The Date

Oliver picked her up at seven, looking nothing like the naked man who'd fucked her arse just days before. He wore a crisp button-down shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, dark jeans that fit him perfectly. He smelled like cedar and something clean, and when he smiled at her, it was shy, almost boyish.

"You look absolutely beautiful," he said, and Monica felt a genuine blush creep across her cheeks.

She'd chosen a simple red dress, something that hugged her curves without being too obvious. Low heels, minimal makeup. She wanted to feel like a woman on a date, not a slut waiting to be used. Though, if she was honest with herself, she wouldn't have minded a bit of both. They went to a small Italian place, the kind with checkered tablecloths and candles in wine bottles. The conversation came easily—Oliver talked about his job as a personal trainer, his love of photography, the way he'd grown . Monica found herself opening up in ways she hadn't expected.

"My last relationship was a disaster," she admitted, twirling pasta around her fork. "He wanted me to be this perfect little girlfriend, you know? Cook, clean, smile pretty. He didn't care what I wanted."

Oliver's expression softened. "That sounds suffocating."

"It was," Monica said. "I felt like I was disappearing. Like the real me was getting smaller and smaller until there was nothing left."

"And now?"

Monica smiled, a real smile. "Now I feel like I'm finally finding out who that real person is. And she's not what I expected."

Oliver reached across the table, his fingers brushing hers. "I like her. Whoever she's becoming."

The touch sent a jolt through her, electric and warm. She didn't pull away.

They talked for hours, about bad relationships and good ones, about fantasies and fears, about the strange, beautiful journey of discovering what you truly wanted. Also how she loved being used, not in charge and she talked about her submissive side, and she enjoyed a little pain. By the end of the night, Monica felt like she'd known Oliver for years.

"Can I ask you something?" Oliver said, his voice low.

"Anything."

"Would you like to come back to my place?"

Monica's heart skipped. She looked at him, at his earnest eyes and gentle smile, and felt a surge of desire mixed with something deeper—trust, maybe. Connection.

"Yes," she said. "I'd like that."

The bus was nearly empty when they climbed aboard, just an elderly woman near the front and a teenager lost in his phone. Oliver led Monica upstairs and to the back, to the long bench seat that stretched across the rear of the bus. It was dimly lit and they sat close, his arm around her shoulders, her head resting against his chest. The city lights blurred past the windows, and Monica felt a strange sense of peace. She was with a man who saw her, who wanted her, who wasn't afraid of who she was becoming. The bus emptied stop by stop. The elderly woman got off. The teenager disappeared into the night. Soon, they were the only passengers left, the driver humming along to some old rock song on the radio.

Oliver's hand found her thigh, warm and gentle. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his lips brushing her ear.

Monica shivered, her body responding instantly. She turned to face him, her eyes dark with want. "I want you."

Oliver glanced around the bus. Slowly, deliberately, Oliver unzipped his jeans and pulled out his cock. It was hard already, thick and eager, glistening in the dim light. He didn't say a word. He just looked at her, his eyes asking the question. Monica answered by sliding off the seat, kneeling on the grimy floor of the bus. She took him in her hand first, feeling the weight of him, the heat. Then she leaned forward, parting her lips, and took him into her mouth. She loved it, the taste of him, the way he filled her throat, the soft groan he let escape. She sucked him slowly at first, savoring every inch, then faster, deeper, her head bobbing as the bus rumbled beneath her. Oliver's hand tangled in her hair, guiding her, not forcing, just holding.

"That's it," he whispered. "Just like that."

Monica felt a rush of pride, of pleasure. She took him deeper, her throat relaxing, her eyes watering. She didn't stop until she felt him tense, felt the first hot pulse of cum hitting her tongue. She swallowed, taking every drop, she didn't stop sucking even after he'd stopped, she licked him clean until he shuddered. Looked into his eyes and ran her tongue up his shaft, swirling it around his tip, he watched as this beautiful woman was worshipping his cock. He'd had the other sluts do this, but this was different, more intimate, more personal. When she sat up, her lipstick was smeared, her eyes bright. Oliver pulled her close, kissing her deeply, tasting himself on her lips.

"Jesus, that was incredible, now take off your panties and hand them to me" he breathed.

Monica did as she was instructed, slid off her black thong and handed it to Oliver, he smiled and tucked them into his pocket, she was now bare underneath her skirt, and she loved it.

The bus lurched to a stop. The end of the line.

