[Fiction] My Stupid Boyfriend

[MrCharcol]

I had a quick look at the Black Milk website. Great clothes especially their Ryder and skater dresses. But I think Ben should insist that Emily buys these

https://blackmilkclothing.com/collec...licks-leggings

And I love the Skull shorts


Mr Charcol

[Slave_E]

When I left the house, thick rain clouds piled up in the west, dramatically backlit by the last rays of a sinking sun. As if bright yellow flames from another world had reached out through a hole in the sky the sunward sides of the clouds shimmered in a thousand shades between orange and grey. Blue turned to black. Nightfall was near.

I wanted to take the S-Bahn to Warschauer Strasse, to have a look at the Suicide Circus or another techno club in Friedrichshain, or maybe cross the Spree on the Oberbaum Brücke for the Watergate or another house club in Kreuzberg. When I arrived the platform was crammed, I was cold, and people gave me leery looks, so when a train entered I was one of the first to push in. I huddled in a corner, wrapped my arms around my chest and closed my eyes.

When I opened them again, the train had stopped, the doors were open and people got out. Without thinking I followed and found myself at Jannowitzbrücke, on the banks of the Spree, two stations away from Warschauer Strasse, in a quarter I was not familiar with. What should I do? Take the next train? Or was there something interesting on the other side of the river?

I was not sure, but I seemed to remember that on the other bank, just two or three blocks to the south, there was the Tresor, one of the oldest and most famous clubs in Berlin, and I decided to trust my luck. I crossed the Spree and turned left, following a small footpath along the river.

It turned out to be a deadlock. A building site forced me to make a detour through a small passage; I crossed a few inner yards and ended up in a maze of small side streets. Looking around I spotted some shops, closed, unusual in Berlin even at this time of day, a few enterprises, closed too, not so unusual at this time of day, one or two seedy bars, open, and, walking down one of the streets, a flashing neon sign that announced a club called "Behind the Green Door", a name I had never heard of. Warily, I followed a blinking arrow to a way through and found me in a courtyard in front of three worn out steps leading up to a green door.

Its faded color came off in flakes, exposing the rusty iron below. I opened the door and stood in a narrow staircase. Cigarette smoke stung my nose. Loud voices and booming music hit my ears. Colorful lights fell on a splotchy red carpet, chaser lights urged me upstairs. Looking up I saw dirty white sneakers, low hanging cargo pants, a sturdy leather belt, several inches of tattooed skin, a circular barbell put through a belly button, a camouflage muscle shirt barely hiding sagging boobs, elaborate arm and chest tattoos, a curb chain necklace, a big round disk that stretched a strained earlobe and an angular face with a side parted undercut, the hair on the top slicked back. A lezbo bouncer!

She looked me up and down, grinned broadly and said in a heavy Eastern European accent, "It's your lucky day, sis! Tonite's ladies night - free admission and free welcome drinks." She beckoned me up and thrust two glasses of pink bubbly in my reluctant hands. Thanks to Ben I have to accept every drink, so I grinned back, said, "Thank you!" and emptied the first champagne in one big sip. It was warm and stale and must have been very cheap.

I looked past her at a small bar surrounded by middle-aged men all looking my way and quickly gulped down the second glass. I would need a lot of Dutch courage to mingle with these masses. I felt wrongly dressed and shamed by the slogan on my shirt; I did not want everybody to know I was easy to get, even when I was... Whatever, I could not hide the writing without looking silly, so I took a deep breath, helped me to a third welcome drink, pushed my chest forward and was in for it.

To the right of the bar was a tiny dance floor playing hits from Mariah Carey to Britney Spears. Three girls were dancing, and a good dozen men huddled around with lecherous grins on their faces, trying to shake their booties without making too much of a nuisance of themselves. All other guys, in front of the bar, stared into their drinks or eyeballed the voluptuous blonde behind the bar, her curvaceous figure on show in a deep plunging dress, the neckline of which skimmed just above her navel, revealing she was braless.

A guy wearing a trucker hat saw me, came up to meet me and offered me a tall, straight-sided glass with something that looked like orange juice. With ice. I took it to my nose. Not bad. A screwdriver.

"You will like it..." He grinned from ear to ear, "if you're looking for a good dose of vitamin C along with a veritable high..."

"I do..." I grinned back, "Care to join me to the dance floor?"

He lifted his arms in a sweeping gesture. "Not me, girl. That's not my forte. But if you care to join me for a short foray outside, I can show you something I'm really good at..."

What a cocky guy! I put on my most innocent face and said, "I'd love to, but...."

He shrugged, smiled a secret smile and said, "Fine with me, little Miss Prude... We'll talk later. For now, enjoy your drink..." And went back to his buddies.

I watched the dancers until my glass was empty and my nerves stopped tingling. Or better, until the tingling moved down from my brain to my groin. I joined the three girls on the floor for a song and a half and had a ball being at the center of attention, but soon realized I would need a lot more alcohol to turn into the uninhibited disco queen these guys were longing for; so I brazenly returned their leering smiles and went back to the bar to mooch more drinks.

The room had filled up with guys and maybe one or two adventurous females; I dare not say girls, the tempting offer of a ladies' night had not been enough to attract masses of accessible girls. I squeezed through grabby hands, tried in vain to avoid probing fingers and ran into a guy who balanced a big cocktail glass containing something white, lots of ice, a pineapple slice and a red and white striped straw. It was intended for one of the audacious females, but, alas, due to another guy's interest in my butt I swerved and bounced into his lady and she tripped over him and he let go of the glass. For a split-second it seemed to hang in the air, then gravity took over and the whole wet gooey stuff landed on my crotch and run down my legs.

For a few seconds I stood perfectly still. The only thing on my mind was that I must look like I had peed myself. Furiously I turned to the guy to tell him what an asshole he was and that he should fuck off, but I thought better and told him what a stupid waste of a nice drink it had been, and that a good way to apologize was to buy me another and he dutifully passed it on to the blonde behind the bar. I didn't mention that I hoped more drinks would give me enough momentum to get down with my bad self.

I felt a rough hand around my waist and was pulled towards a big, burly and beefy guy in his 40s, with overhang, love handles and a generous gut. He placed a big, wet kiss on my mouth, held me at arm's length and hollered, "What a beautiful girl...." He was that rare breed between normal weight and overweight, pale and doughy from too many burgers and beer, but funny and cuddly and he roared, "I hope you don't mind when I take you up on that shirt, gal, I have never seen anything like you in this greasy spoon!" And he kissed me again. Almost suffocated by his sticky embrace I struggled to break free and uttered, "Do you come here often?” Not necessarily the most intelligent of questions, I know, but I was overwhelmed by his presence. If he could squash me alone with his embrace, what would happen if we had sex? Would he climb on top of me? Would he crush me completely? Would he fuck me senseless? Maybe we'd better stick to a girl-on-top thing. He was a tad too heavy for anything but a horny cowgirl riding on her hairy muscular pony...

I was still buried in the burly guy's arms, his face against mine, his tongue in my mouth, his lips smearing lipstick all over my chin, when I felt pushy hands squeeze my buttocks. I tried to come off, but Burly Guy wouldn't loose his grip. As if he had all the time in the world, the other guy probed my ass fold, slipped between my legs and tried to push my thighs open. I pressed my ass cheeks together and he withdrew, but his fingers continued to trace the edge of my shorts. Then, in one swift motion, he moved his hands up, found his way around my hips, pulled at my waistband, sneaked into my shorts and clutched my pubes. Effortlessly, he drove two fingers inside me, his thumb pressed my clit hard and fast, and there I was, tightly held by one guy, unashamedly finger-fucked by another, in the middle of a bawling crowd who did not seem to care.

I struggled to wrest myself free, turned around and looked in the beaming face of the cocky guy. The same trucker hat, decorated with a red and blue Playboy sticker. Still three inches shorter than me. Grinning so much that I thought his eyes were going to explode. Right now I would have loved to see them explode...

Why is it that so many short guys are cocky? There must be a reason. Is it their compensation for lacking height? I laughed snidely. Did he really think he was the shiznit? That being annoying and ignorant and downright obnoxious would win me over?

Yes, he did. He took me laughing as a good sign and shouted over the noisy crowd, "I lost my phone number. Can I have yours?” Uh... huh.... That dumbass was able to pose a simple, straightforward and uncomplicated question? All at once I understood that he was exactly the guy Ben would want me to have sex with... He wanted me to crave for every man's touch, so why not his? Why not let Cocky Guy insert his fucking member inside my pleasure grotto?

