Amelia settled into the back of her Uber, adjusting her glasses before pulling her Iphone from her clutch and dialing her friend Marie, who answered quickly. “I’m on the way now,” Amelia declared, putting her friend on speaker. She glanced at the driver, who according to Uber was named Maruf; an older middle eastern man, he paid Amelia no attention as he weaved through early evening traffic. Let’s see how long that lasts, Amelia thought. “I’m ready for an S.D.”

“Wow, a slutty dare on a blind date, you must be horny,” Marie laughed. Amelia grinned, her eyes on the rear-view mirror, but if the driver heard he didn’t let on. She leaned back and pulled her loose braid over her shoulder, tugging at the highlighted end a bit.

“Maybe a little,” she admitted, “But the last one was too easy. Give me something harder.”

“Harder, heh heh.” Marie giggled. “Too easy? Sucking off five guys in a row one after the other, too easy?” Amelia watched the driver’s eyes leap to the mirror, and laughed to herself. She winked at the man, who stared for a moment before yanking his gaze back to the road and swerving.

“Those guys were drunk,” Amelia countered, “and frat boys. I think you just wanted to watch me suck a lot of cock.” She idly rubbed at the side of her jaw at the memory.

“It was pretty hot alright. Good thing that was out of town, or you’d have Delta’s lined up at your door.”

“Fuck that,” Amelia snorted, “those guys probably couldn’t find a clit with map, and they come too fast to get me off.” She idly wondered if her driver was Muslim, and what his religion taught regarding self-pleasure.

“You’re fuckin-A,” Marie agreed. “Okay, slutty dare, slutty dare… How about this? Get his cock into you within an hour.”

“Way too easy,” Amelia protested. “You don’t see how I’m dressed.”

“Is it the red? You whore.”

“No, the new blue one,” Amelia chuckled. The driver was stealing looks in the rearview more often now; Amelia looked out the window, letting him gawk a little more freely. Allahu Ackbar, she imagined him thinking.

“Ooh, the tight one. I bet your tits look great, no room for a bra.”  Amelia glanced down at the bulges the tight dress made of her breasts; the white buttons leading from cleavage to waist were working overtime. Thoughts of the driver stealing glances were getting to her, and her nipples were noticeable dimples against the fabric.

“Yup,” Amelia agreed, crossing her legs. Since she’d dumped Daryl The Loser (as Marie always referred to him), her friend had encouraged Amelia to enjoy the single life, if a particularly promiscuous one. The “slutty dare” was Marie’s idea; before and including Daryl, Amelia had had a few lovers in her twenty-eight years, but they had all been fairly vanilla affairs. Under Marie’s prompting, the Amelia of today was a far more sexual, someone who didn’t blink twice at a challenge. In three months, Amelia had discovered things about herself she’d never have guessed.

“So yeah, his cock, in you somewhere, an hour… Wait, this place is kinda nice, let’s say ninety minutes. But!” Marie’s voice grew commanding. “It has to be his idea. No asking for it, no telling him what you’re gonna do, just tease him until he drags you to his car or the bathroom or whatever.” She paused. “Wait, do you have me on speaker? In an Uber?”

Amelia grinned. “Yes I do,” she asserted proudly. “It says my driver’s name is Maruf.”

“Hi Maruf,” Marie shouted. “My friend is a slut, she’s about to go try to fuck her blind date, I bet if you ask her nice she’ll suck your –”

“We’re here,” Amelia interrupted as the car pulled into the parking lot of Havaford’s, one of the city’s better eateries. “No time.” Maruf stopped the car near the restaurant’s door, but seemed to look everywhere but at Amelia, whether for embarrassment or to not ruin the chances of a good tip.

“I’ll text him that you’re there, I’ll let him know to look for the beauty in blue.” Marie sighed. “Too bad, Maruf. Wait! Give him your panties. Are you wearing any?”

“I am,” Amelia replied unevenly. “I’m… going in now, bye hun.” She hung up on her friend, paused a moment; then she shrugged, and lifted from the seat to pull off her black thong. “Thank you Maruf, five stars,” she whispered, dropping the undergarment on the shocked man’s shoulder. “God is great,” she added, carefully stepping out of the car so as not to flash passersby.

A half-smile on her lips, she imagined the driver touching himself and thinking of her later; she swung her hips a bit wider than usual in her stride, hoping he was still watching the show. The heels she wore didn’t make this the easiest, but it was a well-practiced maneuver. The shoulder-length braid of light brown hair swung as she turned to blow Maruf a kiss; he was indeed still watching, but at her action he said something she couldn’t hear, turned and drove away. At the door she took one last look at her phone, giving the promised five-star rating and a decent tip, before inserting it back in the pink clutch.

