Daisy Goes to a Bar

In the apartment, He bent her over the arm of the sofa and flipped her skirt up. The air hit her bare ass, as her panties were somewhere still in the bar.

“Spread your legs,” he ordered.

Image of  a flapper in a white chemise and high heeled shoes.

Daisy spread her legs, and she knew that she was lewdly displayed for him. After her evening out, and his relentless teasing, she was nearly dripping her anticipation. She bit her lip when she felt his fingers on the curve of her ass, and she whimpered as his fingers ran down the backs of her thighs.

“Did you want something,” he asked, his fingers still trailing over thighs.

Daisy nodded, her bobbed hair sliding forward to hide her face. “Please,” she said, a little breathlessly, “Please Master, fuck me?”

Sir laughed and slapped her ass. “So quickly?” He squeezed her ass. “No, first I want to hear all about your time in the bar.”

Daisy felt her face flush. She knew this would be his game. “I went to the bar, as you ordered,” she said, wondering if this recitation would be more humiliating if she was forced to look at him. “I got my drink and sat at the table.” She thought back to the bar, and the group of men who’d come in. She did her best to describe the way they’d looked at her and the way it felt to tease them just a little. The way she’d let her skirt ride up to reveal her stocking tops. His hands continued to stroke her ass and her thighs.


“And,” her voice was quiet, “I pretended to drop my purse, so I could bend over in front of them.” The memory had her quivering with lust. Displaying herself in such an obvious way and before strangers had been a rush. His hands slowed, caressing and kneading her flesh. “Then your next message came.”

“Speak up,” he ordered his hands growing rougher.

“I went into the bathroom, and took off my panties,” she said, trying to keep the trembling from her voice. “I sent you a picture.” She could feel her juices dripping as she related what happened. How she’d slipped off her panties and tugged her dress back into place. How she’d almost masturbated in the bathroom, wanting so desperately to come. But she knew he’d be angry if she came without asking. Instead, she’d sent the picture of her lacy pink panties to him, and waited still in the bathroom for his reply. His hands moved down her thighs, between her thighs, but never touching her aching her clit.

“And what did I tell you to do?”

His message was burned into her brain as much as the event was, “you asked me to go back to my table and give my panties to the man who asked for them.” In the bathroom, she’d stared at that message realizing that he had to know one of the men. No matter how much she’d been teasing them, no stranger was going to ask her for her panties. But the act of giving them to a stranger was both humiliating and so arousing. She walked back into the bar and returned to her seat. She kept the panties balled up in her hand, and looked over at the group of men. Once again, they were looking at her. She wondered which one of them would approach her. “I sat and waited, and”

He interrupted, “and how did you feel, waiting to give your panties to a stranger in a bar?”

She moaned as he punctuated the question with another smack on her ass. She tried to find the words to explain, “I felt humiliated,” her words died in a groan as he ran his finger between her labia.

“Just humiliated?” He asked, his finger still sliding in the wetness between her lips. When she didn’t immediately answer he pinched one lip. 

“And it made me wet, Master,” she yelped. “I liked sitting there without my panties,” she panted. “And I liked looking at the men, wondering who was going to ask for my panties.”

He released her lips, “And did you give them away?”

flapper reclining topless on a sofa, while wearing black stockings

Daisy bit her lip and nodded, “Yes,” her voice was quiet. She knew he wanted all the details. “A man, not from the group at the bar, came over to me.” She recalled watching him walk over, wondering how she had missed him coming in. He was the only person in the bar wearing a suit. “I wasn’t sure if he was just coming over to hit on me, or if he was going to ask.” She sat on that barstool, her stomach fluttering and her thighs wet. This stranger knew that she was just waiting to give away her panties – he likely knew that she had a Master. When he reached her table, she felt his eyes take in her low cut dress and smoky eye makeup. He’d asked to sit, and Daisy hadn’t been sure what to do. If he was just a guy hitting on her, her humiliation would be doubled when the real man came by to ask about her panties. “I told him he could sit down,” she said, remembering the exchange.

Master’s fingers returned to her labia, sliding in just enough to tease her.

“He sat down,” she continued, thrusting back against her Master’s hand. She whimpered, “He asked for my name, and complimented my dress.” Daisy noted that the man hadn’t offered his name, and his eyes kept returning to her tits. “And then you sent your next message,” she whispered, her face flushing recalling what it had said and what she had done.

“What did my message say?

Daisy shifted her weight, still subtly moving against his hand. “You told me to do whatever the man who asked for my panties asked me to do.”

“What did he ask for?”

Daisy whimpered as his fingers once again left her. “First he asked for my panties,” she answered. She recalled him asking, and she pressed the crumple of pink lace into his hand. He shook them out, looking at them in the bar. She couldn’t tell if anyone else was paying attention to them or not. He said how sexy her panties were and run his fingers over the gusset. “Then he said I had to prove these were the panties I’d worn into the bar,” she paused recalling how those words had filled her with lust and shame. She wondered if this was her line if this game was too far. But she also wanted to do whatever this man ordered her to do; she wanted the humiliation that fanned the ached between her legs. Before her master stopped touching her, she continued. “He asked me to spread my legs, and told me he was going to check.” Her face was blazing at the retelling, and when she’d blushed at the bar the man in the suit noticed and asked why a slut like her would blush.

And at the bar, Daisy shifted in her seat, opening her legs to this stranger. “He ordered me to look him in the eye,” Daisy said, and she felt her wetness drip. She’d met his eye and felt his hand on her thigh, his fingers inching along her stockings. He’d commented on how sexy he thought stockings were, and how she was breathing faster. “And his fingers brushed against my labia,” Daisy kept her face buried in the couch. “He said he liked a hairless cunt, and that he could feel how wet I was.”

She heard the sound of her Master undoing his belt, “And were you wet?”



A clothed sitting behind a reclining woman. Her stockings and panties are visible.

“Yes,” she said half in a moan and half a sob, “having that stranger finger me in a bar was so fucking hot and so fucking humiliating.”

She heard the zipper on his pants and felt his hands on her hips. His cock slipped between her lips, not inside her, just teasing like his fingers had been.

“Please, Master” she begged thrusting against him. “Please fuck me.”

“Did you want the man at the bar to fuck you?” He asked, his movements not changing.

“Yes, yes,” Daisy cried, “I wanted him to finger me right there on that bar stool. I wanted to come while he watched.”

And she felt her Master’s cock press into her, “Good girl,” he said. And finally gave her the fucking she’d been begging for. He did not hold back, fucking her fast and hard, finally letting her stop talking.


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