F.M.B.

"Depends where I'd drink it from."

I could only imagine. He drank both his wine and my visage simultaneously, placing his glass carefully in front of him. "Hand me your panties."

The colour drained from my face and I went cold. Shit. In my haste and pre-occupation with perfecting the walk I'd entirely forgotten his final rule. I was supposed to wear them all day, take them off just prior to the date and bring them with me. I pictured them crumpled and perfectly stained on the bed, now useless.

Looking down at my cutlery, a small voice escaped. "I, uhhh, forgot them." When I swung my gaze up to his, expecting displeasure, I found something else instead. A twisted smile.

"No panties, no deal."

"Wait! No. I can fetch them now. Bring them to you. You'll not notice the..."

He silenced me, waving his hand like I wasn't the droids he was looking for. "No panties. No deal. Tonight you fuck yourself alone."

"No!"

"Unless..."

"What? Anything." Jesus, I hated sounding so desperate.

The crooked grin returned. "Forfeit."

I didn't like the sound of that, but I had screwed up. I exhaled. "What?"

He didn't answer immediately. Made me squirm. Took a long pull of his wine. "Play with yourself under the table."

Was that all? I could hardly believe that was the extent of it, but knew I had to comply. I craved his cock that much. Running my fingers below the table edge, I traced them to my thigh beneath the napkin and wiggled, sliding the already short dress upwards. The heat from my pussy was incredible; could power a small city for a day. I brought a digit to my centre and coated it with juices, then dared to run it up to my clit. He could immediately tell when I hit the spot as my eyes fluttered. Fuck, it felt amazing. Relief if not release.

With one elbow resting on the table, hand partially concealing my mouth to prevent the breathy 'Ohs' and chewed lip from revealing what was going on beneath, I started to ease into a rhythm. Dip. Slide. Circle. Dip. Slide. Circle. Every so often I'd glance around the room to check I wasn't observed. Other times I'd be watching him watch me, evidently pleased at my wanton behaviour. My pussy oozed fluid and I swept it to my central oyster, perpetuating the juice cycle. A self-fulfilling contract between my electrified clit and wet tunnel.

As excitement percolated in my belly, gradually rising to take over my whole body, I began to want again, the same as I had at the bar. To want him, right then, as if the other restaurant patrons were oblivious to our actions, yet thrilled that they would witness our bucking union over the tabletop as he pawed my tits and filled me in the effortless manner that makes me melt. The exhibitionism would double the effect of every inch he slid inside me, every bite of my nipples, every shallow breath in my ear.

I pressed onwards, inwards, watching him the whole time through narrow slits. Waiting for any further command, but losing the ability to respond with each passing second. My sluice gates opened, faint clicking audible to anyone who dared to listen closely as I neared climax, breath shortening and becoming louder. He recognised the signs and when I was a mere handful of insistent circles away from exploding, one word shattered my progress:

"Stop."

So cruel. I didn't at first, trying to finish, quickly realising that might not be prudent. So I slowed, leaving my hand still touching myself, eventually pausing as requested. Waiting.

"Wipe yourself up." I arched my eyebrows. "With the napkin."

Was he serious? It seemed that way, his calm exterior patiently awaiting my compliance. I brought my sticky hand atop the pressed linen in my lap, spread my thighs and pushed down and inward once more. The cloth began to absorb my wetness and I gently stroked the area, using the touches as an excuse to continue elevating myself. Why had he chosen now to make me stop, the bastard? I continued to mop my sopping area, feeling the material stick to me with each stroke. Looked up at him enjoying my predicament.

He leant forward and whispered, "OK good. Now come for me, all over the napkin."

Already so close, I was only too glad to continue. I pressed my finger through the starched material, connecting with my inflamed clit. An involuntary gasp escaped my lips and I snapped my eyes around the room to see if anyone had noticed before resuming, making rough circles. The lights in the room began to dim and I realised it was because my eyes were closing. My mouth opened as I sucked in more oxygen to fuel the fire inside me.

A distant beat began to drum my veins, bubbling, roiling, a hammering starting in my ears and rippling the length of my body, eddying my pelvis. The decision over whether to come was no longer mine to make. One hand clutched the table edge while the other coaxed tumbling wetness from inside. Seconds later the restaurant faded, to be replaced with dancing colours as the borrowed linen bore the brunt of my orgasm.

I was vaguely aware of panting, trying to keep as much of a lid on what I was doing, but succeeding only as far as my body and mind were able. My clit pinched inwards, contracting, winking, drawing my tunnel with it roughly once a second as juices flew from me. It was so fucking decadent to come in front of everyone else in the establishment, whether they noticed or not. Heat erupted and filled every corner of my being simultaneously, not rippling through me like it sometimes did. My whole body glowed like the element of a toaster, pulsing deeply as I rode the long tail of climax, almost unaware of the world until the idle chatter of guests filtered back to my consciousness.

Fluttering my eyes open, the first thing I saw was him, mouth agape, clearly appreciative of my show. He nodded. "Put the napkin on the table."

