[Slave_E]

Here I was, naked, wet, dirty, reeking of piss, my face covered with cum, close to a nervous breakdown. The girls had left, taking with them the last remnants of my clothes.

I put my head under the faucet. The water was cold. It definitely wasn't my lucky day.

I rinsed my hair as good as I could, washed my face using my hands, fetched the rest of the toilet paper to wash my body and found that there was not enough left to dry me off. In desperation, I tried to blow-dry my head upside down in the hot stream of air coming out of the hand dryer, but the cool new Dyson Airblade's slit was much too narrow to be helpful.

I looked around and found my sneakers in the waste basket, directly under my piss-soaked socks. Somebody had been orderly enough to fish my socks out of the urinal and deposit them in the waste. I grabbed the socks, washed them in the sink, wrang them out and placed them on the rim of the hand dryer. I found my trench on the floor in the stall where I had left it. It had been peed on and trampled on and was wet and dirty, but I donned it and went back to the dryer. My socks were still wet, but at least they were warm. I did not want to wait any longer. I put them on, stepped into the sneakers and felt somehow better. My clothes, as bad as they looked, still offered warmth and consolation.

When I left the restroom I ran into the waiter. He pulled a wry face and crossed his arms. "My, my, Miss Hothead... You won't believe it, your boyfriend has already left... He said you would take the bill..." He eyed my wet and smelly trench and smirked. "But obviously you can't go back to the restaurant like that..."

I offered a weak smile, sidestepped him and took off for the clothes pegs. He ran after me and tried to grab my coat, but I was faster and reached the bankers before he could stop me. My purse was on the table, all contents were out and three guys stuck their heads together to better investigate my phone. The waiter did not want to create a scene in front of the guests, so I just stood there, not knowing what to do.

I was fucked. My wallet was nowhere to be seen. I could not pay the bill. And I was sure the guys would not give up my phone so easily. They seemed to like what they saw.

I winced when I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was the grim banker I had asked to move his chair. He looked me up and down, seemingly sceptical of my existence, but then he smiled, "Do not worry, Miss. I will look after your things..." He lifted his hand and presented me with a business card. "Come to my office tomorrow at eleven thirty. And please, dress properly. My secretary is a very conservative woman..."

I wanted to say something, but he hushed me. "You better leave now... I will take care of the bill."

Outside, the rain was coming down in sheets. I shivered with cold. Driven by a strong, cold wind, the rain hit me even under the restaurant's canopy. I stood in the entrance and debated whether to make a run for it or wait to see if it was going to let up when two couples stepped out of a car, opened their umbrellas, crossed the pavement and stared at me indignantly. They closed their umbrellas, sprinkled me with water, pushed around me and went in. Warm air hit my naked skin. I turned and saw the angry face of the waiter.

The only option left was to walk all the way to Laura's place. I decided to run for the next entrance, hoping to find a better shelter. Within seconds the rain soaked through my trench, wet hair was in my eyes, the bloody paving stone was uneven and I went flying. I hurt my knees and the palms of my hands trying to prevent my fall. The rain diluted the blood on my shin.

Just as I tried to get to my feet, a car rushed round the bend, passed a puddle and splashed a torrent of dirty water all over my body. Now I was completely soaked. It could get no worse. Embittered I hopscotched across the street, hitting all the puddles I could find.

Stubbornly I walked through the falling rain for a long time. My hair was in a tangle. Water ran down my face, washed away the rest of my makeup, drained in my ample cleavage. I listened to my feet making smacking sounds inside my water filled shoes and watched my drenched trench flap around my legs. A cold wind blew through me and made the trench flew up with every step. It was so obvious that I had neither a skirt nor pants on!

Laura was on my mind. What would she think of me when I turned up at her place, wet, naked, dressed only in her olive trench? How was she connected to the BF? Important people in Berlin know each other, that's for sure. But what did that mean? That Laura and the BF's parents were important? And if so, what about my parents? They had known the BF's parents for ages. Did that mean they knew Laura as well? I could imagine my Dad at Laura's gallery, but not at Laura's private shows. Never! My heart was beating like a hammer with the thought that he might have seen my last performance...

Without mentioning it to the BF, I had seen Laura quite regularly, before and after that show. Normally she texted me in the middle of the night, telling me where to meet and when. She did not ask if I had time, she expected me to be available whenever she wanted to see me. Sometimes we met at her place, sometimes we went out – to a club, to a party, or simply to meet some of her friends – usually people that had to do with her gallery: artists, clients, journalists. She always wanted me to look sexy, show a lot of skin, and when we were at her place, I was expected to be completely naked, even if she was not alone.

Last time we had met at her place, she had asked me about my feelings. I was sitting opposite of her, with my back to the big windows overlooking the Spree, listening to her suave flow of rhetoric. I had nibbled some of her cookies and felt nice and easy, so when she asked me to touch myself, I spread my legs, stroked my tits and had my thumb on my clit and one finger in my pussy in no time.

"Be honest," she said, "Be outspoken. Tell me what you really want." And I told her....

"I love to be aroused and to feel sensual. I want to be horny. It's a state I want to be in, as long as possible. I want it so much that most of the time I prefer it to having an orgasm. That's why I go on masturbating after I have had an orgasm and stop only when I'm turned on again. And, as you know, I love orgasm control. Being controlled and not being allowed to cum is such good way to stay horny all the time, over a long period. And I love to edge. I once read a girl's blog stating that she had not been allowed to cum for half a year but had to edge at least 40 times per day. I could not believe it so I mailed her and she assured me that it was true. I still do not think she was really doing it, but I was impressed. And I know from my own experience that after one week of edging without having an orgasm, I get somehow used to it and then the edging gets really good..."

Laura just sat there and smiled. " Didn't you tell me that you have to join your parents for dinner tonight?" I nodded. "They expect me at 8pm." Laura got up and looked out of the window. "So how about you edge for me right now? Show me how often you can do it before you have to leave..."

When I had left Wandel's, I had shivered with cold - and anger. But after almost one hour of walking, the rain lessened and I felt warm and calm. And, just on cue, like in a Hollywood movie, the sun broke through and everything was illuminated by gold. It was mesmerizing. I turned and faced the most fantastically bright and colorful rainbow I have ever seen.