Puppy's Poolside Show

"I want strangers looking at my bare pussy," you whisper, and it's not a whisper at all. I was more shocked at the volume. "I want them to see how wet you make me. How wet they make me. I want to be your little exhibitionist toy, Master. Display me. Use me. Let them watch."

Under the towel, your fingers work faster. Your breathing changes. Your eyes flutter half-closed.

The older man has stopped pretending to read. His wife is staring openly now, lips parted.

Your free hand reaches across the gap between our loungers. Your fingers find my cock through my swimming shorts already stiffening, already straining against the fabric. You trace the length of me with one finger, then wrap your hand around the shape of me through the thin material. I moan and melt as you touch me, no matter how many times you do I can't help but let one moan escape.

"He's so hard," you announce to no one and everyone. "Look what being a dirty little slut does to him. Look what you do to him." You voice naughty normal speaking volume.

Your grip tightens. You stroke me slowly through my shorts, feeling me swell to full hardness under your palm. The wet spot at the tip grows where precum leaks against the fabric.

"Master," you moan, soft but audible. "I'm fingering myself right in front of them. They know. They're watching." I glance over and see she is right. They arent even trying to pretend to not watch.

Your arm moves faster beneath the towel. Your hips roll in tiny circles. A soft, wet sound barely there, but unmistakable in the quiet evening air.

"Should I take my top off? Right now? Let that old man see what young tits look like?" Your thumb circles the head of my cock through my shorts, spreading the dampness. "Or should I spread my legs? Show his wife my pretty little pussy? Let her see how smooth I keep it for you?"

The older woman's hand has drifted to her husband's thigh. Neither of them has moved away.

You lean closer to me, your breath hot against my ear, but your voice pitched to carry.

"Tell me what to do, Master. Tell me how you want to display your toy. I'm so fucking close already. I might come just from them watching."

Your fingers plunge deeper beneath the towel. I hear it now the slick, unmistakable sound of your fingers pumping in and out of your soaked pussy. Your grip on my cock tightens, matching the rhythm. I put my hand are your arm not to stop you but to put more pressure on my cock.

"Everyone's looking," you gasp. "Everyone. Oh god. Oh fuck. Master, can I cum? Please? While they watch... Please let your dirty little Puppy cum in front of all these strangers." you begin to beg.

"you're always allowed to cum baby." I said back to you.

Your back arches off the lounger. The towel slips. For a moment, your hand is visible two fingers buried in your glistening, bald pussy, lips spread plump and pink around them, before you catch the fabric and pull it back.

The older man groans. Quietly. His wife doesn't seem to mind.

You turn to me with half-lidded eyes, still trembling, still stroking me through my shorts.

You finger the air to motion the older couple.

They don't need much encouragement. The wife whispers something to her husband, and then they're both standing crossing the few feet of wet concrete between their lounger and ours like they're walking to the gallows, nervous and hungry all at once.

"Evening," the man says. Sixties, maybe. Silver at the temples, tan and paunchy in his swim trunks. His wife is beside him in a modest black one-piece, her hand gripping his arm.

You pull the towel off your lap like it's nothing. Like you've been waiting for them. "I couldn't help noticing," the wife starts, and then stops, blushing.

"Could we... look closer?" the man finishes for her. His eyes are already on the high waistband of your purple suit, on the damp fabric molded to your pussy's lips.

You glance at me not for permission, just to make sure that I'm watching. I am. My cock is a steel rod in my trunks, aching so badly it hurts to breathe. The slightiest bump might make me explode. I give you a small nod anyway, because I know you like having it.

Then you look back up at them, and your voice comes out sweet and lazy with tequila.

"You can pull it aside yourself," you tell him. "If you want to see."

The man's hands actually shake. His wife's mouth falls open she clearly didn't expect you to say that, and neither did he. He crouches beside your lounger, and his fingers find the edge of your suit where it stretches across your mound.

He pulls it aside slowly. Your pussy is bare and swollen, freshly waxed, your lips plump and slightly parted from the fingering you gave yourself under the towel. You're glistening actually wet, slick and shiny in the pool lights, your clit already peeking out from its hood. The evidence of how much being looked at turns you on, displayed for strangers.

