Evie After the Date is the sequel to Evie’s Date (which you can read by clicking here) and both stories are collected in my e-book Yes – Stories of Submission, available for only $3.99 USD at AllTheseRoadworks.com. Purchases support the creation of new, free content! (Click here to view in store.) 

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After Evie’s date with Julius, she had regrets.

She considered herself to be a woman with dignity, with principles, who believed in the rights and status of women. She wasn’t a slut, she wasn’t a whore.

And yet for Julius, on her very first date, she had removed her underwear in a bar; she had spread her pussy for him in the back seat of his car; she had crawled like a dog; and she had let him fuck her like a sex-doll without even knowing his surname.

She blushed to remember it. She couldn’t believe what she had done. She was consumed with shame. 

And at the same time, she couldn’t help but remember how *hard* she had orgasmed, how *loud* she had screamed with pleasure, and how *completely* she had been lost in the ecstasy of having no purpose other than being used however Julius chose to use her….

Julius contacted her three times after that night. The first, in the afternoon of the day after her date, he said, “You were a very good girl last night. You made me very satisfied. It was intense – how are you feeling?”

She didn’t answer, wanting to pretend it hadn’t happened, that she hadn’t acted that way.

An hour later, he phoned. She didn’t pick up.

The last was another phone call, the following day before work. She answered, intending to tell him to stop ringing.

“Hello, Evie,” she heard him say, and she shivered involuntarily with the memory of their date.

“Why are you ringing?” she asked.

“I’m ringing because we had an intense experience, and I wanted to check you were all right. People can crash pretty hard after something like that. They can feel a lot of shame, regret, depression. How are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” she said. “And please stop ringing. I can’t believe you did that to me. You treated me like a dog. Like a prostitute.”

“What did I tell you to do if you wanted it to stop?” he said.

She bit her lip. He had told her to say “red”. She had known she could. He had given her a chance before each new phase of the date. She had stayed silent – willingly, eagerly silent.

She was silent now.

“I don’t want to harass a girl who isn’t interested, Evie,” said Julius. “That’s a waste of my time, and a disrespect of your boundaries. I won’t contact you again until and unless you contact me.”

“Thank you,” said Evie, even as a part of her heart sank. Had she wanted him to agree this easily? Was it the case that she’d wanted him to fight, to argue? To overbear her will and take the choice away from her?

“You know my number if you want to speak to me,” he said. “You can ring it, or not. But you only get one more chance – I’m not playing “will she, won’t she” – and if you *do* ring, I want to know that you *are* interested. Do you understand, Evie?”

“No,” she said, quietly. She didn’t want to say “no” to Julius. She wanted to say “yes”. But she genuinely didn’t know what he expected from her.

“Good,” he said. “I don’t want to play with girls who won’t be honest with me when they don’t understand. So Evie, if you contact me again, you are going to call me “sir”. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said. She almost said, “yes, sir”.

“And when you contact me, I am going to say, ‘Show me what you want to offer me.’ And you are going to reply to that by sending me a photo of yourself nude, showing your face, your bare tits, and your spread pussy. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said. “What will you do with it?” She flinched, realising she’d phrased it as though it were something that was actually going to happen. Which it wasn’t. She wasn’t some teenager sending nudes to a boy she had a crush on…

“I’ll do whatever I like with it, Evie,” he said. “I’ll look at it. I might masturbate to it. I might show it to people. I might post it on the internet, with your name and phone number attached. It will be entirely up to me, and you will have no control over it.”

She shivered. Her cunt was wet, she realised – soppingly, achingly wet.

“And if you send me that photo, Evie, we can have another date,” he continued. “And I will treat you like I did on our last date, and you will blush, and you will act like a whore, and you will do what you are told, and then you will cum. Do you understand?”

She gasped, audibly – and hung up the phone. She didn’t trust herself to speak. She didn’t trust herself to hear any more. Mostly, she desperately needed to find her vibrator, and molest her pussy with it until she could think like a human again, instead of some pathetic degraded slut. Which she immediately did, for a little over an hour.

After that call, she resisted the temptation to contact Julius again. She went to work. She saw friends. Shauna, who had set her up with Julius, wanted to hear about her date, but of course Evie couldn’t answer, except to blush, which Shauna seemed to take as all the answer she needed. Evie read, and watched TV, and told herself that good women didn’t take off their panties in bars, and *definitely* didn’t crawl on all fours for men like a dog.

But it was like there wasn’t enough colour in the world. Everything seemed pale and flat compared to the memory of her night with Julius. Nothing made her heart jump into her chest the way it had when he’d told her to take off her panties. Nothing made her feel as desirable, and special, and cast loose from the normal shackles of society, as when she had spread her legs for him in the back seat of his car so he could stare at her pussy in the rear-view. 

She lasted a whole week. When she broke, it came one night after work. She had been sitting at her dinner table, staring at her phone for a whole hour. At first she didn’t even know what she was contemplating, wasn’t aware that she had been staring, wasn’t conscious of her pussy gradually wettening. Then suddenly she realised what she was thinking of doing, and she blushed, and pushed the phone away violently, and sat back in her chair as if flinching from a snake. 

But she didn’t stand up. And her pussy kept getting wetter – faster, now that she was thinking about Julius.

