Britney’s black bra

It was a warm summer’s evening and still full daylight as I waited, nerves stretched to breaking-point, facing the bonnet of my car. I was fully, tinglingly aware, of the curious gazes of people coming and going in the pub carpark. I knew I must have looked rather strange, standing there, dressed as I was in outrageously tarty clothes. I was waiting to meet, at long last, the man who’d become the focus first of idle fantasies, then my dreams and finally, it seemed, every moment of my life both waking and sleeping. It had got to a pitch where I was at once desperate to meet him and dreading it at one and the same time. On the one hand I yearned for his touch, his tangible presence after months as no more than words on my monitor and a voice in my head. On the other hand, I felt so much in his thrall that I couldn’t help worrying that meeting in the flesh would somehow dispel the magic that bound us. How could reality possibly measure up to the world we’d created in our minds?

Nevertheless, I had my instructions, precise, cool, simple enough and yet demanding… and here I was, of course, just as he knew I would be, obedient to his will. I was dressed exactly as he’d prescibed and the act of donning these garments in itself, clothing so far removed from anything I wore in my everyday life, had reduced me to a quivering mass of fear and desire. First I’d taken off the plain, conservative clothes I normally wore – long skirt, loose-fitting top, flat shoes – and then I had looked at myself naked in the full-length looking-glass in my bedroom. I saw myself through neutral eyes, and hoped I would not disappoint him. My skin was soft and creamy, but beginning to show the signs of age – there were stretchmarks, silvery, across my stomach, which was soft and round. Below that my cunt was freshly-shaven and the lips of my labia flowered prettily from my naked mons. I loved the look of my denuded cunt and knew that there was no way on earth he could fail to be moved by the sight of it. My large breasts hung lower than I might have wished.

Not for long, though, I thought, as I picked up the first item of clothing – a plunge black bra I’d bought especially for the occasion. I hooked it behind me and scooped my breasts into the cups. They fitted, just about, but a large amount was on view and the bra pushed them up and endowed them with an impressive-looking cleavage – so different from my usual undergarments… Next I put on my suspender belt, a flimsy affair of black lace.. Sitting on the sofa in my bedroom, I rolled the seamed black stockings up my legs and attached them to the suspenders. They were rather on the short side and when I pulled on my micro-mini skirt, the tops of them were clearly visible below the hem. Trying to see my rear view in the glass, I could see that from behind there was not just stocking-top on view but thigh too. Mind you, there was a good slice of thigh visible from in front also, because the skirt had a split at the front up the left thigh. On top I wore a skintight red stretch lace scoop-neck top, through which the bra and my breasts were clearly visible.

Finally, I put on high-heeled black patent slingback stilettos – a far cry from the shoes I normally wore and I hoped that I’d be able to walk on them when I needed to. However, I knew that he wouldn’t mind if I looked unsteady on my feet – he’d said how he wanted to see me teetering on too-high heels, dressed and painted like a whore, when I came to meet him. I’d done the dressing – now for the paint… Usually I wore little if any make-up – I’m blessed with good skin, and a coat of pale pink lipstick is all I usually bother with. At night I might wear a slightly darker shade of pink and add a little brown shadow and a coat of mascara to my eyes – but tonight I knew I’d have to do it differently.

I tipped the contents of the bag of stuff I’d bought for tonight onto the bed. First I applied a heavy, beige makeup all over my face. It felt like a garment, like I was wearing a second skin attached to my own but it blanked out the colour of my cheeks and gave me a mask-like base. Next I put new colour on my cheeks, higher up – to me it looked like rather a hectic flush but the effect was not unappealing. I lavished thick black liner on my eyelids, winging the lines out and adding heavy dark shadow in the sockets. I coated my lashes over and over with mascara till they were impossibly long but thickly-clogged in clumps – the effect was distinctly trashy. And then I painted my mouth. I’d bought a flame-red lipstick, but first I outlined it, well beyond my usual lipline, with a red pencil. Then I filled in with the lipstick. When I’d finished I gazed at the unfamiliar creature looking back at me.

