Stepping Out - Second Date

Saturday morning Becca found herself in front of her computer, staring into a spiraling cascade of pornographic images of herself, listening to the soft hypnotic voice come through the speaker.

You were such a slut last night. It felt good, didn't it? It feels so good to show off your body, and the more people look, the better you feel. Turning people on feels so good, and getting people off feels even better, doesn't it, Becca? You're feeling so good right now just thinking about it, imagine how good it will feel to do it.

Everything it said was absolutely accurate, of course. She had been a slut last night, inviting her date to stare at her breasts all during their meal, then taking him to a park and blowing him, even though someone was watching.

All her life she had thought sex should be all about reciprocation, but last night she'd gotten exactly what she wanted, and yet she hadn't asked him to do a thing except look at her. She'd gone home somehow simultaneously satisfied and sexually frustrated, but she'd taken care of the latter with her vibrator and her fingers and only a warm glow remained.

She had been a slut, by any definition she could think of, giving a blowjob on the first date. And he, after he got off, probably thought of her as a slut. And, as the Mentor program was telling her just now, that felt very good too. The more people thought of her as a slut, the better she felt. The more she experienced that, the more she wanted it.

The voice of the Mentor program faded, the spirals settled down. It was such a great program. After running it, she was happy about who she was, and she knew just what to wear on her dates. She had two dates that day, one for lunch and one for dinner, and old Becca would have debated for hours what to wear. But she knew. She had several outfits from Wicked Wear that the program had thoughtfully ordered for her, and there was no need to look at any of her other clothing. It was way too conservative.

It felt so good to dress like a slut, and have people stare at her. Last night men and women had stared at her, which was amazing. A few women had glared at her, and that felt good too. She knew they were categorizing her as dangerous and sexy, and she loved that.

She opened her Plush dating profile. She still had an hour before her date. Would he be another shy one, who had to be told he could look, and touch? Becca smiled. She should really let people know what to expect when they went out with her. With a few keystrokes, she tried to change her profile name from Becca7346.

"SlutBecca is taken," the program told her.

She tried something else. Finally, on the fourth try, she successfully changed her handle to "<3slutbecca<3."

A profile's purpose, after all, was to convey a sense of who one was. If anyone didn't want that, well, what was the point of going out with them?

She spent most of the next hour applying makeup and getting dressed. She applied a dark red to her mouth, and lengthened her eyelashes with mascara. She donned wispy black panties and a lacy black bra, and over that pulled on a vinyl skirt that laced up each side, leaving two inches of skin bare, and a black mesh top. Then she examined herself in the full-length mirror on her bedroom door. She looked slutty. In fact, she thought she might be mistaken for a professional street walker, which amused her. The top and the bra combined sort of covered her nipples. She fancied that people would stare, be unsure of what they'd seen, and stare some more. Perfect.

Then she turned to the side, and realized that the waistband of her panties showed. That wasn't right. She rucked up the skirt, and pulled the panties off, then smoothed the skirt down again. Much better. Not that she had any objection to people seeing her panties, but this way, everyone, including her date, would know she wasn't wearing any.

The thought turned her on. She gave a little shimmy in front of her mirror, and reached for some dangly earrings. Maybe she should get more than just her ears pierced. She had a friend, Carrie, who had recently gotten her nipples done, and she was constantly lifting her shirt to show people. If Becca had nipple piercings, she'd have an excuse to do the same. The guise of showing off piercings would give her an excuse to show off her tits. Maybe that was Carrie's idea, too.

Come to think of it, Carrie had been the one that got her to take the test that led to her installing the Mentor program. For the first time, she thought of her friend in a new light. She wasn't attracted to Carrie, exactly, but on the other hand, if she made out with Carrie in some public place, people would definitely stare. She was pretty sure that between the two of them, at the beach, say, they could tent a lot of guy's swimsuits.

The more they look, the better you feel. She recalled the words of the Mentor, and of course, they were completely true.

She looked at the clock. 12:48. She was supposed to be at the restaurant at one, and she'd be slightly late, but that was fine. She wanted to make an entrance. Old Becca would have gotten there early, sat in a corner, and watched her date come in. If she didn't like what she saw, she'd skedaddle. But she was a new woman, and there was no way she was going to back out.

