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I stepped through the doors and slowly looked around - looking for my friends who I was supposed to be meeting. The air in the bar, if that is what you could call the place, was thick with stale cheap smoke. I took another step inside and was hit with the loud music, and louder people – yes, just my kind of place.
I headed straight for the bar, and ordered my usual, Jack and Coke. Turning around and surveying the crowd I smile, yes this is going be a good night for hunting. My body remains still as my eyes move from face to face, catching them all staring at me – who wouldn't stare at me – I'm gorgeous and I'm dressed to kill. With long brown hair, deep blue eyes, and boobs and a body that any porn star would pay thousands for, I'm any guys dream babe.
I straighten up, lock eyes on my first kill for the evening when a hand lands on my shoulder and anchors me to my bar-stool. The hand is powerful, more powerful than any grip I've felt before. I turn to face the hand and see what can only be described as a Goddess standing next to me. She looks down at me from above and motions for me to stand up.
I am powerless to disobey – her eyes are dark, almost black and are full of power. Her hand never leaves my shoulder and I am slowly lead through the crowd to the toilets. I try to turn around but the Hand hold me in place, I am her prisoner, her prey.
I hear my name being called, it is the voice of my friends, my friends which I was supposed to be meeting, but I don't dare turn to look, I just keep on walking where the Hand leads me. I walk knowing that I belong to her.
I am led into the women's toilets and I am quickly relieved to see that is it empty, just me and the Hand. The Hand lets go of my shoulder and I turn to face her. I look up at her face and it is beautiful, powerful. She peers down at me as a child would look at a new pet and with an eerie grin on her face, and with shake of her head motions me into the first cubicle.
I slowly walk in, unsure of where this is leading and once again turn to face her – looking up at her expectantly, waiting for my next order. She tells me to sit, which I do. No, she says, lift the lid, lift your skirt so it is around your waist and sit. It takes me a few seconds to register the command, but once I have pieced it all together, I turn and lift the toilet seat, which luckily seems quite clean, hike up my short denim skirt, and facing her once again sit down on the toilet.