I took a sip from my coke and breathed deeply, giving my mind a moment to unclutter after drawing with all my concentration for almost a full hour.

On the other side of the food court, she was handing change to a guest, looking as perfect as always, throwing back her head and letting out a giggle at something the customer said, her small, upturned nose making it look like a sneer. My eyes were glued to the perfect sway of her hips when she click-clacked back to the register. Her black hair, held in a bob cut with too much cheap gel, never moved at all. I felt guilty for a moment. She had no idea that I had made her the focus of my depraved fantasies and brought those to life right here with the help of my pencils. To her, I was just another student making the food court her living room, cheap burgers and free refills carrying me through the day.

Her nameplate said Ash. She had a slight lisp. I think that's what caught my attention first. Then the sneer. And her chest, or more the absence of it. She was flat, and she didn't even try to hide it. I knew it was weird, but in my mind's eye, she was perfection, because of her flaws, because of her perfect imperfection, which she carried with an air of supreme confidence, something I totally lacked. Whenever I saw her, inspiration flowed through me like a river.

I looked at the finished drawing and had to resist the urge to stick a hand between my thighs. I shivered. It was wonderfully depraved. The drawing left no doubt it was her, leaning her back against the counter, shameless in exposing her naked upper body, sneering down and extending a bare foot like a gracious offering. And there was no doubt the other girl was me, naked, debasing herself on her knees, one hand clutching her dripping cunt, the other digging its nails into her own breasts like an animal in heat. She was staring up at Ash's face with both adoration and despair, struggling so hard to reach out for the toes in front of her with her greedy tongue.

Seeing it even surpassed my fantasy. God, it was hot. But it needed a title. Every drawing needs a title. My mind went back into the fantasy, and I reveled in the depraved feelings, basked in the humiliation and arousal. I could hear her soft voice in my mind's ear telling me what a stupid, worthless slut I was, lazy and self-centered, just good enough to suck her sweaty toes at the end of the day. "This is where you belong, cunt," my mind imagined her lisping. "On your knees and groveling, humiliated, for everyone to see."

My pencils started racing again, adding the reflections of faces in the mirror above the counter and in the glass covering the front, all full of outrage as they witnessed my debasement. God, yes, that was it. My fingers were always precise, but right now, they tried to shake, and I had to take deep, steadying breaths before I wrote above the drawing: "Prim Finds Her Place".

"Hey, honey. Need a refill?"

I almost yelped, and only weeks of practice kept me from snapping my drawing book closed. My hands worked from muscle memory, tilting the book more upright and folding it closed absentmindedly as I looked up and fought the guilty heat that tried to paint my cheeks in deep burgundy.

"That would be nice, Ash. Uh, would you mind keeping an eye on my stuff for a minute while I head to the restroom?"

Thinking about the restroom and my urge to pee, unbidden, triggered a new, crazy fantasy, one so nasty and dirty that I almost got dizzy. What if she took my coke, removed the straw and the lid, and leaned over me with a sneer, telling me no, she couldn't be bothered, but she'd be willing to stay and watch while I peed into the cup and then take that from me?

I almost moaned, and I just barely heard her say that she'd keep an eye out.

One more thing I loved about the food court was that they had separate unisex toilets, not stalls where you could easily be overheard. I headed into the first one, locked the door, ripped my panties down, plopped down on the toilet seat and started fingering myself with an urgency I had never before felt. The fantasy of peeing in the cup played out, me lifting my skirt and taking off my panties, dying with shame and with fear of being noticed. The thought of really doing it, of filling the cup while she watched and sneered, was almost enough to take me over the edge, but my sick brain wasn't done yet! I suddenly imagined her taking the cup from me, snapping the lid back on and sticking the straw inside again. And then, with that polite sneer and bored voice, she'd hand it to me once more. "Here's your refill, Prim. Go on, take a sip!"

The release was glorious, incredible. It had been a long time since I came that hard, if ever. I may have screamed. It went on for ages.

When my senses returned, I was kneeling in front of the toilet and fighting for breath.