“Hey, Miss Prude, I'm talking to you!" His fingers grabbed my chin, forced me to look down. “Tell me exactly what you like.” I must have looked baffled, because he added, “I don’t want you to go to bed unsatisfied.”

"Oh my..." I peeled Burly Guy's fingers from my arms, bent down and brushed a kiss on Cocky Guy's forehead. "You make me so excited.” He seemed to like it, slid his hands under my shirt and pinched my nipples. Hard.

Burly Guy felt neglected and tried the sweet-talking-guy approach. "You're such a good looking kid, girl. I like the way you dress. Just great! And such a cool shirt! Makes it easy for a guy to know what you're up to."

"Yeah, it's a cool shirt," Cocky Guy chimed in, "but it would look better wadded on the floor, so we could see her titties." With this he brought his hands up, pulled the shirt over my head and set my boobs free. In no time did a bevy of cheering guys surround us. He definitely knew how to please an audience.

Trying to cool down the situation, Burly Guy stepped in, took me in his arms to hide my nakedness and declared, “That's no way to treat a lady..." but I went with the flow, reached up, opened my bun, let my hair down and brushed it out of my face.

One of the guys shouted, "She's no lady!" and a cacophony of voices broke loose. I heard, "She is!" and "Have you ever thought about." and "There's one thing I always wanted to..." and "I know..." and "You are just too stupid to find the right..." and "You are such a prick!" and finally "Shut up, Dimwit!"

I jabbed a finger into Burly Guy's ribs and he let me go. I took a few tentative steps to make sure everybody had a good view and then, with a silly grin on my face, wiggled my ass. Everybody watched in silence. I tried to pull my shorts up, Cocky Guy had not bothered with when he had left my pussy alone, but he shook his head, slapped my hands, pulled a playful smirk and said "I do not think so..." He tipped his head to one side and added, "...but more to the point, the guys will not think so. Or do you?" With this, he pushed my shorts down even further.

"Look at her face... " Burly Guy tried, but was interrupted by Cocky. "We all know she's a pretty face. A pretty face with three holes! I guess her face looks best when she's sucking cock... ahh, no, stop, sorry - when she's sucking a straw!" You should have seen his radiant smile. "Come on guys, let's get the lady another drink!"

He was so sure of himself that, for just one moment, even I started to think he was great. There are some men that women naturally feel comfortable with, and strangely, despite all of his shortcomings, he was one of them.

Before I could change my mind, two very colorful drinks appeared in my field of view. Just what the guys thought a girl like me would fancy. And what they thought would make me accessible....

Burly Guy had not yet given up hope that he would be the lucky one to have me first, but he thought he'd better change strategy. While Cocky Guy and a few others made sure that I did not walk away, he made sure that I sucked my straw. I was halfway through my second drink when my phone sounded. It was a message from Ben.

The small purse containing my phone, my keys and some taxi money was still buckled on my wrist. Cocky Guy grabbed it, took the phone out and offered, "I'll type the PIN in, if you say it out aloud." My head was spinning and I felt woozy and unable to move, so I complied and said it, helplessly giggling. He punched it in, the home screen came up, his fingers danced over the surface and he grinned. He gestured to Burly Guy to take my cocktail away and said, "It's a message from somebody called Ben. Quite an interesting message, I'd say, a message that sheds a completely new light on our little birdie..." Still grinning, he read it out:

Originally Posted by Ben

"I have a new rule for my slut: From now on, after a man has allowed you to make him cum in any of your holes, you will take his cock in your mouth and give him a wet sloppy blowjob until he's entirely clean. And if he happens to get hard again... all the better! I trust you know what to do!"

Burly Guy grinned, "How sweet!" and added, as if Ben's message had reminded him of something important, "Before I forget, give me your number" and I said, "Only if I get my cocktail back!" and he said, "Your number first!" and I told him. He punched it in and my phone rung and Cocky Guy took it and answered. Both laughed as if it was a good joke, then Cocky Guy dialled my number on his phone, and my phone rung and Burly Guy answered and they laughed themselves silly.

I busied myself with my drink and waited for them to be done. When they were done, Cocky Guy raised my arm with the empty glass like a referee with a winning boxer and shouted, "The first guy to offer the lady a new drink will get her shorts!"

Everybody rushed to the bar and besieged the blonde, and the winner was - Spiller. It was poetic justice, I thought, as he had wasted a perfectly good drink on me, but I was disappointed that he had only purchased a plain shot. I had hoped for something more fancy.

Nevertheless, I chugged, made a face and had to cough. Cocky Guy used this to catch me off guard, pulled my shorts down and gave me a push. I took a step back and my lace-up boots got entangled with the shorts hanging around my ankles. I stumbled and, too drunk to put my hands out to protect myself crashed and landed smack on my tailbone. I cursed and, sitting butt-naked on the floor, peeled the shorts from my feet and tossed them away furiously. The spiller caught them, waved them around and made a big show of pressing them against his nose, sniffing rapturously. The crowd cheered.

Cocky and Burly had their cell phones out and took pictures; a fast succession of flashes illuminated the scene. Others joined in, taking their own photos, adding to the strobe-like effect. One of the guys grabbed me, turned me around and shoved me against another guy. I felt hands squeezing my tits, fingers grasping my pussy, tongues looting my mouth. I was passed from guy to guy, like a ball in a soccer match, each guy using me for a few seconds before passing me on. I was spun around like a top until I lost all orientation, and then suddenly stopped. Lips pressed against my mouth. Fingers closed my nostrils. I opened my mouth, felt something liquid, swallowed, breathed, choked. Was spun around, received another alcoholic kiss, felt fingers in my face, under my arms, on my belly. Was passed on to another guy, standing behind me, seizing my upper arms, pulling them back, forcing me to push my tits out and holding me vise-like. His knee between my thighs forced me to spread my legs. Others took turns in groping me, fingering me and force-feeding me more drinks. As much as I wanted, I could not gulp it all down and spilled most of the drinks. Goo and spit run down my chest, my tummy, my legs. When the mind-numbing flashes stopped, I dizzily opened my eyes. The spiller kneeled before me, two guys on his sides, clutching his shoulders, pushing him towards my crotch. He opened his mouth with a wild grin and dutifully licked my alcohol-drenched pussy. Slowly the flashes came back. It was a sight to remember.

"That's not how it should be," Cocky Guy's voice intervened harshly. My calves trembled. My heels hurt. The guy behind me eased his grip and I fell to my knees. Spiller got up. I stared at his crotch. He opened his pants. I stared at blue boxer shorts cluttered with Superman logos. He pulled his underpants down and I stared at - there was not much to stare at. It was the most pathetic dick I had ever seen.

"Come on, slut," Cocky Guy's voice oozed disdain, "Make him fuck your face. Deep throat him. Beg him to allow you to make him cum in your mouth. You have 5 minutes."

I did. Or better, I tried. I must've spent a good five minutes just making him hard. As hard as he would ever get, given the circumstances. He did his best to shove his minuscule dick into my mouth, but as soon as the guys started to whoop, he grew limp again and I had to start all over. Too bad! Some guys gave up hope and told him to stop, but Cocky Guy hissed, "She sucks him!" and more and more of the guys lost interest and wandered off, leaving me alone with the spiller's unruly member. Though they were still taking glances, everybody going back to what they had done before the commotion worked wonders. Spiller's dick got hard and he pulled my hair and fucked my face as good as he could, and I did my best to get over with it as fast as I could, and finally he came and shot his load in my mouth and then he withdrew, used his hand and came a second time, spilling it all over my face.

I swallowed and he walked off. I followed him on my knees and grabbed his ass and, holding fast, licked him clean. He seemed to like it, as he kept still, but he did not get hard again.

During all this, Burly and Cocky had been shooting away with their cells, and now, while I was still sucking on the spiller's dick, my phone sounded a long succession of beeps. Cocky punched my PIN in, opened the photo app and nodded. "Good, you have the pictures. You'll like 'em, and I'm sure, other people will like 'em too. And now that she has them all," he gestured towards Burly, "I'll send you mine, and you will send me yours and then we three will have them all." And back to me, "That's a good start to make you famous..." They could not suppress their laughter." Next we will send them to Ben. Of course from your phone. Yes, his number is in your contacts. He will be delighted!"

And with this he helped me up and, with a grandiose gesture to Burly, declared, "She's all yours!"

[MrCharcol]

Wow what a great chapter very intense for little Emily

The start was very Berlin Noir I could almost imagine Slave_E as a modern day Bernie Gunther from Philip Kerr's novels.
Then once past the Green Rusty metal door and it's Lesbo bouncer the pace and narrative change as she discovers the seedy club scene of Berlin's smaller dirty clubs.