The driver was sat in his booth as they went downstairs, a grizzled man in his sixties with a weathered face and kind eyes. He was noting a few things down in a pad, then he was off back to the depot and home.

"Good night, folks," he said, his voice gruff but not unkind.

Oliver looked at Monica, a smile appeared across his face. She felt the heat still burning between her thighs, the hunger that hadn't been satisfied yet.

"Can I ask you something?" Oliver said to the driver, his voice casual.

The driver raised an eyebrow. "What's that?"

Oliver's hand found the small of Monica's back, guiding her forward. "My girlfriend here is very friendly . And I was wondering if you'd like to fuck her arse."

Monica's breath caught, but she didn't flinch. She looked at the driver, at his surprised expression, and felt a thrill of anticipation. The driver's eyes widened, then softened. He looked at Monica, taking her in. "You serious?"

Monica smiled, stepping closer. "Completely. I'd love you to come over her and fuck me in the ass"

She turned around, bracing herself against a railing. She reached back, lifting her dress. Her bare arse gleamed in the dim light of the empty bus.

The driver let out a low whistle. "Well, seeing as you put it like that, I'd love to."

He moved behind her, she spat on her fingers and lubed her asshole, his hands rough but gentle on her hips. She heard the rustle of his uniform pants, felt the press of his cock against her arsehole. He was thick, not as long as Oliver, but substantial. He pushed in slowly, the stretch familiar now but still intense. Monica gasped, gripping the seat, her body yielding to him. The driver moaned as he slid steadily up her tight ass. He fucked her with steady, practiced strokes, his hands holding her hips, his breath warm on her neck.

Oliver watched, stroking himself, his eyes dark with lust. "That's it," he said. "How does she feel fella"

"She's got a tight ass, not fucked a woman in the ass before, my wife won't let me.", The driver grunted, his pace quickening. His hands reached round to her front and grabbed both of her tits with each hand. Monica felt herself climbing toward another peak, her body trembling, her pussy dripping. She came with a cry, her arse clenching around him, and she felt him tense, his cock twitched and the rush of spunk hit the inside of her ass. He stayed impaled in there, savoring the feeling of his cock up a very young slut, getting his breath back, he pulled out Monica turned around and sucked him clean"

"Jesus, your girlfriend is something else, you are a lucky guy", his body jerking as Monica sucked the last drops of spunk from his cock. "Fuck me," he said, a grin in his voice. "Best end to a shift I've ever had."

Monica straightened her dress, her body humming with satisfaction. She kissed the driver on the cheek. Oliver took her hand, leading her off the bus.

"Come on, the nights still young and you can do anything to me" she said, her voice breathless.

"Don't worry" he said, kissing her forehead. "I want to take my time with you."

Monica smiled, leaning into him as they walked into the night. She was a slut, a submissive, and now, maybe, something more. And she couldn't wait to find out what that something was.

Oliver's flat was on the third floor of a converted warehouse, all exposed brick and tall windows. He unlocked the door and stepped aside, letting Monica enter first. The space was warm, masculine—dark leather sofa, industrial light fixtures, a wall of bookshelves filled with photography and fitness volumes.

"Make yourself comfortable," Oliver said, hanging his jacket by the door.

Monica wandered to the window, looking out at the glittering skyline. She could feel his eyes on her, watching her every move. The air between them was charged, electric.

"Actually," Oliver said, his voice low, "I want you to undress for me."

Monica turned, a thrill running through her. "Here?"

"Right here," he said, settling onto the sofa, his eyes never leaving her. "Slowly. I want to watch."

Monica's heart raced. She reached behind her back, finding the zipper of her dress. She pulled it down, the sound loud in the quiet room. She let the dress slip from her shoulders, watching Oliver's expression as it pooled at her feet.

She stood before him in her bra, simple black lace. Oliver's eyes roamed over her body, hungry and appreciative.

"The bra," he said.

She reached behind her back, unhooking it, letting it fall. Her breasts spilled free, her nipples already hard. She felt exposed, vulnerable, and utterly desired. Oliver's gaze swept over her, lingering on her curves, her thighs, the wetness already glistening between them. He stood, crossing to her, his hands finding her waist.

"Beautiful," he murmured, his lips brushing her ear. "Now get on the bed. Hands and knees."

Monica obeyed, climbing onto his bed, positioning herself on all fours. Oliver began to undress and she waited patiently on the bed, her holes ready for use. She felt his hand on her arse, a firm slap that made her gasp.

