The Waiting

Phyllis stood outside the door to The Outlook. Brandon was late again. If the rest of the night proved typical, he would arrive in about an hour, and in still another hour feign sleepiness in order to go out later with someone who had caught his eye.

She wondered why she put up with it. She would have sneered at a woman in her position six months ago. But here she was.

She walked down to the streetlight beside the alley, looking across the street at the empty windows. Again.

She stopped as she heard a noise and looked down the dangerous corridor masked in shadows. She stepped around the side of the building, letting her eyes adjust to the dim light.

"Mistress," came a voice, "Please let me lick your Holy Altar!"

The response was deep and earthy and sent a shiver up Phyllis' spine. "Louder, pet. Mean it. Beg. Worship."

"MISTRESS YOUR CUNTWHORE BEGS YOU TO ALLOW HER TO LICK YOUR WELLSPRING OF JOY!"

Phyllis was electrified. She could just make them out now. One woman, her body a silhouette of lust and surrender, kneeling before another shadow, a glorious vision of dark heat. She'd heard of such things in fantasies, but this... this was real.

"My what?" said the Mistress, teasing her distraught disciple.

"YOUR LUSCIOUS CUNT, MISTRESS!"

"You may, pet. One lick. Cum for me as you do."

Phyllis reached into her panties and felt the smooth wetness of her own hot cunt, the juices coating her fingers as her legs shook. She knew she could be seen, but it only made her hotter. The impulse to participate was like heady wine, making her drunk with her own need.

As the slavegirl screamed out in climax, Phyllis felt her own orgasm rip through her like a hot wind from the Sahara, her mouth whimpering as she fought to hold back her answering moan of passion.

She fell against the wall, sliding down. Her legs splayed open as she pressed hard against her clit, willing her own surrender to continue until the buzz in her head covered everything around her with yellow, melting wax.

When she became aware, the women were gone. She looked around quickly. No one had seen. She stood and adjusted her clothes nervously.

Thinking herself safe, she walked back to the entrance of the club as a car pulled up. She ignored it.

The rear window slid down, and a now familiar earthy voice said, "You'll do well. Get in."

She stood in indecision for a moment. She was on the edge of something new... something beyond dangerous, from which knew she might never come back.

Brandon's voice beside her tripped her into awareness. "Sorry I'm late, sweetie. Late night at work. God, am I tired."

"No problem, Brandon," said Phyllis, reaching for the car door. "I have someone else to wait on, now."

Brandon stood, and then, shrugging, turned away and walked slowly into the club.

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