Finally little Emily is subjected to yet more perils and your description of the seedy low life people who inhabite the club is excellent. From Noir to seedy to down right dirty we share Emily's misfortune

Great Chapter

[Slave_E]

I had hoped Burly Guy would take me home, but he did not. Instead, he took me outside, to the courtyard. It was even colder than before and a thin rain drizzled down. He led me to a black Beamer and pushed me against the hood. Drops of water reflected the flickering lights of the club's neon sign and bathed the surface of the car in shades of yellow and green. Too drunk to object, I just leaned back and spread my legs. The hood felt wet and cold on my naked back. Burly took his dick out, showed not the slightest inclination to don a condom and shoved it in my fuck hole. After a few tentative strokes he grabbed my tits, twisted my nipples and, pounding me relentlessly, growled, "Come on girl... Tell me you hate condoms... Tell me you want to be fucked bareback... Tell me you like it... Tell me you need it... Tell me you want it... Tell me you want me... you want me... you want me... ohhhhh... Holy shit!"

There was nothing I could do, so I let him have his fun. At least it had not taken him long. Of course I had no chance to get even close to an edge, but to tell you the truth - submissively pleasing a complete stranger in a chilly parking lot, letting him shoot his load unprotected in my pussy, turned me on so much that I did not need to cum. His beer stinking breath was in my face and his beer pouch pressed my body against the cold car and I felt like a cheap whore and... Oh my... SO HOT!

He pulled his shrinking cock out, got up, stroked my hair, tossed my clothes next to me on the hood, put the phone in my hand and looked me straight in the eyes. "Are you okay?" I frowned. "Yea, I'm fine." He uttered, "Go home, Kid," and went back to the club, leaving me alone in the rain, freezing, my feet hurting, my pussy wet from his spunk, humiliated and giddy and strangely satisfied at the same time.

Going out to get laid is an awesome feeling... I feel alive when I'm checking out guys for their crotch bulges (or girls for their boobs, come to that) and when they react to my stare, whatever their reaction is, I blush. It turns me on. I'm such a slut...

Which reminded me that I hadn't licked him clean. Oh my... The sensible thing would have been to go home. But I was not thinking straight. Stubbornly, I grabbed my things and went back in...

"Stay away Kid, don't you think you had enough?" The lezbo bouncer eyed me incredulously when I came up the stairs, but I was not to be deterred easily. I ignored her, helped myself to the last welcome champagne and looked for the burly guy.

He was standing in the same place as before, next to the bar, and talked to the cocky guy. Judging from the looks they gave me, he must have been bragging about me. I went to Burly, ran my hands up his arms, pulled him over, leaned into him, kissed him and, without thinking, whispered in his ear, "That was cool, dude, I loved how you filled my belly... But I'm not done yet. I need more of your juices, I'm addicted, please, let me lick you clean..." I downed the rest of the bubbly. The only thing I knew was that I needed to do what Ben wanted me to do.

Cocky Guy watched us scoffingly. When Burly did not react, he grabbed my nipples, twisted them until I moaned, drew me toward him, cupped my ass, pulled my cheeks open, ran his fingers up and down my crack and said, "Talk to me, girl, I might help you." I was desperate enough to repeat what I had whispered in Burly's ear, but he was not satisfied. He wanted me to speak up. He wanted me to say it in a voice loud enough for everybody to hear. And I relented. His fingers probed my ass and I wanted to feel him inside and I wanted everybody to hear me, so I squeaked, "Oh please, do it! I need it. I do what you want, please, let me taste his juices. Yes... I'm addicted... I'm nothing but a pretty face and three holes..." I pushed my butt against his fingers and he slipped in. I arched from the pleasure. He slowly withdrew, but I moved my hips back and forth and he thrust them in really deep.

His hands were on my ass and his fingers were in my hole and he kissed my neck and his body pressed against mine. His cock was rock hard. He grinned when his teeth let go of my skin. Had he left a hickey? His cock rubbed against my crotch and I was amazed by his stiffness and by his size. "You've heard the lady," he said, looking at Burly Guy, "You should honor what she does and comply to her wishes."

Burly Guy nodded thoughtfully and, with an evil grin, Cocky turned to me. "Here's the deal: He will let you lick him clean, but I get to fuck your ass first... "

I knew it. I had seen it coming. In the end he would get his way. And so, standing in a room full of men ogling me lecherously, I said, "It's a deal!" and gave him a high-five, and he smirked and asked me if I really wanted to be fucked, if I needed to have his cock buried inside me and I replied, "Yes! I do, I crave it, please, fuck my ass..."

He sneered, stepped over, took his cap and pulled it down on my head. I tilted my face back and he playfully pulled it even deeper into my face, guided me to one of the coffee tables standing next to the dance floor, pushed the chairs away, grabbed me from behind, pushed his groin against my ass and forced my face down onto the table. The bill of the hat hit the surface and pulled the cap down even more. The foam front covered my mouth and my nose, the plastic mesh on the back clouded my eyes and chafed my cheeks and the gap between the mesh and the plastic hook-and-loop closure wedged my hair. It hurt and the smell of the dirty cap stung my nose, but I did not dare to move. He unbuttoned his pants, dipped his fingers in one of the unfinished glasses that stood on the table, dripped something cold and wet between my ass cheeks, rubbed the tip of his dick over my crack and, not bothering with a condom, dunked his cock in my hole. Lying sprawled over the table, his left hand pressing my face into the hat and his right hand immobilizing my arms, I was unable to move, unable to touch, unable to see, and he fucked me with a calmness that made me beg for more. He laughed out loud, slapped my ass and pushed deeper, hard and fast, until I bucked off. He yelped, grabbed my hair, pulled my head back and tied me down inch by inch with that damn monstrosity of his cock. I screamed, "You're too big!" and he replied, thrusting in and out, “That's how it should be..." I tried to relax to grant him better access, but he spurred me on. "You dirty whore! You cum dumpster! You like it? Say it out, loud and proud! Say it out, don't be ashamed. Let it all out!" I felt an ecstasy so overpowering that I couldn't stand it any more and shouted, "Yes! Give me your cock! Your wonderful, huge, imperious and demanding cock!” My ass was on fire. I couldn't think anymore. We both came at the same time.

I felt empty without the cocky guy's cock, but licked him clean nevertheless. He watched on edge while I did the same for the burly guy. When I was done, he put the trucker hat back on my head, said, "Suits you, keep it," took the burly guy with him and left without saying another word. The rest of the guys followed. The girls had left long ago. I was alone with the Lezbo Bouncer. She gave me a glass of water, my clothes and my cell phone and led me down the staircase. Outside, a taxi waited for me. She gave the driver some money and told him to get me home safely. Which he did.

[Slave_E]

I'm moved and pleased to see that my story has found more than 50.000 views. A big thank you to everybody! I can't think of a better way to do so than posting new chapters. I hope you will like them.

Love,
Emily

[Slave_E]

A loud blaring beep woke me at 6:45. I silenced the alarm, tumbled out of bed and stumbled to the kitchen. After last night and a mere two hours sleep I needed at least a substantial breakfast to see me through the day. I emptied two mugs of coffee, wolfed down two fried eggs, ingested two Adderalls, showered, donned a sheer bra with matching thong in charcoal gray that the Grim Banker had bought for me the last time we'd met, added an orange summer dress with small floral patterns in white, black, yellow and pink that I had bought myself just a few days ago, slipped into some Italian designed leather sandals my parents had bought for me last year, took the S-Bahn, changed from train to bus at Jakob-Kaiser-Platz and was at the gate in Tegel at precisely 8:15.

Still half asleep and bleary eyed I watched a middle aged couple struggle with their bags when I felt a hand on my shoulder and, turning around, stood face to face with the Grim Banker.

"Hi Justin," I said, trying to smile despite my deplorable condition. Without a word he took me in his arms, lowered his lips to mine and gave me the faintest whisper of a kiss. Something about the shyness of his move turned me on. I leaned into him and, forgetting all about how my mouth must taste after last night, opened my lips. He stuck his tongue in. I tilted my head back and closed my eyes, allowed him to explore every inch. He licked my teeth, caressed my gums and, while I grew aware of his ever more discernible erection, pushed his tongue all the way down my throat. That's how I found out that him penetrating me orally makes me weak in the knees.

When I stepped back, I could barely stand on my own. He smirked, announced that my attire would not do with today's client and pushed me towards security. Still smiling I posed for the body scanner. In the waiting area I excused myself for the restrooms, washed down more Adderalls and my little pink pills and was back with him just in time for boarding.