After explaining she was meeting someone, a hostess allowed Amelia to pass to the bar, where the server quickly noticed her, asking her order. “Shot of Patron please,” Amelia said evenly, mentally preparing herself for her mystery date.

But it wasn’t a mystery for long. “Make that two, on my bill,” a low voice behind her intoned. “Assuming your name is Amelia. Hell, even if it isn’t.” She turned and looked up. The voice belonged to a large, broad-shouldered man – not so much a man as a massive side of beef. Appropriate for a steakhouse, Amelia thought. His dark brown hair was graying at the sides, and though his smile was warm, it was interrupted by a deep scar running from his left cheek to right jaw, making already rugged features almost something scary. For half a moment Amelia considered turning him down, but his deep blue eyes had a gleam of something strong and sad that brushed the thought away.

“Yes indeed, that’s me,” Amelia beamed. “You must be Morgan, then. Marie wasn’t kidding, she said you weren’t cute.”

The smile fled and his brow furrowed. “Really,” he uttered almost under his breath; Amelia immediately regretted the jibe but hoped the follow-up was worth it.

“Yeah! I asked her if you were cute, and she said no he’s not cute, he’s handsome.”

Morgan laughed. “Well, aren’t you the smooth talker,” he grinned. His voice was far-left-of-the-piano deep, a timbre that was sending little flutters through Amelia’s skin. She looked him up and down: smooth dark slacks, maroon dress shirt that fit his bulk quite well, clearly tailored to accommodate his size. Dare’s on, she decided, glancing at the clock on the wall as the server deposited two shot glasses of tequila before them. “And all she’d tell me,” Morgan continued, “is that you’re a lot of fun.”

Oh, you have no idea, Amelia chortled inwardly. She lifted the shot in a toast. “To fun! In all its forms,” she cheered with a wink – mistimed as it turned out, as he was reaching for his own shot and didn’t see.

“To fun, indeed.” He tossed the shot back, before carefully replacing the glass on the bar. “They’re holding a table for us, actually.” He waved at the host desk with a thumbs-up, and with preternatural quickness a host was before them ready to lead. “Shall we?” He extended his elbow for her to take. There was that scar-interrupted warm smile once more.

“Oh yes we shall, if I have any say in it,” Amelia replied lightly. The thought of seducing this man – not a boy, not like her past lovers – was suddenly all-consuming, and she hoped the look on her face was less a perverted leer and more of a welcoming, I’d-love-to-fuck-you invitation. She threaded her arm through his and allowed herself to be guided to a small booth at the rear of the restaurant.

The host motioned with one hand for them to sit, waving to a server with the other. Seconds later the wine steward approached, displaying a bottle. Morgan nodded, and the server poured a bit into his glass. Lifting it to his nose, Morgan inhaled deeply, then took a sip. “Delicious, yes.” Even at a low volume, his voice seemed to boom like thunder. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve ordered for us,” he said half-apologetically, as the steward filled their glasses before departing. “I’ve got, uh, kind of a thing about wasting time.”

“I don’t mind at all,” Amelia replied airily, “I was hoping we wouldn’t be wasting any time at all.” She lifted her glass and sipped the wine. “Wow, I like this,” she gushed. “Tastes… Expensive.”

“A tad,” he agreed. “I like this varietal a lot; it’s a shiraz, from Australia.”

“Never had it before,” said Amelia. “I’ve been down under a lot, but I’ve never been to Australia.” She winked again.

Morgan blinked at her, clearly off his guard. But he seemed to shake loose the momentary confusion, and pushed forward. “And for our dinner, I ordered the porterhouse for two. I asked Marie what you liked, and she said I couldn’t go wrong with good meat.”

“She knows me well,” Amelia answered breathily, “I do like some good… meat.” She repressed the urge to wink again. But if he caught her entendre, he didn’t react.

“So, uh, how long have you known Marie?” he asked, taking another sip of wine.

“We’re both paralegals,” Amelia answered, “but at different firms. We met at a seminar a couple years ago. Bonded over booze and bad boyfriends, besties ever since. How about you, how did you two meet?”

“I do some work for their firm,” Morgan answered. He was looking down at his wineglass, missing – or deliberately ignoring – the slight lean forward Amelia made, hoping her cleavage would catch his eye. “I’m a private investigator. The firm’s a good fallback, when my phone stops ringing once in a while.”

“I’ve never met a P.I. before.” She took a sip of wine, swirling it on her tongue a bit. “How’d you get into that?”

He leaned back a bit. “I was Sig-Int in Afghanistan a few tours… Sorry, I mean signals intelligence,” he corrected himself. “Learned a lot, not just about electronics but problem solving, attention to detail, analyzing situations.”

“A few tours, wow,” she said, impressed. “Is that where you got that sexy scar?” Amelia tried on her sultriest smile.

