Bookworm Ch. 02

She reminded herself that she had never met anyone like him (never met him, in fact) and that this wasn't a date, as such, it was a task. And it was almost certain that he was going to fuck her, like she had watched him doing Angela.

"Do you have a reservation?"

"Yes, a table for two in the name of Black...?"

Carrie left it hanging like a question, unsure of its veracity. She thought it almost certainly wasn't his real name.

The man showed her to a table in the corner and indicated an envelope beside her plate while he relieved her of her coat. His eyes were on her breasts, she noticed. Some men were simple creatures - she had never understood why make up and slightly different clothes could suddenly turn her visible. This man would not have noticed her if he sat beside her on public transport. Unless she flashed her pussy at him, she mused, and then realised she was blushing.

He left her alone with the envelope, which seemed to hold more than just paper.

Inside there was a slim black blindfold and a slip of paper, in his familiar writing.

'Carrie, go to the toilet now. Bring your wine glass. Enter the disabled toilet. Pee in the glass and put on this blindfold. Then wait. I will knock and say your name.'

Definitely a task and not a conventional date, Carrie thought with relief. She didn't question his request. So she would meet him in a toilet with a wine glass of her wee. Why not? She casually slipped both the blindfold and the glass into her handbag and stood, walking swiftly past other diners to the toilets.

Once inside the spacious disabled toilet, Carrie removed both items from her handbag and planned how best to complete her task. The nerves helped, in that she did feel the need to pee, but making sure it only went in the glass and not all over her was a challenge.

She decided that it was just possible to fit the fragile, long-stemmed wine glass between her legs at an angle under her on the toilet seat, and that would be safer than standing. Much as she knew he wouldn't mind meeting her in a puddle of her own piss, she thought it could probably be avoided.

The rim of the glass was cold as it touched her cunt lips and she saw she'd made it wet. She held it lower and focused on relieving herself. Within a few seconds she saw and heard the glass beginning to fill.

She was a little fascinated to see her hot pee - quite clear as she had been well hydrated - sparkling in the glass when she retrieved it. It had gone on her hands -almost scalding, she noticed - but her dress and knickers were dry. Well, her dress was dry, her knickers were far from it and they stuck to her when she pulled them back up. Her glass of urine twinkled and she set it on the side by the sink before washing her hands.

She gave her reflection one last look before putting on the blindfold, following his instructions eagerly. She waited and listened. A soft knock came almost instantly. With slight panic, Carrie wondered what she would do if it wasn't him, but she heard his voice through the door.

"Carrie."

She fumbled until she found the handle and then opened the door a little. He slipped in quickly and locked it behind him.

"Hello Carrie"

"Hello..." Carrie's voice betrayed her nervousness, and she left a pause to encourage his introduction, but that instant he stepped close and kissed her on the lips and she forgot everything else. His hand was on her lower back, the other cradling her head slightly, his tongue tussling playfully with hers.

She kissed him back and pressed her body hard against him, her breasts against his chest. He felt strong and passionate, and she wanted him inside her there and then.

She pushed her fingertips through his hair - it was short and straight and from the height of his head he was above average height. She placed a hand on his chest and bit his lower lip gently, allowing herself a little moan of excitement, and she drew in all the scents of the man she couldn't see - his skin with some kind of faded aftershave, a hint of woodsmoke, just the right amount of sweat. He felt, smelled and tasted real, was the point, and she could finally kiss him back, this man who had been tormenting her so delightfully, and playing with her fantasies like a cat with a mouse.

He broke the kiss and she gasped a little with frustration.

"Good girl, Carrie," he said, and she knew he was looking at the wine glass of her piss just beside them. He knew so well how to play with her vulnerability and get her wet.

His voice was soft but commanding. Sometimes it carried a note of humour - this was a game they both enjoyed - and other times it was stern and urgent - this was a desperate need on both their parts surpassing everything else in the world. It chimed exactly with Carrie's attitude to her own submission: part bemused hobby, part lust-driven destiny.

"Take off your knickers."