On the plane he sat down and immersed himself in business papers. I sat next to him, smelled his cologne and could not take my eyes off him. Musing about my situation, I tried to assess what to do. Ben was so right, it was like a Pavlovian reflex, I got wet whenever I smelled a man's alluring scent, got horny whenever I heard a man's authoritative voice and got wobbly whenever I felt a man's expectant body. And today I had fallen for Justin Bernau, respected and influential media manager and PR consultant. Could it be that he fancied me? Did I turn him on as much as he turned me on?

In the end, I dozed off. He woke me before touch down, led me through Arrivals to a taxi stand and, after a short drive, into a clothes store. Quickly browsing through the racks he came up with a narrow cut black pea coat that came down to mid-thighs and some black pointy toe pumps. He asked for my size, nodded contentedly and went to the cash desk.

Outside he muttered something about me still needing an appropriate dress and some lingerie, pushed me into the next shop, exchanged a few words with the shop assistant and left me in her skillful hands. In no time I was wearing nothing but a sheer tulle thong and a body-hugging little black dress that, as the assistant assured me, represented pure elegance - any day and on any occasion - even if it barely covered my ass. I slid into the heels and donned the coat. Looking in the dressing room mirror, I saw a cool, calm and collected girl that stared brazenly back. The assistant plucked at my sleeves and raised the collar. My cheeks blushed and despite my sophisticated attire I felt oddly like a slut. I cursed the effects of the clothes, the Aderalls and the little pink pills that stirred my erogenous zones' sensitivity and the secretion from my vagina. I felt my blood rush to my private parts and quivered, irksomely aware of the growing wetness in my minuscule panties.

The shop assistant stuffed my old clothes in a big fancy bag and, as if on cue, Justin was back. He told me I looked fantastic, but added that the client preferred blondes, because they "catch the eye more", are more "porn-like" and more "shaggable", and announced that we had an appointment at a nearby beauty salon where they would make a true blonde out of me in no time. He pointed to the fact that I was shaved down there, conceded that it was a good thing as it would spare the hairdresser to dye my pubes, assured me that, if needed, he would have been happy to tell him to shave me, even if people say that girls with natural blonde hair very rarely have blonde pubes and he went on and on until I asked him what was going on... Did he feel bad about something?

"Why should I?" He shrugged. "Because of the client? That's just business. Nothing to be worried about." Suddenly I was dead tired. The adrenalin high caused by his kiss made way for a vivid flashback of me being fucked on the hood of a wet car while all the guys in my life watched with slavering mouths and squint eyes. I felt dejected, refused and forlorn.

When I finally felt I could articulate some words without faltering, I muttered, "You confuse me, Justin. What do you want me to think? I was of the understanding that you wanted me to be with you because you liked me. And after your kiss this morning I was hoping it would be more than just liking... Now I feel like a puppet dressed up in fancy clothes... for what purpose? I thought you wanted me to look good for you! What do you see in me?"

He lifted his hands, palms up, and sighed, "But I want you to look good for me! Why else would I want you to look good?" He let his shoulders hang loose, rolled his hands into half fists like a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar, looked at me sheepishly and professed, "I need you, Emily... I need you by my side, I need you to.... Oh my... I need your help!" I suppressed a derisive smile. Discombobulated as he was, he still knew how to move his hands and how to make eye contact. In the end, what I fell for was his voice. Pitch, volume, rate of speech... everything cried trust me. "I need to impress this client, he's important for the company and for me, and, let's face it, the easiest way to convince a guy like him is - a girl like you. I know of no other girl who can win him over. He's not an easy guy, he's gruff and demanding and you will need sure instincts to make him feel welcome, but I know you can do it and, on top of that, you're the only girl I can trust with this task. When I think back to our first meeting in that crowded restaurant, you used and humiliated by almost everybody - no other girl would have mastered such an awkward situation with such panache and such flair. I was thrilled. Why did I help you? Because I saw something in you, something special, something outstanding, something out of this world. And now, I need your help. Emily, please..... Do it for me..."

He stepped back and there it was again, that smirk, that boyish grin that made me weak in the knees. "And let me add a personal - and embarrassing - confession: it would turn me on no end to watch him with you and it would turn me on even more if I could have you afterwards, if I could hold you in my arms, freshly fucked, his sperm still on your skin..." This time I could not suppress a smile. Despite the awkwardness of it all, I found his delivery hard to resist.

En route to the hairdresser's I was still fighting with myself whether I should be annoyed or excited by the Grim Banker treating me like chattel destined to propitiate his client, but when he pulled me towards him in the back seat of our taxi I let it happen and he hugged me soothingly, whispered sweet nothings into my willing ears and once we were there I decided I liked it, enjoyed the cool surroundings, leaned back in the hairdresser's chair and surrendered to his skillful hands.

My hair done, I was passed on to a visagiste who added the finishing touches. She worked wonders with a makeup that was barely visible, but miraculously enhanced the platinum micro-highlights in my stylishly cut baby blonde hair. There was no way to deny that my new look was eye-catching. And while I did not think that I looked "porn-like", my appearance was way too classy for that, I had to admit that I looked inspiringly sexy and, yes, why not, "shaggable".

Justin picked me up for a short lunch, took me to a restaurant in the old downtown of Düsseldorf, close to the Rhine, ordered grilled sea bream on a bed of roasted Mediterranean vegetables and a bottle of Pinot Grigio and admired my new hairdo. His attentiveness and the wine made me feel good, but all during the afternoon, accompanying him to various business meetings, I was shamefully aware of the fact that, even if I looked cool and sophisticated, I was a fake blonde, wearing a short dress that barely covered my wet cunt, and that there are two different meanings of the expressions "being a professional" and "being a working girl". I was destined to please a guy because the Grim Banker wanted him to be in a good mood and despite all of my so far experiences with kinky people, despite being a nude waitress, despite doing humiliating tasks for the BF, despite being put on display for paying clients on the internet, despite being fucked by strangers on behalf of Ben, I had never felt as much as a whore as I have done on this day. Torn between strung out and excited, I did not know what to do...

[MrCharcol]

Justin was back. He told me I looked fantastic, but added that the client preferred blondes, because they "catch the eye more", are more "porn-like" and more "shaggable", and announced that we had an appointment at a nearby beauty salon where they would make a true

I agree blondes turn one's head but I have always found brunettes to be more interesting your profile picture is proof of the beauty of brunettes and your story shows an amazing mind

[Slave_E]

The client expected us to meet him at his hotel. We arrived by taxi, the receptionist phoned him and after a few minutes he left the elevator and went over to greet us.

He was a sturdy man, well above sixty, with broad shoulders and bushy gray hair, parted at the side, reaching over his ears. He had a full, sallow face, a protruding nose and a small sensuous mouth. His eyebrows were dark and easily noticeable. Heavy eyelids and puffy bags under his eyes did their best to conceal his expression. He wore an expensive looking gray wool suit with big lapels, a light blue shirt and a gray and white striped silk tie.

He and Justin bowed at the same time. The client accepted Justin's business card gracefully and offered his own, which Justin picked up with both hands. He put it meticulously away in his briefcase before he gestured me to join them, bowed again and said, "Yamada-San, please meet Emily, my assistant. She's a bright girl, I'm sure you will find her helpful and enjoyable at the same time."

The client took in my newly blonde hair and my short dress and the ghost of a smile curled his lips. "I have no doubt, Mr. Bernau." His smile deepened, a transformation that made me uneasy. He must have noticed, as he grunted, "Don't you think we'll get along fine, Emily-Chan?"

Mimicking Justin I bowed as deep as I could and, looking down to the floor, retorted, "I'm very honored to meet you, Yamada-San. I dearly hope you will find me pleasurable."

He stretched his hand out and I took it in mine. It was hard and dry and callused. His second finger boasted a golden ring with a big red stone; his third finger missed the first joint and his little finger the first and the second. For a split second I bit my lips, but stopped immediately, hoping he hadn't seen it. I shook his hand or what was left of it and was surprised how firm his grip was.

He told us he had arranged dinner in a Japanese restaurant, led us outside to a big black chauffeur-driven BMW, offered Justin to drive shotgun, invited me to join him in the back seat and told the driver to go to the BOX restaurant near Media Harbour. As we left the hotel driveway, it started to rain. I leaned back, closed my eyes and listened to the monotonous sound of the windshield wipers.

