Overdrive Pt. 02

I pick my drink back up and suck down the rest of it, ignoring the trickles of sweat running down my spine and between my exposed breasts. It's hot in this club, warm bodies packed in wall-to-wall, grinding against each other. It should be cooler in our booth, but between the humiliation of my partial nudity and the throbbing between my legs, I have never felt hotter.

"Daddy," I say, setting down the empty glass. "May I have some water?"

You offer me a considering look, eyes dropping to my hardened nipples a couple of times, before you answer. "What do you say?"

"Please?"

You flag down a server and order two glasses of water, along with two shots of tequila. A part of me hopes the shots are both for you, as I have already had more to drink than I can normally tolerate, but a bigger part of me knows that won't be the case.

As expected, when the water and liquor arrive, you push one of the shots toward me and urge me to drink it before handing me a glass of water. The water is crisp, soothing the burn of the burning alcohol, and I breathe a sigh of relief, slumping back a little in the booth.

Now that my thirst is quenched and I feel a little cooler, my focus hones back in on the dampness between my thighs that's causing them to stick together. My pussy hasn't stopped dripping a seemingly endless flow of slick, and I want to touch myself, but you won't allow it. I want to be good. But I'm also getting desperate.

I squirm on the leather material of the booth and try to ignore how many people keep staring at me, eyes glued to my tits.

"Daddy," I wine, looking away from a middle-aged man that hasn't stopped staring at me for at least a minute. My head is swimming from the alcohol, the flashing club lights adding to the dizziness. "Please touch me. I've been good, haven't I? Did I suck your cock good?"

Your lips pull into a small smirk, and you run your fingers through my long, tangled red hair, tugging a little. "You were so good. But there's only so much we can get away with here."

My eyebrows draw together, and I pout at you. "I thought you were going to fuck me."

"You shouldn't believe everything a man says when he's trying to get you on your knees, sweetheart," you say, tone mocking. "I'm not going to fuck you here. You'll have to try a lot harder if you want Daddy's cock. I won't fuck just any slut I come across."

A long whine escapes my throat, and I can't resist anymore. I reach down between my legs with one hand, fingers working quickly to pull my panties to the side so I can shove two fingers in my sopping cunt. As expected, you grab my wrist and jerk my hand away from where I so desperately need it, fire lighting your eyes.

"You aren't doing a very good job of proving that you can be good, that you deserve my cock," you snap.

"Please," I cry, chest heaving as I try to hold back a tantrum. I've never acted like this before, but I've also never been dominated by an older man. My previous boyfriend had been pretty vanilla, had only asked me to suck his dick and never reciprocated, and the majority of my sexual experience only involved my own toys, my hands, and my favorite pillow. I had never been so turned on before. "I need something."

Your angry expression shifts to one of mocking pity, and you stroke a finger down my damp cheek when you respond. I hadn't even realized I was crying. "Here's the deal. If you want to get off, the only way you're going to do it is if you take off those useless panties and ride my thigh in front of all these people. Can you do that?"

After only a brief hesitation, I nod my head. I'm hardly thinking, my brain filled with a singular need to cum.

"What was that?" you ask, tilting your head slightly.

"Yes, Daddy. I can do that."

You give me a short nod, smiling in a way that only increases the humiliation thrumming through my veins, and then you lean back in the seat, stretching your arms across the back of the booth and spreading your legs in invitation.

I roll my panties down my legs a little awkwardly, and you were right, they are useless. They're completely soaked, and the fabric is formless and stretched out where you had pushed them inside of me with your finger. They probably aren't even worth keeping.

Once I get the underwear off, I drop them on the seat next to me and waste zero time straddling one of your thighs, immediately letting out a small yelp as my swollen clit presses down on firm muscle. The fabric of your pants is slightly rough against my aching pussy, but it feels incredible, better than anything I've experienced before, infinitely better than the pillow I'd fucked myself on too many times to count.

