Your First Time

"So, my little pet. How do you feel?" His eyes bore into you, but you are unsure of whether or not to exchange the look. "That's not a rhetorical question." His voice is sharp.

You look up at him. "I feel okay." It's half true. Honestly, you feel nervous, anxious, slightly scared. But the constant pressure in your asshole somehow supplements the ill feelings, producing a sense of excitement and pleasure within you.

"Just okay? That won't do." He brings his glass to his lips, slowly sipping. As he does so, his hand finds its way to your thigh. Your senses explode. You never thought even the slightest touch could excite you so. He drags his fingertips over your skirt, finding the hem. He lifts it ever so slowly, the anticipation driving you wild.

You glance around the bar. All seems normal, no prying eyes directed your way.

"No, no," he continues. "That won't do at all." He sets his glass down, slowly tracing his finger along the rim. Your eyes follow the motion. With his other hand, he slides your skirt up so far that your panties are exposed. You immediately regret the tiny G-string. Without another word, his fingers find their way to the front of your panties, just barely grazing across them. Your clit throbs. You can feel yourself moistening further, and assume your panties must be soaked.

You let out a low moan as his tease continues to drive you crazy. He simply laughs. Then, far too abruptly, he removes his hand from your body. Your eyes shoot up at him in disappointment.

"Take them off." His tone is serious. You're at a loss for words, even for thoughts. Your pussy aches with hunger. You do as he says. Trying not to draw any attention, you ever so slightly lift yourself off the seat and slide your thong down your legs, glancing around the bar as you do so. Lifting your feet out of them, you ball them up in your hand and bring them to your lap. They're drenched.

"Good girl." Again, his words of praise elicit some sort of excitement in you, almost causing the longing you're feeling to grow stronger. You await your next task, firmly clutching the panties in your fist. "Now put them in your mouth."

"In my mouth?" you immediately question, regretting it as soon as the words leave your lips.

His face is twisted. He offers a disturbing smile before gently bringing his hand to the back of your head, caressing your hair. You start to smile, thinking perhaps he was just joking. However, your smile disappears as he suddenly grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls, forcing you to jerk sideways, closer to him.

"You do not speak unless I tell you to, bitch. And you absolutely do not question me. Ever." His words come in a sharp, menacing whisper. "Now put them. In. Your mouth." You feel tears brimming from the pain on the back of your head, but you comply. You quickly shove the panties, soaked with your own juices, into your mouth. Biting down hard, you fight to stop the tears from forming. He releases your hair and you sit back up, composing yourself. The taste consumes your mouth. It isn't as bad as you thought it would be, but it also isn't exactly something you prefer.

"Don't ever make me repeat myself again," he says much more calmly, giving you a pat on the head. As you sit there, mouth and ass full, you consider running, pulling the plug (no pun intended) on the whole thing; perhaps you could find satisfaction another way. You timidly glance up at him, and find him smiling down at you eerily. "What's the matter? Is my little pet not having fun anymore? We've barely just gotten here."

You consider his question. Sure, you're sitting in a bar full of people, skirt hiked up to your stomach, pussy exposed, mouth stuffed full of your own soaking panties and a plug shoved up your ass; but is all of that really a bad thing? Your pussy is dripping wet. There are myriad butterflies of excitement in your stomach. And you can't wait to see how this near stranger degrades you next. So why would you run?

You smile at him. You attempt to exude some shred of sexiness, but he only laughs. "So the little slut is enjoying herself. That's what I like to hear." You feel your cheeks redden. "Why don't you go order us another round?" He throws some cash on the table. You start to reach up to your mouth to remove the panties, but he stops you. "What do you think you're doing? Those stay in."

You hesitate. You know that everyone up there will know. And their reaction terrifies and excites you simultaneously. You grab the money and stand up, not even bothering to look back at him. You know his eyes are glued to you. As you stand, you can feel the plug in your ass start to slide out slowly, and you shift uncomfortably, trying to keep it in. You walk up to the bar and find an empty stool, throwing yourself down on it in an attempt to shove the plug back up your ass. It works well. There are only a few people seated on either side of you; all men, all older, all chatting and drinking. A few glance over and smile at you as you wait, but none say anything. You try to return their smiles.

"What can I get you, sweetie?" The bartender smiles at you sweetly: a woman, a little older than you. You tremble. Moment of truth.

"Can I get a vodka cranberry and a scotch?" The words tumble out of your mouth before you can think twice about the situation. They are distorted, muffled. You know the bartender can tell there is something in your mouth, but her puzzled expression tells you she doesn't quite understand what.

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that. Come again?" A few of the others take notice of her confusion. They begin to stare at you, inquisitive.

You take a deep breath through your nose. "Vodka cranberry and a scotch." You open your mouth wider this time, enunciating more clearly. However, as your tongue moves to form the words, part of your G-string falls out of your mouth. You slurp it back in as quickly as possible, blushing profusely.

"Um...Sure," the bartender says, slowly grabbing glasses. She shakes her head, although you're not quite sure why.

"Say, whatcha got there, sugar?" One of the men has sidled over to the seat next to you. You respond by shaking your head, keeping your lips shut tight. "Don't be shy. Show us." He places a finger on one side of your chin, gently turning your head towards him and the others seated down the bar.

You glance back towards your booth, where he is seated comfortably, watching you with gleaming eyes. Your own eyes beg for assistance, for some kind of savior from the prying hands of this other man, but he offers you none.

"Come on, now. Open up," the older man prods, slapping your face playfully. He is noticeably quite drunk, and this only frightens you more. You try to back away, but there is another man directly behind you.

"I promise we won't bite." His tone is too suggestive: you feel sick.

You feel trapped. And although fear is running through you, so is something else: excitement. Lust. Energy. Desire. You have no idea what will happen when you open your mouth and show these men the dirty secret inside.

But you cannot wait to find out.