Tired as I was, my head sank to my chest and lazily following the movements of the car I dozed off, only to be jolted up at the next narrow turn. The client's eyes were on my body. I humbly looked down. Being shaken around, the hem of my dress had moved up and only the fact that my hands were folded in my lap preserved my modesty. I did not dare to move. I knew where he was staring at and felt naked. In our greeting I had hinted at wearing that dress solely to please him and I was sure that he was thinking about my cunt and what better my hands could do to please him than being folded in my lap. Suddenly I was tempted to find out what he would do if I would spread my legs and let my fingers sluggishly slide under my thong.

Julian turned in his seat and interrupted my train of thought. He took the scene in and a tiny little smile played around the corners of his mouth. "Where is it you will take us, Yamada-San?"

The client averted his gaze from my crotch and answered, "To the Media Harbour. Once it has been a real harbour, but today it's mostly media companies, fashion and design offices. CNN used to be there... And the BOX is a small restaurant, close to the Rhine, visited mostly by Japanese people. They have some nice Tatami rooms there, with walled panels made from Shoji screens, for guest privacy." His eyes returned to me. "I'm sure you will find them memorable, intimate, and fun, Emily-Chan."

I spread my legs just enough to let my hands slide in the ensuing cleft. "What better to do than trust your judgment, Sensei? I'm sure I will." That ghost of a smile was back on his face and I wondered if he was purposely talking to me and to Julian at the same time with the same words about completely different things and if that had anything to do with a funny thing I had read about Japan, about there always being a surface, the omote, and an undercurrent, the ura, and I felt that the undercurrent was getting stronger by the minute.

It was Julian who broke the tension. "I'd like to know a little bit more about that Korean company you want us to get in touch with, Yamada-San. Could you give us a short overview of their objectives?"

The client lazily turned his head, looked at Julian with heavy eyes and said, "Yes..." but instead of talking fell quiet and looked out of the window, not bothering with an answer. I followed his gaze. All down the street glaring neon signs announced cheap thrills like a SEX-CENTER, a MASSAGE DREIECK or a SAUNACLUB, promised the seduction of a SEX CINEMA, the excitement of a super sexy LIVE SHOW and the availability of PRIVATE ROOMS. The driver slowed down and turned to the left. A street sign read CHARLOTTENSTRASSE. I recognized passing silhouettes, strangely illuminated mannequins, neon on naked skin, a wet zoo of ugly scenes. Heavily made up street girls in heels, micro shorts and wet crop tops crowded the pavements. Cars cruised down the street and stopped, girls leaned into open windows, thrust their butts out and negotiated with the guys behind the wheel. Our BMW came to a halt. We were stuck. I frowned, but the client smiled and said in a deep low voice, as if talking to himself, "When I was young, I was into high school girls. I'll never grow tired of desperate little sluts degrading themselves for attention, even when there is no promise of a reward, neither financially nor by an orgasm. Them craving the chance to get a little more attention, a few more words, some shallow affection turns me on... Are you like them, Emily-Chan? Would you humiliate yourself just to please me?"

I blushed. All the way through his rant, I had been unable to make eye contact. Why did he provoke me? Did he expect me to flirt and flatter? Was teasing the name of the game? Knowing that sexual banter abounds when touching is prohibited, and being sure that touching me in public, in a car, was a no go for the client, I went with the flow. After all, it's men's egos that need the most caressing.

I started to hum. He looked at me doubtfully and I felt better. I had brought him out of his shell. At least a little bit. "This is an old song," I said, "A lot older than I am, but I liked it when I was a schoolgirl. Want me to sing it for you?" Without waiting for an answer I started with the first verse, very subdued at first, almost spoken, but I got louder as he did not complain. "Shall I stay here at the zoo, or should I go and change my point of view? You did what you did to me, now it's history I see, here's my comeback on the road again, things will happen while they can, I will wait here for my man tonight... It's easy when you're big in Japan..."

The client didn't move, not even his hands. But he smiled. Which told me nothing. Smiles have double meanings. I had no clue whether his expressed joy or displeasure.

Trying a more direct approach, I said bluntly, ''When I was young, I didn't understand, but today I know that a girl has to make a man happy. Why else would an influential man like you bother to waste his time with a humble girl like me, Sensei?''

This hit home. He harrumphed, which made him look vulnerable, and grumbled, "I like girls who admit to their weaknesses. I like girls who are more depraved than I expect them to be. I like girls that take it on themselves, hold nobody else to blame, are game for anything... " I cringed, blushed and was dripping wet.

Falling silent again he closed his eyes. He did not seem uncomfortable with being silent, so I left him alone in his world and looked out of the window. The neon signs grew sparse, became more stylish. There were a LADY WILDFIRE and an ALTER BIZARRER BAHNHOF and then they stopped altogether. We had reached the Media Harbour.

[Slave_E]

The driver stopped in front of THE BOX, opened the client's door and helped him out. Then he circled the car, opened my door and let me off and, by the time he was done with ogling my crotch - getting out of the car made my dress ride up, uncovered the dark triangle of my thong and displayed my well lubricated pussy - Julian had exited the car all by himself.

The client marched towards the entrance. A uniformed doorman opened. A woman in traditional Japanese clothes greeted us with a bow and led us to the back of the building. Brushing aside a sliding door made up of wooden frames covered in thick, opaque paper she opened a traditional Japanese tatami room with a small alcove decorated with flowers in front of us and, to the right, a floor-to-ceiling window offering a rare sight over the Rhine and the brightly lit buildings on the other side of the river.

She took our consenting looks in, exchanged a few words with a young guy in a black suit and announced that dinner would be served shortly. The client nodded his approval, slipped out of his shoes and urged us to enter. We followed his lead to a low table surrounded by cushions. He pointed to the one in front of the alcove and said, "Would you like to sit here, Mr. Bernau, please?" Justin sat down and tried to arrange his limbs to an Indian style seating position. The client went on, "If you allow, I'll sit here," and kneeled down on the cushion in front of the window, sitting on his heels. The cushion left for me was the one with the back to the entrance. "Please, sit down, Emily-Chan. I recommend you sit with both legs to one side, as most females do in a casual situation." The corners of his mouth twitched. "And this is a casual situation, wouldn't you say?"

Before I could come up with a witty reply, the guy in black asked what we'd like to drink. I did not yet want to start with alcohol, but it was not up to me to make decisions and the client insisted on sake. "In Japan, there are drinking rules," he said and I knew it would end with him pouring Christ knows into me before the evening was done, looked down demurely, folded my hands in my lap and listened to him talking. "Some say good sake should be enjoyed chilled and I would agree with that, at least most of the time. But today our attentive hostess has suggested a wonderful Daiginjo that tastes best when gently warmed and so let's follow the time-honored tradition of drinking our sake warm. Warm, but not hot, as this would ruin the taste. And if I look outside," he gestured towards the rain drops that trickled down the windowpane and played tricks with the lights on the other side of the river, "something warm will do us a lot of good." Given that the room was chilly and I had started to get cold in my minuscule dress, I could not object.

The guy in black filled our glasses and the client went on, "You should know that drinking is an important part of Japanese culture. It is a good way to relieve stress. It can be of help when discussing business, it brings people together and it can help to get things done. In this sense, let's raise our glasses to a fruitful discussion, a successful collaboration and a happy ending. Kampai!" And, without raising so much as an eyebrow, he emptied his glass.

We did the same. I suppressed a cough. It was a strong brew. "Apart from that," he added and looked at me, "one of the rules I mentioned is that junior people pour drinks for senior people, be it a boss, a husband, a teacher, or... whatever... any person who is above them..." With this, he pushed his glass towards me. "And, when toasting, a glass is never left unfilled." What could I do? I took the bottle and filled his glass.

The guy in black did the same for Justin and me. When he was done it was Justin's turn to raise his glass. "Thank you, Yamada-San. We are very honored and pleased to be with you and we are looking forward to an instructive conversation. We hope that everybody will be satisfied with the outcome of this evening and, for the end of the dinner, we have prepared a small courtesy for you, our benevolent host. But first, let's empty our glasses. Kampai!" He pronounced it 'kahm-pie'.

I downed my glass under the client's vigilant eyes. It tasted good. It cleared my head, warmed my heart, sharpened my nipples and stirred my groin. Two more glasses and I would get used to it.

I hastened to refill the client's glass and, as it was obvious that I was not considered worthy of bringing out a toast of my own, smiled at the guy in black. I got a refill too, downed it and noticed that my eagerness had brought an almost imperceptible smile to the client's face. Ready to play the game, I refilled his in the same time the guy in black needed to refill mine. Was he under orders to get me drunk? Or was he just polite, in a strange Japanese way?

I swiftly emptied my glass before I refilled the client's and was amused to see him give me some silent salute.