But he looked pained. “Uh, no. That was later. I, uh, don’t really talk about that.”

Shit, stupidstupidstupid, Amelia cursed inwardly, but before she could apologize a waiter with a large tray of food appeared. Depositing it on a tray stand, he placed small salads before each of them, and then a large steak at the center, followed by individual plates. From a bowl on his tray, he dolloped some mashed potatoes for each of them, before offering pepper, but Morgan shook his head. “Madame?” The waiter inquired.

“No thank you,” she said, coming out as almost a whisper. She racked her brain as to how to get back on track as their waiter departed; He was cute, if this guy doesn’t work out, maybe I can still win the dare if I blow the waiter, she considered. But no, she knew Marie wouldn’t count it, the bitch.

Sighing, she picked up her silverware and attacked her salad. Morgan dutifully cut the large slice of beef in two, hefting half onto her plate. “This is too much for me alone, so I’m glad for the company,” he said gently as he retrieved his own half. “And I really prefer my salad last, so I asked them to bring them at the same time.” He sliced at his steak, took a bite, and closed his eyes. “Yes, they do it right here,” he murmured approvingly, before taking another sip of wine. “I must say, I’m quite glad for the company, too. You look, well, ‘amazing’ doesn’t seem a strong enough word.”

Amelia beamed as she cut a bit of steak. “Thank you! I was hoping you’d notice, this is a new dress. Do you like it?” She leaned back a bit, taking a breath, hoping it highlighted her bosom.

“Very much,” he grinned. “It certainly accentuates your, uh –” He gestured at her chest, before picking up his wineglass.

“My tits,” she answered quickly, dropping her fork and grabbing her left breast. He coughed a bit, his eyes wide. “Yeah, the girls look good in this. Helps to be naturally blessed, but a good dress can help a lot.”

He paused, regaining composure. “My dear, I’d suggest you’d make a potato sack look good. But I must say, aren’t I a bit, uhm, a lot, older than you? What are you, twenty-five?”

“Twenty-eight,” she retorted as she picked up her fork, daintily placing another piece of the delicious meat in her mouth. She chewed, swallowed, then looked at him levelly. “Morgan, listen to me. I’m a big girl; if I wanted to leave, if I thought you were too old, I’d’ve blown you off at the bar.” She reached over and patted his hand. “I’m having a good time, hoping to have a better one as our night moves along.” She tried to make her words drip with meaning. “Don’t worry about it.”

He was staring at her hand touching his. A long moment passed, then he smiled, squeezing her fingers. “Thank you,” he said, his voice a bit raspy with emotion. “I… haven’t dated in a long time.”

She traced her fingers against his but suddenly frowned. “And this,” she took his hand and pulled it to her a bit, then pointed at his ring finger. “That’s a wedding ring indentation.” She didn’t mask her annoyance. “Women recognize these things. I’m really not a fan of cheaters, Morgan.”

He sighed, reached into his breast pocket, and retrieved a simple gold band. “I’ve worn it for seven years. I met her eight years ago, married her seven years ago, and I lost her a bit more than five years ago,” he said softly, twirling the ring in his hands slowly. “In a car accident. That’s how I got this, too,” he gestured at his scarred face.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” Amelia softened instantly, horrified at her mistake. “I didn’t mean to…”

He waved her off. “It’s okay,” he insisted, returning the ring to his pocket. “Actually, it’s probably what inspired Marie to set us up.”

“Really?” Amelia was happy to steer the subject away from tragedy. “Tell me, how’d she do that?”

“I was waiting for one of her bosses, she was making conversation as we waited. Asked me what my wife was like. I don’t usually talk about her, but Marie can be…” he trailed off.

“Persistent,” Amelia finished for him. “That’s our Marie alright.”

“Yes. Persistent.” The warm smile made a brief reappearance. “I usually make up something, but… I don’t know, I guess I decided to be honest for once.” He returned to slicing his steak. “She asked if I’d seen anybody since then. I thought she meant a therapist, and I told her about mine. But she said no, she meant as in dates, a girlfriend. Which, no.” Morgan chewed his steak and swallowed, following it with a long drink of shiraz.

Amelia stared at him. “You haven’t gotten laid in five years? No way. You’re attractive – no, scratch that, hot as fuck. And, judging by your wine tastes, not hurting for dough. Surely you could get some play.”

“Oh, I’ve had a dalliance here and there,” he replied thoughtfully. Amelia grinned at the word. ‘Dalliance’ indeed… I’ll dally all over your ance alright. “But no real spark.” He shrugged, pouring each of them the last of the wine.

Unsure where to go next, Amelia ate in silence for a moment, until an idea struck her. “So, private investigator… People come to you to figure out if their wife or hubby is cheating on them, right?”

