Dinner Date Greedy Slut

He walks in with purpose. He barely glances at me.

"Take off your skirt."

His eyes are cold. I thought we were going out for dinner. He told me we were going to go somewhere nice. I raise my eyebrow and begin to protest but he looks unnerving. I do as I'm told.

"You wore panties?" he mutters, incredulous. "Get. Them. Off." His voice is steel. He isn't angry with me. He's enjoying this. I glance at his lips. I imagine them on my thighs.

He is trying to embarrass me. I stare at him, mentally telling him this is nothing. I bend over and slide my panties down. They fall to the floor.

"Come here," he commands, sitting on the couch. "On your knees, legs open."

I hate being on display. I do it, pretending not to care.

He continues to stare. "You're uncomfortable aren't you? Don't pretend. It won't go well for you."

I blush. Fuck.

"Silly goose," he chuckles. "I've seen your cunt before."

Fuck. I hate when he calls it that. I hate how he LOOKS at it. Fuck.

"You hate when I call it your cunt, don't you? You hate when I look at it like this. Oh... you're blushing!"

My cheeks are hot and I'm afraid I'm going to cry. Before he's even hit me? No. Fucking. Way.

"I like your cunt very much," he says. "I'll stare at it as long as I want to."

This isn't helping. He leans in; he traces the outer lips. I moan without thinking. He smirks.

"It feels good. Touch it."

I hesitate. My face is on fire. "Oh... see? Your hesitation made it worse. Now im going to REALLY make you blush."

He takes out his phone. He is going to take pictures. He only does this to make me cry. I hate him. I HATE him. I feel my pussy start to drip. This is how I'm going to die.

He pushes my legs apart and angles the camera.

"Don't pretend you don't like to touch yourself." (His voice is so stern when he is impatient with me.) "When did you last masturbate?"

"This morning," I answer. It is a whisper. I don't trust my voice.

He chuckles. "You little slut. While you were still in bed?"

"Yes."

He smacks the inside of my thigh and I wince. I can take this as long as he puts away the camera.

"Did you use your fingers?"

Face. On. Fire. "Yes."

He's grinning now. "Show me, slut. Show me how you did it."

"I don't think I can," I whisper. Fuck, how does he do this?

"Show me. Now." His grin is gone and his eyes are hard.

I start. I touch my lips, slowly, looking up for approval. I'm already wet. My fingers slide in without me even opening my lips. I close my eyes so I can't see him watching me. I focus on my own pleasure. I pretend it is just for me.

He interrupts. "Show me your pretty clit," he snarls.

I look up at him, remembering he is here.

"It's already swollen. Rub it more. I want to see it glisten."

I'm breathing harder. I wonder if he will let me stop. I don't want him to let me stop.

"Rub your clit, Slut. When you played with yourself this morning, what did you think about? Keep rubbing and tell me."

"Please don't make me tell you," I whimper. "I hate this."

He is silent. He is staring at me. "There were lots of men. Lots of men."

He chuckles again. "Really? Fucking you?"

He knows my penchant for lady love in my daydreams. "Yes. Fucking me. Hurting me. Making me cry."

"Oh... I like this. You liked it rough? That's not surprising."

He is still staring at me and reaches over to my top, unbuttoning me, sliding his hand into my bra, pinching. Pinching hard. Staring. Making me gasp.

"Did they take your ass? Your mouth?"

I nod, afraid to speak.

"Did they cum on you? On your tits? Your face?"

"They did. Everywhere."

"Come now, slut,' he growls. "As soon as you can."

I cum quickly, both embarrassed and thrilled. I feel proud and mortified that I did what he told me. I hate (strangely don't hate) not being in control.

He tells me to get dressed or we will be late for dinner. "Aren't you going to fuck me?" I whine.

"After dinner, slut," he chuckles. He reaches down to wet his fingers, puts them in his mouth and licks. "You're so greedy."