You pulled me into the doorway alcove, pinned me against the cold concrete wall and covered my mouth with one hand. Sssshhh you told me, reaching up under my skirt. Silence now.
A whimper escapes me as your cold fingers crept into my knickers. You pressed your hand down harder onto my mouth, tilting my head to meet your eyes. In the sodium-lit dark they gleamed, cold and intent, studying me with detached interest. Keep your hands behind your back, slut. Spread your legs wider. Rub yourself against me, whore. Don’t make a sound. Don’t make me punish you. You know I want to hurt you, just give me an excuse baby. Let me do it. Let me fuck you up.
Right there in the rain-splashed backstreets of Clerkenwell, you tortured me with hands and words until I slumped and shuddered, coated your palms with my drooling orgasm. I was a good girl.
On the way to the station, you barely spoke, only gripped my hand with the desperation of a drowning man. With each step, I became wetter.
I slipped my knickers into your pocket as we stood in a throng around the crowded bar, watched your fingers curl around the damp black lace while your expression stayed blank. In the face of your indifference, I flirted elsewhere, shielding my resentment with innuendo and double-entendre, while my cunt lips swelled and slicked my thighs, arousal mingling with sweat in the close-pressed humidity.
Later, in a dark alley, you filled my mouth with your handsome cock, holding the umbrella over your head to shake the drips down the back of my neck with every rough thrust. My ritual of worship was interrupted when you pulled me to my feet and returned my knickers, stuffing them into my still-open mouth before tucking your cock away under your clothing. You need to learn discretion, you scolded, and slapped my face sharply; once, twice, harder, and again until my moans of excitement became squeals of protest, dissolving into contrition. I’m sorry, I whimpered, tears splashing and smearing against livid handprints. I could feel your iron-hard cock straining to reach me through the fabric of your trousers. Please fuck me. I begged.
Shaking your head, you thumbed away my tears and refused to meet my eyes. Please, I sobbed, reaching for you. You don’t deserve it, you whispered, kissed me tenderly on the forehead, and walked briskly away.
With my umbrella.