Dressing Down

I'm getting ready for a date. I've waited all week for this. I take my time, enjoying the process of it, the pampering. I shower and use my nice products, shave my legs and my pussy, apply scented lotion. I paint my toenails while wearing nothing but a silk floral robe, loosely tied. I start on my makeup: a smoky eye, mascara to give me a wide-eyed look, deep purple lipstick.

I loosen the robe and examine myself in the mirror before getting dressed. I run my hands over my body, turning to inspect myself in the mirror. My hair drapes down my back as I squeeze my ass and push my tits together to admire my cleavage. I take special pleasure from running my finger along my smooth labia as I imagine what you have in store for the evening.

I start selecting clothes, opting for a summer look: a green sundress with a floral print that makes me look feminine and innocent, but shows plenty of my tanned, smooth legs, brown leather sandals and a bag to match, an armful of bracelets and dangly earrings.

As a final touch, I pin the hair back from my face on one side to draw attention to my sloping neck. I'm pleased with what I see; I look carefree and summery, but the earrings, the lipstick, and the shortness of the dress make me feel sexy too. It helps that I'm wearing a tiny white thong that emphasizes the tan on my ass, and no bra. I'm ready to go, in more ways than one.

I walk the few blocks to the cafe where we've agreed to meet. You're already there, at a table on the patio. "It's a beautiful day," you say, standing to greet me. "I thought we could sit outside." I love the way that you look me up and down, taking me in, your final expression approving.

We chat, the conversation flowing easily. You're a perfect gentleman as we order, joking and chatting with the server. He brings our drinks, and just as I go for the first sip, you reach out to grab my wrist, your grip gentle but firm. I meet your gaze and your eyes are steel.

"Before we enjoy this meal, there's something we have to do." My heart leaps, and a thrill carves me to my core.

"Go inside," you continue. "In the back of the restaurant there's a bathroom. Go in there and kneel. Leave the door unlocked."

I'm silent for a moment, dumbfounded, then I laugh nervously. You never break my gaze.

"I'm not joking. Go."

"What are you talking about?" I ask, with more nervous laughter. I try to pull my wrist away, but your grip is strong. My heart is beating wildly at this point.

"You were late. We need to correct that."

"I was-sorry. I was getting ready and lost track of time."

"I won't tell you again, slut. Go now."

Finally, you release my wrist. My heart racing, my mind reeling, I stand. I walk towards the restaurant, and turn back, hesitating. You're still watching me, arms crossed, unflinching.

Numb, unbelieving, I hurry to the restroom in the back of the restaurant. It's not crowded, but there are a few other couples enjoying dinner. It's a single occupancy bathroom-more private, perhaps, but also more likely that someone will notice if I'm there too long.

I check my reflection in the mirror and then kneel. Then, realizing what you'll expect, I jump up to pull my dress over my head, hanging it on the hook on the back of the door. I kneel again and wait, nervous and excited. My nipples are already at attention.

I wait one minute, two minutes... each time I hear footsteps approach, my stomach clenches. I desperately want you to come in, but I'm also terrified of whatever it is that you have in mind. I'm even more terrified of someone else wandering in to find me, kneeling on the floor, wearing only a white thong.

Finally, when I've examined every inch of the peeling paint on the wall and tried and failed not to think about the questionable cleanliness of the floor, the door opens. To my utter relief, it's you. You step in and lock the door, walking around me to take me in. My relief doesn't last long, as you greet me with a quick slap to the side of my face.

I gasp, one hand jerking up instinctively to cover where you've slapped me. You grab a fistful of my hair and yank my head back so I'm staring up at you. My chest is heaving, exposed, my eyes wide and blinking.

"Who the fuck told you you could wear panties?"

I blush, scrambling to take them off, to appease you, but you slap me again and I fall still.

"No, leave them. Let's see how messy we can make you."

With that, grinning, you unbuckle your belt and whip it off, looping it around my neck like a leash. I can already feel pussy leaking onto my thighs.

I don't need a command to know what comes next. Looking up at you, I put on my most vixen-like voice and fuck-me eyes, and ask, "May I?" As soon as you nod, I lean in, eagerly undoing your pants and relishing the way that your erection springs free, loving how hard I've made you. Smiling, looking up at you, I take you into my mouth.