I didn’t recognise myself and this was something of a relief. It was almost as if the woman going to meet what was, when you thought about it, a total stranger, was not myself but someone else. I wouldn’t do such a foolish thing, of course not; but this creature in the mirror, this pathetically over-the-top caricature of a woman, well, she looked as if she’d do just about anything…yes, anything at all… Dressed and painted like a wank fantasy, at the whim of a man I’d never met. Looking at myself, my unfamiliar self, I felt my cunt melting with excitement. I knew what I was doing. This thing into which I’d turned myself was in fact at last a true indication of the woman I knew myself to be deep inside, the woman I’d spent my life till now suppressing. Tonight she was allowed out for the first time ever and yes, I thought, dressed like this, painted like this, I can and will do anything.

With head high, but clinging onto the banister for support, unused to the height of my heels, I’d gone downstairs, locked up and left the house. I’d driven the twenty miles to the pub to which I’d never been before. It was in a rough area of the city, frequented mainly by men, he’d said. He’d had to drive to it too, from a similar distance the other side. We were meeting in the carpark and his instructions had included not only the details of what I had to do when I got there but what, shortly after, I could expect him to do to me. ‘You will arrive in time to meet me at 20.30,’ the email had read. ‘You will get out of your car which you will have parked bonnet outwards. You will stand still, facing the bonnet, and wait for me. I will approach you from behind. You are not to look round. You will say nothing but obey my instructions. When I tell you, you will bend over the car bonnet. You will raise your skirt at my command and display yourself to me. I will examine you and see if you are pleasing to me’. After all that, I wondered, what next… and after displaying myself, naked, in a public carpark, could anything else hold any terrors for me?

So here I now was, standing still, as still as I could, and waiting, waiting… I didn’t know how long I’d been there. It had been 20.25 when I’d left the safety of my car. That felt like hours ago already yet had probably been no more than a few minutes. In that time, several cars had arrived and the people, mainly men, who’d got out had cast interested glances in my direction. I was aware of this out of the corner of my eyes. True to my instructions, however, I kept my gaze steadily forward and did not turn my head. I wondered what they made of me, dressed as I was, standing still as a statue. I wondered how long he’d keep me here like this, my legs beginning to tremble with the effort of keeping absolutely still on those precarious heels. I felt more naked, dressed in that shameful clothing, than as if I’d been stood there with nothing on at all. Seconds and minutes ticked by. I wished I was wearing a watch but that hadn’t been included in the list of what I was to wear. I had no idea how much time was passing but I felt sure it must be close to nine o’clock; the sky was perceptibly darker, the daylight was fading fast. Did he mean to leave me here all night? Was he perhaps delayed, or – terrible thought – had this all been a joke at my expense and maybe he wasn’t coming at all?

Just as this last, unworthy thought crossed my mind, I became aware of purposeful footfalls behind me. Definitely heading in my direction… but was it him? What if someone else, attracted by the signals my clothing was giving out, meant to take advantage of me first? I was almost deafened by the sound of my own blood rushing in my ears and felt a surge of nausea as adrenalin coursed through my system. The footsteps came to a halt behind me. Silence – but I could feel the warmth and solidity of his presence behind me, whoever he was. The silence lengthened, I felt my skin grow clammy with sweat but the heat and moisture in my cunt increased, I felt my thighs wet and slick with my juices.

‘Bend over, whore’ he said, suddenly – no greeting – but I recognised his voice, the sound that had thrilled me now for months. Immediately I bent forward over the bonnet of my car. ‘Lift your skirt’, he said. My skirt was so short that leaning forward as I was very little was left to the imagination but I reached behind me and lifted it up, obediently. I wondered if anyone was watching our performance but now that he was here, now that I could follow his instructions, I was filled with a sense of peace and purpose. All I had to do was to please him and that was easy – I only had to do as I was told. ‘Spread your legs, I want to see your cunt open’, he said and I spread my legs as wide as I could. I could feel the cool air on my hot, wet cunt and hear the slight slurpy noise as my labia opened so that he could view me.

I stayed like that, not knowing how close an examination he was giving me – I could not feel him any nearer me – and then I heard a soft snapping sound. The next moment I had to catch my lip not to cry out but could not avoid a slight grunt escaping me as I felt something cold and hard suddenly invade my anus. Whatever he was using to probe me with, he pushed it in and out of me hard several times before removing it. Blushing furiously, under my pancake make-up, I wondered how many men had witnessed this violation of me and at the thought that surely some had I could feel my cunt getting even wetter. ‘Wank for me, whore’ he now said. He knew perfectly well that this was not a position I would have chosen but I slipped my right hand between my legs and stroked the area just above my burning, hard clitoris. There was no way my clit could take being touched directly. As it was, the sensations flowing from my fingers and the image in my mind’s eye of the degrading spectacle I was making of myself, spread-eagled half-naked over my car and moving my arse against my hand, fucking it, were almost enough to push me over the edge. He must have sensed this, because, ‘Stop now, whore,’ he said.’ Stand up straight and turn around to face me’.