Morgan nodded. “I get a lot of cases like that, yes.” He cut the last bit of his steak and watched Amelia carefully, unsure where this was going.

“So you take a lot of pictures for proof, right? Pictures of the cheating?”

“Yes,” he replied slowly, still uncertain.

“So tell me about something you’ve had to take pictures of. Tell me about some hot action you had to watch. Tell me something that will make me blush.” She leaned forward again, gazing at him over her glasses. “Tell me something that will make me wet.” She licked her lips, a wicked smirk forming upon them.

Morgan gaped at her for several long moments. “I can’t,” he breathed finally. “Confidentiality and all that.” He continued to stare, clearly thinking of something.

“Aww, c’mon,” she pleaded. “I can tell you’ve got something in mind. I won’t tell anybody, ever-ever-ever. Please?” She batted her eyes at him; leaning far forward now, her boobs practically squished into the table. Clasping her hands together at her cleavage, with her thumb she pulled the center of the dress down a bit revealing even more. His eye caught the motion, and lingered on her chest; she knew she had him.

“Fuck it, okay,” he said finally. “Make you blush, huh? You asked for it.” He took a long drink of wine and straightened up to recite the tale.

“This was just last month. Standard start, guy comes and says he thinks the wife is stepping out on him, thought it was maybe her boss.” Morgan gulped. “And it was, but he had no idea how far it went.”

“Really!” Amelia was pleased she was finally getting somewhere in her quest; she listened intently.

“No idea,” Morgan repeated. “Turns out, her and the boss had, like, a dominance-submission thing going.”

“Awesome,” she whispered.

Morgan seemed not to hear, wrapped up in the telling. “The very first night I followed her, I tailed them to a rest stop on I-40. She’d gotten in the car in a white dress, but got out wearing a black leather miniskirt, a blindfold, and nothing else.”

“Jesus.”

“I don’t think he was there that night,” Morgan chuckled. “But a lot of other guys were. And I took pictures of her, as she serviced them all.”

Amelia wrinkled her brow. “’Serviced’? Did they have a ‘dalliance’? Morgan my dear,” she reached for his hands. “Let’s not dance around what we really mean. Let’s use real words. ‘Serviced’ is not gonna make me blush. Tell me.”

He gulped audibly. “Huh, you are straight-forward all gas no brakes, aren’t you,” he said in a lower tone.

“You have no fucking idea, baby,” she oozed, squeezing his fingers. “Say it, what did she do?”

He withdrew his hands and cracked his knuckles. “She… sucked a lot of cock. Got fucked a whole lot.” Amelia’s eyes flew wide, but he continued. “Her boss just watched it all. I wondered if it was something he was making her do, like a blackmail sort of thing. But I was close enough to hear her, and she was really fuckin’ into it. Must’ve been, I dunno, twenty, twenty-five guys. Bums, random travelers who’d stopped to piss, she did’em all. She was at it a couple hours.” He paused. “They came on her face, her ass… She was a mess. After the last guy, boss-man pushes her against a wall and fucks her himself. And I got a lot of pictures, of all of it.”

Amelia stared at Morgan, open-mouthed. Her pussy felt warm and tingly, imagining the scene. “Mission accomplished,” she finally muttered, before turning inquisitive again. “Did it… turn you on? Make you hard?”

“Fuck yeah it did,” Morgan said quickly. “I was thinking, I could go get some of that myself if I wanted, add a bunch of my own spunk to the collection she was making on her face. But, I am a professional. Supposedly.” He picked up a fork and seemed to contemplate eating his salad; but changed his mind, returned it to his plate, and leveled his gaze at Amelia.

She squeezed her thighs together, her arousal piqued by his words. Pushing her glasses up her nose, she asked, “What about the husband? Was he heartbroken?”

Morgan considered. “I’m not sure,” he said ultimately. “Clients don’t often tell me what they do after my work is done and I’ve been paid. And he paid me. Overpaid, in fact. But, heartbroken or not, I can tell you this much: I was curious, so I checked back and they’re still together.”

“Holy shit!” Amelia laughed loudly. “Finding out his wife was somebody’s cumslut turned him the fuck on. That’s hot as hell. Good job,” she added, meeting his gaze with a wide smile.

“You liked that, huh?” Morgan’s own grin was growing wide as well.

“Uh huh, uh huh,” Amelia nodded vigorously. “That must have been so intense, blindfolded and ‘Servicing’ a bunch of guys, no idea how many, or for how long.” She took a quick swallow of wine. “The whole power dynamic thing, lately that’s been a real zinger for me. Being told what to do, unsure if it’s a good idea but having no choice about it, gets me going.”

She paused and considered explaining the S.D.’s, but decided against it. Instead, she cocked her head to the side. “How about you, is being dominant something you’ve done before?”