She started listening to a podcast. It was a new one, all about how to be less sexually inhibited. The women on the podcast sounded brave, daring, sexual, and happy. She wanted to be like them.

The problem with planning to be late, thought Becca ten minutes later, stuck in traffic and only halfway to her destination, was that you didn't know if things would make you even later. Sure, a lot of drivers had stared at her through the window during the stop and go traffic, and that hadn't been bad, but how late would the guy stick around? At a moment when traffic seemed particularly bad, she used the app to text: "Stuck in traffic, but omw."

Her GPS suggested that she should turn off this road, take some backstreets, and use the parkway, so she did. On the parkway, she stepped on the accelerator.

Two minutes later, lights flashed and a siren wailed, and she had to pull over. She turned off the podcast. The traffic cop just parked behind her for a good half-minute, and then sauntered over with agonizing slowness.

"What seems to be the hurry, ma'am?" he drawled.

"There's no excuse," Becca said, deciding contrition was the best approach. "I'm just late for something. I didn't think I was going that fast."

"Fifty-three in a thirty-five zone, ma'am. That's almost reckless driving." The officer looked her over. She supposed they had to look everywhere, in case someone had a gun or something.

"I didn't think I was being reckless, officer. Just driving as fast as I safely could, I suppose. I'm late. Please write me a ticket, I won't argue."

The officer gave her breasts another look. "That's quite the outfit. Planning to wear that in public?"

"Private event," Becca lied. "With my windows up I didn't figure there was any harm..."

"It's not indecent, quite," said the officer. "What are you late for?"

"A date. Please just write me a ticket?"

"I'll need your registration and your license, ma'am."

The whole process took several more minutes. It was one thing to be late for a date, but she had another one later that evening. She hadn't even looked to see who with. She wanted more than just lunch, and she'd want to shower in between, and all that. It was a great contrast to her usual weekend of binging old TV. She had places to be.

She suspected the officer was being a little slower because he was enjoying the view. In any other situation, that would be gratifying, but not right now.

"Enjoy your date, ma'am, but don't speed on the way. " He finally handed her the citation and walked back to his patrol car.

Becca restarted the podcast. She kept well within the speed limit, and finally got to Tio Chico's.

Chico's was your typical upscale Mexican-American restaurant, not too fancy, but nice enough. The waitresses wore short flouncy skirts with crinolines, and there was a mariachi band playing in the corner. Her date had gotten a booth in the far corner, she was told, and heads turned as she walked the length of the restaurant.

"I'm Peter," said the man waiting for her. He was older than her, with a distinguished touch of grey at the temples, and he stood as she arrived like an old-fashioned gentleman. She wondered if she looked young enough to be his daughter. People would stare, and they'd talk. She grinned at the thought.

"Pleased to meet you, Peter. I'm Becca."

"The pleasure is entirely mine," he said, and waved her to sit down. As she sat, she caught sight of his hand. He had a wedding ring on.

"You're, um, married," she said. Old Becca would run. And even new Becca wasn't so sure. Sure, adultery was slutty, but her ethics were intact.

"Yes. Didn't you read my profile?"

How could she explain that she hadn't, that she hadn't even chatted with him. That had all been the Mentor, acting on her behalf. She really should have done her research, but the idea that the Mentor was setting her up with people, and she had no choice about it, was very hot. She liked the idea that she didn't have to care who she was going out with, but now she realized that sexy idea had some drawbacks. It wasn't very practical.

Being practical was not like being slutty. She didn't feel better the more practical she felt, not at all. But that didn't mean it wasn't a good idea. "I, uh, skimmed," she said.

He chuckled. "I thought you'd read some, because your answers were so on point. But I don't know how you could have missed it - ah well. My wife and I are poly. She's got a date tonight, in fact. She knows exactly where I am right now, and she's totally on board. You'll meet her, at some point, if we have more dates in the future." He seemed to see her expression of doubt and pulled out his phone. "You can talk to her now, if you like."

"Uh, okay." She took the phone from him.

After a few rings, a woman answered, "Hello?"

"Um, you're Peter's wife?"

The woman laughed. "Last I checked," she said. "I'm Teresa. You must be his date, what's your name?"