"That's for being so fucking gorgeous," he said.

Another slap, harder this time. Monica moaned, her body arching.

"And that's for making me want you so badly."

He spanked her again, alternating cheeks, until her arse was pink and warm. The pain melted into pleasure, spreading through her like fire. Another smaller spank, this time on her pussy, the sensation was overwhelming, Monica moaned loudly, her pussy was already wet from the sucking and ass fucking she had earlier, now it was on fire. Oliver moved behind her, his cock pressing against her pussy. He pushed in slowly, filling her inch by inch, and Monica cried out with the pleasure of it.

"This is what you want, isn't it?" he said, his voice rough. "To be used. To be taken."

"Yes," she gasped. "Yes, I want it."

He fucked her hard, his thrusts deep and punishing. He grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her head back, and she loved every second of it. She was his, completely his, a toy for his pleasure. He pulled out, flipping her onto her back. He lifted her legs, resting them on his shoulders, and pushed into her pussy again. He fucked her relentlessly, his eyes locked on hers, watching her face contort with pleasure.

"Do you want to be my gorgeous slut whore, so I can use you when I want?" he said, ramming his cock as deep as it would go into her hole. Monica could barely speak and nodded in agreement.

"Good little whore", and with that he turned her over, lifting her hips, and pressed his cock against her arsehole. She felt the familiar stretch, the burn, and then he was inside her, filling her completely. He fucked her arse with long, deep strokes, his hands gripping her hips. She could feel her orgasm building, coiling in her belly like a spring.

"mmmm, your asshole nice and lubed from the dirty old man you fucked earlier, you loved it didn't you, that dirty git fucking your tight little asshole", Oliver said.

"Yes, Yes, I loved it, being used by that that old man, his cock was nice, gave me lots of spunk, that I crave." she cried.

"Good" he said and then she shattered, her body convulsing, her arse clenching around him. He followed, his cock pulsing, filling her with his cum. Thick streams of cum shot deep into her ass, mixing with the bus drivers spunk, she now had 2 loads up her ass and one down her throat, all in one night, but the night was still early.

He pulled out, collapsing beside her. Monica lay there, panting, trembling, her body completely spent.

But Oliver wasn't done. "Clean me up slut", he commanded. Monica did as she was told and began to suck his cock, moaning as she sucked him deepthroat style, almost all the way to his balls, Oliver groaned, she took her time with his cock, her ass gaping , her pussy dripping. Oliver rested a hand on her ass cheek, slowly rubbing her pussy, running a finger through her folds of skin. Then reaching down to her nipples and pinching them, slightly hard and then pulling them hard. Monica moaned loudly.

Oliver lay there as his gorgeous slut whore now girlfriend was sucking his cock after he'd just fucked her in the ass and emptied his balls, he watched her head bobbing up and down his shaft, her ass in the air, her gorgeous asshole and slick wet pussy. He was still hard so he pulled Monica's head off his cock and rolled her onto her back, positioning himself between her thighs. He pushed into her pussy, still slick with her juices, and fucked her slowly, deliberately.

"Now you're going to come for me on my cock" he said.

Monica's eyes fluttered closed, her body responding to his rhythm. He pulled her nipples as he fucked her pussy, that was enough to get her orgasm building, more intense than the last.

"Look at me," he commanded.

She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze. He fucked her faster, harder, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Come," he said. "Now."

She came with a scream, her body arching off the bed, her pussy clenching around him. She came for what seemed an eternity and then it subsided. His own orgasm was building and could feel the swell in his balls and as he was about to come he pulled out and rammed his cock down Monica's throat , her nose touching his stomach, the full length now in her mouth and his release flooded her mouth, hot and thick. He held her head and shot his balls right down her throat, Monica was gagging a little, but loving it. He fucked her mouth , it was intense, something he had not done before, he'd come in the other sluts mouths, but this , this was more intense, more personal, and the other sluts were not into BDMS type sex.

He pulled out, Monica gasping for air, her face wet with saliva and spunk, she was smiling and lay there, out of breath, he collapsed next to her. They lay there, tangled together, breathing hard.

"Fuck, that was good" Oliver asked, a grin in his voice.

Monica laughed, exhausted but eager. "Yes, it was, best night I've had in a long time"

He kissed her forehead, rolling off her. "Night's not over yet, I'll get us some water."

Monica watched him go, a smile on her face. She was a slut, a submissive, and she was exactly where she belonged.

