On Edge

I've published this and everything else here on Lit, elsewhere also under my other name VioletVixen.

*****

Store jingles play over the loudspeaker. Customers bustle through the aisles, pushing and shoving to get the best deal while I wonder from under my cotton surgical mask. Do they notice? Can they tell?

Catching a whiff of my arousal rising from underneath my skirt, sealed into my already soaked panties by the tight fabric of my knit wool stockings, I can't help but rub my thighs together to feel the wetness spread around my crotch, matting my trimmed hairs. The textured pattern runs up my legs, already ripped where I knelt on the hardwood floor not thirty minutes earlier. The tight elastic of the stockings and the blue and white striped panties glued my legs together then while you looked under my skirt at my bare ass.

You really know how to make a girl wet, don't you?

Don't think I don't like the tease--you appraising me, running a solitary finger down my back before flipping up my skirt and forcing my stockings down, exposing my sopping cunt. When you made me face the open window, I felt it drip obscenely. Streaks of my arousal mark the back of my legs, showing white on the black fabric. I wonder what people think when they see me looking mostly normal but a little off. Can they tell?

You make me work for it, and you make me do things like now at the grocery store.

The royal blue sweater shows nothing. The thick wool hides my aching breasts, nipples constantly rubbing the itchy fabric with every step. My heart thuds and my face flushes as I disinfect my hands at the entrance, unsure if the alcohol spray will cleanse me of this smell, this cunt smell.

You really are funny with your little tasks. You make them sound so innocent.

"Buy ingredients for dinner, will you? Oh, and don't forget the snacks," you said while taking photos of my exposed cunt, occasionally spreading my cream around, smearing it into my thighs; making sure the droplets glistened for the camera.

God, I felt my clit throb when you did that, but I'm a good girl and refrained. I let you edge me, and if I do this, you will reward me.

Grabbing a small plastic basket, the same cherry red as my cheeks which are thankfully hidden under my mask, I peruse the aisles, but I can't hide the jingling. Only you would make me go out with my collar. Can people tell? Do they know what it means? Are they aware that I'm your little cum slut? I would do anything to cum at this point, but you send me here, the fucking grocery store.

A ten-minute walk from home, alone and exposed for all to see. Modest tidings can be fooling, and you and I both know that underneath lies pure, unadulterated cunt. You made sure of that when you commanded I finger myself in front of you, gathering my juices and massaging it into my face and neck over and over until all I could taste was cunt. All I could smell was cunt, and now, wearing my own scent as lipgloss, I search for dinner.

Striding through the meat aisle, pupils dilated, every step rubs against my already swollen clit. God, I hate what you do to me. The only thing saving me is my plaid skirt. The polyester-cotton blend of forest green and navy hides the wet patch that's seeping through the layers of fabric.

I've never found a cut of meat sexy, but you make me feel like one. Staring glassy-eyed at the pork cutlets and chicken thighs, I think of how you splayed me out--how I hope you will splay me out when you finally let me cum.

Piling ingredients into the basket without much thought, my mind fogs over. The polished steel bell tinkles out, drawing stares. It's hard to walk. I think I might give myself away. I know you would like that, knowing others notice how desperately horny I am. Could you imagine if I let a stranger take me in the bathroom, or worse, with the fish? I suppose the fish would mask some of my musk better than that overpowering artificial daisy-scented perfume they put in the toilets.

Recycled cunt circulates under my mask as I enter the snack aisle.

Biting my lower lip, a man brushes up against me, hand cupping my ass. It could be an accident, or maybe I just smell like a whore and he knows it. He passes by without incident, but I'm so turned on, even that brush over the fabric almost made my knees buckle. You know I would never let anyone touch me normally, but today is not normal. I'm on edge. Very on edge.

With no one around, my hand nonchalantly works its way down. The outside of my slit sears painfully through the tight woolen stockings, juices oozing through the knitted fabric, the smell overpowering. I can't tell if it's my needy pussy filling my nostrils or all the cunt smeared under my mask like some sort of depraved perfume. I try to look normal, facing shelves lined with a colorful assortment of cookies and chocolates.

Heat builds in my cheeks like slow-burning charcoal, growing in intensity while running my finger up and down under my skirt, slimy musk sticking to me. Hearing footsteps, I tense, quickly wiping my finger off on the hem. The bell rings out as I swivel my neck around to see if they see how much of a fucking cum slut I am. I need to look normal, but I don't think I can wait to pay at the cashier.