"Um, Becca."

"Slutbecca?"

Becca blinked. "Um, yes, that's right."

"I was just perving your profile. Are you really a slut, Becca?"

Becca wondered what Peter could hear of his wife's half of the conversation. But denying it was out of the question. "Yes," she said. "It makes me feel so good."

Teresa laughed again. "Well, have fun. Condoms required for vaginal and anal. Give Peter my love." And she hung up.

"Your wife, uh, sends her love," said a still somewhat stunned Becca.

"Awesome. I've had dates where we spend most of the time talking about our other relationships, but on the whole, I don't think they've been as good as dates where we talk about each other. And may I say that you are looking very, very sexy today." As he spoke, he let his gaze roam her torso before returning to her eyes, without apology.

"Thank you," she said, blushing and feeling pleasantly warm. "So, then, us."

A waiter came by before Peter could say more, dropping off chips and salsa. "Anything to drink?"

"Just water," Peter said.

"A margarita?" Becca asked.

"Of course. I'll need to see some ID."

Becca blinked. "I'm thir - oh, hell." She opened her purse, fishing out her wallet for the second time that day to show her identification. The waiter stared at her breasts the whole time.

"Thank you. We'll have those right out."

"I'd prefer to keep them covered for the moment, thank you," said Becca.

The waiter looked up. "I mean the drinks!"

"I suppose you did," said Becca, "But it was reasonable to think you were talking about what you were staring at."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, please don't tell my -"

"I won't tell your manager, providing you promise to do it again."

The waiter turned red and hurried away. Becca turned to look at her date, who was suppressing laughter. "I was going to ask you why you changed your name," Peter said, "but I'm beginning to understand."

"I wanted my dates to know what to expect."

Peter smiled. "And what would that be?"

"Don't you know?"

"I believe I do, and if you like I'll write my guesses down on a piece of paper, but I would find it enjoyable if you said it. You're a curious mix of shy and forward, and I'm enjoying exploring the liminal space between the two. You enjoyed teasing the waiter, but at the same time, you're blushing. It's delightful."

Well, two can play that game, thought Becca. "I enjoy my dates thinking about my body, and what they'd like to do with me, all through dinner. I enjoy watching them squirm as they surreptitiously try to adjust themselves because they are aroused and can't do anything about it."

Peter chuckled. "That would make you a tease, but hardly a slut. A slut would do something about it, after dinner, at least."

"I suppose that's true," she said, meeting his gaze. "But there is still a matter of exactly what I'll do."

"I shall savor the mystery," said Peter. "People keep sneaking glances this way. Do you like that?"

"Yes," she said. "What do you think they are thinking?"

"I think they are looking at your breasts, and wondering what exactly they are seeing through your top. And I think they are looking at your legs, and your skirt, and noting that you aren't wearing panties. Some are lusting after you. Some are disapproving. And some are ardently wishing they were me right now. That man, I suspect they are thinking, is definitely getting some."

Becca blushed. "I mean," she said coyly, "I do owe you some kind of apology. For being so very late."

He chuckled. "The most sincere apologies, I find, are given from the proper position."

"On my knees?" Becca suggested.

"Exactly. Only once kneeling is it proper to continue with the part of the apology that involves using your mouth."

Becca smiled. He certainly knew what he wanted - much more so than her last date - and she liked that. "I'll do just about anything to make it up to you," she said, getting a little wet just thinking about it.

"Do you have any particular dietary concerns?" he asked.

"Is that a strange way of asking me if I swallow?"

"No, it's a change of subject."

"I'll eat just about anything."

"Excellent," he said, and smiled as a long-legged waitress came by with their drinks.

"Are you two ready to order?" the woman asked. She smiled at Becca. "That's such a cute top!"

"Oh! Thank you," said Becca, "But I haven't even had a chance to look-"

"I'll have the fajitas," Peter said, "And Slutbecca here will have the carne asada tacos."

"But I -" Becca said, suddenly stopping when he realized what Peter had called her.

But the waitress took it in stride. "Very good," she said. "I'll get that right in."

"I do like to see a pretty young woman eating tacos, don't you, Maria?" Peter asked the waitress. Obviously he knew her.