Carrie's heart skipped a beat at the command and she pulled them down quickly, feeling him watch her.

"Give them to me."

She could feel they were wet, and she put them in his open hand.

"You have made them all wet with your games," she whispered to him, she hoped seductively.

"You have made them all wet with your cunt," he whispered back, as though by way of correction, but clearly just to say the word in her ear.

He pressed the knickers against Carrie's mouth and she opened it, understanding his intention. She felt the wet fabric against her tongue and tasted her pussy as he pushed them in. Then he turned her so that he was behind her.

"Show me the writing."

Carrie lifted the dress up over the curve of her bottom and raised it further, exposing her lower back and the message she had struggled to put there.

She felt glorious, bent slightly forwards presenting herself for him, with her mouth packed full of her own knickers. She nearly jumped when she felt his hands reach round in front of her and pull her breasts free - he unclipped her bra clasp so she wasn't constricted - and he pinched her nipples hard until she gasped.

His hands disappeared and she realised he was kneeling behind her, sniffing her. She felt extremely exposed, more so as he parted her cheeks.

He was sniffing her cunt and arse. She could tell she was dripping now - it was highly erotic, him stealing her stink as she phrased it to herself.

She felt his hand touch her pubic mound, pressing it lightly, holding her. 'Fuck, touch my clit,' her body screamed. He did, and she couldn't help move her hips.

The next thing she felt was the tip of his tongue touch the skin below her cunt lips, travelling backwards and flicking very lightly against her anus. She couldn't believe how good it felt. She was sucking her own knickers now while he teased her clit with one hand and licked her arsehole at the same time. As she felt his tongue stiffen and probe her tight hole she knew she was going to come if he didn't stop.

He stopped, stood up and pulled the knickers gagging her mouth out, before kissing her on the lips so she could taste her arse on his tongue.

"Carrie, I'm going to fuck you up the arse," he told her quietly.

She was aching to feel it. She heard him spit on his fingers. He arranged her hands to hold her cheeks apart for him, wantonly stretching and displaying the hole he was going to fuck. He slid a finger in, taking his time while she grew used to it, before adding a second.

Carrie realised the significance of the writing on her back had shifted slightly. Fuck, those fingers moving in her arse felt large - his cock seemed an impossibility.

When he pulled them out she wanted them back. In a split second they were in her mouth though, and she moaned as she sucked them despite herself. She would be as dirty for him as he required of her, and hope that she pleased him.

She heard him get his cock out, and reached out with urgency to try and touch it. He let her caress it, and he brought it to her mouth, guiding her. Carrie explored it, wishing she could remove the blindfold.

How would this huge thing fit, she wondered, and remembered Angela's howls as she came. Carrie took his hot cock in her mouth, and he said,

"Spit on it. Get it ready."

So Carrie did her best to coat it with saliva although she couldn't see it and when he drew it away from her face, connected with a string of it, she was shining around her mouth and her make up had suffered.

"Open," he said, moving behind her and guiding her to kneel with her bottom in the air, cheeks spread wide.

Carrie was playing with her sloppy pussy now, glad that he was watching her do it, imagining the view he was getting of her arsehole. When she felt his cock touch it her heart was pounding hard and she briefly had goosebumps against the cold tiles of the floor. This definitely wasn't small talk, she thought to herself as she prepared to be fucked in the arse on the toilet floor of this restaurant before having been introduced.

"Relax."

Carrie focused on letting him in - she could feel the throb of his heartbeat she thought, through the soft but firm heat of the head of his cock. It popped inside her and she heard his pleasure and smiled.

"Fuck me," she said to him, and as soon as she said it he slid further in until she grunted.

His dick was in her rectum. She tried to wrap her head around the idea and around the sensations involved. It was sliding and rubbing inside her, and she felt an immense orgasm welling up from her depths, like the base of a tidal wave moving through deep open water, surging and impatient to break.

He withdrew from her and she felt open and exposed as he watched her hole gape. Then Carrie felt his spit land and his warm, thick cock returned to massage it into her.