The guy in black announced dinner. "We have taken the liberty to choose a different set of dishes for each of you." Three helpers arrived with big trays. "You all will find appetizers, a sliced dish, a flame grilled dish and a steamed dish. We hope the tastes, textures, appearances and colors of the food are to your liking."

On my tray were a platter of raw fish sliced flower-like into thin pieces; a half filled bowl containing some clear liquid, a few pieces of meat and those big udon noodles; a plate with salmon fillet, dark grooves indicating that it had been grilled on a grid over a charcoal fire; a platter with steamed chicken breast, diagonally cut into slices, the skin half unstuck and almost white, the spots where once had been feathers visibly jutting out; complemented by steamed rice, dipping sauces and condiments such as wasabi paste and grated fresh ginger.

I recognized the soup. Justin had invited me to pork belly noodle soup before. Thinking back I was still ashamed of how I had struggled with my chopsticks - at first he had refused to let me eat the soup with a spoon, and after I had insisted, I found out that eating udon noodles with a big porcelain spoon was not a good idea either - both ways I had felt like a stupid and inexperienced little girl.

Today I did not feel better. The client, sitting to my right and Justin, sitting opposite me, chatted away happily on all kinds of business related topics and used their chopsticks with grace and elegance while I, woozy from Sake, almost knotted my fingers trying to hold the chopsticks in a comfortable position, failing to stiffen them enough to achieve that firm, scissor-like grip required to hold food. When I felt the client's eyes on me, I gave in. He looked down and I noticed that his glass was empty. I dutifully filled it up, emptied mine, got a refill, emptied it again and found his empty again. What a silly game!

However, it helped me with the chopsticks. By now I was drunk enough to no longer care about my dignity. I did not try to sit with my legs modestly folded to the side any more, I sat in a strange mix of cross-legged and straddle-legged, using the chopsticks to spear my food, stuffing balls of rice and pieces of chicken into my mouth and rinsing it all down with more sake. We were hitting it pretty heavy. It was part gut-check, part strategy game. It was a contest, or better, a combat. I watched him, he watched me and I was determined to leave a lasting impression.

When we had finished eating, Justin took a last sip, wiped his mouth and drew himself up. He waited for the guy in black to pour more sake, and for me to refill the client's glass and said, "Let me take this opportunity to thank you, Yamada-San, for a joyful dinner and for a welcome and thorough briefing. I'm sure we will, in further discussions, achieve an excellent agreement. Kampai!" With this we all downed our drinks, Justin took a long pensive look at me, turned to the client and added with a certain gravity, "And now, Yamada-San, I will leave you to unwrap your gift." He excused himself with an urgent telephone call, stood up and left the room.

The guy in black removed all the dishes, brought a new bottle of sake, refilled my glass and, while I refilled the client's, put some candles on the table, lighted them and left, closing the wand panel. We were alone in a dark room, mystically illuminated by the flickering candles and some colorful lights from outside.

[MrCharcol]

Wow


I missed this chapter until now as I did not get an email from Get dare. also rereading the previous chapter is Mr Yamada a member of the Yakuza? As the Yakuza chop their little finger off as a sign of loyalty and identification? And you mentioned that his is missing what is poor Emily getting into.

[Slave_E]

My legs were numb and my head was more than woozy. I leaned back, supported my weight on my elbows and stretched my legs. I did not care about my dress; it had ridden up long ago. He looked me up and down, drinking in the sight of me in my see-through thong, leaned over and slid his hand onto my thigh. I flinched and smiled coyly.

He let go of my leg, fished a stainless steel lighter out of his pocket, made sure that I noticed the hand-sculpted shiny chrome skulls adorning its sides, opened an equally stainless steel case decorated with a similar skull and asked me to light him a cigarette. In an effort to comply I put the cigarette between my lips, opened the lighter with an audible "clink" and, as soon as the wick burned, held the flame against the cigarette. I took a few puffs and extinguished the flame by closing the lighter's top with a deep "clunk". He watched me, motionless, for a long time. I stared mulishly back before I gave in and inhaled. Hot smoke streamed into my lungs and made me cough. This amused him. I inhaled again and coughed even more. He took the cigarette out of my mouth, held it between thumb and forefinger, looked at the lipstick-smeared butt, grinned and stuck it between his lips. He took an effortless drag, leaned back, closed his eyes and blew the smoke appreciatively through his nostrils.

I used the silence to sort my thoughts. Not an easy task, given the amount of sake I had been encouraged to drink. For one thing, I was still infuriated that Julian had sold me unhesitatingly to the client, on the other side, I felt slinky and corrupted enough to give myself up to him. At least for one night...

"Do you want to cum?" His voice snapped me out of my reverie. It was a rather blunt question, but I must give him credit for the offhand way he dropped it. Perplexed, I mumbled something like, "I'm not a person, I'm a service....", but he would not let me dodge. "Speak up girl I can’t hear you. Do you want to cum?" If nothing, he was persistent. "If you can’t articulate what you want, how can you expect to receive it?"

I straightened myself up and emptied my glass, circled the still warm liquid in my dry mouth and swallowed slowly. Watching him through heavy eyelids, I pulled my legs towards me, folded my hands around my knees, rested my head against my hands and whispered, "How about unwrapping your gift, Sensei?"

He stared at my crotch. "My gift does not need to be unpacked. I can have fun with it anyway... How would you like it if touched you and teased you until you are right on the edge of orgasm? And if I stopped then? Leaving you on the brink?" His mutilated hand was on my thigh. This time I did not flinch. Mesmerized, I watched the few fingers left crawl up my skin like a dark, menacing crab, the flickering lights of the candles striking sparks from the ring's lambent stone. Holding my breath I felt his long forefinger sneak under my thong, pull it aside, rub against my pussy.

I sought refuge in flirtatious conversation. "How would you like it if I got on all fours, crawled over to you and unzipped your pants?"

"I would like it..." He took another drag. "But then? I would have to tell you to pull my pants down. I would have to tell you where to put your slender, fine-boned, immaculate fingers." He let out a weary, smoke-filled sigh. "For now I'm content to let my fingers do the playing. I'm very thankful for the delicate present your boss has so graciously given to me. I intend to use it to the full."

He passed me the cigarette. I sucked the smoke in gradually and was able to fill my lungs maybe halfway before I had to cough. Swirling streams of cigarette smoke blew out of my mouth and curled around me. My heart raced, my face flushed and for a few moments I just breathed, trying to regain my calm.

Unperturbed, he kept on playing with my pussy lips, moved them left to right, shifted them up and down, pinched them, pushed them and, pulling the hood back, let his finger circle around my now exposed clit, never touching, always teasing. I took another drag. This time I managed to keep the smoke in for a long time, but when he poked his finger roughly and suddenly into my cunt, I moaned and exhaled. His finger worked wonders inside of me. I breathed loudly, slow at first, then speeding up. Casually, he asked, "He's your boss, isn't he? Or is he... your lover?"

What could I say? I was trapped. To divert him I said, "Please let me open your pants, Sensei. I want to see your cock, huge and hard as it is, struggling against your briefs. I want to set him free, feel him in my hands, stroke his head, taste the delicious drops of precum dripping out of that slit in the middle..." I looked up, sought for approval.

He made a pensive face. "I like you talking dirty, Emily-Chan... But before the real fun begins, you must answer my question." And his finger stopped working.

I groaned loudly. "Don't do that, Sensei! Please! I can't answer your question. It's complicated!"

He did not let up. "You can, Emily-Chan! Explain it! You're a bright girl."

"Oh my..." Ruffled by his question I struggled for composure. "He's neither my boss nor my lover... He has helped me, not so long ago... You see, I'm a student and he has accepted me as kind of an intern, in his company..." I took a deep breath. How far could I go? Should I tell him about the BF blackmailing me? Could I own up to the cameras in my flat and to the fact that the BF ran a website parading me naked for paying clients? Day and night? Whatever I did? Maybe he would love to know, but all of a sudden I knew that I did not want him to know.

He brought his finger up to my lips. "You smell your juices?" I did. "You like it?" I nodded. "Wanna taste?" I poked my tongue out and he wiped his finger on the wet surface. Suggestively I sucked him in and moved my head back and forth. He smiled mildly. "Such a good girl... But enough of your procrastinations. Answer my question."

Looking down I conceded haltingly, "Yes, I like him... When he invited me to join him, I had hoped we would spend the night together... I was gutted when I found out that I was meant to be your gift of the day, not his..." My voice broke, but I went on, "To tell you the truth... now that I know you, I'm not disappointed. I think you're a swell guy... if you allow me to phrase it like that. I'm glad that we've met. You're cool. I know it's too early for such a statement, and you will not believe me either... but I'm attracted to you." I watched him through silent tears. "I want you to be happy, Sensei! I'll do everything..."