I shot him a glare but slowly peeled the napkin from my lips and did as he asked, trying to cover up the obvious dark patch. He coughed. "Wet side up."

With trembling hands I rearranged the linen so the stain was facing the ceiling. It glistened in the low light, silvery trails criss-crossing its surface, clearly not from a simple liquid spill. I went red. He seemed to revel in my discomfort.

I reached for my wine and drank deeply, aware of my chest still heaving and orgasmic flotsam in my veins. He replenished my glass, settled back with his own drink, pleased with himself.

No words were spoken until the meal arrived. The waiter was efficient, attentive, clearly very good at his job, the mouth-watering dish presented exquisitely, a testament to the exclusivity of the restaurant. I prayed he wouldn't notice my arousal on the napkin.

With mine delivered, the remaining meal was set down on the place mat across from me. "Thank you," he said. "I wonder, would you please replace my companion's napkin? She appears to have soiled that one."

I stared at him, open-mouthed and turned crimson. The waiter nodded. "Of course, Sir." He came round to my side of the table again and I leaned slightly away to allow him to reach across me and retrieve the dirty item. Ever professional, he didn't make a scene when his fingers stuck to the surface before he scrunched my pussy juice into the centre, but I swear he glanced at me oddly. I wasn't sure I liked the look on his face. There was every possibility the napkin inventory would be one short that evening. I shuddered at the thought of what he might do with it.

The steak was divine, every forkful melting as it should, the only problem being it was over too soon. On the upside, that did mean I was closer to getting fucked, and I sure as hell needed that. Could almost feel the familiar heat of his length pressing deep, his after-shave filling my lungs as I breathed him in.

I silently cursed him for ordering coffee, wondering how he could bear to delay the inevitable. Surely the anticipation must have been tearing him up in the same manner as it was me. All the time through the drink and subsequent bill exchange I had to endure his piercing looks, those filthy ones that undressed me, that demonstrated in no uncertain terms how much I was his property. He knew waiting made it better. Wilder.

Eventually though, the words, "Shall we retire?" were a sheer delight to my ears, even though he insisted once more that I walked before him. Thinly disguised chivalry aside, there was some delightful power in strutting ahead of him, chunky heels clicking, bum wiggling all the way across the lobby to the elevator, this time a different set of men dreaming of ravishing me. I wanted them to watch. Wanted to stop walking, bend at the waist, grab my ankles and have the man behind me puncture my drizzling slit as the men in the lobby formed a circle, encouraging me to take it faster, harder. The braver ones would pull out their shiny cocks, feed them to my waiting mouth in succession, splitting my lips as I was fucked, losing their willpower and firing salty spunk down my throat. Then pulling back to lash it across my searching tongue, pumping it over my contorted face.

The ride up to the fifteenth was further torture. I wanted to hit the emergency stop, unbuckle his trousers, crush him to the wall, hook a shiny boot around his body and feel him take me. I didn't care what it made me. Escort. Harlot. Slut. As long as I was filled. But I endured the ride and seemingly endless corridor until finally, the faceless hotel room door was before me. The click of the latch sounded cavernous.

Sliding the keycard into the holder by the bathroom door with a shaking hand, the room illuminated. He guided me to the centre and made me wait as he selected some music. Something I didn't know with a beat. He returned, perched on the edge of the bed where I had been earlier, and picked up my forgotten underwear. "Dance."

I hooked into the music, self-consciously at first, gradually losing myself, turning away from him to grind my rear in his direction. He was an absolute sucker for my arse. I'd lost count of the number of times he'd been inside it, licking my dirty hole, stretching, preparing. Maybe tonight would be plus-one-more. I eased up the hem to show him my delicious bait, gyrating it sexily then returning the tight dress to cover the goods. Teasing worked both ways.

He sat there ogling my wares, lifted my used panties to his face and inhaled deeply, rubbing the crotch all over his nose and mouth. He adored my scent. Would gladly spend hours between my legs if I let him.

He beckoned me. "Open your mouth."

I did, and he shoved the panties in. "Muffles the screams," he explained. "On the bed."

Standing, he allowed me to crawl onto the king size bed, admiring me. "Stay on all fours. Turn around. Face the mirror."

With a deliberate slowness that nowhere near matched the engine revving inside me, I turned. In the mirror I saw desperation in my eyes. Gagged and waiting, dripping with want. He made me wait a little longer, before shuffling onto the bed on his knees, positioning himself behind me. He removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, peeled the dress up over my globes to bunch at my hips and smacked each cheek, playfully at first, becoming bolder, harder, eliciting cries that the panties absorbed.

When I reached my pain threshold and was sure my bum was glowing red, I heard his fly, the rustle of his underwear, and felt the heat of his turgid cock at my entrance. "You want me?"

I saw myself nod in the wardrobe mirror.

"Slow?"

I shook my head.

"Hard?"

A nod of affirmation.

"You dirty fucking slut."