"Oh my god," the wife breathes. She's staring openly now, one hand pressed to her own chest. "Honey, look at her."

"I'm looking," he says hoarsely. He's close enough that I can see him breathing you in. He holds the fabric aside like he's afraid to let go, like you'll vanish if he does. His thumb is a fraction of an inch from your lips not touching, just hovering in the heat coming off you.

"Does she always keep it bare like that?" the wife asks me, dazed. She's shifted her attention to me probably because my cock is straining visibly against my trunks, tenting them obscenely, the head leaking and leaving a dark spot in the fabric. She can't seem to decide where to look.

"She keeps it however she would like to" I manage. My voice comes out rough. It's taking everything I have not to pull my cock out and stroke it right now, right in front of them.

You shift your hips slightly, opening your legs another inch, and the man groans. The movement makes your lips spread a little more, and a fresh shine of wetness catches the light.

"You can touch," you say to him. Then, to the wife: "If you want." I was surprised by how forward you are being. I loved it.

"She's so soft," she whispers. Her fingertip grazes the edge of your tanline that pale stripe of skin hidden by your suit all week, the line where your bare pussy meets sun-kissed hip. She follows the border of it like it's a map.

Her husband finally finds his courage. One thick finger slides along your slit, gathering the wetness there, and your back arches off the lounger. He groans when he feels how slick you are how genuinely, achingly aroused you are by being exposed like this, by having strangers' hands on what's mine.

"Fuck," I say under my breath. My cock is pulsing now, leaking steadily, so hard it's bordering on pain. The wife notices her eyes drop to my lap and stay there.

Your eyes find mine over the strangers' heads. You're flushed and panting slightly, two strange fingers now working gently between your lips, and you give me that look the one that says this is for you. All of this is for you.

"Master," you say, breathless, and both of their heads snap up at the word. "Tell them what I need."

"Stand up, Puppy."

The husband's finger slides out of you with a wet little sound that makes the wife actually moan. I settle back in my chair, margarita sweating in my hand, and watch you rise on shaky legs while the couple rearranges themselves to face you like an audience settling into their seats.

"Peel it down. Slowly. And don't speak unless I tell you to."

Your fingers find the straps. And this is the part they can't see the part happening behind your eyes.

The neon print slides off your shoulders. The suit bunches at your upper ribs and then gives, and your tits spill free into the pool light those pale triangles of hidden skin framed by deep golden tan, nipples already stiff and dark, already betraying you.

The wife's hand covers her mouth. Not to hide a gasp. To hide how hungry she looks.

"Hands behind your head," I say. "Elbows back."

You obey. Your back arches, tits lifted and thrust out, and I watch your chest flush pink from your collarbones down. Your breathing has gone shallow and audible.

"Keep going. Suit down to your hips."

You shimmy the high-waisted suit over the swell of your hips. The neon pools at your feet. And there it is the pale V of your bare mound, the neat strip of softness, the lips below already slick and parted, glistening so obviously under the lights that the husband makes a low, rough sound in his throat.

You step out of the suit entirely. Naked on the pool deck. Two strangers in chairs. Your Master sipping his drink.

"Legs apart. Wide. Show them what's yours."

His. Not mine. His. you think to yourself.

Your feet slide apart on the warm concrete. The night air moves against your exposed pussy and you feel it how open you are, how the cool air finds you everywhere, finds the wetness and makes it obvious.

"Turn around. Bend over the lounger. Grab your ankles."

You fold over the lounger, ass raised high, and reach for your ankles. The position spreads you completely the round full cheeks parting, showing them your soaked little hole, your tight pink asshole, everything private made public in one bend.

The wife stands up from her chair without seeming to realize she's done it.

"Hold it," I say quietly. "Don't move."

"Yes. Yes, Master. Whatever you want. I'm yours to show. I'm yours to show." you plea back.

Your ankles are trembling in your own grip. A single drop of your arousal slides slowly down your inner thigh, catching the light, and all three of us watch it travel.

