Panties

I looked over at him seated directly across from me, my chair turned to face his. “May I be excused, sir?”

“For what reason?” he asked with a tone of indifference.

He continued eating and didn’t once look in my direction. The silence lengthened while I nibbled on my bottom lip, contemplating actually telling him the reason.

“Well?” He did look at me then.

“I ummm…I need to use the restroom.”

For a moment he sat there, motionless, then gently laid the fork down, wiped his mouth with the linen napkin, and picked up his glass, taking a smooth swallow of wine. He turned to me then, rearranging his chair slightly so that we were now facing each other. “Are you wearing panties as I had instructed?”

Timidity laced my voice. “Yes sir.”

“The white cotton ones?”

I blushed crimson red. I couldn’t help it. His gaze was as direct as was his question. His eyes bore into me as he awaited my answer. Slowly, I nodded. His smile was pure…and quite simply, wicked. There was no other way to describe it.

“Slide your skirt up and spread your legs.”

There was no question in his voice.

I glanced around at the public setting and trepidation filled me. He couldn’t be serious. Could he? One look at his face and I knew that he was. True, the café terrace was fairly deserted and there wasn’t much foot traffic at that time of day, most still being at work, but still…work was in the surrounding office buildings and storefronts of downtown area.

“Slide your skirt up, slut and spread your legs. Do not make me tell you again.”

That look, that implacable, unwavering, I am damn serious and you won’t like the consequences if you don’t do as I tell you look sent a shiver down my spine. With trembling fingers I raised my long, wool skirt up my thighs and bunched it up around my hips, spreading my legs to rest along the outer edges of the chair. My blush deepened and his smile of pleased arrogance shot heat right through me. It was about the only warmth I could feel then in the coolness of the mid-afternoon Australian winter day now that my legs were bare, save for the ankle boots that shod my feet.

“Did you shave this morning?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good girl.”

“Ummm, sir? I really do…I really do have to…” I looked away. I couldn’t finish the sentence. I couldn’t say to him, face to face what I had said to him so many other times through email and instant messages and phone chat. Sitting here, looking him in the face, I couldn’t bring myself to say it.

“You really do have to what?”

I swallowed hard and tightened my lips shut, drawing a deep breath in through my nose and letting it out the same way. “Go to the restroom,” I said quickly.

“To wash your hands?”

His tone was so innocently mocking that my skin crawled. He was usually so crude with me, so base and nasty, but rarely ever patronizing and I knew instantly I hated it.

“No sir, not to wash my hands.”

“Then what, dear? What do you need to go to the restroom for?”

The bastard was going to make me say it. The smug look in his eyes suited him and I shifted uncomfortably beneath his knowing gaze, the cruel, upward tilt of his lips. I couldn’t decide if I hated him for his power over me and his tenacity for getting what he wanted, or if I loved him for it. Either way, I wasn’t happy and it must have shown for he laughed…out loud and gloriously, he laughed.

I wanted to cry. Frustration and irritation mingled with the fact that my bladder was full and I wanted to bawl my eyes out right there and then.

“I have to pee!” My voice was louder than I had intended and far more forceful. He sobered immediately and looked me square in the face, all traces of laughter gone.

“Then pee.”

Relief filled me and my discomfort at being so exposed in public drained away as I started to get up. His hand shot out and halted my movement.

“No, my sweet little whore. You stay right where you are in that position.”

I looked at him with astonishment. “But, sir…?”

“You have to pee, slut, you pee right here.”

I couldn’t seem to swallow past the lump in my throat and could only choke out, “But…”

“I want to see you soak those panties for me.”

He couldn’t possibly be serious. Could he? I mean, pee? In public? One look at his face, at the casual way he picked up his glass and took a sip as though not a care or concern in the world touched him, and I knew that yes indeed he was quite serious.

“I…I can’t, sir.”

“You can and you will,” he said. He moved his chair closer and reached out with his hand, stroking my lower abdomen lightly, pressing gently on my bladder. His voice was low, and his breath warm against my skin as he whispered in my ear. “You know you want to, girl. You know how good it would feel to just let it go, to just relax and let that warm piss flow right from your body. You know it would please me and we both know how much you want to do that, don’t we?”

I whimpered. My insides were trembling with cold and arousal and need…need to piss, need to please him, need for him, need to let go and for once not care. His voice, his persistence pulled my need out, showed it to us both in the light, caressed it, held it tenderly in strong hands, and began nurturing it, growing it, molding it to his pleasure. It was why I was there, at that café with him. He wanted my needs before either of us really understood what they were. He wanted what I had to give before either of us really knew how much that was and at what cost. He wanted all of me…submission, surrender, slave.

