I'm sitting at a small table cluttered with colorful drinks and straining to hear my friends over the loud music. After a pretty shitty week, the girls have managed to talk me into going out to a bar, maybe even dancing, on a Friday night. The bar scene is typically depressing for me, but I could use a drink and the laugh-till-it-hurts cramping that only other raucous women can provide.
It's been a long time since I put any energy into a night out. As I got ready earlier, I decided I was worth some extra effort tonight. I dug in the back of the closet for my favorite little black dress, excavated my garters and stockings from the bottom of a drawer, and dusted off my trashy mascara. It feels good not to look like a school teacher, although I am pretty sure no one else will be appreciating it tonight.
Now I'm with my friends, slightly buzzed, gossiping about the usual who's doing what to whom, and generally ignoring how domestic my life has become. Suddenly a hand grips my upper arm tightly. In the same instant, I feel your warm breath on my ear. "We're leaving. Right now."
Blood flushes my face as I feel simultaneously embarrassed for being caught unprepared in public and thrilled at the idea of what I know is about to happen.
You firmly pull on my arm. I sputter something like, "I have to go. I'm fine," to my friends. I get some alarmed looks and you get some violent glares, the ladies prepared to defend my honor. Luckily my best friend knows enough about my secret tastes to quell the feminist uprising.
I have just enough time to grab my coat as you drag me out of the chair. "What are we doing?" I ask.
"Just do what I tell you to," is all you'll say.
You push me towards the bar and present me to some other man who is clearly surprised. "Who's this?" he asks.
"Tell him your name," you command.
I reply, "Jennifer."
With your free hand you're gathering your things to leave. "Tell him what you're going to do."
I hesitate for just a moment. I'm not sure what to call you in front of your friend, torn between holding on to a shred of equality with your real name and submitting completely to arouse you more. As usual, I am more interested in getting you hard. "Whatever Daddy tells me to do."
Your friend looks between us skeptically, not sure what's going on. You are stone-faced and speak to him in a tone that emphasizes your authority, "Let's go."
You push your way through the crowd, dragging me behind you. Your friend hurries to catch up. His expression makes clear that he's debating getting involved in whatever you've got planned. Once outside, you head straight for your car. You're still dragging me along by my now bruised arm. I'm half-running trying to keep up with you, trying not to fall in my high heels.
When we reach the car you tell your friend to get in the back seat. He hesitates for a moment longer, searching your face for reassurance. You reveal nothing beyond impatience. Apparently having won his internal debate, he slides across the back seat and you shove my head down so that I end up crawling onto the seat on all fours. You give my ass a smack before you slam the door.
Your friend is breathing heavily, clearly nervous and visibly sweating. Knowing that I have no reason to be afraid makes me feel strong and sexy. This is going to be good. Even though this stranger is going to play a role, I know this is between you and me. Another fun game to play.
You get into the driver's seat and adjust the rearview mirror to see us clearly. I can't help but give you the slightest, sly grin. Your facade never cracks. "Go ahead. You can kiss him," you offer dryly.
Kissing? I practically attack this guy, grabbing his face, pulling him into me, all tongue, and biting, and hot breath. A year's worth of longing to be kissed by you is taken out on this stranger as I fantasize about you devouring my mouth.
You've started the car and are driving somewhere. I don't care to pay attention. I can feel the first release of moisture between my legs as he eagerly kisses me back. Moving to straddle his lap, I pull him sideways so as not to turn my back to you. "Now show him your tits," you command.
He doesn't wait for me to do it; he's into it now. His hands are on me, grabbing at my dress, roughly pulling the fabric down, squeezing my breasts. He pushes me back and slips down in the seat, reaching to bring his tongue to one nipple. He begins to suck deeply and I can feel my clit swell. I meet your eyes in the mirror but your gaze is too intense. I have to look away.
Your friend has moved to my other nipple and as he sucks I can't help but moan. Once again, he gives my body what it wants from you but never gets. My skin burns with the indulgence of it. I feel the car pull over and stop, hear the slam of the driver's door. Then you're next to us on the back seat.
You grab a fistful of my hair and pull my ear to your mouth, arching my back. "Take his dick out."
With reluctance, I pull my tits away from his mouth and reach down to his belt. It's no surprise that he's fully erect already. I try to shift my body to go down on him but you yank my head back by the hair. "I didn't tell you to do that," you say to me and to your friend, "Lift up her dress."
I can feel his hands on my thighs, my ass, pulling my dress up, yanking my underwear aside. You've still got a fistful of my hair, keeping my back arched painfully. My head rests on your shoulder and I can feel your breath on my neck. "Is she wet?" you ask him.
I gasp as his fingers probe into my cunt. He lets out a guttural, "Yes."
"Do you want to fuck her?"
