I like the idea of you showing off for me.
I like the idea of me showing off for you, too.
What would you like to show me the most?
I think… a pair of shoes that are impossible to run in.
Shoes?
Shoes. Tall, tall heels. Sexy little straps. The kind of shoes that look like bondage. Because, in a way — they are.
He sat on the bed and I stood in front of him, nude, except for my new heels. Delicate leather straps crisscrossed my toes and wound around my ankles. Altogether, they added six inches to my height, between the platform and the thin, spiky heel.
They were sexy-as-fuck bondage.
I watched him watch me as I worked my way between his legs, each step punctuated with an enticing roll of my hips.
He slid his hands around my waist. “How much of my money did you spend on those shoes?”
“Oh, lots.” I wrapped my arms around his neck and brought my lips to his ear. “But don’t worry. The nice sales boy gave me a little discount for getting a peek at my bare pussy while he helped me try them on.”
A low growl escaped his throat. Goosebumps skittered across my skin, and I bit my lip.
“Maybe I need to go with you when you go shoe shopping.”
“Maybe you do,” I whispered. “You know I love showing you this wet pussy, too.”
His hands wrapped around me to squeeze my ass. “You little attention whore. You can’t help but show off, can you?”
I smiled, pretending to think on it. “Mmm. Nope.”
He smacked my ass, making me moan. “They are hot shoes. But you never answered my question.”
My brain was already a puddle, melting down the inside of my legs. “What question?”
“How much did you spend?” He worked his fingers between my legs. “How much do you owe me, now?”
Delicious sensations washed over me, and I struggled to sound indignant. “Owe you?” My breathy voice told me that I failed. I was always helpless in his hands. “Isn’t it enough to watch me wear these fuck-me heels?” I felt a drop of liquid drip down my thighs.
“Do I get to fuck you?”
“Maybe.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Maybe?”
I gasped as he pushed two fingers inside me. “I… have an idea.”
“Do tell.”
I grabbed his wrists and put them back on my waist, as I climbed onto his lap. I could feel his hard cock through his jeans, and I rubbed myself against it. “These are outrageous shoes. And I do owe you. Just wearing them makes me feel… like I’m really asking for it, you know?” I hoped he would catch my meaning, without me having to spell it out.
His expression didn’t change. “Asking for what?”
I blushed. Fuck. “Well, you know… when a girl is standing at the bar, tight skirt, six-inch fuck-me heels…” I licked my lips. “I can’t run in these.”
His eyes widened just a little.
“Let me put on that slutty, tiny dress. I owe you — and I don’t want to be able to stop you from taking what you want.”
An hour later I was leaning against the bar, wearing my new heels and a short dress that didn’t so much as hug my curves as attempt to assault them.
No, the irony was not lost on me. That was why I was here, wasn’t it?
He had dropped me off so he could go park, but I hadn’t seen him walk in. The bartender handed me a bottle, and as I turned around, I felt a hand brush up against my ass. I spun around, glaring. “Watch it,” I spit, doing my best impression of a normal girl who wasn’t asking for it.
His face was positively angelic, as he lifted his hands in mock surrender. “My bad. Slipped.”
“Mmm hmm, sure.” I turned half my body away from him, so he could get the full view of tits and ass and those tall, tall heels.
His eyes roamed appreciatively.
I felt like a piece of meat, and I could feel my bare pussy start to clench.
I smiled to myself, thinking about what he was going to say when he found out that there was nothing underneath this dress. More clenching.
“Where are you sitting, pretty thing?” he asked, in his perfect-stranger voice.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
He sidled up to me, invading my personal space. My breath caught, and I took a tiny step backwards. To my credit, the heels only wobbled a bit. I watched the corner of his mouth twitch, his smile losing some of that innocence that he had pasted over it.
Fuck.
“I would. I’d like a lot of things.”
I took a long sip of my beer and winked at him. “Keep dreaming.” I turned and headed to the dance floor, swinging my hips and hitching my dress up just a little further.
I knew he was watching me; his gaze practically seared right through this irrelevant dress. Through the dimness of the room and the gaudy flashing lights, I could feel him watching me.
I wanted to feel him other places, too.
I started to sway to the beat of the music, looking over my shoulder to watch him slide into a booth and take a sip of his own drink. He leaned back, in that way that men do, as if to take up as much room as possible.
So fucking entitled.
Was it wrong that that made me drip, too?
I owed him. He was entitled. That was the whole game.
I desperately wanted him to take what he felt he was owed.
The rhythm of the music moved my body, as I imagined his hands digging into the soft flesh of my hips. I imagined struggling, trying to pull away… and failing. A needy little noise escaped my throat.