Her pussy dripped to the floor almost, Carrie caught some swinging and rubbed herself with it hearing the slippery wet lapping and her own ragged breathing.

"Ungh...Fuck, yes," she couldn't contain another grunt as he reached full insertion and his balls touched her cunt lips. The intensity of having him that deep was overwhelming.

Then he took heed of the advice on her back, and began to fuck her arse with conviction. Much as she had hoped he would, he grabbed a fistful of her mousy hair and she arched her neck and let her mouth hang open while he fucked guttural sounds out of it.

Carrie was beyond caring if anyone could hear her slutty arsefucking now. She was in the grip of the rising swell, her orgasm surging upwards and outwards from the thrusting in her depths. She was coming on her fingers - she was coming on her thighs and on the floor too in fact - and her arse was noisily giving itself up to the onslaught, farting around his slippery prick while she came with a sustained low moan. She'd have cried out his name if she only knew it.

She felt him twitch and pulse, his pace becoming more urgent, and she realised through the roar of her ongoing climax that he was about to fill her arse with cum.

Then she felt him firing it into her, his cock suddenly growing in size. She imagined a reservoir of his cum pooling inside her, and still he was fucking more into her. She remembered the look of Angela coming with his dick up her arse, and figured she must have looked similar, grunting on all fours and pushing herself back against his thrusts, engulfing as much as she could and whimpering with lust.

He was pulling out of her, leaving her empty of dick but brim full of cum. Carrie heard him wiping his cock on tissue, suddenly aware again that he could see and she couldn't.

Then suddenly he was tenderly kissing her pussy, taking her swollen lips between his, caressing her clit with his tongue. He was kissing it with passion, like he had kissed her mouth. He was helping himself to her copious cum, she knew, and then just as abruptly he was kissing her on the mouth, having brought her to standing in one swift movement.

She tasted her own sweetness on him, and was in the same instant panicking about the flood in her arse spilling out of her fucked hole and running down her legs.

As though sensing this in her kiss, he helped her swiftly into her sodden knickers and pulled them up, squeezing the cheeks of her arse hard.

"I'll see you back at our table, Carrie," he said into her ear.

"You can leave the blindfold behind. But keep my cum inside you."

She heard him pick up the wine glass and close the door behind him.

Carrie pulled off the blindfold and looked at herself in the mirror. Her makeup needed some attention, and her hair was a mess. Her dress was still pulled up around her waist and her tits poking free of it. Her pupils were enormous and she was flushed and still panting slightly.

She thought she stank of sex. In fact, she gave a very convincing impression of a girl who had just had the biggest orgasm of her life whilst being arsefucked on the floor of a public toilet and was still leaking from both holes with his cum and her own.

She straightened her dress, washed her face and hands and did her best with her hair. She was still aching to see what he looked like, although now she was concerned about keeping what seemed a large dose of cum inside her bum for the return trip to the table. She didn't trust her knickers to keep it contained in the event that her sphincter failed to, and her light blue dress might get sullied in public.

He had also, she realised, made off with a wine glass of her pee. By no means a normal first date, Carrie thought, smiling at her reflection, which was now looking a bit more respectable, albeit feeling the opposite.

The table was empty as Carrie walked gingerly back towards it, past animated couples dining. She worried suddenly that he had simply left, and still she would not see his face - had deposited his load in her and walked out, leaving her to dine alone as she leaked. But no, there was a dark grey suit jacket over the back of the chair opposite hers. A bottle of white wine had also appeared on the table, open but not served. Beside it stood her wine glass, full and in plain sight.

Carrie reached the table and sat, her thoughts scattered here and there. She was concentrating on looking casual, whilst not letting her arse leak any cum as she sat down, and not looking too often at the glass of her own urine sparkling in candlelight on the table. It was hard enough to look casual on your own at a table anyway, she thought, let alone with these elaborate extra levels.

She played with her hair nervously as she looked around. A waiter gave her a smile. 'He must know my arse is full of cum,' was her first thought. The diners were a mix of business people and couples, along with a handful of tourists - generally small groups on tables dotted around.