Slowly I straightened up, pushed my skirt down and even more slowly turned around to look at my Master. He had never sent me a photo so this moment was a strange one. I felt I knew him so well, and he knew me so well, yet this was the first time I’d have any idea what the man who ruled over me looked like. He was shorter than I’d expected – about the same height as me in my heels – somehow I’d imagined a physical giant of a man, in keeping with the extent of his sway over me. I got a brief impression of dark hair, dark eyes, a quizzical expression on his lips, clothing that was casual but expensive. But what mainly took my attention was the bright yellow rubber glove on his right hand. My gaze was drawn to it and as he saw me looking, smiling more broadly now, he slowly and deliberately drew it off and slipped it into his pocket. I wondered if the tide of blood flooding my cheeks was visible through the pancake make-up I was wearing. At least I now knew what he’d used to probe my arse with.

‘Time for a drink, I think,’ he said, taking my elbow and walking me towards the entrance to the public bar. ‘You will speak only in answer to my questions, whore’. I nodded my head, fearing yet feeling exhilarated at the ordeal that lay ahead of me. Walking into a brightly-lit pub, dressed like a tart, beside a man whose every order I was pledged to obey – a man who, I knew well, would not balk at giving me orders he knew I would find uncomfortable. Indeed, it was as if he had some direct inner connection to my mind and knew exactly just what would cause me maximum discomfiture. I kept my eyes gazing unseeingly before me. I did not want to see what impact, if any, my appearance was having on the men in the bar. My Master led me to the counter and ordered a pint of beer for himself and a vodka and tonic for me. I hated vodka – I would have chosen gin – I expect he knew that… ‘Turn and face the room, whore’, he said, and obediently I turned. The pub was full – it was indeed nine o’clock by now as I could see from the large clock on the wall.

My Master was standing next to me but still facing the bar. He reached out with his right hand and slipped it under my skirt. ‘Open your legs, whore’ he said and, blushing furiously, conscious of the eyes of the men in the pub, I opened my legs, affording him better access to my cunt, which he immediately took advantage of. His thumb circling my hard, aching clitoris, he inserted his first and second fingers into my cunt and pumped them back and forth, back and forth, casually yet insistently. Because he was standing next to me, not covering my body with his, it was clear to all who saw what was happening to me. I could feel the boiling-hot tide of blood in my cheeks break through the pancake makeup, which felt as though it was starting to melt because of the heat of my skin. ‘Your cunt is very wet, whore’ he said, turning to smile at me. I looked back at him, wordlessly. He’d told me I could only answer questions – but he wasn’t asking me any questions. Until he did, I had to stay silent.

He moved closer, pinning me against the bar while the rhythm of his finger-fucking increased, became harder and harder until he was slamming his hand in and out of me. I closed my eyes, leaning my head back, trying to stay silent although my breath was now coming quickly, pantingly, into my throat. I couldn’t believe he was getting away with this, with what he was doing to me, so blatantly, in front of so many people. ‘Open your eyes, whore’ he said. ‘In fact, look around you. See if you can catch anyone’s eyes.’ What he was telling me to do now seemed unthinkable. Slowly I opened my eyes, fighting back against the sensations he was arousing in me, and looked around the room. Most people were in fact studiously avoiding looking in our direction but a group of young men at one table were watching avidly, talking excitedly amongst themselves and making overtly obscene gestures as they evidently made jokes at my expense.

I gazed at them, challengingly, head held high, eyes flashing. Despite the tawdriness of my clothes, and the humiliating way in which I was being treated, I was my Master’s chosen slave and had nothing to be ashamed of so long as I obeyed his orders. When they fell silent, I moved my gaze away, seeking out anyone else who might be prepared to meet my eyes. Yes, I was dressed like a pathetic caricature of a tart, yes, I was being fingered openly in public, I was behaving in a way that no woman of their acquaintance would countenance, but as an offering to my Master, because he desired it. While he was happy and satisfied with me, I knew I was behaving impeccably. Further over, in a corner, an older man was watching us more furtively. He would not meet my eyes but turned away as soon as my gaze challenged his. ‘You see, my whore’ said my Master. ‘You have nothing to fear here from these men. They do not understand just what a pearl you are and how much I value you. Now follow me – you may suck my cock as a reward for the way you have obeyed my orders so far.’