I cleaned up. I washed my hands. Like always, I reached for my drawing book on the small tray next to the sink, and I froze. Panic gripped me so hard I almost retched. I had left it on the table! Five days a week over the last two months, I had always brought it with me wherever I went.

My legs trembled and I felt lightheaded when I went back to my table. I let out a relieved sigh when I found it still there, next to a fresh coke. But that meant she had been at my table. Fresh worry twisted my guts. My gaze flickered all over the room, found Ash, searched her expression for the disdain she would surely feel if she had peeked.

Ash gave me a quick wave and smile, and I waved back.

I slumped onto the bench and nearly wept with relief. There was no saying what she'd do if she found my perverted drawing, if she realized I had fetishized her for months. Was it stalking? I certainly had grown obsessed with her. Even if she didn't go to the police, she could call the college and end my dreams of graduating.

With shaking fingers, I packed up my stuff. My tummy almost froze when I forced myself to drink most of the coke out of guilt. The price for a burger and a coke was nine twenty. I put fifteen dollars on the table.

There was a hint of surprise in her eyes when I raced past her towards the exit. "Sorry, gotta run," I breathed, not slowing down until I was outside the mall. This was too close. I was getting lost in my depraved fantasies and needed to take a break. Occupy my mind with something else. Let go of that unhealthy obsession.

I wouldn't touch that drawing book for the next four weeks.

I was going to get a grip on these perverted urges I felt, on this unhealthy desire to debase myself in front of another woman. I was going to stop reading these stimulating stories of lesbian submission, of reluctant exposure and dirty exchanges of body fluids.

~~*

My resolve lasted little more than twenty-four hours. I couldn't help it. It was evening. I was alone. I was bored. I was horny. Just one final time before I locked the sketchbook away, I told myself. I stripped naked, put the book on top of my pillow and reached under my bed for the basket with the clothespins. I loved and hated this ritual in equal parts. Laying down on my back, legs spread wide, I went for the narrow edged plastic ones first and put four on each of my pussy lips. The first one on each side always hurt like a bitch, but as soon as the pain spread and the blood surged into them, it got easier. Then I tweaked my nipples until they were as stiff as possible. The heavy binder clips made me whimper when I put them on and again when I let go of them and their weight bent my nipples. Last came the wooden clothespin. It had parallel jaws and a lighter spring, yet I had to fight myself hard and release it ever so slowly when I placed it over my swollen clit, biting down a sob.

Then came the hardest part, getting up and onto all fours. I had to close my legs, which jostled and twisted the clamps on my pussy and made me hiss with discomfort.

I slowly leafed back and forth through my drawings. The first pictures were pretty tame, just studies of Ash in different poses and situations. But slowly, they got more daring. I took my time, slowly rocking back and forth, stimulating myself with the discomfort the clothespins provided, a raw, steady arousal that didn't push me towards the peak. The pleasure came from the drawings and the fantasies attached to them. The last week had been a revelation. I had finally managed to bring the emotions I felt onto the paper without distractions. I watched myself grovel and suffer. The one from today was good. I studied it for long minutes, traced the perverted details with my finger, yet I withstood the impulse to touch myself a while longer.

I leafed backwards one page, knowing what I'd see. The drawing was up there in the top three with today's, me lying naked on the dirty floor, her reaching down to put a coke into my adoring hands which took it like a religious communion, but as she did that, she was stepping onto my lower body, and her terrifyingly thin heel was only an inch from coming down onto my grotesquely swollen clit.

My index finger touched the wooden clothespin and swung it round and round, the pain just barely bearable, on the very edge between pleasure and agony. My breath started hitching and sweat formed on my brow. Wet heat flowed in my pussy. Hell, I was getting there so fast.

I leafed one drawing further back and froze. I didn't remember putting a bookmark in there. I touched it and carefully unfolded it, never stopping my ministrations between my legs.

When I saw the writing inside, I froze and started trembling.

A phone number. Signed with, "Ash". And scrawled underneath that was, "Let me show you your place."

