Suddenly I See

I'm sitting in a coffee shop on 98th Street, just taking a break between grocery shopping and picking up the dry-cleaning to have a hot drink, when she walks past me. I barely even notice her at first, other than to think that her outfit really isn't suited to the early spring chill. But then she sits down a few tables away, facing me, and the way her legs are angled reveals just a little bit of her thigh underneath her skirt, and it hits me. I should be down there.

It's a perfect mental image, so real that I almost think I've done it for a moment; I can see myself setting down the coffee and standing up, walking over to that table, dropping to my knees, and absolutely burying my face in that woman's pussy. I can picture it in my head in every detail, not just the image but with all five senses. I know, in that moment, exactly what she smells like when she's aroused. I can hear her. She doesn't moan. She just lets out these tiny little kitten-ish whimpers, like she's too dignified to really let rip with a yell but she can't quite control herself. It's the most beautiful sound I can possibly imagine.

And then it hits me that I am imagining it, that I'm picturing myself down on my knees licking out another woman, and the image fades. I'm still sitting in my chair with a cup of coffee, still in a small crowd of people on a Thursday afternoon in a perfectly normal place doing perfectly normal things, and not suddenly and spontaneously deciding to become another woman's sex slave.

I set down the coffee when I realize that in the fantasy, that's exactly what I was. For that split-second, that little moment in my head, I wasn't just licking because I wanted to lick. I was licking because I had no other thought, no other purpose to my existence than to be between her thighs. I wasn't even a person, I was a sex toy that she was using to get off.

I remember that sensation of connection, of understanding that came over me, and suddenly I see it all over again. No, not all over again, this is new. Different details, but the same idea. I'm kneeling between her thighs like I was...God, like I was meant to be there. Her hands are curling around my hair in her passion, but she doesn't need to hold my head in place. I can't imagine ever wanting to be anywhere but down on my knees, my head between her legs, licking her snatch until her whimpers finally do turn to screams, until her screams turn to gasps, until her gasps turn to panting and she finally pushes my head away in exhaustion. Even when it does, I know I'll just be waiting until the moment when I can lick some more.

I come back to myself and realize I'm staring. This woman's probably going to think I'm some sort of pervert, the way I'm clearly looking at her legs underneath the table. But she hasn't pressed them together or crossed them or anything. If anything, she's spread them a little wider so that I can see more of that smooth, white expanse of flesh along her thighs, so that I can...

I can kiss all the way up those perfect legs. Starting with the feet, I know she'd want me to lavish a little extra attention on those. But as nice as they are, there's only one place I want to be now. Only one place I ever want to be now, and I keep kissing and licking and nibbling my way up her legs until I reach her cunt. I can feel the heat of her body before I even press my lips against her, and I understand why she hasn't needed a coat. She feels almost feverish against my tongue. I taste her arousal, and down there on the floor, I'm fingering myself. I don't seem to have clothes on anymore. I understand why. She wants to see me naked. She wants me to be naked and touching myself while I lick and lick and lick and...

I wipe away a tiny bead of drool when I come out of it this time. I don't know where these thoughts are coming from. I've never had any interest in other women. I'm engaged, for God's sake! I look down at my ring, trying to remember what sex with a man is like, trying to remember my fiancé's name, but all that comes to mind is the image of that ring pressing up against the woman's warm flesh as I sink three fingers deep into her pussy. Why didn't I realize that I could use my fingers as well as my tongue before now? Oh, God, there are so many ways to pleasure her and I've got to learn them all. My thumb presses onto her clit as I pump my fingers in and out, staring at her pussy as I finger-fuck her. I suddenly realize that I don't even know what she looks like, not really. I can describe her pussy in intimate detail, but her face is just a blur to me. I'm not meant to look at her face. I exist permanently at waist-level for my mistress.

I try to look up at her face now, here in the coffee shop that seems increasingly unreal to me, but her legs draw my gaze down like magnets. She looks incomplete without a naked slave girl between her thighs, licking away at her pussy, and I almost can't understand why the other patrons don't see it. Maybe they do. I'm having a hard time telling fantasy apart from reality at the moment, but I feel sure that if I were to go over there and start licking, nobody in this room would bat an eye. They understand, I feel sure of it. They know that this beautiful, perfect woman deserves a human sex toy. They'd only be jealous that it wasn't them.

I suddenly realize that I've draped my coat over myself during one of these fantasies without even realizing it. I look like a woman who's a little cold, but my fingers are slipping down into the waistband of my skirt and I'm touching myself. I can't stop now, even though this is a public place. None of that matters; the power of these fantasies supersedes all other social conventions. I'm just doing what I'm meant to do.

