I almost cancelled, five times. I was just too nervous to follow through with the whispered plans and laid out fantasies. He was too intense, it had been too long.

I’m lucky I didn’t.

I knew as soon as he met me at the door that he was more than just pretty words sent over text. Did he notice I was shaking? He started by making a simple request that I ignored. We were both testing the waters and he had to know I wasn’t going to be easy.

By the time he sat down across from me at the bar, my false bravado had all but disappeared. I couldn’t concentrate on what he was saying. I wanted him. I wanted to see his face when I brought him to the edge of ecstasy and at the moment of release. I wanted him to grab me by the hair and force orgasm after orgasm until couldn’t move. Did he notice my mind wandering?

“Look at me” eye contact was excruciating. It felt like he could see every filthy thought that ran through this deprived slut’s mind. He calmly commanded, “spread your legs”. The whole bar melted away as I tried to hold it together. “wider” “Good girl”

I was powerless. What happened next wasn’t my fault. When a man can look at you and demand your submission with such ease there isn’t much you can do.

The next thing I knew we were sneaking into the back stairs. “Hands on the wall,” I really did try to keep some illusion of being a lady but within moments my back was arched and my legs were spread. He forced my tight black dress up to reveal my dripping wet pussy. The brat never goes away… but the slut? I missed her.

My knees buckled as I fought the urge to turn around and tear off his suit, but one should always try to be polite on the first date… and something told me that misbehaviour would be corrected on the spot. He was the picture of control as he slowly used his hands to explore my body, grabbing and teasing my throbbing pussy. The shaking was back and I was on the verge of making more noise than would have been wise given the clandestine circumstances

He didn’t allow me to cum.

I was desperate by the time we made our way back to the bar. I just wanted to be a good girl. Or bad a girl. Or whatever girl gets a climax so intense it that scares the neighbours.

Instead, I got more games. We sat at a quiet table in the back corner and he teased my dress over my hips again. Reminding me that good posture shows off my tits to the rest of the bar he eased his fingers inside of me. I didn’t dare move. Not an inch. “Finish your drink”. To the rest of the bar, it must have looked so innocent – a well-dressed man with his arm around the waist of a younger woman. Maybe a few would have noticed the way he leaned in close to talk in my ear, but the bar was loud, that was to be expected, right?

He smiled smugly as I squirmed. I knew nobody could see but the thought of that room full of men knowing what a whore I was being turned me on. I had to get him to stop.

That’s when the trouble started. I really am a sweet girl, I swear. But a couple of drinks in and I get arrogant. I’ve learned that this isn’t cute. I may have pushed my luck a little too hard when I insisted that my pretty face was good enough to keep him in the palm of my hand. I maybe shouldn’t have been so sure that my fluttering eyelashes would make him forget that he was the one in charge. Maybe. But, maybe he baited me into the arrogant way I assured him that I would get a second date because he was powerless against my charm.

He was not powerless.

Making eye contact he reached up and applied pressure to a point in my back “I can’t spank you in the bar now can I?” he said, without losing an ounce of his composure. The pain was immediate. I buried my face in his neck and tried not to cry out. I wanted to run away. I never wanted him to stop. It hurt. My thighs were sticky. I was going to cry. I was going to cum.

I did end up getting my second date, but not without a lot of recovery and the promise of being a really, really good girl next time.