took firm hold of my head (I always loved how

strong

his hands felt on me when he did that) and started ramming the full length of his cock down my throat fast and hard.

I was ecstatically happy to be taken by him this way. Having his cock in my mouth in any way always felt better than anything, but having him fuck my mouth like this, and get his cock all the way down my throat, was by far the sort of blowjob I liked best. I knew it was what he liked best too, and that was half of why I loved it so much--knowing that taking me this way was what gave him the most pleasure.

"What a filthy little whore you are," he said. "Letting me fuck your mouth in a coffeeshop bathroom. Just think of what all those people out there drinking their coffee would think of you if they knew what you were doing right now. They'd all

know

what a filthy whore you are." I knew he was right. It made me feel humiliated to think about what they'd think of me if they knew, but it turned me on so much too.

"You're mine to take whenever and wherever and however I want," he said. "Your holes belong to

me

and I can use them any time and any place I want to."

He let go of my head so I could breathe. "Your slut loves knowing that you can take her anywhere and any time you want to," I told him. "It feels so good, knowing that she belongs to you so completely."

"Good," he said. And then he was in my mouth again.

He was fucking me so fast and hard that it was making my throat hurt quite a bit. When he made my throat hurt this much it always kept hurting for some time afterwards, a reminder of how good deepthroating him had felt. I didn't mind how much it hurt while he was actually taking me because having him in my mouth felt so good, but

afterwards

it was very difficult for me, because being reminded by the pain in my throat of how good it was felt always made me so eager to give him another blowjob. I had to restrain myself from not begging him to let me give him another one, and it was difficult.

"I didn't even have to bring you into the bathroom to use you," he said. "I could have done it right there in the middle of the coffeeshop, in front of everyone. Then they would

all

see what a slut you are. Maybe I'll do that next time." The idea frightened and excited me in equal measure.

"You're nothing but my fucktoy for my pleasure," he said. "A set of holes." Hearing him call me "fucktoy" always had a dramatic effect on me. It felt like he was flipping a switch on me and making me start thinking of myself as exactly that--not a person anymore, just a toy to give him pleasure. I loved it so much.

He let go of my head so I could breathe. "How does it feel being taken by me in public, slut?" he asked.

"Your slut just keeps thinking about what you're telling her about how slutty everyone out there would think she was if they knew what she was doing right now," I said. "It's so scary, but it turns her on too."

"Good." The "good"s that were so much of the praise he gave me were so understated, but they always made me so happy anyway. Nothing could have made me happier than knowing I was pleasing him.

He was in my mouth again. I couldn't believe how fast and hard he was fucking me, even more than usual. I knew that taking me here must be making him feel incredibly good, and that made me so happy. I would do anything to please him, even if it scared me.

"I hope you're also keeping in mind that this is going to be the only way I take you until you've reached a year of denial," he said. "Just using your mouth, again and again. I'm not going to fuck your pussy

once

until you've reached a year. Don't forget that."

My pussy throbbed like mad. He liked to remind me of this every single time I gave him a blowjob, but I never got tired of hearing it. It had only been for the past month and a half that I'd known that, that I was going to have to be waiting a year for my next orgasm, and it turned me on

so fucking much

. Even when he wasn't telling me about it I was fantasizing about it. It felt so good, knowing that I'd be just giving him pleasure this way while my own pleasure was denied. I felt so much better sucking him now that he was reminding me of my denial.

"All that matters is my pleasure," he said. "Not yours." He let go of my head so I could breathe.

"Yes Sir, your slut knows! That's all your slut cares about, giving

you

pleasure."

"Good."

He put his cock back in my mouth. He was fucking me even faster and harder now, which I hadn't thought was possible. It was almost too much--too painful, too intense, too everything. But I loved it too.

I couldn't wait to eat his cum. That was the ultimate in pleasure for me, so much better than cumming myself. After two weeks without it, the idea of getting to again was heavenly.

"Nothing but holes for me. Nothing but my fucktoy. Nothing but my

slave,"

and on the last word he pulled out of me and came all over my face.

I moaned incredibly loudly. I hadn't been expecting him to cum on my face at

all

--he almost always wanted to do it in my mouth. Having him do it on my face was an

entirely

different experience for me. When he came in my mouth it sent me into the beautiful, soft-focus world of subspace, where I was entirely unconcerned with having my own orgasm. But when he came on my face, the desperation to cum myself completely consumed me.

I was attempting to calm down from the intensity of having his cum all over my face, but then I remembered what I was supposed to always say after I made him cum. "Thank you for letting your slut give you pleasure, Sir."

"You're a good slave," he said. "You pleased me very much." I beamed.

"And you're going to continue to please me by not washing your face off until tomorrow," he continued.

I was horrified. "But Sir, we're in

public!

People will see your slut!"

"That's the point, you dumb bitch." Having him talk to me that way hurt me. I knew it was only because I'd tried to object to what he'd ordered me to do.

"Yes Sir. Your slut will do it if that's what would please you," I said, resigned to the fact that there wasn't actually anything I could do to stop him--nothing that wouldn't get me in major trouble, anyway.

"All right, let's go back out," he said.

He unlocked the door and stepped outside. I followed him, eyes downcast. I was trying to console myself with the idea that his cum would dry pretty soon and wouldn't be so noticeable then, so maybe no one would see me while it was still wet and obvious.

God

I hoped so.

He returned to the table where we'd been sitting before. I sat next to him. I didn't even know what to say. Was I supposed to just return to having an ordinary conversation with him, when I was feeling so nervous about being seen?

"You know what?" he said. "I think I want another cappuccino. Why don't you go up and order one for me?"

Goddammit

. I should have known better than to think he was really going to let me maybe get through this without anyone seeing me.

"Yes Sir," I said softly.

I walked up to the counter. The barista was a cute girl about my age. Thinking she was cute somehow made it worse.

She walked over to me. "What can I--" She paused and raised her eyebrows at me.

She saw. She knew.

I felt so humiliated. "Um, what can I get you?" she asked.

"A large cappuccino, please."

"Coming right up."

I moved over to the side of the counter in case anyone else needed to order. Oh god please don't let anyone else need to order.

But then a couple of men walked up and ordered too. They were older than me, about my Master's age, which were the sort of men I was most attracted to.

They ordered and stepped over to where I was. I turned away from them, trying to keep them from seeing me. But I could see my Master from here, and he gave me a

look

and shook his head at me. I knew what he meant and turned back.

They were talking and at first I thought maybe they weren't going to notice me. But then the one who had been talking suddenly stopped and looked at me with wide eyes. Then he broke into a big grin. His companion looked at me too then. He gave me a harsh look, as if he were judging me. I wanted the floor to open and swallow me up. When I'd been giving my Master a blowjob and he'd told me he could take me right out here in front of everyone to show everyone what a slut I was, I'd been so turned on by the

idea

of it, but I hadn't wanted it to actually

happen

.

"Large cappuccino," the barista called. I gratefully picked up the drink and returned to our table.

I put the coffee down in front of my Master. I had to restrain myself from saying something sarcastic to him as I did. He'd known damn well how much this was going to humiliate me. He'd done it just to

fuck

with me.

He took a sip of his cappuccino and just looked at me with those big brown eyes for a long moment. Then he put the coffee down and reached one of his hands over to where mine were on the table, clutching them.

"I'm proud of you," he said quietly.

And just like that all the bad feelings about what he'd just made me do melted away. He was proud of me! I would do

anything

to make him proud of me, anything at all. I was happy, now, that he'd humiliated me this way, if it meant he was going to be proud of me. Going through

anything

was worth that.

I put my head on his shoulder. "Thank you, Sir."