I drift off into the fantasy again when she spreads her legs a little bit wider, letting me see her panties. I wonder if she knows what I'm thinking, if she's aware that I'm letting my fantasies take me over and turn me into her willing pussy-licker while I finger myself in a public place. God, I hope so. A sudden terror grips me. What if she doesn't want me to lick her pussy? Someone as beautiful as her must have so many pussy-slaves, she has to be able to pick and choose. What if I were to walk up to her and offer myself to her and she said 'No'? I don't think I could take it if she refused to let me service her cunt. That fear paralyzes me, keeps me from moving as I sit there watching her thighs. Except for my fingers, which just keep pumping away inside my own pussy.

Suddenly, she gets up. Her legs just snap together like a trap and she stands up and heads for the bathroom. For a moment, I don't even know what to do. I'm lost in the fantasy of learning every detail of her erogenous zones, of becoming a pussy-slave that's so perfect, she'll have no choice but to accept me between her thighs, and the intrusion of reality leaves me dazed and light-headed. It also leaves me aroused, halfway to a mounting orgasm, but when she walks away, I know I have to follow. I pull my fingers out of my pussy, still slick and scented with my musk, grab my purse and head for the restroom. This time, I don't even try to wipe the drool off my chin.

I race into the bathroom, empty except for the two of us. I see her feet on the floor in one of the stalls, and I can't help myself, I flatten to the ground and crawl under the divider. I know my dress is getting dirty and I'm making a spectacle of myself, but at the same time it feels right to abase myself before her completely. I should be on my knees before her, I don't have the right to rise in her presence.

"What--what's going on?" she asks. "Who are you?" She sounds angry, maybe even a little scared, and for a moment it crosses my mind that I've gone crazy. Maybe this was all just a fantasy in my head and I'm about to get arrested for propositioning another woman in a public restroom, but I can't stop myself now.

"Please," I whisper, absolutely babbling with arousal and need, "please let me lick your pussy, let me be your pussy-slave, let me stay here on my knees forever fucking you with my tongue and my fingers and oh, fuck, I need to be there between your thighs, it's the most important thing in the world to me, please..." I'm still worried that she doesn't understand, but then I notice that she never took off her underwear. She was just sitting there on the toilet, waiting for me to come into the room and crawl to her, testing my devotion by pretending to be shocked, and realizing that is the happiest moment of my life.

"Yes," she says, and I practically lunge forward to pull off her panties. The hem of her dress rubs against the back of my neck as I inhale her arousal, and she smells just like I imagined she would. She smells just like she made me imagine she would. I don't know how she did it, but I don't care. She put these thoughts in my head, but I don't mind because they're *wonderful*.

She tastes just like I thought she would, too, all salty and slick on my tongue, and I'm doing my best to pull my clothes off so I can be naked for her, but it's hard because I can't move my head away from her pussy. I don't even know if I can't because I won't let myself, or if I can't because her body is exerting some sort of magical pull that locks me into servitude. It feels like magic holding me there, but I can't tell what's real anymore. The only thing I know is real is her taste and her scent and her pleasure.

I can hear her whimpers now, and I'm flushed with pride that I'm doing a good job of pleasing her. Her fingers are wrapped around my hair, just like I've always wanted them to be, just like I've always dreamed of. Ever since I first knew what sex was, I've been waiting for this moment, I just didn't let myself know it until now. She's whispering things to me, talking in between the whimpers, but I know that the only thing I have to pay attention to is making her cum.

I feel her thighs clench around my head, but I don't stop licking. Her juices are all over my face now, but I understand that it's only proper for a pussy-slave like me to have a face glazed with a woman's cum. I wish I could leave it there forever. My own orgasm hits, and for a moment I wonder how it happened. Then I notice my own hand, busily pumping away at my pussy. I hadn't even realized I was pleasuring myself, I was so caught up in pleasuring her. That's so perfect, so natural, so right that it makes me cum again.

But it doesn't make me neglect my duties. I'm still licking, still using my other hand to bring her even greater pleasure. Her whimpers come faster now, echoing off the bathroom walls, but I know that nobody will come in. Nobody will disturb us, she's made sure of that. I don't know how she's done it, I don't even know how I know, but she's made this into our own little world of pleasure. The others outside will only wish that they could be in here, that they could be right where I am right now making my mistress cum again and again and again...

Until finally she pushes me away in exhaustion. And just like I knew I would, I'm already picturing in my head the moment when she lets me lick her again. It's always going to be there, locked into my brain never to be removed. The rest of my life is just going to be the time between my chances to be her pussy-slave. I don't mind that. So many people will never get the chance to be her pussy-slave at all that I can't complain too much if I'm not constantly buried between her warm thighs. I'll go through the rest of my life happy, knowing that I'm secretly one of the chosen few who get to service her from time to time.

She takes my cell phone number and kisses me on the lips. I know she's tasting herself. When she leaves, I kneel there on the floor of the public restroom for a long moment, just basking in the glory of her remembered presence, before I finally pull my head together and start getting my clothes on. I've still got a lot to do today, dry cleaning to pick up and errands to run and I'm having dinner with my fiancé tonight.

I hope I can remember his name by then.

THE END