He grabbed my hips and pressed forward, making me whimper into the panty gag. God it felt good. My pussy lips split and he filled me completely, pulling out roughly and slamming back in. I barely recognised the woman in the reflection. So wanton. Eyes begging to be fucked, expression melting with every forward thrust of his hips, mouth stretched around my own underwear.

There was something animalistic about his performance. The gentleness of one or two previous hotel encounters a distant memory. With no loving embraces, this one was simply raw. Necessary. Frenzied.

He leaned back, grabbed the heels of my boots and bucked into me, a solid staff amid my wetness. Using my forearms I pushed down against the bed, shoving myself harder against him, our bodies slapping into the bedroom between the music.

"Yeah that's right. Fuck me, you horny slut. Your hot cunt is all mine, and worth every penny."

I knew it already, but loved hearing it, groaning into the gag at his crude words, breathing heavily. He rummaged in his trouser pocket and tossed some twenties over my back. Utterly owned.

Reaching forward, he sought my lips and pulled the gag from me, growling, "Who owns you?"

"You do."

"Who can do anything to your body?"

My eyes flashed with need as I whispered. "You can."

"Who?"

Louder: "You can."

"And when should I do it?"

I chewed my lip, stared into his eyes via the mirror. "Now. Please do it now. Plea..." I was cut off by him stuffing my panties in my mouth again, after which he leaned back again to take in the view of my firm derriere bucking against his body. I could see the need in him welling up just before his hand raised.

Another cascade of spanks rained down on my behind, each responsible for adding a tributary to the stream that trickled down my thighs to the bed. He sawed his hardness into me relentlessly, the pent up self-denial of the day finally awarded an outlet. I don't know which of us needed it more.

All I could be sure of was that neither of us were going to last much longer. I was becoming overwhelmed and sensed he was too, his strong hands kneading my hips roughly as he pounded. The angle our bodies made ensured his thrusts glanced off parts of me that I adored being rubbed. A delightful internal massage that complemented the rawness of our dirty liaison, building on the filthy texts we'd exchanged. The hours of sexual torment consummated in such a beautifully unrefined display of physical need.

A finger at my rear pressed insistently. I relaxed, letting him slip inside and redoubled my efforts to fuck him, my second orgasm surfacing.

With his free hand he grabbed my hair, yanked my head back and used the anchor to ride me wildly. "I've wanted you all fucking day," he snarled. "And now I'm going to come in your slutty wet pussy."

I moaned my acceptance, feeling his pumping become erratic immediately preceding a roar as his load filled me. I watched, mesmerised in the mirror as his head tipped back, before thrusting against him hard. I froze, coming with him, barely able to watch my mouth twitching with pleasure as heat tore through my body and our explosions collided.

There's nothing quite like orgasm. Popping candy in my brain every few seconds, conducting a symphony to which I alone know the tune. It takes a short while to ramp up fully and then paralyses me with a delicious connectedness. As if every hair follicle is a receptor that channels the energy of the room and of him directly into my veins. The best thing is that, although the initial burst is over all too briefly, the tail keeps on giving, sometimes for hours. I can drift afterwards, even while performing mundane tasks like shopping, re-living the moment of climax to a lesser extent many times over.

But there was nothing mundane about our most recent act. My insides were alive, despite being emotionally drained from the climax. I wanted more, my inner slut energised. More bucking, more spanking, more unrestrained cries, more suffocating orgasms as his hot, fat cock invaded my wettest, tightest places. He made me feel new.

My mind reeled, alert. I pictured us rounding out the evening in the sumptuous room, him peeling off my dress leaving me in nothing but the boots, finishing with the bottle on ice by the coffee table, giggling like teenagers. Maybe once he'd recovered he'd take me roughly there too, draped on my back across the low furniture, tipping the bubbling liquid over my tits, sucking and lapping it up as he pounded into me. Lifting my legs over his shoulders, he could pour the effervescing liquid over my boots and clean it up with his talented tongue. An expensive luxury, but oh so worth it.

Maybe after being covered in sticky alcohol we'd end up fucking in the shower, slippery hands on soapy skin, water battling to wash away the sin of acting a slut as I beg for more of his steel inside me. Heaven is so not for girls like me.

I could still feel him inside me even after he had withdrawn and I'd collapsed on my tummy, sweaty and very happy. The ripples continued to eddy from my sensitive core to the extremities of my body below the leather boots, long after I mustered the strength to roll over and stare at the crisp ceiling. Pulling the panties from my mouth I reflected on my shameless performance. My fingertips idly traced the slight hump of my abdomen and up to the base of my breasts, tingly and full, nipples poking hard against the restriction of the small dress.

Lying sated on the bed I sought his hot hand and gazed across at him, our fingers entwining. My husband smiled back, wriggled, and retrieved a three-inch square of paper from his trouser pocket, dropping it on my chest, his handwriting visible between the single fold. An entry plucked from our fantasy jar.

I flashed Adam a loaded smile, leaned across and kissed him, his breathing still heavy from the exertion. "My turn to choose next time."