He gave me the eye. "Can’t wait to hear you plead uncontrollably, Emily-Chan." His finger penetrated my vagina, his thumb caressed my clit. I moaned. "Don’t complain, silly slut, that's what you asked for. You'll be hyperventilating before it's over, begging for more..."

I wanted him to go on forever, but feeling relaxed and euphoric I wrestled myself free and crawled over to him. “No!” he shouted as I slammed my face into his lap and bit his cock through his pants. He grabbed a handful of hair and pulled me away. I struggled to open his pants. He did not wear briefs and his cock was arrestingly long and hilariously thick and all of the skin I could see, head, shaft, balls, groin, belly, thighs, was covered in colorful tattoos. I did my best to stuff his cock in my wide-open mouth and gagged, deep in my throat, with the sound of a loud snore.

He wrenched himself from me, turned away and pushed his hands backward through his hair. “You are quite good at that, Emily-Chan, and I see you are well trained, but I'm sure you'll be a whole lot better at this..." And he pushed me back until I was bent over the cushion, head and shoulders on the floor, ass up, as if supported by a Japanese sex pillow, my legs struggling helplessly in the air. He ripped my thong off, grabbed my ankles and, bringing my knees back to my shoulders as though he was folding me in half, put my lower legs on his shoulders. He pushed my thighs down, bringing my crotch up even more and my pussy protruded like an obscene Japanese sex doll's, my fuckholes easily accessible to his every assault. He used his whole weight to nail me down, pressed my legs together and kissed me usurpingly. After a long time of enthusiastic slurping and burping, he stopped, let go of my mouth and looked me in the eyes. “Now it’s the time to spread those lips down there," he said, buried his huge cock deep into my snatch and mumbled, "Might do you good to be fucked by a real man for once."

It did. It was a sly surprise, not the athletic banging around I had expected. He fucked me emphatically until I cried and whimpered and when he finally came, we came together...

[MrCharcol]

Lucky Emily-Chan getting to cum

[Slave_E]

There’s something undeniably attractive about a man with silvery locks. Justin's appearance predestined him to the role of a hero. His distinguished features, his neat salt-and-pepper beard and his stern gaze conveyed seriousness, even when the rest of his face was smiling. Everything about him signaled maturity and confidence.

He waited for me, leaning nonchalantly against the wall, busy with his Galaxy Note, looking good in his immaculate black suit and crisp white shirt, his initials monogrammed on the cufflinks. I could picture him in his office, sitting behind a desk with shoes off, hair tousled from pushing his fingers through it while thinking, suave and sophisticated. What a stunning contrast to me leaving the Tatami room all run down, dress crumpled, make-up smeared, hair tangled.

At the sight of me, his eyes brightened up. He came towards me, laid his hands affectionately on the small of my back and pulled me against his chest. I asked in a wispy voice, "Are you going to kiss me?"

"I'm afraid to." His body language was warm, but his voice was cool.

"I'm afraid too" I said, light-headed and light-minded. "I'm afraid of you, and I'm afraid of us..." He smiled melancholically and we left the restaurant shoulder to shoulder.

It was still raining. A taxi waited at the curb, its engine running. The driver opened the door and we rushed in. Inside it was warm and cozy. I snuggled against my boss and, as I saw him smile, blurted out, "I'm hungry... I need something to eat... Now, not later, not in the hotel." He raised an eyebrow. I added, "Please. It does not have to be fancy, just a Currywurst..."

He took my hand and told the driver, "Go to Charlottenstrasse... " I glared at him. He smiled benignly. "Don't worry. You will be satisfied..."

The car weaved seamlessly in and out of traffic, but in the rearview mirror the driver's eyes were on me. I gave him a smile. Justin's hands played with my hair, tugged my ears, traced my lips. As if he could not get enough of me. He took my shoes off, placed my feet in his lap and massaged my toes. My heels encountered something hard, but before I could investigate, he asked, "Did you keep the customer satisfied?"

"Of course I did..." So we were back to me being the intern?

His hand moved up, slowly, tentatively. "How did it go?"

I leaned back, feeling perky, energized and creative, regardless of Justin's mood swings and the taxi driver's attention. "It was good... Unexpectedly good. He was tender and courteous and... so sure of himself, so certain that I'd like what he did... And he cared; he wanted me to have as much fun as he had... So, when he came, I could not refrain from cumming myself. He shot his load and filled my womb with... Oh my... lots of spunk... I could not resist... What a sensation..." Justin kept quiet. I felt banged up and guilty sitting next to him, my thong long gone, the client's spunk dribbling out of my pussy, but wasn't it all his fault? Hadn't he asked me to do it? To break the silence, I went on, "Before he left, he reached for his wallet, took out a credit card and told me to get some decent office wear... and that I could keep the card."

He was visibly taken aback. "Really? He did? How did you feel then?"

I smiled. "Empowered. Full of options. Didn't you want me to be his whore?"

"Did you like to be his whore?"

"Yes," I admitted.

"Want to try more?"

"Yes," I replied, "I'd like to..."

The car stopped and we got out. "There's an Imbissbude over there," Julian said, "Get us a Currywurst and a beer. I have to make a call." I grabbed my coat, but he would not have it, threw it back in the car and turned his collar up. "Whores walk the street in only a dress, regardless of the weather." He told the driver to wait, slammed the door shut and took cover in a doorway.

The rain had increased. My hair clung to my skull, my makeup was running down my face, my dress was drenched and my heels soaked. Exasperated, I started to walk. Cars drove by, spattering water on the sidewalk, ugly faces all but obscured by raindrops running across fogged up panes.

A black SUV pulled up and lowered the side window. A pudgy guy leaned out and shouted, "Hey, Pretty Flamingo!" I looked around to see whom he was addressing, but he persisted, "You, with the skinny legs!"

Rain was running through my hair, streaming down my cheeks, dripping from my chin, into my cleavage. Skinny legs? Pretty Flamingo? I did not look like a pretty flamingo. My hair was blonde, not pink. Or had it changed color? I glanced over my shoulder, trying to meet Justin's eyes, but he was busy with his phone. I turned back to the SUV and asked, "Excuse me?"

The pudgy guy grinned, "How much?" I gave him a blank stare.

A second guy's scraggy face appeared behind him. "What he wants to know is how much would you charge for the two of us?" Wordlessly, I wiped water from my face and resumed walking.

The pudgy guy revved up, matching my speed, "Hey, Pretty, not so fast... I love skinny girls..." The scraggy guy blew me a kiss and added, "Yeah! Come back...We both love you!" My heels slipped on the wet pavement, I stumbled and nearly lost my footing. A tall, handsome African guy came to my rescue, took me in his arms and straightened me up. He had a great body, a friendly face and a comforting smell. The SUV accelerated and drove away, showering us with a gust of muddy water, leaving a trail of loud laughter...

"You're a decent girl, aren't you?" asked my savior. "This is no kind of neighborhood for a decent girl like you." He smiled nicely. "I work over there, may I invite you to a cup of coffee?" As I did not react, he added, "It's raining, sweetheart. Don't you want to get out of the rain?"

Up the road in a not so far distance the SUV turned around. Afraid it might come after me again, I hastily said, "I'd like both. Something hot will do me good..." I hesitated a few seconds, then added, "By the way, I'm Emily..."

He smiled, "I'm Sekou," took me by the arm and led me towards the entrance of a club just a few steps away. A neon sign flashed the name PINK FLAMINGO into the night, smaller signs announced Table Dance, Lap Dance and Live Shows, a dimly lit showcase exhibited faded photographs of smiling girls in varying stages of nudity.

Looking back, I saw that Justin had stopped playing with his phone. Instead, he watched me incredulously. I smirked. Served him well. That's what he got for letting me walk the streets unattended.

[Slave_E]

I followed Sekou into a long, narrow hall, its walls painted with colorful African-looking murals, displaying exotic lakescapes decorated with the name-giving Flamingos and big-breasted beauties taking a bath, grinning, frolicking, splashing water, dangling their assets. And assets they had, same as the dark guys looking out from the dense jungle that surrounded the lake. Strategically positioned spotlights emphasized various areas of attention, such as bewitching booties, peachy pussies and long, snakelike dongs.

From behind a counter a topless checkroom attendant greeted us with a broad grin, the white flowers in her hair a sharp contrast to her ebony skin. Sekou waved back. I tried a shy smile and received a friendly nod.