I wrap my lips around your head, suckling at the tip of your cock. My tongue darts out to tease the head, then I trace along the shaft, allowing you to rub along my face as I do. I lap quickly at your balls and then back off to start back at your head. This time, I start to take you deeper into my mouth, looking up at you to gage your reaction. As I see you relax, I bob on your cock, my full lips purple and velvety around you. I suck you in deeper and deeper in, running my tongue along underneath. I moan softly, the vibrations traveling up my throat and into your cock, and look up at you for approval. "Good girl," you murmur.

I'm glowing, loving the submission of pleasuring you. I'm trying not to think about where we are, or how many people there are outside, or how long we've been gone from the table. Suddenly, without warning, you yank the belt, causing it to tighten around my neck. With the other hand, you grab the back of my head and pull me towards you, stuffing my throat with your cock. You hold me there, choking and gagging, until I start to struggle. I panic, fighting for breath, the cock down my throat and the belt around my neck working together to restrict my breathing. I struggle and shake until my eyes well with tears and you finally let go, allowing me to fall back enough to catch my breath.

I pant, coughing, but manage to take a few quick breaths before you yank the belt again, pulling me back onto you. You shove your cock down my throat again and repeat the treatment until tears are running down my face and I'm begging you for air with my eyes. This time, I've learned to breathe quickly, and fill my lungs before you grab me again. You take the opportunity to reach down and smear my face, the drool and tears mixing with the makeup I'd taken such care to apply. Dropping the leash, you instead grab two fistfuls of my hair and pull me onto you again. You start to fuck my face, thrusting in and out of my slack mouth as I whimper and gag on your cock. You use the grip on my hair to bounce my face on and off of you, drool trailing from my lips each time.

A thrill courses through me as you thicken and throb in my mouth-and then, you pull out. Still holding me by the hair, you pull me off. With your other hand, you aim your cock to shoot thick ropes of cum. One stream lands in my hair, another trails from one eyebrow over the eye, the third coats my cheek, and another lands on my tongue, which I've instinctively outstretched. As your orgasm courses through you, the final spatters of your jizz spray my chin and my breasts.

While you recover, I remain crumpled on the floor, blind from where your semen has splattered across my eyes. I wait patiently, facing up at you. "Good girl," you say again, picking up the belt and tugging it, signaling me to stand. I stagger awkwardly to my feet, blind and sore from kneeling for so long. You take my shoulders and angle me towards the bathroom mirror, then wipe my face with a paper towel so that I can open my eyes.

The reflection doesn't look anything like the girl who left the apartment earlier that night, so casual and confident. Instead, I meet the gaze of a filthy, messy whore. My hair is matted where you gripped it and streaked with cum. My face is ruined: my eyes lopsided from the spray of jizz, one dark with makeup and the other smeared, teary streaks carving lines down my cheeks, and my lipstick covering half of one cheek and very little of my lips. My tits are coated in cum and drool. My panties are stained with my own leaky juices, and my knees and calves are streaked with dark marks from where the juices have mingled with the filth on the floor. You smirk as you take the belt off of me and re-dress, perfectly intact save a purple smear around your cock.

"I can't go out there like this," I gasp, a surge of fear racing through me as I remember where we are.

"I think you look beautiful," you say, still smirking. "Let the world see what a needy fucktoy you are."

"Can I clean up? Please?" I beg.

"What will you give me?"

"Anything. I'll... we can do that again after dinner."

"Obviously," you shrug. "What else?"

I wrack my brains, blushing. "You can do whatever you want to me. No limits."

You stare at me without answering.

"Please," I say, my voice wavering as I start to truly panic. "Please don't make me go out there like this."

You pause for a moment, considering. "Five seconds."

"What? I can't-"

"Four."

Frantically, I turn back to the mirror and assess the situation. With the paper towel, I wipe my face so that the worst of it isn't so obvious; my makeup looks smeared and whorish, but not as clown-like.

"Three, two..."

I run my fingers through my hair, trying to revive it and disguise the cum.

"One," you say, and I whip around, dropping my hands to my sides, not willing to test your limit.

"Thank you, Sir." I say eagerly.

You raise an eyebrow. "You're going naked, then?"

I flush with panic again-I hadn't even thought to get dressed as you counted! But you laugh, tucking a strand of cum-streaked hair behind my ear, and unlock the door. "Come on, get dressed. I bet our food's ready."