She reached under her skirt and pulled down her panties, letting them fall on the floor. She told herself she was going to masturbate, to clear her mind. A moment later, she took off her skirt as well, so she was sitting bare-assed and bare-cunted on her dining chair. She was dimly aware she was leaving a wet patch on the seat fabric.

It felt deliciously wrong to be sitting there with nothing on below the waist. She felt as if Julius could see her. She wanted to touch her pussy but she knew if she did, she wouldn’t be able to stop. 

Her chest felt wrong. She was still wearing her shirt and bra. She uncinched her bra, and shrugged it out through an arm of her shirt, and looked down to see her hard nipples tenting the thin fabric of her clothes. She stared at them for a bit, then unbuttoned the top two buttons of her shirt, reached in, and lifted her breasts out, into view.

There, she thought. Now I look like a whore. Like a *good* whore.

She picked up the phone and dialled.

“Hello, Evie,” said Julius, and Evie gasped involuntarily.

“Hello, sir,” she said. “It’s Evie, sir.” Stupid, she chided herself. He already knew it was her. It was a dumb bimbo thing to say.

“Did you make this phone call intentionally, Evie?” Julius asked.

“Yes, sir,” said Evie. “I’m sorry for before, sir.”

“You don’t owe me any apology, Evie,” said Julius. “You have the right to walk away from me any time you like. Do you remember how to make everything stop, Evie?”

“Yes, sir,” she said. “I could say ‘red’.”

“Is there anything you want to say right now, Evie?” he asked.

She was silent. Deliberately, eagerly silent.

“Have you been a slut since I saw you last?” he asked her.

She made a little moan. She wanted to tell him that she was bare-cunted, bare-titted, that she looked like a fucktoy.

But what she said was, “Only for you, sir.” And then, “Only right at this moment, sir.”

“Good girl, Evie,” said Julius, and it seemed to Evie that it was the most meaningful praise she had ever received in her life.

There was a pause, and then Julius continued, “Show me what you want to offer me.”

Evie opened her mouth to reply, but there was a click. Julius had hung up.

She breathed deeply, heavily, noticing how it made her breasts heave, unable to avoid thinking about whether Julius would enjoy seeing that, whether she could breathe in a way that made her tits even more attractive, whether he would like to see her panting like a bitch in heat.

Was she really going to do this? Send a photo of herself nude to a man she had only met once? A photo that he explicitly gave her no promises he would keep private? What would she do if he published it online? Would it destroy her life? She didn’t want that to happen… but the risk that it *might* was making her so, so wet….

She practically ripped off her shirt, and ran to the mirror. It took her a few tries to manipulate her phone with one hand so that she could use her other hand to spread her pussy lips open. Touching her cunt felt so good that she just had to pump her fingers in and out of her snatch a few times, and rub her clit a little, which resulted in smearing her arousal over her inner thighs and making her look even *more* slutty, but she didn’t care.

She took the picture, and then another – this time leaning forward so her tits hung down – and then another – on all fours, like a dog, because she now knew just how much she loved being on all fours for a man – and then she sent all three to Julius.

The three minutes she waited for a response were the longest in her life.

Then her phone rang.

“Hello, Evie.”

“Hello, sir.”

“Do you need to cum, Evie?”

“Yes, sir,” she whined. “I need to cum so much…” And as she said it she knew why she hadn’t masturbated before the phone call, and why she hadn’t orgasmed at the mirror. She didn’t just want to cum. She wanted Julius’ *permission* to cum. She wanted to be *ordered* to cum.

“Are you a woman, or a slut, Evie?”

“I don’t know,” she moaned.

“Then you’re a woman, Evie, and I can respect a woman, but I don’t want to *use* her.”

Evie moaned. It had been the wrong answer. She had missed her chance.

“But when you hear my voice, Evie, and when you want my attention, what are you?”

“I’m a slut, sir!” she practically shouted, grateful to be given another chance. “I’m *your* slut, sir! Evie is your slut!”

There was a pause, and then a click, and then, to her surprise and embarrassment, she heard her own recorded voice played back to her out of the phone. “I’m *your* slut, sir! Evie is your slut!” She flushed with humiliation and degradation.

“That’s all I recorded, Evie,” said Julius. “Do you want me to delete the recording?”

Evie paused, cheeks flushed, cunt wet. Then, “No, sir, you can keep it to listen to…. And to remind me.”

“Good girl,” said Julius. “I have one instruction for you. You are going to find your favourite place in your house for masturbating, and your favourite toy, if you prefer a toy to your fingers. Then you are going to start shouting, as loudly as you can, “I’m a slut.” And you’re going to pleasure your pussy, and shout that you’re a slut, until you cum. That’s an order. Do you understand?”

Evie whimpered with fear, and lust, and said, “Yes, sir.”

“And after you cum, you will look at your phone, and there will be a message telling you when and where to attend for our next date. I expect you to arrive exactly at the specified time. I expect you to look attractive. I expect you to be holding your panties in your hand ready to present to me. I will look forward to it, Evie.”

And then he hung up.

Evie wanted nothing but her fingers right now. She didn’t even bother to sit or lie down. Bending forward at the waist, digging her fingers into her desperately needy fuckhole, she yelled, “I’m a slut! I’m a slut! I’M A SLUT!” She knew it was likely that the neighbours could hear. She knew that the sound of her own voice in her ear was reinforcing the words to her, making her believe that she *was* a slut. Julius’ slut. 

She didn’t care. She welcomed it. And, in time, she came.

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