Swiping a combination of brightly packaged junk food at random into the basket, I rush to the counter. You said I needed to spend ten minutes shopping, but with my clit pressing against my bound panties, I don't know if I can wait much longer. The bell jingles while I run, almost bumping into other shoppers. Rubber-soled tennis shoes squeak on the floor, face burning up with humiliation, trying desperately not to get caught.

At the check-out, I dart my eyes around. Everyone keeps their distance. Is it because of the neon orange tape marking where to queue, or do I reek of cunt? I avert my gaze when I see the cashier's nostrils flare. Handing over a wad of cash with my sticky fingers, his eyes trace the black leather band of my collar. I think he knows.

Leather cuts through my neck while I stumble into the grocery store bathroom. Everything feels hazy, my senses heightened. Entering the first empty stall, I secure the shopping bags on a hook before locking the door. I can't help myself. I'm so close to cumming, but I know you won't let me. I know you like to torture your toys first, and that's all I am to you... your fucktoy to do with as you please. I hope this pleases you, Miss.

Fuck. My hands already grasp the elastic of my wooly stockings, peeling them halfway down my legs. A large strand of cunt juice connects to the inside of my panties. Running my fingers over my puffy labia, it takes all my self-control not to press them over my swollen clit. Arousal drips down in slow motion, drops forming over the glistening strands like translucent pearls. The toilet stall smells of piss, but it doesn't stop me. My mind already crossed the threshold of normal long ago. Now only the darkest desires remain. I feel my need, but I know I can inch even closer to the edge, feet already dangling off the cliff to sweet release. My body chooses to shuffle ever nearer to the great fall.

From the pocket of my skirt, I pull out my phone. The timer shows I only have two more minutes of hell before you open your pearly gates to me. Fuck. I need the rush, the thrill. Unlocking the screen, ignoring your messages, I open the camera. Already tingling with excitement, I switch the viewfinder to selfie mode and angle it under my cunt to capture my insatiable need for you.

Click!

The camera shutter sends a jolt down my spine. I love the risk of getting caught, even loving the risk of you breaking my trust and distributing my private photos, my gifts to you as your little cum slut.

I take another and another. Each one making my clit throb more intensely, my need on display in the public bathroom stall. Placing one foot over the toilet seat, I try to capture the perfect angle, but the need overpowers me. Selecting photos to send with one hand, my other slides its way between my dripping folds, squelching as I slip two fingers inside. Losing myself, I move my fingers in and out while I press send, collar tinkling with every thrust. Now everyone will know I'm a raging whore.

Eyes close. Tunnel vision sets in while I float away on clouds of pleasure. I find myself reaching the cusp, breaking your rules. The bathroom door swings open. A woman gasps in shock. I can't see, and I don't want to get caught so I stop. She must have heard my sopping cunt getting filled and the ringing from behind the stall. The bathroom door opens and closes again, then silence.

Fuck. I stand still--waiting, listening. The door opens again. Security? Footsteps approach. Looking under the stall, I see a pair of grey suede boots march my way with purpose. Chunky two-inch heels clack on the bathroom tile. Fuck.

Hand still jammed halfway up my cunt, I watch unmoving at the boots pacing back and forth in front of me. Unoccupied stalls sit empty and available, but these boots are here for me. I know it. My phone buzzes. Glancing at the screen with my available hand, a slew of messages pop up.

You filthy fucking cum slut. Couldn't even wait to get home to fuck yourself.

I know you're in there, camwhore. Did you cum when you heard the shutter click? I can smell you from here.

Open up and on your knees. Don't make me wait. It's time to teach my little fucktoy a lesson in restraint.

The boots plant themselves firmly, coming to a halt in front of the stall, the hard sole of the right foot tap tap tapping impatiently.

Fingers still inside, I shuffle onto my knees, legs hobbled by the tight elastic, and reluctantly slide open the latch. I figured you followed me. Ten-minute walk to the store, ten minutes to edge without touching myself reeking of cunt--the timing couldn't have been more perfect. It was never a one-player game. You would never deny yourself the pleasure.