“There was a girl I dated a while before I met my wife. Not very fun in bed; starfish, really.” He looked away, accessing the memory. “I mean, a nice girl, pretty, smart. But one day she suggested I tie her up, don’t know where she got the idea. Once she was tied to the bed, she went pretty wild.” The thought made him smile.

“Did you dominate her?” Inclining back against the cushion, Amelia sensed she was onto something and was determined to run with it. She could feel her attraction to this man growing by the instant.

He frowned. “No. I know what you mean, but no, it wasn’t like that.”

She smiled slyly, studying his face. “Is that something you’d want, would you like giving orders? Being a ‘dom’?”

His left eye twitched slightly. Yes, she was most definitely on to something. “It’s a fantasy, yes.” He shifted in his seat, and she noticed he was no longer avoiding glances at her boobs.

She leaned forward again. “Are you getting hard?” she asked in an excited whisper.

“Yeah,” he answered, his voice shy. But his gaze lingered on her tits.

Amelia straightened up and closed her eyes, congratulating herself on finally achieving progress toward her goal. Opening them again she wasn’t surprised to see Morgan ogling her body once more, and she clenched her thighs together in excitement.

“Lately I’ve discovered I have a real submissive streak,” she admitted, her voice low. She bit her lip nervously, realizing she’d never said this out loud, or even admitted it to herself. “I have… a friend, who gives me, uhm, things to do. Pushes my boundaries. I mean, we keep it ethical,” she realized she was babbling a bit but kept on. “I don’t want to be with a cheater, or cheat on anybody. But she gives me tasks to do, pushes me out of my comfort zone, and… I like it. Helps me be…” She blinked fast, unsure of what to say, but then simply added, “Slutty.”

His eyes narrowed. “It’s Marie, isn’t it?” The smile was gone, replaced by vague irritation. “Is that what tonight is? A game the two of you are playing?” The knitted brow seemed to make his scar more vivid.

Amelia was shocked to have been read so easily, and knew this could be a fatal misstep.  “Kinda?” she said softly, her voice rising.  “I mean, no, it’s not a game, we’re not trying to play you or anything.” She spoke quickly, trying to rescue herself. “I think she just thought, after she heard your story, that you deserved a little fun…” She looked down at the table. “It’s not a game,” she repeated.

He took his time, making up his mind; Amelia couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes.

But after a long pause, he said, “I would want to do it right. There would have to be a safeword. There would have to be a promise that if you used it, there wouldn’t be repercussions, there wouldn’t be hurt feelings, and you’d have to trust I’d really stop.”

Relief flooded through Amelia as she took in what he’d said. Gratefully she looked back up at him. “Pancakes,” she smiled.

“What?”

“Pancakes. Not something I’d say in bed. Easy to remember.”

He nodded slowly, warmth returning to his face. “Pancakes,” he repeated quietly, committing it to memory.

“I say that, you don’t stop, we’re done,” she stated firmly, but then softened. “’Til then, tell me what to do. I’ll do whatever you ask. Make me,” she dug her nails into her palm, “your slut.”

“More wine, sir?” Amelia nearly jumped out of her skin and glanced at the waiter, wondering what he could be thinking of her.

“Not right now,” Morgan growled, never taking his eyes from the woman before him; the waiter scurried away, and Amelia continued to stare after him, until Morgan spoke again.

“Your hair. Let it down, let me see it.”

With a careful deliberateness, Amelia removed her glasses, setting them on the table beside her plate. Then, her eyes locked on his, she pulled her braid over her right shoulder, removed the hair tie, and pulled her hair loose, shaking her head a bit, allowing it to fall around her face.

“Glasses back on,” he added.

She placed them back on her face. “You like women with glasses?”

“You, especially,” he said simply.

“You like me?” Her heart was beating faster.

“You’re sexy as hell, but you look like a dream. The glasses make you…” He struggled for the right word. “Real.”

Amelia didn’t answer; she couldn’t have named what she was feeling at that moment. Grateful? Frightened? Horny? All of the above?

He turned his head away from her, looking about, before steadily gazing at her once more. “Show me your tits.” In fear, she glanced around, but he said, “No one can see you from here. Do it.”

Slowly she brought her shaking hands to the buttons holding the top of the dress together. He watched her fingers as she unclasped six of them; in silence she reached in and pulled her breasts free from the confines of the dress. As she’d suspected her small dark nipples were hard as granite in the cool air conditioning of the restaurant. She looked back at Morgan, leaned back, and squeezed her arms together at her sides, making her already large boobs jut out all the more.

Morgan’s eyes feasted on the sight before him. He looked even hungrier than he had at his meal. It seemed almost involuntary when he quickly extended his arm and took her left nipple between thumb and forefinger, pinching a bit, then shaking her breast with it, just a little. Amelia shuddered and closed her eyes at the crazy sensation.