His fingers pressed harder against my bladder and the fingers of his other hand began stroking my cunt over the cotton crotch of the panties. In a daze I glanced around thinking that surely someone was watching, someone could see, someone would make him stop, make us stop, break the spell he was weaving with his dark, wicked words and his even darker, more wicked fingers.

No one was and no one did.

His tongue snaked out and licked slowly over my lips. “Let it go,” he whispered against my mouth.

My eyes fluttered and closed and I let his voice and his touch wash over me. I let myself drift into the breath of nothingness where I could simply be, where I could just exist freely for no purpose but the pleasure he was coaxing from me, the pleasure I had flown to the other side of the world to feel, the pleasure I had left home and country for to give.

His smile flashed through my mind and I felt myself smile in relaxed return as my bladder let loose what its’ master commanded.

“That’s it, little girl, pee for me, pee for daddy.”

His thick accented voice slipped inside my head and wrapped itself around my cunt as warm urine flowed and soaked my pristine white panties, soaked my thighs, soaked my ass, soaked his fingers that had slipped beneath the elastic crotch band between my legs.

“That’s a good slut,” he whispered against my ear, his lips traveling down my check to lock with my own in a hungry, devouring kiss. His fingertips teased my clit as my pissing stopped. I whimpered and moaned against his tongue and pushed my pelvis up into his hand, bearing down and opening up from inside, giving him a scream to swallow as an orgasm ripped through me.

He pulled away. I gasped and nearly fell forward out of the chair, unaware that I had even leaned towards him at all. I stopped myself short and looked up at him, the orgasm fading quickly at the sight of his stone cold eyes.

“Get up, go into the bathroom, take off your underwear in the middle of the floor and come back out to me holding them in your hand by the waistband.”

I blanched and looked towards the windows of the cafe. There were people inside, seated at tables between the door and the bathroom entrance. I turned my eyes back to him with an objection on the tip of my tongue, but he stopped me by raising his hand up in front of my face.

“Not a word. Nothing at all from your sweet lips. Just do as I say. Now.”

I sat rooted to the chair, the piss drenched fabric cold against my skin.

“Go.”

His voice sent tendrils of dread shimmering through me and just as I got up, it hit me; this was punishment for the orgasm. I hadn’t asked permission. I hadn’t even hinted at anything beyond my own pleasure at his touch. Embarrassment burned my flesh and I hung my head in sorrow and shame.

Without a word I walked around his chair, letting my skirt fall back down around my ankles, the wetness between my thighs mocking me, mocking the slut inside me, mocking the control I tried so hard to hold onto.

I didn’t glance at the patrons of the café. Part of me wanted to pretend that they didn’t exist, but the other part of me felt them looking up from their plates, watching my movement through the middle of crowd. Did they know? Could they see the wetness anywhere on my skirt? Could they smell it?

My pace quickened across the floor and I breathed a sigh of pained release when I arrived at the restroom door and was safely behind it. I looked around and saw that the stalls were full. The tables and chairs between me and him were full too. There were people everywhere and panic set it at what he was demanding of me. Tears of humiliation filled my eyes as I stepped into the middle of the room and turned towards the mirrors.

I stared at myself hardly recognizing the face reflected back. She, me, was flushed a becoming shade of pink, with windblown hair and glassy yet sparkling eyes. Sexy, I thought fleetingly with a small smile, when I never thought of myself as sexy.

I heard a toilet flush which quickly brought me out of my trance and I reached up under my skirt and tugged the sodden panties down my hips and thighs, stepping my boots through them. Just as the stall door opened I stepped back through the restroom door and back into the midst of the busy eatery before I could think twice, the soaked panties dangling from my fingertips, held in front of me at waist height.

I could hear murmurs and whispers as I passed between the tables, but my eyes were fixed on the figure standing right outside the entrance door watching me come towards him. There was a smile on his face that filled me with pride and purpose beyond imagination. He opened door for me and took my panties from my fingers.

“My good little girl. Open,” he said softly, touching his lips to mine.

I did as he bid me, waiting for his tongue, but instead finding my mouth stuffed with the crotch of my panties. I blanched and looked up at his smiling face.

“Suck on them,” he said as he pushed them further inside. “Suck on them for me.”

He took my hand and turned me around towards the windows of the café where some of the patrons were still watching us, watching me now as I sucked the piss from my underwear.

I felt heat slide through me as he pressed up against my back. I felt reassurance in the strength of his body, in the steady beat of his heart, in the hard, rigid state of his cloth imprisoned cock pushing against my ass.

He pulled on my hand when I’m sure he felt that the images of their stunned and appalled faces were burned into my mind. I turned away from them slowly, almost reluctantly, held in their fascinated gazes nearly as much as they were held in mine and turned to him. He took the makeshift gag from between my lips and slipped them into his pocket, his fingers twining themselves with mine, his steps sure as he led me, dazed and dumbfounded, down the sidewalk.

“Welcome to Australia, Mine.”