"If she's good at it, it can be delightful, Mr. Jamison."

"Have you any experience eating tacos, Slutbecca?" Peter asked her.

"Of course I've -" and Becca again stopped, catching the double entendre. Aware of both Peter and Maria looking at her, she rallied, and smiled at Maria. "I'm glad that you will bring me the first taco I've ever eaten," she said.

"It's really too bad I'm on shift until nine," said Maria. "I'll get that order right in for you, Mr. Jamison."

But service was not particularly quick. Becca had to sip lightly at her margarita to make it last, and resist the temptation to fill up on chips.

"So how long," asked Peter, "have you known you were a slut?"

Becca shook her head. "Not long at all," she admitted.

"But you like it?"

How could she not, as good as it made her feel. She nodded.

"And now Maria knows. Don't worry, we're old friends. She knows my wife, too." He paused. "But I think almost anyone who sees the way you're dressed can guess that you're a slut. Is that the way you like it?"

Becca didn't answer.

"Is that the way you like it, Slutbecca?" he asked again, ever so slightly louder.

Becca wondered if the people at the nearby tables could hear. There were no children within thirty feet, at least. "Yes," she said, fearing that he would ask louder until he got an answer.

"Good. Finger yourself. I know you aren't wearing any panties, and no one can see what you're doing."

She hesitated for just a moment. No one could see, but if she wasn't careful someone might guess. But her pussy tingled at the thought of being caught, and her hand slipped down between her legs almost without thinking.

Peter smiled. "So slutty. Keep that up, until I ask you to stop. Don't cum without permission."

She did as he asked. And the entire time, he kept up a quiet run of dialog that reminded her a little of the Mentor. "I bet it feels very good to do that. You're such a slut, Becca. I bet it turns you on to think you might get caught, doesn't it. Put your fingers inside, that's a good girl. Good sluts get their fingers all wet."

"I'm close," she said. "But please don't make me cum in front of all these people."

"Make? I won't even let you. Just hold your fingers inside you and don't move. You're all flushed. I bet you're frustrated. Such a horny slut, aren't you? Your body must want release, even though you know it would be a bad idea. I bet you're a screamer, aren't you, slut?"

She nodded, not trusting herself with language.

Finally, Maria showed up with the food. Was she allowed to take her fingers out now? She could, of course, but it was turning her on to follow directions. Could Maria tell, or guess, the reason one of her hands was under the table.

"Becca, lick off your fingers before you eat," Peter said. He smiled at Maria. "She wanted to compare the taste of her taco to yours."

Becca froze. But Maria just turned and stared at her, not making any motion to leave even though she'd delivered the food. Peter stared at her, too. Slowly, she drew her hand out from under the table. It was shiny with her juices. Maria crossed her arms, as if to indicate that she didn't have all day.

Becca put her fingers in her mouth and licked them clean.

"I think, Mr. Jamison, that her style is more suited to eating sausages than tacos." With that Maria turned and calmly walked over to some other patrons.

"Well. We will find out," Peter said.

But Peter was a very slow eater. He made a point of savoring each morsel. Sometimes he stopped entirely to watch Becca eat her tacos. At first, Becca thought this was fun, and made a point of licking her tacos rather than eating them when she caught his gaze, but as time wore on she started to get impatient. She was getting very horny. It wasn't a craving for release, exactly. She wanted to make Peter cum, sooner rather than later. Or Maria. She wasn't normally attracted to women, and it wasn't as if Maria had made her jump the fence, but causing any orgasm would satisfy the need she had to be a slut.

She contented herself with looking around, and catching people staring. They pretty much all looked away, but she could imagine they would go home and jack off, thinking about her. That satisfied her for a while, but there was really no way of knowing what they would do. Eventually, she decided to put her cards on the table. "I have an appointment at five," she said, which wasn't quite true. But she'd need time to get ready. "So if you want to, um, do something afterward, we should probably not stay much longer."

"Do something?" Peter asked. "Oh, there are several things I'd like to do with a slut like you."

She grinned and pushed her chest out. "Shall we get the check, then?"

"Are you that eager for sex, Slutbecca?"

Dammit. She squirmed in her seat. "Yes."