Little Black Dress

Part 6 of 9

The cool night drifted between my open legs, sending shivers up my spine. My nipples hardened, the little black dress pooled around my knees. I moaned around the thickness of his cock, the night air and the way he cruelly twisted my nipple sending jagged jolts of electricity through my body, firing in my clit.

He talked while I sucked, the head of his cock pushing into the back of my throat with each long, slow stroke. I tongued the smooth warmth of his balls each time the way he’d taught me, knowing what he liked, what he wanted, what he demanded of me as his slave. Eyes closed, I kneeled on the hard wooden planks of the veranda overlooking the lake in nothing but my heels, my hands behind my back, gripping my elbows.

“Such a good girl,” he’d said, and I’d almost cum again.

Behind me, two men I couldn’t see chatted, drank and smoked cigars from Sir’s jacket pocket. The stench of the cigars mingled with the scent of his body as I inhaled him. I could feel the heat of their eyes on me, but their words flowed over me like white noise as I slipped into that heady submissive space that I longed for more and more. The world was a blur, a collection of shadows and indistinct shapes. The only thing was the steady, learned stroke of his dick deep into my mouth, pushing into my throat, then the pause when I slid back, suckling gently on the head of his beautiful cock. Then again and again and again.

‘Always on display,’ he’d so often said, and over time, I’d understood and come to accept it. My mind wandered, remembering the first time I’d tasted his cum.

I met him in that basement bar down the street from the hospital. It was dark, smelled of booze and decades of use, old cigarette smoke and disinfectant. But it was my spot. None of the fellows would find me there. The nurses preferred the pub around the corner. Sir, the man I would beg for his cum that very first night, had found me after a long shift. He exhaled whiskey and vanilla, smelled like the beach when I leaned in to hear him over the clamor of the band. His lips brushed my earlobe, his fingers traced mine, I pressed my lips to his neck, just behind the ear. Why, I still don’t know.

His shirt was crisp and white, wrinkled at the collar from a long day wearing a tie. It was tucked into the pocket of his sports coat, which lay rumpled over the bar stool he leaned casually against. He smiled, his eyes searching mine when I talked - green-grey, long eyelashes, eyes that seemed to pull me in until I pressed my lips against his. And then he pulled me to a suddenly vacant table in the corner by the bathrooms.

Talking in hushed tones but nearly yelling to be heard, I inhaled him, touched his hair, my hand lingering on the skin of his forearm where he’d rolled up his sleeves from the oppressive heat of the summer crowd. Was it hot in the bar or was it me? I felt a bead of sweat rolling down my back, my blouse sticking to the skin there, and instinctively I reached down and unbuttoned the top two buttons, watching him watch me as I did it. His eyes lingered between the folds of my undone shirt, and then his hand followed mine, releasing another button, opening the space between the cloth. I shuddered when his fingers grazed my breast, felt my nipples come alive. I shifted in my seat, aware of how close he was everywhere and wondering how he could get closer.

“Go to the bathroom and take off your bra,” he whispered. I turned and stared at him, half his face in shadow, his eyes boring into me. I nodded and got up.

It was only a few steps to the bathroom. I passed a couple of girls I’d seen there before. They looked past me, intent on their own business, and I felt relieved just then, wondering if what I was feeling was written all over my face. Would they see it? Would they care? Did they know him? Did it matter?

The bathroom was empty luckily, and I stood there in the mirror, examining the flush of my cheeks, the way my hair suddenly looked unkempt, my whole body flustered and hot and out of sorts — so unlike me, like looking at someone I knew but couldn’t place. My white blouse was almost completely undone, and I could see the hint of red between the cloth, the bra he wanted gone. Could I do that? I’d just met the guy. And yet, as if of their own accord, I watched my own hands undoing the clasp, undoing the hooks to the straps, and then pulling it out, leaving my breasts pressing against the fabric, my nipples hard and visible, and my pussy throbbing.

Would he want the panties gone, too? For a moment, I stared at my skirt, wondering if I should just pull them off then and there, open myself up for whatever happened. He’d kissed me, yes, but he’d barely touched me. Still, I knew my panties were soaked, and if I raised my skirt now, I’d see how the silk outlined the lips of my pussy. Would he see that, too? Would he want to?

For fucks sake, I muttered, flustered, unsure. Then I pulled the hair pins out and let my hair fall down to my shoulders, turned, tossed the bra into the trash can and opened the door. If he wanted my panties, he simply had to ask.

I slid back into my chair, leaning in, my mouth finding his, my tongue invading, searching for his, and before I could even take a breath, his hand was in my shirt, cupping my breast, squeezing, his fingertips flicking my nipple. I groaned into his mouth, squeezed my legs together and wished I’d handed him my panties already.

He broke the kiss and pulled back, his fingers lingering, pinching my nipple, sending shock waves through my body, more bolts of electricity that left my breathless, staring back at him with my mouth open, an invitation. “Good girl,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper. I shuddered, the words coursing through me. “Shirt open, mouth open.” He leaned closer, breathing his whiskeyed words into my open mouth. “Legs open.”

I let out a whimper as his words hit me, as he twisted my nipple, and my legs parted, my skirt rising up until I knew he could see the damp silk if only he’d look down. I watched him, watching me, his eyes locked onto mine, but I wanted him to see. Just look. Look down, please. My legs are open, I thought. For you. Just look and smile and say it again.

As if he’d been reading my mind, he glanced down, smiled and then looked up at me again. “Very good girl.”

I licked my lips, my tongue lingering in view, if only he would take it in his mouth.

“You like being a good girl, don’t you?”

I nodded, unsure if my voice would even work at the moment.