I drained my beer as I continued to dance for him. To show off for him. Tiny beads of sweat gathered along my hairline, and I needed another drink. I set down my empty bottle and took my mincing steps back to the bar.
He was there in an instant, my shadow, leaning into my space. “Let me buy you a drink.”
I turned toward him, trying very hard not to rub against him. “Fuck off.”
He moved in closer, holding his big hand against the small of my back. “Such language from a lady.”
My breath hitched as his hand deliberately dipped to cup my ass. I bowed my back, to angle into him.
“Unless you’re not a lady.” He smiled, and it was the kind of smile that send a shiver down my spine. “Am I right?” He squeezed, pulling me toward him.
I felt my eyes go wide, and I could feel the long hardness of him pressed against my stomach. Warmth spread through my pussy, and I took a long, shaking breath.
I wasn’t sure how much long I could play this game.
“No, stop.” My plea was weak, and I knew it. I needed him, and soon.
His voice was like venom. “You say that, but your body says yes.”
I knew it wasn’t a lie. Truth be told, my voice wanted to say yes, too. But that wasn’t the rule.
I rubbed up against him, and his satisfied growl filled my ears.
“What am I going to find between those sweet legs of yours? Are you wet for me?”
I blushed as I felt his fingers toy with the hem of my dress. He was so close, and I ached. Still, I shook my head, though I could only look at the floor.
“Don’t lie to me, you little bitch,” he hissed. “Dressed like that, you’re fucking begging for it.”
I tried to pull away, but he snaked his arm around my waist. It felt like a vice. “No, please.” To his credit, I did sound an awful lot like I was begging.
He spun me toward the door, and I wobbled on those godforsaken shoes. “I think I need some fresh air, don’t you?”
Delicious alarm bells rang distantly in my brain. I imagined the bulk of him, holding me against the cold brick of the building as he pounded my pussy. I imagined fighting, pleading, pointlessly.
He wrapped his hand around my wrist and bent my arm to hold it against the small of my back. “Are you going to be a good girl for me, now?” He walked us both toward the door, even as I pushed back at him with my other arm.
Pointless.
My pulse sped. “Please…”
He bent his head to lay a kiss against my ear, and goosebumps ran along my skin. “Don’t worry baby, I’ll give you what you need.”
I tried to shake my head, but the motion was lost as he swept both of us out the door and into the warm night air.
Going from the smooth hardwood floor of the bar to the uneven brick sidewalk outside, I immediately tripped.
“Careful, baby,” he said, as his grip tightened on my arm, barely keeping me upright.
I knew he was going to leave a bruise, and that knowledge sent another wave of desire coursing through me.
We lurched forward, and he turned me into the shadow of the alley between the buildings. He released his grip and gave me a tiny push, sending me toppling to my hands and knees into the grass and gravel. Sharp points of pain lanced through my skin, but I arched my back, eager for his assault. I felt cool air on my ass as my dress rode up all the way to my waist.
“Fucking Christ,” I heard him swear. “You fucking slut.”
I felt the heat of his body behind me, and the sound of his zipper was like thunder in my ears. “Please… please don’t do this…”
His cock nudged against my pussy, and slipped. “You’re fucking soaked.” He slid his length in between my lips, gathering all the slick evidence of my desire. “Little cocktease. You’re dripping for me.” His voice was sounding increasingly hoarse. “And if I’d known you were bare under that dress…”
“Then what?” I breathed, aching to be filled. “What would you have done?”
He wrapped his hands through my hair and pulled, while at the same time, lining up his slippery cock against my asshole. Pain registered concurrently in my scalp and my ass, as he squeezed half of himself inside of me. “This,” he said.
The luscious, burning violation stoked the smoldering fire in my core, and I moaned. “Fuck…”
He pulled himself out and sank his entire length in my ass on the next stroke.
The feeling of being filled — taken — was exquisite. The agonizing stretch, the disgrace of my body, had me teetering dangerously close to orgasm. He pulled my hair back, making me arch my back further as he slammed into me again and again.
And then something broke in my body, and I screamed my climax into the dirt and stones. I felt myself squeeze him, helplessly.
“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck…” he yelled, as he bottomed out one last time. Through my haze, I felt his fingernails sink into my flesh.
I hoped they would bruise, too.
I needed his marks on me. Wanted to see the evidence of his violation.
He pulled out of my ruined hole, and I could feel his hot cum slide down my thighs, as tiny pieces of gravel dug into my palms and knees.
I heard him lean back, and I yelped as he smacked my ass. “I like the shoes.”
Photo by Yogendra Singh on Unsplash