With the heat on your back and in your gut subsiding you're left with a sense of rationality once more. The thick load shot deep inside you has started to mix with your own juices, and the cocktail is quickly seeking a way out. Cleaning up before going home would be the best plan, but as you head out of the alley you quickly realize one fatal flaw with your plan. A glob of cum and lube cocktail drips from your freshly fucked pussy and rolls down your thigh. The droplet leaves a sticky streak down your leg, and a shameful blush spreads across your face. Any place that would let you clean up would also see that you'd just been creampied. You think back to the strange way you acted around that tourist, and the heat in your back and belly intensifies. Well, showing people that you're a slut isn't so bad, right?
You stumble out of the alley like a drunk, and start wandering down the street past your car hunting for a place to clean up. It'd be just plain disrespectful to show up at your Master's place with another man's cum in you, and so you'll bear the shame if it means showing up with a clean pussy for Master to play with. It takes some time to find a pub that's open and might allow for non-customers to use the restroom. The pub's fairly clean, and only populated by the bartender and a burly fellow who looks down on his luck. Both of them look to you when you enter, and after several seconds of silence it becomes obvious that they're staring.
"C-Can I use the restroom?"
A quick point of the finger and a nod of them head is all the response you get, and you head over while leaving a visible trail of liquid behind you. Once inside the restroom you quickly discover that you aren't alone: A tall and thin redheaded woman stares at one of the mirrors while applying charcoal black lipstick. She looks vaguely familiar, as if you'd seen her before in a dream or nightmare, but a name doesn't leap forward to assign itself to her face. She smacks her black lips together, puts away her make-up, then turns to face you. She's boldly wearing a practically skintight white cocktail dress so sheer you could see her underwear-if she were wearing any. A pair of heels matching her dress's color, and an odd looking red-and-black choker that seems just slightly too small for her, finish our her ensemble. Looking at the choker excites some animal part of your brain, and you feel a sting of heat from your back once more. How can she even breathe in that thing?
Her D-cup bust is plainly larger than your own, but her waistline and hips give her a slimmer figure than your own. Her face and tanned skin sell her as a foreigner, but where precisely is hard to place. She has mixes of Arabian,German, Greek, and Persian that look like those composite images of people on the internet. Her body seems to carry very little fat aside from her bulging chest, and even less muscle is visible on her frame. An oddly competitive thought pops into your mind, and you immediately brush her off as someone your Master would not be interested in. Content in your meagre victory you find that she's been evaluating you as well, but not nearly in the same way.
Her oddly dark eyes seem to strip you bare, and she stares at you like a shopper judging a choice cut of meat. There's plainly no illusion of you as a person in her mind, but rather she's already decided what you are: A meal. A dark smile spreads across her lips, and for some reason your tattoo starts to burn. Not the pleasurable warmth it had when that tourist fucked you, but a stinging pain that causes you to yelp and drop to your knees. Some rational part of your brain says someone had to have stuck you with something, but trying to move your hands to your back proves impossible. You look up at the woman from your position on your knees, and the pain in your back instantly disappears as the warmth from before returns.
"On your knees already? Ha. I suppose it fits you. You certainly look happier like that."
You can't recall smiling, but the thought of being on your knees in front of her makes you happy. It feels correct. Perhaps she's right. Perhaps you do belong on your knees rather than standing like a real person. That thought heats up your face and your belly, but not as much as her movement. She steps toward you in the familiar click-clack of shoes, and instinctively your gaze goes down to her shoes. It'd be impolite to look her in the eyes. Both of her heels are immaculately white and quite tall, and you briefly consider the dexterity necessary to walk so confidently in those. Wait, why did you think about being polite to this person? She stops in front of you, and seems to admire you in silence for a moment.
"Rough, but you know your place."
She reaches down to grab your chin, and pulls your vision upward. Eventually she stops your head as you're staring at the hem of her cocktail dress, and you understand what she wants from you. But acting without being told would be disrespectful.
"Give me a kiss, pet."
You lean forward without a word or even a second thought, slipping your head under her dress and craning your neck to see what she's hiding beneath it. It's not surprising in the slightest that she's forgone panties, and you're staring into her moist pussy like she's a goddess given flesh. You lean forward and awkwardly kiss her. A shiver runs up your spine as the familiar salty bitter taste of semen greets your tongue. You briefly consider what she was just doing before, but she reaches around to the back of your head and pulls you upward toward her. Your lips press against her own.
"Eat me, pet. Clean it all up like a good girl."
Your tongue slides out and spreads her open tentatively. The oddly sweet, almost fruit-like, taste of her pussy sends another shiver down your spine. You lean forward and dig your tongue into her depths, blushing intensely as the thought of being her toy, her tool, to use fills your head. You quickly become certain she was busy before when your tongue starts finding globs of sticky bitterness her previous lover left inside her. You pull them free, suckling softly to pull them into your own mouth, and swallow them without a second thought.
A glob of cum drips out of your own pussy, and a deep but thoroughly enjoyable sense of shame fills you. Here you were kneeling down in front of a stranger you'd just met, eating her out with little more than a few words shared between you, and drinking the cum another stranger had squirted into her without protest. And what's worse: You were enjoying it. You weren't even a sex toy to her. Just something to clean her pussy out. You had somehow become less than the whore you'd been for that tourist, and devolved into nothing but a tool. After several minutes of kissing, suckling, and licking her pussy the woman relaxes and allows you to pull away. She forces you to tilt your head back until you have to look her in the eye.
