Previous chapter:
One
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“I can’t do that,” whispered Bridgitte desperately.
She was trying to keep her voice down, so that nearby diners at the restaurant wouldn’t hear her, but Professor Cole, across the table from her, was merciless.
“That’s a shame,” he said, at a normal conversational volume. “I was very clear, Bridgitte. I’m giving you a series of choices as an alternative to the Ethics assignment you failed to submit. If you fail to make a choice when I give you one, or if you get difficult with me, then you fail the unit, I upload that slutty photo you sent me to the internet, and I have you expelled for bribery. Is that what you want?”
Bridgitte fumed. “No,” she whispered.
“I’m sorry, Bridgitte,” said Cole. “You’re talking very softly. I couldn’t really hear you say ‘no, sir’. A little louder, perhaps?”
“No, sir,” said Bridgitte at a normal volume.
“Still can’t hear you,” said Cole.
“No, sir!” said Bridgitte loudly.
A man and his wife at a nearby table turned to look at Bridgitte sharply. She blushed, and avoided eye contact, until they returned their attention to their meal.
“Now, pet,” said Professor Cole. “I gave you a very clear choice. In a few minutes, that nice waiter will return with the slutty alcoholic drink you ordered. When he does, either you can remove your bra in front of him, and then deliberately spill the drink over your breasts – or else you can leave your bra on, spill the drink on the floor, and then lick it up on all fours like an animal.”
“I can’t!” hissed Bridgitte. “Please!”
“You absolutely can,” said Cole. “You just mean that you won’t. It’s a terrible shame, pet. I thought you were a nice girl, who would be embarrassed if people found a nude photo of her on the internet when they Googled her name. But clearly that doesn’t bother you.”
Bridgitte bit her lip in frustration. This couldn’t be happening.
But there was no mercy in Cole’s expression.
“The whole drink?” she asked, finally.
“Half should be enough, pet,” said Cole. “It would be a shame if there were none left to drink.”
Bridgitte sat, swallowing nervously, thinking. Both scenarios kept running through her head. Both were so intensely humiliating they made her want to run away. She wished her pussy wasn’t so wet. She wished she didn’t have a vibrating clamp attached to her clitoris. She wished she hadn’t given her shoes away to Professor Cole. She wished that she hadn’t taken off her panties and laid them flat on the table where anybody could see them.
She pressed her thighs together tightly, trying to squeeze her engorged pussy, trying to trap the vibrating clamp and stop it from distracting her.
The waiter returned. He was still smiling that smarmy, patronising grin from when he had first seen her panties laid out for display.
“A drink for the lady,” he said, placing a sticky-looking green cocktail in front of her. “I believe the lady asked me to ‘Rape Her Stupid Bimbo Cunt’. Oops, I mean, asked me to bring her a drink by that name.” His lips curled in appreciation of his own joke.
“Thank you,” said Bridgitte, not looking at him. “Um, could you wait one minute for me to taste it?” And then, before she could change her mind, she pulled her arms inside her dress, shrugged them down through her bra, and pulled her lacy pink underwear out and over her neck.
The waiter’s grin grew even bigger. She blushed, and placed the bra down on the table next to her panties. Then she picked up the drink.
Her hand trembled. Was she really going to do this?
“Oops,” she said, and splashed about half the drink over her chest.
She immediately squealed. It was cold! She was drenched in the sticky green drink. It completely soaked her dress and, as she had feared, the wet fabric immediately plastered itself to her large, unsupported tits, becoming semi-transparent and showing the colour of her skin and the perky brown nubs of her erect nipples. It dripped down into her lap, soaking the crotch of her skirt.
The waiter goggled at her not-at-all-subtle slutty behaviour. Bridgitte blushed and said, “I’m sorry, I’m very clumsy.”
“Bridgitte!” chided the professor. “I can’t take you anywhere, can I? And now your shirt is all soaked! What are we going to do about it?”
Bridgitte opened her mouth to answer, but Cole spoke first.