Looking up from my position, my gaze travels up your body. Suede boots stop halfway up your calves, form-fitting blue jeans tucked into them. Further up, your fuzzy pink sweater accentuates your bright green eyes, glinting with untold cruelty. Like me, you wear a mask, but I can tell you're smirking underneath. You won the game and you know it. Your dark shoulder-length hair frames your face in contrast to my own which is pleated, braid draped over my shoulder.

You look like a fit soccer mom. No one would guess who you really are, or what you do to me. Even though we're the same height, from my position on the ground and with the added lift from your heels, I feel dwarfed by your presence.

Relocking the cramped stall, you run your eyes up and down my body, raising your eyebrows at my fingers still jammed up my dripping cunt. The cold porcelain toilet presses against my back as you inch your boots closer.

"You're such a fucking cum slut. Look at yourself, frigging off in the grocery store." Your strong voice drips over me like molten honey. I'm completely entranced, but I wish I wasn't. You being here spells out only bad news.

I start to slide my fingers out.

"Keep them there. That's what you wanted, wasn't it, you fucking camwhore? I enjoyed your pictures by the way, but they do mean you lose the game. Do you know what happens to little fucktoys who break the rules?"

My face flushes. Heat steams up the backside of my mask like a sauna, but I obey without question. Looking up, I spot you rummaging through your purse. It sounds heavy. That's never a good sign. You toss it on the counter space behind the toilet. I suppose most customers use it to set their groceries down while taking a shit, but not you. You pull out a spray bottle and spritz it over the toilet seat. Even with my mask, the alcohol stings my nose.

"You're fucking disgusting trying to cum in a public toilet." Your harsh words rake my ears, but I sense your smile from underneath your mask--a smile telling me you know exactly what you plan to do with your little toy. My heart races, each thump threatening to burst through my chest.

"Now let's see what you bought." Grabbing one plastic shopping bag off the metal hook, it crinkles while you rummage around. "Chicken wings and frozen salmon? Really?" You scoff, "Is this the best you could do? What in the world did you plan to make with this?"

Gazing into your eyes, I answer sheepishly, voice muffled behind my mask, "Pot-au-feu?"

"Where's the beef? Where's the carrots? The onions? You're pathetic when you're all edged-out. All you can think about is cumming. Maybe I should deny that too."

"No, Miss, please, I need to cum. It's been days. I can't think clearly. I'm desperate."

"How desperate?"

The bathroom door opens again. Footsteps oblivious to my predicament pass by.

I whisper, "Bad enough to masturbate in a public toilet."

Your smooth hand runs over my face, yanking my mask down. The looped string painfully tugs against the back of my ears, making me wince.

"I think you're going to need it more than that. Tell me again, cum slut, how badly do you need to cum?" It was a statement, not a question. My cheeks sear in embarrassment, wondering if other customers can hear our exchange.

"Bad enough to do anything." I pause, gauging your reaction, "Anything to cum."

"That's better. Now let's see the rest of the goodies you bought me." One boot steps over my thigh while your weight presses into me, heel digging into the top of my stockings just above my kneecaps. The weight pins me further into the floor with my hand still up my cunt.

"Junk food? Are you getting your period soon, or did you swipe these while you touched yourself in a pathetic attempt to cum?"

"You said to buy snacks, Miss."

"Hah, well I guess I did." Your eyes twinkle, "Let's see, three packs of the same milk-vanilla cream wafers, five chocolate caramel bars, and..." An airy laugh escapes your mask, "... that's it. I can see you're not in the right state of mind for simple decision making so I'll forgive the indiscretion."

"Thank you, Miss." My juices continue trickling down my hand. Not giving into desire and finger fucking myself in front of you takes all of my self-control.

"Do you want to cum, edge-slut?"

"Yes, please. Oh god, please. I'm so close."

"Naughty little cum sluts don't get to choose where or how they cum." Your heel continues driving into my leg. The thin fabric starts to tear under its unrelenting edge.

"No, you can't do this to me. I need this. I'm desperate."

"Where's your manners, cum slut?" Your voice snaps against me like a whip while you line up the wafers and chocolate bars on the counter behind the toilet one by one. Gazing intently at you, I follow your hands as they open up one of the wafer packages, removing a rectangular cookie, eying it.

"Miss, please. I said I'd do anything."

"Later. Give me your hand, the one up your cunt."

Never breaking eye contact, I reluctantly slide my fingers out. They glisten with my arousal. You grab my hand roughly around the wrist.