Proudly I followed my Master to the men’s lavatories at the back of the pub. He led me in despite the fact that one of the urinals was being used. ‘On your knees, whore’ he said, as if we were quite alone in there. The man relieving himself turned round in shock hearing my Master’s words and sprayed urine everywhere. Serenely, I ignored him, falling to my knees at my Master’s feet and as he unzipped his flies, took his cock in my hand and licked the precum that was trailing from its tip. Then I opened my mouth and enveloped him within. ‘Harder, whore’, he said, taking hold of my hair, wrapping it around his fist and using it to jam my mouth down onto his cock. I gagged, but he let me take a breath before jamming my mouth down onto him once more. I was oblivious of the other man, who had washed his hands but had stayed to watch. ‘Suck me harder, faster, whore’ said my Master. It wasn’t the long lazy way I liked to suck cock but no matter – it was what he wanted and I was eager to give him what he wanted. I moved faster and faster, sucking as hard as I could.

Suddenly he pulled back and watched in satisfaction as his cum spurted out all over my face and hair. I waited till he’d finished, not moving until he gave me permission to do so. Still I hadn’t spoken. ‘Thank you, whore,’ he said. ‘Now don’t touch your face – I have marked you with my cum and when we go back into the bar everyone will know what we have been doing. Come, time for another drink.’ He led the way back to the bar. As we turned to leave the Gents’, I caught sight of my face in the mirror. My lipstick was smeared, my makeup ruined. A hectic flush all my own now reddened my cheeks and my eyes sparkled through rings of smudged mascara. My right cheek, ear, forehead and chin dripped cum and drops of it clung to my tousled hair. ‘You look wonderful’, he said, having noticed my consternation. ‘Like the true fuck slut you are, my whore’.

He led me back to the bar and told me to sit on one of the high barstools, facing the pub, keeping my thighs parted at all times. I knew this meant that not only would everyone see me covered in cum but they would certainly see my cunt, open, wet, aching to be filled. He bought me another vodka – a double this time – and told me to drink up, he’d be back shortly. Then he left me… I told myself I was his whore, I had my orders and all I had to do was obey them. They were easy enough – sit still, keep my legs open, drink my vodka. But where had he gone and how long was he going to be? I took a big pull at my drink, hoping it would steady my nerves. I knew I was pleasing to him but wondered what he had in store for me now. Whatever it was, I hoped I would rise to the challenge.

Sitting there, displaying myself, my naked cunt, my face and hair dripping cum, my make-up smeary and ruined, knowing I looked every inch the pathetic whore I knew myself to be inside, knowing and seeing that perfect strangers were nudging each other and whispering about me, pitying me, lusting after me perhaps, wondering what had reduced me to the trashy-looking, well-used creature they saw before them, took all my resources. My hand trembled as I reached for my drink. I hoped my Master wouldn’t be long – I felt desperately for his reassurance. I needed him by me in order to carry this off – needed his strong, approving, affirming presence. Then I saw him, talking to the tableful of young men who’d been laughing at me earlier and had continued to look insolently in my direction, particularly once he’d left me alone to face everyone without him. What’s more, he wasn’t alone – behind him lurked the bowed figure of the older man, the one who’d been watching me furtively from the shadows. As I watched, one of the young men rose from his seat, to the ribald cheers of the others, and all three men now headed in my direction.

My Master came up to me, the others making an uneasy pair behind him, and taking my hands he looked deep into my eyes. ‘Come with me, whore – I desire to see you fucked and these two gentlemen have agreed to oblige me’. Wordlessly I gazed back at him – at his deep-set, dark, warm eyes. He knew I would not refuse him. Although my legs seemed to have turned to jelly, I slid down off the bar stool and ignoring the other men, but looking only at my Master, I followed them to the Gents once more. I felt numb with apprehension but at the same time could not refuse to acknowledge the leap of fire within me when he’d told me what he’d wanted. More than anything else, I just wanted to acquit myself with honour in my Master’s eyes.

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