I've published this and everything else here on Lit, elsewhere also under my other name VioletVixen.
*****
Store jingles play over the loudspeaker. Customers bustle through the aisles, pushing and shoving to get the best deal while I wonder from under my cotton surgical mask. Do they notice? Can they tell?
Catching a whiff of my arousal rising from underneath my skirt, sealed into my already soaked panties by the tight fabric of my knit wool stockings, I can't help but rub my thighs together to feel the wetness spread around my crotch, matting my trimmed hairs. The textured pattern runs up my legs, already ripped where I knelt on the hardwood floor not thirty minutes earlier. The tight elastic of the stockings and the blue and white striped panties glued my legs together then while you looked under my skirt at my bare ass.
You really know how to make a girl wet, don't you?
Don't think I don't like the tease--you appraising me, running a solitary finger down my back before flipping up my skirt and forcing my stockings down, exposing my sopping cunt. When you made me face the open window, I felt it drip obscenely. Streaks of my arousal mark the back of my legs, showing white on the black fabric. I wonder what people think when they see me looking mostly normal but a little off. Can they tell?
You make me work for it, and you make me do things like now at the grocery store.
The royal blue sweater shows nothing. The thick wool hides my aching breasts, nipples constantly rubbing the itchy fabric with every step. My heart thuds and my face flushes as I disinfect my hands at the entrance, unsure if the alcohol spray will cleanse me of this smell, this cunt smell.
You really are funny with your little tasks. You make them sound so innocent.
"Buy ingredients for dinner, will you? Oh, and don't forget the snacks," you said while taking photos of my exposed cunt, occasionally spreading my cream around, smearing it into my thighs; making sure the droplets glistened for the camera.
God, I felt my clit throb when you did that, but I'm a good girl and refrained. I let you edge me, and if I do this, you will reward me.
Grabbing a small plastic basket, the same cherry red as my cheeks which are thankfully hidden under my mask, I peruse the aisles, but I can't hide the jingling. Only you would make me go out with my collar. Can people tell? Do they know what it means? Are they aware that I'm your little cum slut? I would do anything to cum at this point, but you send me here, the fucking grocery store.
A ten-minute walk from home, alone and exposed for all to see. Modest tidings can be fooling, and you and I both know that underneath lies pure, unadulterated cunt. You made sure of that when you commanded I finger myself in front of you, gathering my juices and massaging it into my face and neck over and over until all I could taste was cunt. All I could smell was cunt, and now, wearing my own scent as lipgloss, I search for dinner.
Striding through the meat aisle, pupils dilated, every step rubs against my already swollen clit. God, I hate what you do to me. The only thing saving me is my plaid skirt. The polyester-cotton blend of forest green and navy hides the wet patch that's seeping through the layers of fabric.
I've never found a cut of meat sexy, but you make me feel like one. Staring glassy-eyed at the pork cutlets and chicken thighs, I think of how you splayed me out--how I hope you will splay me out when you finally let me cum.
Piling ingredients into the basket without much thought, my mind fogs over. The polished steel bell tinkles out, drawing stares. It's hard to walk. I think I might give myself away. I know you would like that, knowing others notice how desperately horny I am. Could you imagine if I let a stranger take me in the bathroom, or worse, with the fish? I suppose the fish would mask some of my musk better than that overpowering artificial daisy-scented perfume they put in the toilets.
Recycled cunt circulates under my mask as I enter the snack aisle.
Biting my lower lip, a man brushes up against me, hand cupping my ass. It could be an accident, or maybe I just smell like a whore and he knows it. He passes by without incident, but I'm so turned on, even that brush over the fabric almost made my knees buckle. You know I would never let anyone touch me normally, but today is not normal. I'm on edge. Very on edge.
With no one around, my hand nonchalantly works its way down. The outside of my slit sears painfully through the tight woolen stockings, juices oozing through the knitted fabric, the smell overpowering. I can't tell if it's my needy pussy filling my nostrils or all the cunt smeared under my mask like some sort of depraved perfume. I try to look normal, facing shelves lined with a colorful assortment of cookies and chocolates.
Heat builds in my cheeks like slow-burning charcoal, growing in intensity while running my finger up and down under my skirt, slimy musk sticking to me. Hearing footsteps, I tense, quickly wiping my finger off on the hem. The bell rings out as I swivel my neck around to see if they see how much of a fucking cum slut I am. I need to look normal, but I don't think I can wait to pay at the cashier.
Swiping a combination of brightly packaged junk food at random into the basket, I rush to the counter. You said I needed to spend ten minutes shopping, but with my clit pressing against my bound panties, I don't know if I can wait much longer. The bell jingles while I run, almost bumping into other shoppers. Rubber-soled tennis shoes squeak on the floor, face burning up with humiliation, trying desperately not to get caught.
At the check-out, I dart my eyes around. Everyone keeps their distance. Is it because of the neon orange tape marking where to queue, or do I reek of cunt? I avert my gaze when I see the cashier's nostrils flare. Handing over a wad of cash with my sticky fingers, his eyes trace the black leather band of my collar. I think he knows.
Leather cuts through my neck while I stumble into the grocery store bathroom. Everything feels hazy, my senses heightened. Entering the first empty stall, I secure the shopping bags on a hook before locking the door. I can't help myself. I'm so close to cumming, but I know you won't let me. I know you like to torture your toys first, and that's all I am to you... your fucktoy to do with as you please. I hope this pleases you, Miss.
Fuck. My hands already grasp the elastic of my wooly stockings, peeling them halfway down my legs. A large strand of cunt juice connects to the inside of my panties. Running my fingers over my puffy labia, it takes all my self-control not to press them over my swollen clit. Arousal drips down in slow motion, drops forming over the glistening strands like translucent pearls. The toilet stall smells of piss, but it doesn't stop me. My mind already crossed the threshold of normal long ago. Now only the darkest desires remain. I feel my need, but I know I can inch even closer to the edge, feet already dangling off the cliff to sweet release. My body chooses to shuffle ever nearer to the great fall.
From the pocket of my skirt, I pull out my phone. The timer shows I only have two more minutes of hell before you open your pearly gates to me. Fuck. I need the rush, the thrill. Unlocking the screen, ignoring your messages, I open the camera. Already tingling with excitement, I switch the viewfinder to selfie mode and angle it under my cunt to capture my insatiable need for you.
Click!
The camera shutter sends a jolt down my spine. I love the risk of getting caught, even loving the risk of you breaking my trust and distributing my private photos, my gifts to you as your little cum slut.
I take another and another. Each one making my clit throb more intensely, my need on display in the public bathroom stall. Placing one foot over the toilet seat, I try to capture the perfect angle, but the need overpowers me. Selecting photos to send with one hand, my other slides its way between my dripping folds, squelching as I slip two fingers inside. Losing myself, I move my fingers in and out while I press send, collar tinkling with every thrust. Now everyone will know I'm a raging whore.
Eyes close. Tunnel vision sets in while I float away on clouds of pleasure. I find myself reaching the cusp, breaking your rules. The bathroom door swings open. A woman gasps in shock. I can't see, and I don't want to get caught so I stop. She must have heard my sopping cunt getting filled and the ringing from behind the stall. The bathroom door opens and closes again, then silence.
Fuck. I stand still--waiting, listening. The door opens again. Security? Footsteps approach. Looking under the stall, I see a pair of grey suede boots march my way with purpose. Chunky two-inch heels clack on the bathroom tile. Fuck.