I start to slowly rub my pussy on your leg, worried that I might immediately cum from how worked up I am. Each roll of my hips feels heavenly--scratch that, hellishly good--and I don't want the feeling to ever end. The way you're looking up at me as I ride your thigh, a mixture of turned-on and condescending makes me clench, pussy drooling as I imagine your cock filling me up. Maybe if I prove myself, if I show you how good I can be as I hump your leg like a dog in heat, you'll finally fuck me.

"Uhh, uh, uh," small breaths and whimpers stutter out of my chest as I roll my hips, still moving slowly, hoping to draw it out. Every few seconds your eyes move down to my breasts, watching them sway.

"You should see how many people are watching you right now," you whisper, leaning up, close to my ear. "Aren't you embarrassed?"

My eyes squeeze shut as I picture it, a small crowd of people watching my act of desperation, but I only feel a small pang of embarrassment. Mostly, my mind supplies images of each one of them walking up and taking their turn, using me however they wish. But I don't want you to think I'm more of a slut than you already do, so I nod my head. "Yes," I moan, breathy and quiet.

"What a shame. Do you want to stop?"

I shake my head, grinding down a little harder. "No, Daddy. I want to cum."

"Poor thing," you taunt, running a hand down my back, trailing slowly until you reach the edge of my dress. It has ridden up slightly, with how my legs are spread around your thigh, but you tug it up higher, exposing my ass to everyone watching, showing them how I'm desperately rubbing my pussy on a much older man's leg.

"Wh-what are you doing?" I ask. I try to pause, try to stop humping your thigh, but it's as if I've lost control over my body, and my hips continue to make aborted thrusts, every brush of my cunt against your leg causing my vision to blur. Or maybe it's the alcohol.

"Giving them the show they deserve," you laugh, pulling the dress up even higher, exposing my lower back. At this point, I might as well be completely naked.

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes again, and a few of them slip out as I start to ride you harder. You grab my chin and turn my face toward yours. The way your thumb is digging into my jaw forces me to open my mouth, and you spit directly into it, the glob of hot saliva landing square in the middle of my tongue, and suddenly I'm too overwhelmed. I roll my hips one more time, crying out loudly enough to be heard by anyone within ten feet of the table, and I cum on your leg, hips moving in tiny jerks as I cream all over the dark fabric of your pants.

"Fuck," you moan, grabbing my hips and forcing me to grind down harder, drawing out my orgasm and overstimulating my clit. "Good girl. Does that feel good, cumming all over Daddy's leg like a pathetic little harlot?"

I nod frantically, trying to keep my eyes open as I ride out the strongest orgasm I've ever had in my life and swallow the warm spit that's pooled in my mouth, a mixture of yours and mine. "Feels good, Daddy," I finally manage to get out, sounding so unlike myself, voice hoarse, breathy, and high pitched. "Thank you for letting me cum. It feels so good. You feel good."

Your hands stop forcing my hips to grind and instead just hold me down, pressed against the wet spot I've made on your pants. You drop my dress, letting it fall back down to cover my flushed skin, and a small wave of clarity begins to roll through my mind, though the alcohol keeps it from being too jarring.

"I'm sorry for ruining your pants," I mumbled, trying to move off of your lap. You hold me still. It's nearly painful, the way your fingertips are digging into my hips.

"Stop, I asked you to do this. Don't start apologizing."

As if a switch had been flipped, your voice has become much softer, as have your eyes, but the intensity is still there, in the way you're forcing me to hold still.

I nod, unsure of what to say.

"Let's get you home," you murmur, slowly loosening your grip.

"What about you?" I ask, eyes skittering to look down at the bulge in your pants, where you are very obviously still hard. "Don't you want me to take care of that?"

"Oh, you will," you chuckle darkly. "I won't be taking you to your home."

You look at me in a way that's commanding, but I can tell you're also leaving room for me to argue, to ask you to take me to my own home. But even though I just came, can still feel the evidence of it sticking to my thighs, I'm still so turned on that my pussy throbs, raw and sensitive. I bow my head and murmur, "Yes, daddy."