A restaurant visit   added 6 years ago
  By: phelbus  Age: 43  Country: United States

  • Currently 3.5/5 Stars.
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Current rating: 3.89 of 5
Views: 4865
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Categories: S-M / Domination / submissive, Oral Sex, Force/Rape
Tags: stranger submissive forced lesbian
Location: Other
Roleplay: Other
Fulfillment: I will tell you later
Nature: I will tell you later

It is midweek and you are out with your husband/partner, the food is fantastic, it is an Indian restaurant and mostly vegetarian but you don't do this as much as you used to and this is a treat... you dressed up for the occasion and you feel special, alluring in your new indigo dress and your dark strappy heels to match.  You wore your hair up.  It's been pleasant and the intimacy of the occasion has you a little warm and wet, only you wish he'd pay more attention to you...

 "Can't you put that Blackberry down?"  He's always on the damn thing.
"I've just got to deal with this, order dessert darling, I won't be long."

You sit together, alone.  The couple at the table in the booth opposite don't seem to have that distance.  You can't avoid them, even if you'd wanted to.  She is very attractive, her hair curled and wore up, a loose dress being invaded by the roaming hand of her partner.... but she doesn't seem to mind, in fact she sits transfixed as if told not to dare move and you can't help but notice her skirt hitch up her thigh as his hand strokes her!  It is embarrassing, you blush on her behalf but a secret part of you envies her. 

You can't help but stare openly, your partner lost in his own world oblivious to your diverted attention.  It's too much!  You can't fully see it but you know what's going on... he's stroking her!  Barely hidden, and she sits transfixed as if ordered not to move a muscle!  Does no one else see?!  You are aware of your own dampness but helpless to your reaction and shamed by it, she is quite attractive, a couple of years older than you, no more.  You stand up and make an excuse and head for the washroom... fleeing the scene out of embarrassment or disgust or envy,  you don't know which...  

You take refuge in the stall and almost can't help yourself, pressing your womanhood with the fingertip or your right middle finger... oh god!  For someone to use you so!  You hear the sink tap go off and the hand dryer whine then die amid the banging of the bathroom door closing shut.  You wait a moment... no noise... you must be alone.  Oh, you can't resist!  You open yourself with your fingers and run your long painted digit down and through your wetness!

  For someone to touch you like that woman was being touched!  Oh please!  Your eyes closed, panties at your ankles, you press yourself and rub your hooded bud, imagining his touch, being used in such a public way! and soon you choke, gasping as your passion builds and breaks and you are there!  Rolling powerful waves washing over you leaves you panting and weak kneed!  Oh to be used in such a way!  Such sweet release!  You curl up while the churning pleasure subsides then you arrange yourself, face flushed but presentable, and open the cubicle door to leave...

She is there!  Your eyes lock in the bathroom mirror, her back to you, she is leaning over the basin applying lip gloss, her long legs toned, bare and smooth from her Bally heels to the hem of her dress; she is staring at you through the glass, a knowing look on her face!  You take all this in with one horrified glance for you know that your noise making could not have gone undetected!  She must have walked in when the other girl left!  Shamed, you bow your head and make for the door.

"Aren't you going to even wash your hands?"  You stand still, aghast!  There is no one else there, there can be no mistake who she is talking to!  You hesitate, then modesty and humiliation reverse your departure...
"Of course, I just forgot."  Why are you speaking to her?  You keep your eyes on the floor and turn on the tap, every sense in your body conscious of the click of her heels, the change in the air as she moves and stops behind you.  The tension electrifies you, your eye to the floor, the tip of her shoe as she stands close by!  If you turned you'd bump into her, everything is so awkward....
A hand on your thigh!

"No, please!"
She leans against you, you can feel her hips pressing you, wedging you against the counter, her other hand takes your left wrist gripping it, balancing herself against you while leans in and whispers in your ear...
"I heard you.  You're a dirty girl!  What kind of a woman touches herself in a toilet?  I saw you watching me .. don't deny it!  Yes, I saw you watching me and you enjoyed it...", her hand which was stroking your leg, forces itself between your thighs!  It is so wrong but you are somehow helpless to protest, the truth in her silky tone, the heat smoldering in your sex,  the fuss and fight to escape!  If you do nothing, you know she'll have to stop!  She'll have to go away... unless she doesn't! 

You can't help but gasp!  Your skirt rises slowly as her hand instinctively finds your need.  So recently self pleasured, your sticky desire is evident to her manicured fingers and she soon discovers evidence of her accusation... proof of your self pleasuring!

"Naughty girl!", she whispers harshly, "I knew it!  You were fingering yourself thinking of me, weren't you?"  You are mute with embarrassment!   Horrified at your discovery!  The shame handcuffs you and you are impotent to resist her strong arm!

Her hand, stroking you, knits into a ball in your hair, you squeal but can't find the breath to shout out!  She pulls your head back and then rubs your from your belly to your neck, her hand ending across your throat... you can only stifle a sob and close your eyes to the sharp pain from the pull on your scalp, please stop!  But instead you are pulled back, losing your balance as you are turned and pushed roughly into the cubicle!  Your head is pressed tight against the wall, the door closed and locked, and your skirt pulled roughly up! 

"This is what you want you little slut!"
Her feet kick your legs apart! Her hand slides between them!  Down come your panties and you are furiously rubbed, roughly, vigorously without pause, while she leans into you, driving you tight against the wall!  Your chest and face pressed flush against the divide, your hands helpless at your side, any movement met with a tight pull of your hair that sends a charge of pain down through your nerves!  This can't be happening, please no!  You feel yourself slipping, despite yourself, your heat building... no please, no!  You gasp, your breath held tightly!  You are undone and the rush of lapping pleasure is laced with horror and shame besides!

"Dirty girl!  I know what you want!"  She sticks her fingers into your mouth then drives them deep into your womanhood.  Three, four, five times!  So sore!  Your hair screams as you are turned again and pushed down onto the seat, your head forced down.  She stands astride you.

"Lift my skirts!  Put your filthy mouth to me and lick me out, you slut!   Dirty girl!  Use your mouth now!  Yes, that's right, go on!"  She is partially shaved under sheer, flesh colored panties.  Her lips are swollen and she tastes slightly musky but you are lost in the moment, unbelieving and reeling at what has happened, desperate for escape and yet charged by your helplessness!  Your tongue is pressing into another girl!  A beautiful woman is grinding her hips down onto your face, you can't see her for skirt and flesh and desire!  She grasps your breast!  Your nipple is pinched hard and twisted and pulled, so sore! 
"Go on, rub me, slut!"

Your fingers run over her hooded bud while she presses herself against your face, close, so close, and yes!  You know she is there, her dialogue of abuse halts, her breath comes in short spasms!  She cums with your mouth over her and stands, slightly squatting, for a minute or so.  You hair is released, she arranges her panties and dress, turns and leaves you, sitting alone in the cubicle, alone in the bathroom, uncomprehending, vulnerable, violated. 

It never crosses your mind to call for help, it never crosses your mind to call the police.  You fix yourself up, wash at the sink, you are surprised to see tears have made your makeup run.  You return to your table, your partner still immersed in his phone, the couple have gone.  You sit quietly and obediently, feeling yourself a little tender, wondering if the flesh of your breast will bruise.  You pass on coffee, embarrassed and ashamed, not wishing to remove the taste in your mouth, letting it linger as long as possible...

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