“Good girl,” he whispered, releasing her. “You can put them away. Leave the buttons undone.” Thankfully Amelia shoved her tits back into the dress, then brought her arms back to her sides. Hands in her lap, she pressed two fingers into the fabric covering her crotch and wiggled them just a little, sending shivers through her body, but quickly stopped, realizing she hadn’t been told to do that, at least not yet.

Morgan gazed at her with a mix of thoughtfulness and, Amelia hoped, adoration. “Tell me about the last thing she made you do,” he intoned, a note of command entering his voice.

She gritted her teeth; she’d told no one else about the dares, and though she felt no shame at what she’d done – perhaps because it was still their secret – she hesitated before answering, but found herself doing so before she could stop.

“She took me to a frat party. At State,” her voice was barely above a whisper. “She found one of the guys who lived in the house, had him pick out four friends.” It was a vivid memory, her shock at Marie’s escalation, the looks on the faces of the excited boys. “I sucked their dicks.”

Morgan stared at her, obviously unprepared for this. “Wow,” he muttered. “What about her, did she just watch?”

“She fucked one of them, who was waiting his turn,” Marie blinked, remembering the view of her friend, bent over but watching Amelia go to town on the frat boys. “He’d been all impatient. She wouldn’t let him come, though, she saved that for me.”

“Did you swallow their loads?” He asked as if he were asking about the weather, the shock dissipating into vague amusement.

“I did,” she said, pride creeping into her voice. “She told me to.”

Morgan tapped his finger on the table slowly, considering. “Did you like it?”

“Yes,” she answered truthfully, “I liked it. I felt… powerful? I mean, they were calling me ‘slut,’ ‘whore,’ ‘skank,’ et cetera. But…” She trailed off, unsure how to articulate the thought.

“You don’t mind being called those things?”

“Context is everything,” Amelia replied. “Marie says it’s reclaiming bad intent, or something, I didn’t quite get it when she first explained, but, It’s like, I’m doing something a lot of girls can’t, or won’t, y’know? I have a decent bod, but it’s what I choose to do with it that makes me those things.”

“Do you like sucking cock?” The naughty words thrilled Amelia, and she again pushed her fingers at her cunt, feeling moisture seep into the fabric.

“Very much,” she purred, smiling. “I like taking control, going a little slow at first, then speeding up as he gets excited. I like it when they can’t help themselves, and they take charge and let go, fucking their cocks into my mouth.” Her fingers were moving by themselves now, and she realized a wet mark would be visible on the front of her dress, but couldn’t stop.

He noticed the slight movement of her arms, and seemed to decide something. “Give me your panties,” he ordered.

Amelia’s face fell. “Uhm… I, uh… gave them away already.”

Morgan laughed, a quick bark. “To who?”

“My Uber driver,” she replied meekly, “Marie told me to.” As if that excused it.

“You little whore,” he said, but with admiration. He picked up a fork, scooped a bit of the mashed potatoes, and chewed thoughtfully. Amelia gazed at him in silence, willing her fingers to cease teasing her soaked cunt.

He swallowed and dropped the fork on the plate, before raising up and making a “check please” motion at their waiter. “He’s going to bring us the check in a moment,” Morgan said, his voice even but low and commanding. “When he does, get him to sit beside you. If he’s willing,” Morgan paused a second, unsure if he would give the order, but continued. “If he’s willing, stroke his cock until he comes.”

Involuntarily Marie pushed her fingers against her sex once more. “Okay,” she heard herself saying in a small voice.

Morgan smiled. “You remember your word?”

“I do,” Amelia replied softly. “I didn’t say it. I remember it.”

“Good girl,” he replied, clear approval obvious in his voice. He leaned back and looked at the waiter, digging his wallet out and placing a credit card at the edge of the table. The man swooped by the table, dropping the leather check presenter before spotting the card. Quickly he grabbed it and retrieved the check, and was away before Amelia could open her mouth. She sighed in resignation.

“He’ll be back,” Morgan answered simply. He now let his gaze roam freely over Amelia’s body; she felt like she was ready to be devoured by this large, hulking beast of a man across from her. She thought of asking him about his own wants and desires, inquiring as to what kind of things he’d tell her to do. But while a million questions buzzed in her head, she kept quiet; more than anything she didn’t want to tamper with this magical aura surrounding the two of them. They gazed at each other quietly in reverie.

“Madame, sir, it’s been a pleasure to serve you this evening,” Again Amelia was surprised at the waiter’s ability to materialize at their table from out of nowhere, but she was determined to go through with Morgan’s command. “Can I get you a coffee, or –“

“Hey,” Amelia interrupted him, looking up at him. He was thin, early twenties, a bit of acne showing through a hint of fuzzy beard. She scooched to her side, and patted the area beside her. “Sit with me a second, I want to show you something.”