The hall opened up into a huge room. Loud music sucked us in and disgorged us next to a dimly lit bar. A few stools were taken by languid girls in fancy lingerie, sipping colorful drinks. On the other wall curved benches and alabaster glass screens promised privacy, but did nothing to keep their promise. Scattered around were middle-aged guys in formal attire accompanied by young women in revealing robes. Elderly men with dubious hairstyles mingled with barely legal teens. Guys in colorful clothes flirted with girls wearing next to nothing apart from their equally colorful hairdos. Fiercely inebriated girls celebrated their night out, drag queens took selfies and convulsed with laughter and - I did not trust my eyes - Pudgy Guy and Scraggy Face accessed the premises. Thank God they did not see me as they were fascinated by the undisputed center of attention, visible from all sides, the place where everybody was staring at - a brightly lit catwalk. It protruded from a stage at the rear wall, passed three poles and ended in a circular platform that took up the middle of the room.

The music came to an unexpected halt. I looked quizzically at my escort, but he smiled reassuringly and offered me a place at the bar. "I'll have un petit noir. Fine with you? Or would you rather have un café au lait?" He had an easygoing voice with a nice French accent, so I told him I'd like a café au lait. I was tempted to ask him where he came from, but as I opened my mouth, he hushed me and pointed to the stage.

It was worthwhile. A beautiful young girl crawled over the floor, on all fours, butt in the air, pale face framed by a wild mane of red hair, adorned with furry, nicely rounded, realistic looking leopard ears, her freckled skin stretched over a sinewy, shapely body, her tits barely covered by a narrow leopard-skin bandeau, her pubes emphasized by a thong that exposed more than it hid. With every move she made in that sexy, slinky cat crawl of hers a long, flexible tail that must have been attached to a butt plug flickered happily through the air. The tags on her collar jingled softly as she rolled on her back, sprawled her naked feet and moved her clenched fists aimlessly as cats do when they stretch out.

A dark-skinned, tall, muscular woman of statuesque beauty joined her, towered over her, hands on hips, butt and boobs emphasized by a tight black leather corset. The skimpy G-string covering her crotch left nothing to the imagination, looked even more minuscule next to the thigh-high stiletto boots covering her calves and knees. The heels tapered down to a spike, allowing her to take only very small steps, which she did with extreme care, deliberation, grace and seductively swaying hips. She wore long black dreadlocks, sharp drop silver earrings, an elaborate silver necklace and studded black wristbands. It was hard to keep the eyes off her.

Sekou passed me my café au lait. It was too hot to drink, but it warmed my fingers. On the saucer were three deliciously smelling cookies. Their exotic spices pleasurably accentuated the scent of Sekou's dark skin radiating a completely different kind of hotness. I wolfed them down, took a steamy sip of coffee and wished he would touch my body, cocooning me in a warm and soothing embrace.

My attention was brought back to the stage as the sound system played a dark sensuous rhythm. As if dancing to the beat, the tall woman bent over, hooked a long leash to the ring of the redheads' collar and dragged her towards the poles. The skinny girl choked, grabbed the leash with clenched fists and tried to get to her feet, but before she had a chance to get up, her tormentress hit her with a black riding crop. It must have stung, the girl winced, squatted on her haunches and, fists still clenched, tried to catch the whip, but the tall woman was fast. She struck again, aimed at the girl’s arms and shoulders. The hits left red bruises on her pale skin. The woman tickled her with the riding crop under her chin. The girl hissed, but in the end she gave in and got up, slowly and reluctantly.

Without thinking I finished my coffee. The onstage spectacle and the hot liquid conspired to shut down my higher brain functions. My blood rushed to my nether regions. I sweated and swayed, tranquil, euphoric and queasy at the same time. Sekou grabbed my waist and steadied me with his arms. I leaned into him. His resolute grip ramped up my sex drive.

On stage the redhead played coy, looked down at her feet, tresses hanging loose, face hidden. The rhythm intensified, a kick drum joined in, a deep funky bass line added volume, a reverb whirled echoes of cat's meows around the room and softly, very softly, she started to move, at first somnambulatory and sad, but soon agitated and angry. She wriggled herself around one of the poles as if seized by an alien power, combined fast and sharp moves with quick spins, head tosses, pirouettes and long leg splays and, all in all, displayed an insane ability to tell a story through mere transitions and movements. Finally, with the sound fading to a slow, sensual throb, she slacked off and hung from the pole upside down, her hair wiping the floor. Twisting and folding she got rid of her underwear, slid down to the ground and collapsed into a naked heap, face down, legs spread, baring her pussy to the mesmerized crowd. Everybody broke out in a loud cheer.

Her tormentress was not satisfied. She whipped her again, leaving red marks on her white ass. The girl got on all fours and stuck her butt out. A few more strokes and she crawled over to the platform in the middle of the room. Spurred on by the audience, the tall woman helped her up, took her in her arms, kissed her and turned her around to face the crowd, one hand covering the girl's tits the other her pussy. Evoked by another shift in the music, the girl resumed her sensuous dance, making sure that her tormentress' hands stayed in place. She reclined her head and closed her eyes and, ostensibly forgetting everything around her, swayed her body in sync with the tall woman's hands, a slave to her movements...

The crowd shouted and hollered. Oblivious to the turmoil around her, the girl squirmed when the tall woman pinched her nipples, opened her mouth in a silent moan when the tall woman invaded her pussy and moved her pelvis obediently back and forth when the tall woman started to fist-fuck her...

Sekou's hand slid under my dress. "It's all feigned, sweetheart... It's a well-choreographed show; it's part of her performance, how real it may feel. And isn't she giving a great show? I'm sure every guy in the audience thinks he's the one stretching her out... as if he was the only man in the club. As if nothing could possibly matter to her but him..." His hand boldly played with my pussy. I did nothing to prevent him.

When the music stopped, the girl had a stunning orgasm, kissed the dark woman on both cheeks, bowed to the audience, accepted the applause, jumped off the platform and walked towards us, uninhibitedly, stark naked, her tail flickering behind her. She grabbed Sekou's arm, said, "I need to pee," and took us behind the bar. A curtain led to a small hallway. A door opened in a brightly lit room with lockers, makeup stands, chairs full of clothes and a table littered with cigarette butts, empty softdrink bottles, bitten-into sandwiches, cold pizza slices and an astonishingly fresh fruit platter. We went through, she opened another door and I found myself in a white-tiled bathroom with three sinks, a bidet, three alcove showers and three swing doors giving poor privacy to three toilet cubicles.

The redhead squatted on one of the seats and let go of her pee, breathing a sigh of relief. "Just in time... Sekou, fetch me my purse..."

Sekou threw me a towel, "Get out of your dress and dry off, I'll be with you in a second. Use the blow drier over there for your hair... and for your shoes, if you want..." He grabbed the purse and a white plastic stool and joined the redhead.

Despite feeling more and more qualmish, faint and dizzy, I did as told. It felt good to get out of my wet dress. When I and my hair were fairly dry I pointed the blow drier to my shoes and walked weak-kneed towards the loo, to be greeted by an angry squeal, "You crazy? Switch it off, will you!" Sekou and the redhead were hunched over a hand mirror with four lines of white powder.

I switched the blow drier off and asked incredulously, "Is it what I think it is?"

Sekou grinned. "I do not know what you think, but you're welcome to share. It will revive your spirits..." The girl took the mirror and, with two swift moves, snorted up two lines, one for each nostril. Sekou looked at me and asked, "Wanna try?" He cut the rest of the lines in half, snorted up the bigger parts and passed me the mirror.

I decided I'd do it. After all, I could need some cheering up and it was only the smaller parts of the lines, so it seemed to be ok for a first try. I gave it a shot. It was not too bad, just a slight burning sensation in the nose. I snorted again and suddenly felt perfect. I did not feel queasy any more, I did not feel bad and worn out and tired, I was at the peak of my potential. I was a superhero. I was divine.

The euphoria I felt was as if I was constantly on the threshold of an orgasm. I loved myself. No anxiety, no fear, no depression, no bad feelings. Just a sense of completion. I could do anything.

And I did. I grabbed Sekou and opened his fly and got on my knees and pulled his pants down and brought his dick out and it was hard and dark and huge and had a beautiful pink head and I took it in my mouth and started to suck... and the girl grabbed my shoulders, pulled me away and hissed, "Fuck! He needs to be on stage any minute now! Let him go!"

[MrCharcol]

Great Chapter I liked the kitten or is she a leopard? Pet play can be a great way of introducing D/s and you get to weara collar, But this lady and her Mistress show how you can tame the wild cat