Rubbing the cookie over my hand, my juices smear into the crispy wafer until crumbs stick to my palm, smothering it. Gloopy strands stick to the top. My lips part expectantly, but your intentions are cruel.

Snapping the wafer in half, letting crumbs sprinkle over my face, you place it on the edge of the toilet seat. You remove your heel from my leg. I keep my mouth open, but my eyes widen and my breath quickens, realizing what's expected.

I hesitate. No amount of alcohol spray will get rid of the rancid piss smell emanating from inside the toilet bowl. Maybe I'm misunderstanding what you want me to do.

Grabbing me by the collar, you force me to turn around, still on my knees, thrusting my face over the rim. The jangling from the bell echos off the porcelain. Thankfully, it's mostly clean.

"Taste your need, fucktoy."

My face dangles precariously over the bowl, lips brushing over the cum-coated cookie on the toilet seat. Eyes shut tight. I try not to think how disgustingly depraved this is. If this is how you want to use me, if this is what I need to do to cum, then I'll do it. I'll do anything.

Blood rushes to my cheeks as I relent, opening my mouth and grabbing the wafer halves from the porcelain rim with my teeth. Time stands still while I struggle to eat it all hands-free. Cautiously, I turn to look at you, emerald eyes cutting through me.

"You missed some, cum slut."

This humiliation can only go on so long, but I'm so fucking horny, I would even lick the toilet seat. Fuck, I actually run my tongue over it, picking up any spare cum-crusted crumbs. Does this please you, Miss? Does it please you enough to finally let me cum?

Without saying a word, the toe of your boot works its way between my legs, rubbing back and forth over my sopping slit. The friction from the suede mashes my clit. Bell tinkling softly, breath rasping, I grab the outer ledge of the toilet bowl, feeling you take me there. Reaching the cusp once more, you pull your foot away leaving me devoid of your touch, yet again hanging precariously over the edge.

"You're going to need to work harder than that."

A slimy patch glistens over the top of your boot.

"Clean it up, toilet-slut. Then I'll consider fucking you like the three-hole whore you are."

"Yes, Miss."

Shifting my position on my knees to bend over, kissing the cum-covered suede, I eagerly lick and suck off every gooey strand. I can't stop. I'm completely depraved, and the more you deny me, the further I'm willing to go.

My bare ass sticks out from under my skirt. You make me so uncontrollably wet. If someone barged in now, I would be completely available for them to fuck senseless. Tugging my braid, you guide my face up to meet your eyes. With one hand you unbutton your jeans, teasing me with a tuff of dark brown curls that match the drapes.

God, you are so fucking gorgeous. I'm so edged-out I don't even care that we're cramped together in a toilet stall. Who knows how many people are passing by while you humiliate me.

"Pleasure me, fucktoy. Make me cum and I'll give you that reward... maybe." A smirk shines playfully across your eyes. You're the worst teasing bitch in the history of bitches, but I don't care. I'll take you there.

I inch closer, letting my face nuzzle your mound before gently sliding your jeans and panties down. Arousal coats the bottom of the black cotton. The addictive smell of musk fills my nose. Before I can take time to appreciate it, my face is stuffed deep into your velvety folds, my braid suddenly a rein for you to pull me closer.

To think I don't even know your name, but I let you use me as your masturbatory aid, let you fuck my face hard with your cunt--marking me like a wild animal pissing all over its territory. You take and take, using me until I can't be used anymore. Relinquishing it all so I can let go, relax and recharge. For all I know, you have a family, a career, a separate life.

I am your secret, and you are mine.

Juices ooze over my face, a wet spot forming over the cotton mask yanked down over my chin. Mouth open, tongue out, I graze and suck on your clit. Your face contorts with pleasure while my eyes gaze up at you. A difficult task seeing that your drenched cunt smothers me to the point of suffocation, filling me with your scent. Your hand paws at your small breasts over your sweater. Knowing your reddish nipples are pointy and hard underneath only makes me cream myself more.

God, I love how wet I make you--almost as wet as me. Sensing you reach the edge, I don't hesitate to allow you to jump off the cliff into pure bliss. Your pleasure is mine, and I drink every last drop from your spasming cunt as you orgasm.

Leaving my lips clasped over your slit while you ride out the waves, my heartbeat crashes against my chest. Finally, this should be enough. Now you will pleasure me, Miss. At least... I hope you will.