Little Black Dress

Part 1 of 9

His text was specific. Little black dress and heels. No bra. No panties. Pussy bald, wet, eager. No touching until Friday. 6pm sharp. My doorstep.

I was wet before I'd finished reading it. Four days until Friday. Four days of anticipation. Four excruciating days of no touch. Four days of teasing texts and his voice in my ear. Four days of thinking about his cock. Four day of utter torture.

I knocked on the door of his flat at 6pm. He liked promptness - never early, never late, right on time. Precision. Exactness. Attention to detail. Anything less would mean punishment, and not the kind of punishment I craved now, not the kind of punishment that kept me on edge, begging for more, throbbing, aching, kneeling and looking up at him.

My heart thundered in my chest when the door opened, and I stepped inside without a word. His hand was on me as the door closed, fingers wrapping gently around my throat, his green eyes boring into me. I was sure he could see the fear bubbling up inside me, hear my breath catch, feel the clutching of my throat beneath his palm. He pressed me up against the door, his face closing, lips brushing mine. I opened my mouth for his tongue, but he leaned closer, his body pressing against me and I felt his breath on my jaw, heard his voice a low growl in my ear.

"Have you been touching?"

"No," I managed, my voice barely above a whisper, and I felt the clinch down below between my legs, that knowing ache. I hadn't touched since the text. I knew the rule. As long as the texts keep coming, I'm not allowed to touch. But they came daily. Multiple texts. A picture of his beautiful cock, erect and in his hand. A tease. A reminder. A sweet torture that kept me thinking of him, kept me breathing deeply to get through those moments of weakness, when my fingers would stray and linger too close. "No, sir," I quickly corrected.

"Good girl," he said, and I could feel the muscles in his cheek rise, his face pressed against mine. I could feel his smile. But more importantly I could feel that calm that the words brought, the sense that I'd pleased him, that I'd passed the next test. And I was determined to pass them all.

"Now, Princess, we're going out. You're dressed perfectly, and you look so delicious that I can't help but share you with the world. But let's make sure you've complied with all of my requests before we head out for dinner and drinks, shall we?"

I nodded, unable to even answer, knowing what was coming. I shifted my stance, opening up for him as his hand brushed across the high hem of the dress. He wanted it short, not very tight. I knew what he liked. He wanted me to feel exposed, and having a dress that ran skin tight over my ass didn't allow for the wind to play. He wanted me walking, the dress flowing, my need, my ache, my desperate desire always a breeze away from being public knowledge.

His fingers traced the folds between my legs, and I shuddered. He'd almost touched my clit, and I bit my lip thinking of the last time he'd touched it. It had been the last time anyone had touched it, six days prior, when he'd edged me five times that day, leaving me with tears in my eyes, my hips humping the empty air, my mouth opening for his cock and his cum. I could touch if I wanted, of course - how would he ever know? But he would. And I would tell him, and the shame of not being a good girl would be simply too much to bear. No punishment would make that better.

"Now, Princess, I hope you're hungry," he said just as his fingers found my throbbing clit. I moaned into his ear my response. "We're going to eat, then we're going to get some drinks at the bar, and have some fun. And then I'm going to bring you back here, strip you, and have my way with that pretty little body of yours. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"And what are you going to do?"

"Whatever you want, sir."

"Of course. Which means I don't want you fiddling with that dress at all. It's breezy out tonight. Maybe everyone on the street with get a look at your bare ass or your pretty little pussy. Who knows?" His finger and thumb closed around my clit and my legs began to shake. "You'll sit bare-assed on the chair at dinner, legs open so I can see what belongs to me, if I like." His fingers began to massage my rock hard little nub, and I felt my hips grind against the door in response.

"At some point tonight, I'm going to look at you and tell you to show me my pussy, and you, Princess - pay close attention now - are going to lift the front of that little dress and show me that lovely desperate little cunt. I want to see how wet you are. Understand?"

"Y-y-y-y-yes, sir," I breathed, imagining that moment, knowing it would come but without any way of knowing when and where or who would see me lifting my dress, who would see how wet I was, how swollen my lips were, how red my face would be - not with shame, but burning with desire. I could feel the heat of it coursing through me already. "Please."

"Please? Please what?"

"Please let me serve you, sir."

Those were the words he wanted to hear. I knew it, and he proved it when he kissed me, his fingers leaving my clit as his tongue pushed into my mouth. I whimpered at the loss of contact between my legs, but the invasion of his tongue helped me refocus. His eyes inches from mine, his fingers still on my throat, and now that devious smile that made sure tonight I would be the good girl he wanted, and when we got back, the little black dress would be on the floor next to the door the moment it closed.