This site contains explicit stories of sexual & kinky fantasies and is not intended for readers under 18.

Lucy saw Mark standing in front of the NoHo Grand looking at his phone. He looked handsome in the streetlight. A well-fitting black suit and a skinny black tie, holding a briefcase. Like a Tarantino character or something. He looked up to see her as she crossed the street.

The plan was to meet for drinks before the party. It was their fourth date, but their first party together. 

She didn’t feel like herself in the short skirt. She absently tugged at the hem as she crossed the street, trying to cover her thighs. The skirt wasn’t ridiculous, but it was short and gray and pleated and looked a lot like the actual skirt she wore to the private school she attended before high school.

The socks he had given her and told her to wear only came up to just above her knees. The blouse was buttoned up, but without a bra under it, she felt like every bit of her was exposed. Braless in a light white blouse made her aware of the softness of her breasts, just like the occasional breeze that crept under her skirt made her aware of her pussy and how wet it was just from wearing what he told her to wear. 

I had given her very precise instructions on what to wear that night, how to groom, how to do her hair. She had enjoyed the meticulousness of his directions and had nearly come while reading off the bullet list. She didn’t, because number one on the list was no orgasms until the party. And then, “only if you behave.”

Just remembering that line almost made her stumble.

When she got to him, she slipped her arms around him, and he hugged her tightly. She liked that he didn’t question things like that. If she needed attention, he gave it to her. He knew how far out of her comfort zone he was pushing her. He squeezed her tightly and smiled down at her.

“How’s my girl?” He whispered.

“Very nervous,” she said in the pouty voice she seemed to slip into without really being aware of it. It was rare for her to speak in that voice out on the street, and like the skirt it made her self aware and uneasy.

“You’re being very brave, and I think that’s lovely,” he said, kissing her head.

It was stupid what his words did to her. How his praise made her swoon and blush.

“Yeah, um, thanks,” she mumbled.

He looked around.

“The trains are running a bit late, I’m wondering if we want to skip the drink and just head down. I feel like I might want to have a clear head tonight anyhow. How about you?”

She nodded. 

He looked at her more pointedly.

“Can you use your words?”

She swallowed.

“I don’t need a drink.”

“Good, let’s go,” he said, turning and heading for the subway entrance.

She jumped and little and followed him, still aware of the cool air on her naked thighs.

They walked down to the old Bowery station, full of dirt and memories. His punk youth and her first trips into the city from Long Island.

When they got to the platform, they found it nearly empty. Mark took Lucy’s hand and led her to the end of the platform, behind a stairway. There, he kissed her.

She tensed at first and then melted into his kiss, into his arms. She had forgotten what a good kisser he was. She forgot how much being kissed well transformed her. When he parted from her, she looked up at him with wide hungry eyes.

“You look very pretty. I’m glad you found the right kind of skirt. You look exactly how I imaged. Perfect,” he said, a thumb on her cheek and then two fingers under her chin, lifting her face to look at him.

He pulled her closer and put his hands on her hips and kissed her again, then, suddenly his eyes opened wide in surprise.

His hands rubbed her hips. She realized he was feeling for her panties, which she hadn’t worn, as per his instructions.

“Oh my god, you’re really not wearing any panties?” He said, looking both impressed and a bit shocked.

Her hands went to the hem of her dress, trying to pull it down a bit to cover her thighs.

“You-you said not to,” she whispered.

“I was kidding. I didn’t think you actually would. I mean, we are in the subway for Christ’s sake. Only a real slut would go out like that, with no panties and that skirt. I mean, anyone could see,” he whispered into her ear.

His tone rang with that sarcastic teasing she had become used to and often daydreamed about. He was fucking with her. Wasn’t he? It was difficult to tell where the lines were.

“I-but-you said,” she tried to figure out the right words, she bit her lip and got smaller and smaller as he laughed.

He leaned into her, and she backed up until her back was pressed against the cold tile wall. He looked around, making sure no one was around. 

“You should have known better. What kind of girl goes out without panties,” he said, grabbing her wrists hard.

She squirmed against him.

“I-but, ouch, you’re hurting me,” she whined.

“You told me to,” she said suddenly, looking him in the eyes.

He shook his head slowly.

“I can’t win!” She said with a pout.

He smiled a wide wolfish smile.

“Now you’re getting it,” he said with a low rumble of a laugh, letting go of one wrist and lowering his hand, slipping it under her skirt.

Her whines went up an octave and then turned into a long low moan.

“Did I tell you to be soaking wet, too? You’ll have to stand on the train, or you’ll leave a puddle,” he said as she clutched his arm, breathe caught and eyes glazed with need.

In the distance, the sound of the train roared. His hand was gone in a flash, and she was left weak-kneed and empty, leaning against the wall.

He casually licked his fingers clean and then ran his hand through his hair.

“This is our train. It’s just a few stops. Try and look respectable,” he said without looking back at her.

She pulled at her skirt and felt fire in her cheeks.

“And maybe cross your arms. Your nipples are sticking out,” he said, brushing a thumb across the little point that stuck out under her blouse.

She jumped and covered her chest as the train pulled in, and the doors opened.

They got on, and she stood, as he had told her to, and he stood close to her whispering in her ear the whole way uptown how everyone could tell what kind of girl she was.

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