“No, no, Princess,” he said, the moniker igniting my clit, “let me hear you say it. Whisper it in my ear now.” His voice was so soft, so gentle, coaxing my voice back as my clit begged me to respond.

“Yes,” I fumbled, the words sticking in my throat. “I like being a good girl.”

“Do you want to be a good girl for me?” His face was so close I could feel the scruff of his beard on my cheek, and all I could think of was how it would feel against the lips of my pussy. What did his tongue feel like? What did his cock taste like?

“Yes, yes,” I stuttered, “I do.”

“Say it, Princess.”

That name again. I shuddered, wanting to squeeze my legs together as my clit pulsed, but I kept them open, wider now, eager, ready, if only he would slip his fingers out of my blouse and into my panties to see what needed his attention.

“I want to be a good girl for you.” I said it. The words he wanted to hear, the words I knew the moment I heard them that I wanted to say. I barely knew this man, only his first name, a hint about where he worked, what he did, what he liked, but none of that mattered now. I wanted his cock inside me, if only…yes, I wanted to be a good girl for him, whatever that meant.

“Let’s dance,” he said, and suddenly we were up, moving, his hand tightly wrapped around mine, pulling us through the bar to the cramped, crowded dance floor. Blues music coursed through the room, an easy, gentle, soulful number that invited close proximity, bodies pressing together, his fingers leaving mine, finding my ass, the back of my neck.

I grinded into his hard cock, my lips pressed against his, our hips rocking side to side in the low bluesy light. Our tongues played out our own melody, oblivious to the couples dancing around us, the people sitting close-by at the high tops. I couldn’t see or feel or hear anything that wasn’t him, his touch, his taste, his scent. The salty sweetness of his neck, the tingles that crisscrossed my body as he stroked my arms, gripped my ass, pushed his fingers into my hair.

The music shifted, a new song, and he played his own with me. Spun me around, pressed his cock against my ass, his hand wrapped around my throat, pulling me back. I melted into him, the heat between us an inferno, the wetness between us a sea of need and burning desire. “I want you from behind first,” he rumbled, his voice in my ear like distant thunder, his hand slipping into my blouse again, squeezing my breasts without regard to our audience. I groaned and pushed my ass against him as hard as I could, my eyes looking over and through the crowd of patrons fixated on our grind

If he’d pulled up my skirt and fingered my clit right then in front of the whole bar, I wouldn’t have said a word, except to beg him not to stop, to take me all the way and make me cum, if only to be a good girl for him. If he’d fucked me right there on the dancefloor, pulled my panties down and plunging his cock into my soaking cunt, I wouldn’t have protested or noticed a single soul watching. I would have simply cum all over his cock and followed him out the door.

“Such a good girl, aren’t you, Princess?” Those words again. They hit home in so many ways, so many places on my body. How did he know to say them?

“Yes, yes, I am. I’m a good girl.” I didn’t even know if he could hear me, and then it didn’t matter.

“Take your panties off and hand them to me. Now,” he said, and pulled back, turning me around with a flourish. And then he stared at me, his whole face in shadow now. But I could still see that look in his eyes. His words echoed my ears, reverberating in my head, trickling down like ice and fire through my veins until pooling in my throbbing pussy, my aching clit.

I didn’t even answer. There were literally no words. I just simply obeyed. Standing right there on the edge of the dancefloor, bodies all around us, the world on mute, I bent down and peeled the white silk thong from my cunt and slipped it down my legs, over my heels and then lifted it up for him, and everyone, to see and deposited it in his hand.

He smiled, leaned in, pressed his lips to mine briefly, and whispered, “Good girl.”

We were right out the door a moment later, around the back to the parking lot, standing next to his midnight blue Maserati. He leaned up against it, staring at me, drinking me in, head to toe - blonde hair cascading down over my shoulders, white blouse open fully now, the bra gone forever, my black skirt lifted slightly as he stroked my clit. I panted, my eyes riveted on him, my legs shaking, hands nowhere to go, wanting to touch him to grab his hand, touch the bulge I could see in his jeans, the bulge I felt when we danced. He held my panties in his other hand, his body relaxed, enjoying how I quaked and quivered, the little noises he drew out of my mouth as his fingers circled.

“You’ve been a very good girl tonight, Princess,” he said, his voice hushed but still bold and brazen in my ears in the quiet darkness. Every other sound faded away when his voice touched me. “Would you like a reward? Good girls get rewards.”

“Yes, please.” My words spilled out before they’d been thoughts in my head.

“Good. That’s what I like to hear. Good girls get rewards.” He pushed up from the car, leaned into me, kissed me, and then reached around me, taking my wrists and pulling them close behind my back. I could feel the silk of my thong then, wrapped around my wrists and tied tightly. “Good girls get all the best rewards, don’t they, Princess? You want to be a good girl for me, don’t you?”

I nodded, mumbled a “yes”, feeling the tightness around my wrists, the throbbing of my clit, the way his hands moved up my arms and over my shoulders. And then he pushed my blouse down, exposing my breasts.

“I saw how you liked being exposed in the bar, on display for everyone to see. How you reacted when I touched you, played with your body, even when everyone was watching. It was exciting, wasn’t it?” His fingers played over my breasts now, pinching my nipples, squeezing my exposed flesh.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

I looked up at him, unsure, but he didn’t leave me waiting.

“Yes, Sir, Princess. Understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” I said.

“Good girl,” he said with a smile and pushed me to my knees.”No one here to see you, but let’s don’t let that stop us. Princess needs her reward.”

I opened my mouth instinctively, knowing what was coming, what I wanted. He freed his cock, and without a word, I took it in my mouth to earn his cum.