I have a dinner-and-a-movie date tomorrow night and I can't stop fantasizing about him knotting his fingers into the base of my hair and guiding my face to his bulge as the opening credits roll. Tightening his grip as my fingers fumble with his belt, murmuring how he knew I was such a good little slut as I run the tip of my tongue around the head of his cock and take him into my mouth. Wrapping his free hand around my throat and squeezing, forcing me to take every inch of him. His satisfied moans as I gag on him, choking and drooling and absolutely dependent on him for breath. His large hands lifting my head up and down, using my throat for his pleasure as the movie flashes through the dark theater. The desperate, gasping relief when he finally lets me breathe, and the smug look in his eyes when I lean back down, teary eyes pleading for more. The sharp slap of his hand on my ass when I move my hands from where they belong behind my back. And his low voice, calling me exactly what I am: his needy, cock-drunk whore. His submissive doll, head vacant of anything but his cock, begging to be used in front of everyone in the theater.
And I won't care if they all know that I made him cum and swallowed it all like a good girl. And that to reward me for sucking him like the good slut I am, I got to cockwarm him with my mouth for the rest of the movie.
I'll be his trophy on the way out: makeup smudged, lips swollen, hair mussed. Fingers linked with his, gaze half-vacant as he kisses my forehead before we leave.



