“I’m sorry?” The waiter looked thoroughly confused.

“Please? Just for a second.” Amelia smiled and blinked. She tried to subtly bring her arms together to magnify her cleavage, and saw his eyes dart that way, making her smile grow wider.

“Uh, okay. For a second.” The waiter looked around, perhaps to see if other staff had noticed, but rapidly moved to sit beside the sexy woman.

“My friend here,” Amelia nodded at Morgan, who sat clasping his hands before his mouth studying the pair. “He wants me to give you a special tip. Would that be okay?” Her hand moved to the boy’s crotch, which instantly reacted to her touch.

“Uh…” The waiter looked at Morgan in confusion, clearly out of his element. But Morgan nodded, almost imperceptibly, and the confused boy looked back at Amelia, who was unbuttoning his pants.

“A very special tip,” she purred. “Would that be okay?” She leaned into him, turning a bit to allow her breasts to rub against his arms. Morgan heard the boy’s zipper, which sounded loud despite the low hum of the restaurant. “If it’s not okay, I’ll stop, if you want.”

He groaned as the girl’s fingers wrapped around his dick, which was growing hard at breakneck pace. “S-s-s-sure,” he mouthed.

“My friend has me all hot,” Amelia cooed in the boy’s ear. She gripped his cock hard once, twice, before relaxing and stroking softly. “He made me show him my tits earlier. Do you like my tits?”

“Yeah,” he moaned, “They’re… Amazing.”

“Thank you,” Amelia murmured. “You can touch them if you want.” Instantly the guy’s hand was on her tit, groping and squeezing, as her hand stroked up and down his dick, now fully erect under the table. She glanced at Morgan, who continued to stare at the pair in amusement, his clasped hands hiding his expression.

“If my date hadn’t worked out,” Amelia’s tongue darted out to caress his ear. “I would have sucked your cock instead. I’m kind of a slut,” she giggled softly.

“I love sluts,” the waiter gasped.

“Most men do,” Amelia agreed, then she stopped stroking his dick long enough to take his hand, and pressing it against her cunt, before resuming her strokes. “Feel how turned on I am?”

He twisted his hand to roughly shove two fingers in Amelia’s pussy, now breathing hard and staring at the woman’s chest in awe. “Careful, not so rough,” she chided gently, and the boy eased back a bit, though only slightly, wiggling and twisting his fingers inside her.

“Let’s help you out a bit, make this feel better,” Amelia said softly. She picked up a wrapped butter pat, and smeared the contents on her right hand, before resuming her ministrations to the stranger’s penis. “How’s that?”

“Shit, shit, shit,” he was babbling now.

“Will you come for me? Will you come all over my hand? Go on, give it to me big boy,” Amelia moaned quietly. The boy’s hand was an overheating motor in her hole, again too rough with her to Amelia’s mild annoyance, but she stroked faster. She kept making small encouraging noises to the man, moving her hand as quickly as she could, until his spine went stiff and he made little gasping noises as Amelia felt first the pulsing of his dick, then the wetness of his spunk. She gave his cock a quick squeeze with her right hand, extracted the boy from her cunt with the other.  “Thank you, honey.”

“Thank you!” The waiter looked back and forth at the pair in amazement, dumbfounded, before remembering he was at work; quickly he zipped his pants, leaped from the booth and speeded away.

Amelia turned back to Morgan and brought her hand above the table; it was covered with the waiter’s semen. Amelia stared into his eyes. “He came a lot,” she whispered, marveling at the amount of jizz covering her hand. Morgan said nothing and watched her in silence.  Slowly and carefully, Amelia licked at the back of her hand, soft “mmmm” noises emanating from her lips.

“Did he make you come?” Again Morgan asked as if he were inquiring about the price of veal, but his gaze was intense.

“He did not,” Amelia pouted. Her tongue darted out to catch the last of the waiter’s come.

Morgan’s gaze was unwavering; Amelia stared back at him, unsure of what the next step was. But before she could think long, he stood and pulled her out of the booth; she had the presence of mind to grab her clutch, but with a jerk at her arm he was dragging her across the restaurant.

Pushing the men’s room open, Morgan shoved her inside. Lifting her like she weighed nothing, he hoisted her onto the sink and lifted her thighs, exposing her sodden sex. With ferocity he kneeled and tilted toward it and began lapping and sucking at her, pulling her lips into his mouth before his tongue began insistently flicking her clit.

A high keen erupted from Amelia before she involuntarily dropped the clutch on the counter, then clamped a hand over her mouth, bucking her hips at Morgan’s face as her orgasm took her. As her other hand grabbed Morgan’s hair, she alternately clenched her thighs around his head, then spread wider to allow him room to work as she wiggled and squirmed at his attack. But suddenly something occurred to her, and she gasped, “What, what time is it?”