The water had done little to quench the fire still burning between them. Monica lay on Oliver's bed, her body still humming from their first round, her pussy sore and satisfied, her arsehole loose and aching. She watched him walk back from the kitchen, his cock already hardening again, and felt a fresh wave of desire wash over her.

"Round two," Oliver said, his voice low and rough. He set the empty glasses on the nightstand and climbed onto the bed, his body hovering over hers. "But this time, I'm going to be rougher. I want to hear you scream."

Monica's breath caught, her nipples tightening. "mmm, sounds lovely"

He didn't wait. He grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head with one hand. His other hand found her breast, squeezing hard, his thumb and forefinger rolling her nipple between them until she gasped.

"You like that?" he asked, his voice a growl.

"Yes," she breathed.

He twisted, harder, and she cried out, the pain shooting through her like lightning, mingling with pleasure until she couldn't tell them apart. He released her wrists, rolling her onto her stomach. He pulled her hips up, positioning her on her hands and knees. She felt his hand on her arse, a sharp slap that made her yelp.

"That's for being so fucking eager," he said.

Another slap, harder. Monica moaned, her body arching.

He grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her head back. The sting of it, the pull, sent a jolt through her. She loved it—the dominance, the control, the way he took what he wanted.

"You're mine tonight," he said, his lips brushing her ear. "Every hole. Every inch. Mine."

"Yours," she echoed, her voice breathless.

He pushed into her arse without warning, filling her in one rough thrust. Monica screamed, the stretch intense, the burn exquisite. He didn't give her time to adjust—he fucked her hard, his hips slamming against her, his hand still tangled in her hair.

"Yes," she gasped. "Fuck, yes."

He pulled her hair, forcing her head back further, and she felt his other hand wrap around her throat. Not squeezing, just resting there, a reminder of his control. The pressure was light, but the implication was everything.

"You feel that?" he asked, his voice strained. "You feel how deep I am?"

"Yes," she moaned. "I feel you everywhere."

He fucked her arse relentlessly, his hand tightening on her throat just slightly, just enough to make her lightheaded. The combination of pain and pleasure was overwhelming, pushing her toward the edge. He flipped her onto her back, spreading her legs wide. He positioned himself between her thighs, his cock slick with her juices. He pushed into her pussy, filling her completely, and she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him deeper. He fucked her hard, his hand finding her throat again. He squeezed, not enough to choke, just enough to remind her who was in control. His other hand found her nipple, twisting and pulling, and she cried out, lost in the sensation.

"Look at me," he commanded.

He fucked her faster, harder, his hand on her throat, his fingers on her nipple. The sensations built, layered, overwhelming, until Monica felt herself teetering on the edge.

"Please," she begged. "Please let me come."

"Come," he said, his voice a growl. "Now."

She shattered, her body convulsing, her pussy clenching around him. He followed, he emptied his balls , his cum flooding her, hot and thick. He thrust deep, holding himself inside her as he emptied himself completely. He collapsed on top of her, his weight a comfort. His hand left her throat, moving to cup her cheek. He kissed her, soft and tender, a stark contrast to the roughness of the last hour.

"Too much?" he asked, his voice gentle.

Monica shook her head, a smile spreading across her face. "It was perfect."

He rolled off her, pulling her close. She nestled into his chest, feeling his heartbeat slow beneath her ear.

"I've never done that with anyone before," he admitted. "Gone that far, I mean."

Monica looked up at him, surprised. "Really?"

He nodded, his eyes soft. "I've always wanted to. But I've never found someone who would like it"

Monica's heart swelled. "Well now you have and I trust you, Oliver. Completely."

He kissed her forehead, pulling her tighter. "I trust you too."

They lay there, tangled together, the night stretching out before them. Monica didn't know what the future held, but she knew one thing for certain, she had found something special. A man who would use her, cherish her, and hold her after.

Oliver just looked up at the ceiling, going over what they had done tonight, he'd found a beautiful slut whore, who he could be open and real with and she loved being dominated, used, and to top it off, they could still see other people, he could still fuck Carrie, Laura and Sarah, and Monica was also free to have lots of men fuck her holes and treat her like the slut she is, the best part is , she would still be his and he would still be hers. No jealousy , no arguments on who they were seeing, they could be open and honest. He loved how the bus driver fucked her ass right in front of him, he loved it. It turned him on immensely and began to think of all the wonderful nights of sex and pleasure they could get up to either together or apart.