“Do you want to take the shirt off, Bridgitte, and then wait and see if the waiter can find you a replacement?” he asked, eyes sparkling. “Or would you like the waiter to get a towel and dry you?”
She looked daggers at him. He looked back, daring her to refuse to choose.
She pictured removing her shirt, sitting bare-titted and wet in the restaurant. She could easily imagine the waiter coming back and saying they had nothing she could wear, leaving her half-naked in public for the rest of the date…
She looked up at the waiter. “Please, could you dry me off?”
“Of course, ma’am,” he said,smirking. “I have a handtowel right here.” He pulled a cloth off his belt, and began to apply it to her.
If she had thought he might be remotely respectful, she was mistaken. He started by rubbing the cloth roughly across her face, and then moved down immediately. She sat, red-faced and embarrassed as he wrapped her left tit in the cloth – and then began to squeeze.
She didn’t know what to do. Making noise or saying anything would call attention to the fact that her shirt was see-through and that she was letting a waiter molest her in public. So she just sat as still as possible and let him play with her tits.
Sensing her submission, the waiter was merciless. He squeezed her breast, hard, and Bridgitte opened her mouth to yelp, only remembering to muffle herself to silence at the last minute. He teased her nipple, and pinched it. He pulled hard on the entire tit, and then rubbed the cloth roughly back and forth across it. Then he moved on to the other breast, repeating the treatment.
Professor Cole laughed softly at her distress. “Look at the nice man while he helps you, pet,” he said, and Bridgitte looked up into the waiter’s cruel eyes. He clearly liked the expression on her face, because he squeezed her boob again, harder.
“The lady appears to have gotten some in her lap,” the waiter said, and his cloth moved downwards. “If the lady would just spread her legs?”
Bridgitte whimpered. She kept her legs together.
“If the lady would just spread her legs?” the waiter repeated, louder, and now people were definitely looking at Bridgitte. Recognising defeat, she parted her thighs.
The waiter dabbed at the crotch of her skirt, and Bridgitte moaned at the pressure on her sensitive pussy – but then the waiter decided to go all-in. Before Bridgitte could react, he pulled her skirt up, lowered the cloth to her nude pussy, pressed it against her cunt – and before Bridgitte knew what was happening, he had pushed the entire wet, sticky cloth up her fuckhole.
She did squeak now – but the waiter was already straightening up, his cloth now conspicuously absent, having been left inside her.
“I trust the lady appreciates the help?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said instinctively. “Thank you.” It was only a few moments later, when her brain started working again, that she realised she had just thanked the man for sexually molesting her, when she should instead have been outraged.
The waiter walked away, and Bridigitte’s hand dipped to pull the wet cloth out of her pussy.
“I think you should leave it inside you,” said Cole, conversationally. “I think it suits you. But if you do choose to remove it, I will expect you to hold it out where everyone can see it, and call out the manager, ‘Excuse me, that waiter just pushed a cloth into my wet pussy while he was wiping it clean.’.”
Bridgitte paused.
“I mean, that is what happened, isn’t it?” asked Cole. “As a feminist, don’t you have a duty to report this man’s molestation, so he doesn’t pray on other women? There’s nothing embarrassing about admitting a man took advantage of you after you asked him to clean your wet panty-less pussy, is there?”
Bridgitte bit her lip unhappily.
“But if you think it’s okay, and you deserved it, you can leave the cloth inside you,” said Cole.
Bridgitte looked down at the table in despair.
“Well?” said Cole.
“I’ll leave it inside me,” said Bridgitte.
“Good girl,” said Cole, and the look he gave her made her think he knew the truth – that the reason she had wanted to pull it out was not to remove the disgusting, humiliating object from her pussy.
She had wanted to pull it out because she had the distinct sense that the sensation of yanking it out of her fuckhole might make her cum….
“And of course, when the waiter comes back with your food,” said Cole, “you can choose whether to thank him for stuffing it up your pussy and tell him you deserved it, or ask him to take your food away and flavour it with his cum…”
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