Morgan stopped and looked up at her incredulously. “What? It’s…” he glanced at his watch. “Just before eight thirty.”

“Oh thank Christ,” Amelia moaned. “Quick, is there…” She remembered the terms Marie had given her, and stopped herself from asking directly. “Is there something you’d like, something you want me to do?”

Morgan rose, unbuckling his belt. “Bend over,” he commanded.

Quicker than she thought she was able, Amelia slid off the sink then turned to bend over it, closing her eyes. She was halfway conscious of the danger of sex in a restroom open to the public, where anyone could walk in at any moment; but she was beyond caring, especially when she felt Morgan’s cock at her entrance. Without hesitation he pushed into her, sliding easily into her slick folds. “What a dirty girl,” he growled as he thrust at her with force. “Fucking in a men’s room after jerking off a stranger.”

“I’m a dirty girl,” Amelia moaned in agreement, another orgasm riding the edges of her consciousness as he pounded against her ass. His cock wasn’t long, but incredibly thick, stretching and mauling her poor pussy, but moving easily through her slick desire.

“You asked about the time,” Morgan snarled, “because Marie told you to get fucked with a time limit, right?”

“Yes! Yes!” She opened her eyes as the orgasm hit her, a freight train of pleasure rolling over her bones, his short thick cock buried as far as it would go. She shook and groaned, but he quickly withdrew and grabbed her head, dragging it to the edge of the sink counter. His hand was a blur as he stroked his dick, aiming at her face. “Yes,” she hissed again.

“Fuckin’ slut!” he roared, and his cum flew at her face in spurts. She twitched as the burning hot jizz struck her cheeks and forehead, and would have collapsed to the floor had Morgan not been holding her head firmly against the counter. As his strokes subsided she regained a little strength, and he withdrew slightly, allowing her to fall to her knees.

Dazed, she gazed up at her massive lover, who was staring down at her with undisguised adoration. Slowly she brought a hand to her face to wipe away his sperm.

But he grabbed her hand. “Don’t,” he barked. Releasing her, he pulled his pants up and began buckling them back in place. “Sluts like to wear come.”

She grinned. “Yes, sir.” She glanced at the mirror: her hair was tangled with bits of semen, her makeup smeared and mingled with jizz, her dress wrinkled and dirty. Who is that? Is that me? Her thoughts raced as she watched the woman in the mirror’s hand move to give her breast a squeeze. She shuddered mightily.

“Good girl. ‘Sir,’ that’s correct,” he approved. For a moment, his voice grew gentle and sincere. “Thank you for a lovely evening, Amelia,” he intoned quietly. He leaned to take her hand – her left hand, not the jizzed-on one, she noted – and gave it a lingering kiss, before dropping it. Then his voice grew stern.

“You’re to wait here ten minutes. You can hide in a stall, if you want.” He looked in the mirror, running a hand through his hair. “Then you’ll walk out, but you may not clean your face until you’re outside the front door.” Amelia stared at him dumbfounded, but then nodded.

“Give me your phone,” he demanded. Amelia hesitated only half a second before reaching for her clutch, extracting her phone. After unlocking it with her thumb, she handed it to Morgan; he typed a bit before returning it to her. He’d made a new contact, a number labeled SIR.

She returned her gaze to him, not knowing what to say. He watched her for a moment before speaking again.

“When you’re ready, text me and tell me so. Goodbye, Amelia.” And he pulled the door open, and walked out.

Amelia sat for a few seconds in a haze. Then she thought, public restroom. The idea had her scrambling to her feet to a stall, which she pushed closed and locked. She looked at her phone, staring at his number for a long time.

After several minutes, she pulled up her photo app, held the phone at arm's length, and took a selfie of her splattered face. Then, pulling up the message app, she typed “Success,” attached the picture, and pressed send. Another minute passed, until the phone vibrated, and she looked down and saw Marie’s answer: a cheering emoji. Amelia smiled.

Then, after two long deep breaths, she stood, but was unsteady. Reaching down she slipped off the heels, then walked barefoot out of the bathroom, passing a man on his way in. She quickly made her way through the restaurant to the front door, ignoring the gasps the diners made as they noticed her face. As she passed the bar she spied her waiter. He was holding his hand up to the bartender’s face who was staring back wide-eyed. Amelia grinned to herself in triumph.

She walked out of the restaurant and to the corner, before removing a tissue from her clutch and wiping Morgan’s come from her face. After summoning another Uber to get her home, she impulsively pulled up Morgan’s number again, looking at it in awe. She tabbed to the message app, and after hesitating a moment, she typed out: I’m ready.