A man was walking purposefully towards her table, smiling at her. It could only be him, Carrie thought, feeling herself smiling back at him warmly. He had short dark hair, flecked with some grey at the temples, a strong jaw but a gentle mouth. It was an expressive face and it carried some lines - mid thirties was Carrie's judgement - his face matched his body, but he obviously looked after himself and muscles flexed below an open-necked white shirt that was somehow still looking immaculate.

The most striking thing was his eyes though, which were the colour of rust, and burning somehow as though a foundry lay behind them. They told her they knew her inside out and he was smiling at her with them, but at the same time giving her a hungry look like he'd bend her over the table in an instant and fuck that cum back out of her. He had a rugged beauty that was unnecessary, Carrie thought, since he had already won her with his potently dirty mind.

Her smile said, 'I love you and fear you -Who are you?'

He kissed her confidently and openly, one had on her waist as though their public relationship was well established, and it was excruciatingly electric now that she could see him.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, "I got stuck on my way in."

It was a playfully chosen phrase, reminding Carrie of where he had been on his way in to, and just how stuck he had been there.

More quietly, he said,

"Carrie, my name is Saul. I think you are exquisite, and you have been delighting me with your progress."

Carrie was at a bit of a loss.

"Thank you, Saul," was all she could find to say, floundering. She relished using his name - unusual, but it suited him.

She watched him take her wine glass, and hold it to the light of the candle admiringly, considering it in the manner of a connoisseur as her pulse raced. She glanced about - no-one was paying them any attention, and wouldn't have suspected that the pair was anything out of the ordinary.

Certainly they wouldn't assume that he was goadingly interrupting his introduction to her by toying with a glass of her urine. But if they looked closely they might wonder how come the bottle of wine on the table was still full, and the pretty but flushed looking girl was transfixed by her dining partner raising the glass to his lips.

Carrie watched him sip from the glass and savour it, his eyes deep into hers as he did so, a half smile playing across his face like a breeze on a hot day. Why did it make her fall in love with this man that he would drink her piss in public, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. She would be as nasty for him as he wanted her to be, and it thrilled her to find out. Perhaps that was how Angela felt too.

"You must try the wine..."

Carrie watched him slide the glass over to her, and she heard the note of challenge in his tone - partly interrogative and partly commanding.

'Fuck,' she thought to herself, helpfully. She was going to join him in tasting it, there was no question in her mind as to whether she'd obey him.

"Is it good? I can't say I know too much about it," Carrie replied, her voice faltering.

"Some of the best I've had," came his reply -he no longer attempted to suppress his smile, and she felt like a princess for an instant. Curious activity for a princess, Carrie told herself, raising the glass to her lips. She expected it to have a smell but it barely did.

He was concentrating extremely hard on her face. She was thirsty after all the exertion. The real wine did look appealing. The glass felt cool against her lips and she recalled it had felt the same against her other lips as she filled it. That was before he had pounded her arse while she came. His cum was still trying to leak out of her behind. 'Never mind that, Carrie, sip the liquid.'

She drank from the glass under his watchful eye - it was gratifying to do a task in front of him, she thought, and see his appreciation in person. Her urine tasted neutral enough - faintly bitter but surprisingly alright. For an instant, the world had shrunk to just the two of them, but it now expanded to include their surroundings. Would anyone guess what she was doing?

"You finish that one, I'll pour more," Saul said, pouring wine from the bottle into his own glass.

It was a strikingly different colour, Carrie noticed, which gave her an incentive to empty the glass in her hand quickly before anyone spotted the difference. She knew that was paranoia talking, much like the thought that she also shouldn't drink it too quickly for fear of judgement - nice girls don't down their wine before dinner after all. 'Probably, nice girls don't drink their own piss on a first date either!' she argued with her mind, as was her habit.

She realised he was watching her quizzically, enjoying the turmoil. She felt like he could hear her inner monologues. She drank half the glass, gulping her liquid down thirstily. His foot touched hers under the table as she finished the rest, and the look she gave him was a mixture of devotion and challenge, communicating both 'What's next?' and 'I'm ready.'