I feel the need to start this post by saying no matter how hot this fantasy is for me, it is exactly that: a fantasy. In real life, I would find this kind of pick-up scene abhorrent – and that’s definitely why it turns me to explore it in the form of filthy writing.
The guy standing at the counter at Starbucks is interesting: the kind of guy who I look at twice at least, surprised that I want another glance. There’s something in the tight jeans and long coat; the ginger hair and neat beard, which reminds me of another pretty boy; and the glimpse of skinny wrist and long fingers I get as he hands over the money for his order that makes me want my eyes to linger on him a little longer.
As he waits for his order, he pulls a paperback copy of The New Topping Book by Dossie Easton and Janet W. Hardy out of a pocket, and I can’t quite hold back a tiny gasp. He looks up, quirking an eyebrow as he sees me staring, and throws me a cocky smile as I turn scarlet. I drop my eyes to my coffee, embarrassed that he caught me.
I imagine that he assesses me quickly, and I can’t help but smile at the idea that he checks me out before going back to reading. I can’t help sneaking another glance, and then another, admitting to myself that I’m not only curious about the book, he is quite attractive. Hot, even, especially if I imagine him bending over the table I’m sitting at and spanking me with the kinky book in his hand…
When I look up, for my third oh-so-subtle peek, he meets my gaze with a stern look – the scolding look of a dominant that makes me slick my knickers. Stay there, he mouths, and I freeze as he turns around to exchange a friendly grin and a few flirty-seeming words with the barista behind the counter. He slips the book back into his pocket and beckons me to come with him, and I can’t help but think about how good his fingers would feel against my g-spot…
I follow him towards the bathroom at the back of the coffee shop, but he doesn’t look over his shoulder to see if I am following. He expects my obedience, and that confidence, which could almost verge on arrogance, is incredibly hot.
Heat rises in my cheeks, the giddy feeling of recklessness mixing with my arousal, as I slip into the toilet behind him. He moves quickly, turning me round so I’m pressed against the bathroom door with my arm twisted behind me and his body close to mine. I can feel his hard dick pressing against my arse through his jeans, and I push back, wiggling a bit, and – just as I hoped – he holds me tighter.
“I can’t believe you followed me in here. You were imagining this when you were staring at me, weren’t you? Perhaps wondering if the fact I’m reading an intro-level book about kink that maybe I couldn’t be as rough with you as you want me to. Let me assure, you: I can.”
I let out a whimper, which grows to a moan as he lightly draws his fingers up my inner thigh, stopping a just short of the lace that edges my soaking wet knickers.
“You seem to be an utterly shameless slut. What filthy things were you fantasising about? Do you want me to fuck you? To hurt you?” I try to nod excitedly, and he laughs. “First, I think you need to prove that you’re a good girl. Get on your knees.”
He releases me, and I take a moment to compose myself before I drop to my knees. I’m far too eager to convince him that he’s wrong about my being a slut. He unbuttons his jeans and takes his cock out but holds me back with a firm hand on my shoulder as I lean forward to take it in my mouth. He laughs.
“I was right, you are a little slut; so desperate for me. Open up.”
I do as he commands but he still makes me wait for it. I start to drool, looking up pleadingly at him, saliva beginning to trickle down my chin. He watches me as I grow more ashamed and more aroused. I all but moan with delight when he finally takes his hand off my shoulder and I can begin to suck him off.
“Pathetic,” he sneers, but the movements of my tongue on his cock soon make him moan, and when I pull back to snatch a breath I grin up at him. I may be a slut, but I’m a good slut. He’s not that pleased that I’m proud of myself, so he grabs my head and holds me tightly as he fucks my mouth like it’s nothing more than a hole to be used for his pleasure. Which right now it is; right now, I am.
“Unbutton your shirt,” he orders, and I take pride in the fact there is a tremble in his voice that suggests he’s having to work to hold back his orgasm. “I want to come on your tits.”
I try to obey, with clumsy fingers struggling to undo the buttons and expose my boobs, while he’s still fucking my face ruthlessly. As soon as I yank my shirt open, he pulls out of my mouth and is coming on my chest in thick, satisfying spurts of spunk. I glow with smug pride, catching my breath from the blow job as I watch him tuck his dick back into his trousers.
“Get up and do up your shirt,” he tells me. He sees me glance at my reflection in the mirror as I do. “Are you worried that people might see what a slut you are?” He steps closer, so he’s looking down at me, ever so slightly, and his fingers graze my thigh again. “Don’t worry, my girlfriend likes it when I bring her filthy girls with my come on their tits.”
I’m frozen, but the stern look he gives me over his shoulder – the come on, little slut, I’m not done using you yet look – jerks me into movement again. I can feel his come drying on my boobs as I follow him across the crowded coffee shop, towards a table where a pretty girl is sitting alone. She stands when she sees us, a sadistic smile on her face.
“Aww, it looks like you got us a slut to take home.”
She looks me up and down, and I feel myself squirm with shame. She’s pretty, and I can imagine her long nails doing deliciously mean things to my nipples. She makes me feel small and pathetic, increased by the fact she talks only to him, as though I’m nothing more than a toy she wants to play with.
“I suppose you should get her bag and pull up a chair for her. You could maybe also get her something to eat – the little slut will need her all her energy later.”
I can’t wait to find out what’s in store for me.
Image sourced through Pixabay.
Quinn Rhodes (he/him) is a queer, trans, disabled sex writer with vaginismus. He’s a slut and a sex nerd who writes about his adventures in trying to fuck without fucking up. Quinn can usually be found wearing stomp-on-the-patriarchy boots while falling in love every time he fucks.