I stared. I stared longer. And then the heat turned into an inferno, and I fell to my side, cumming and sobbing and yanking the clothespin to prolong the climax and punish myself for slipping up in equal measures.

~~*

I stared at my cellphone, which glared at me in the darkness of my bedroom. My guts were a single, hard knot. I had tried to ignore it, tried to cling to sanity, and I managed it for a whole week.

"Hi, Miss Ash. This is Prim." It was all I could come up with. I had written and deleted the message a thousand times by now.

My heart pounded against my rib cage. My thumb hesitated a moment, then I watched it descend and press "send". Nausea gripped me. Then arousal. I was doing it. Oh god, I was doing it!

~~*

She waited of course, let me stew and doubt myself for days and work myself into a panic. "See you at six," her text read, nothing else, no endearments, no emojis, just four words that replaced my fear of rejection with a different anxiety.

I looked like always. A tight knit dress and my bag slung over my shoulder. But I felt like everybody was staring at me, knowing the depravity that was running rampant in my head. I didn't see Ash when I entered, but she knew where to find me, so I slipped into my customary seat and put my bag on the bench.

She walked up to me five minutes later, and I couldn't move my gaze away from her. She looked like before, moved with the same casual grace, but her eyes were different. They knew. They judged. They condemned.

She sidled up to me and leaned further than she had to, towering over me, when she handed me a menu. I never asked for a menu since I always ordered the same things. I opened it with shaking fingers and found a sheet of paper inside, a handwritten menu. It had only one item listed. With extras.

Coke: 3$

Extra spittle: 2$

Extra pee: 2$

I stared. It was too much. Too close. Too disgusting. Too arousing.

"What will it be, honey?"

"I, uhm, I'll take the coke."

"And…"

Oh my god. "The first extra."

"Which is that?"

I quickly glanced around to make sure nobody was too close by. "The extra spittle," I stammered, blood rushing in my ears, my heart thumping madly. The outrage and shame nearly made me faint.

"And…" she prompted again, sneering.

I almost couldn't breathe. Don't go there, a voice in my head screamed. "The extra pee, please." I sounded pathetic.

"Extra pee for our nasty Prim," she said slowly, derisively shaking her head, her lisp pronounced, while she wrote down my order. Then she took my menu, folded it up and winked, telling me in a conspiratorial voice, "Don't you worry, I'll make it a big shot because it's you."

I nearly came, without even touching myself. I gasped, and I gripped the edge of the table.

I watched her fill a coke and head out of the court with it, towards the restrooms. She was really doing it! It took two minutes, then she came back, grabbed a lid and a straw and headed towards me. She pursed her lips over the cup when she was at my table, and a thick wad of spit dropped into the cup. She covered it, slid in the straw and handed it to me.

It was a good thing there was a lid on it. It would have sloshed everywhere, otherwise. My hand shook worse than ever before in my life.

She watched me suck on the straw, watched my eyes widen at the sharp, bitter-sweet aftertaste, watched me swallow and blush and nearly faint when her juices ran into my stomach accompanied by a wave of embarrassment that forced all the breath from my lungs.

"My shift ends at eight," she said, furthering my shame by not even acknowledging what I had done. "Do you live alone?"

Was this going too fast? Surely. But I had no sane part left that slowed me down, it seemed. "Yes, Miss Ash."

"I like that. You're such a polite cunt."

A little whimper of need escaped my throat, and the corners of her mouth curled.

"We'll stay at your place tonight," she told me, then she spun around and left.

As I said, she was perfect, perfect in her imperfection, and also perfect in every other way. Eight o'clock wasn't going to come soon enough, but for two hours, I could now sit here, following her with my gaze while I imagined all the terrible, disgusting, arousing things she might make me do. "Ash," I whispered softly to myself, full of adoration, and at just that moment, she glanced at me across the court. I took a long suck from the straw and held her gaze so she could read the shame and nasty arousal in my eyes.

I knew without a doubt that I had, against all odds, found the yang to my yin, and a strange warmth spread through my chest.