"That's enough, Puppy."

I let you hold the bend a few seconds past your limit long enough for the wife to take one step closer, long enough for the husband to openly adjust himself in his trunks then I hand you a towl while you straighten like a someone waking up from a trance.

Your legs barely hold you. The drop on your inner thigh has company now.

The wife finds her voice first. It comes out rough, like she's been holding her breath since you grabbed your ankles. "After nine," she says. Not quite a question. "The pool goes clothing optional. Will you two... be back?"

I look at you. Pupils blown, chest heaving, your bare cunt swollen and glistening between your thighs like it's answering for you.

"We'll be here." You answer back.

The husband grins. The wife doesn't she's too busy staring at the suit puddled around your ankles.

I wrap you in the towel instead. Just the towel. And we walk you back through the resort, past the bar, your stiff nipples printing through the terrycloth with every step, your thighs still slick where anyone looking closely enough could see the shine.

The door barely clicks shut before your hands go to the towel knot.

"Leave it."

You stop. Two hours of intermission my fingers inside you at the bar, the balcony rail, always stopping right at the edge has you vibrating like a struck tuning fork. So you stand there, knotted in terrycloth, while I undress without hurry. Watching me the way a starving girl watches a plate cross the room.

Then I unknot the towel myself and let it fall.

"Balcony. Hands on the rail."

We're three floors up. The pool glitters below string lights, staff folding towels, the couple's umbrella still open where they're waiting for you. Anyone who glances up gets the full picture: naked, tanlined, bent forward with your tits swaying over the railing and your ass offered back at me.

I don't warm you up. You've been ready since four o'clock. I drag the head through your folds once you're so soaked it's loud and then I bury myself in you to the root in a single stroke. Your moan carries straight over the deck. I let it.

"Please..." you start.

I take you in long, grinding strokes, the kind that drag across every ridge of you. Your knuckles whiten on the rail. Below, a valet stops, looks up, and doesn't move away.

"Here's what happens next," I say against your ear. "I'm going to flood this cunt. Then I'm going to plug your pretty ass. And then you're going to walk down through that lobby with both holes holding something I put in them." I have never said "cunt" in front of you like that. I was worried how you would react.

You clench so hard around me I almost lose the rhythm myself.

When it cums, I pull your hips back onto me and stop moving fully seated, as deep as your body allows and let go. You feel every pulse of it, heat blooming against your cervix, again, my hand tight in your hair holding you still so you take all of it. You whine through your teeth because you're right there and you don't dare.

I grind the last of myself into you. "Feel that?"

"Yes, Master."

"That goes with you."

I pull out slowly and watch the first white trickle follow. Not for long.

I spread your cheeks with my thumbs, gather the slick running out of you, and work it into your tight rear rim one finger, then two, opening you while you mewl into the railing. Then the plug: clear glass, tapered, cool against your heated skin.

"Push back." You do. Your rim resists, flares, then swallows it down to the neck and closes around it, the flared base sitting pretty between your cheeks.

"Look down at the deck," I tell you. "In twenty minutes, she's going to be able to see straight through that glass."

Your outfit for the evening: heels. Nothing else. Your suit is downstairs in a stranger's hands.

I press the tentacle dildo into your palm teal silicone, the suckered curve you know by heart. "You carry it. Openly. If anyone asks what it's for, you tell them the truth."

The walk down does half my work for me. Heels on stone, both holes packed and sealed, my load riding deep inside you with every step. You carry the toy openly at your side teal, obscene, swinging with your stride and the lobby parts around you like you're royalty. By the time we reach the pool, half the resort knows exactly what you are.

The wife stands when she sees you. On the side table: your margarita. Sugar on the rim.

"You might want that after," she says.

I pose you beneath the brightest pool light on your back, one heel planted flat on the deck, one knee dropped wide, hands resting open on your thighs. A centerpiece. Something to be looked at.

"Show her."

Your fingers slide down and spread yourself lips parted, clit stiff, my cum seeping out of your used hole in a slow pearl thread.

"Tell her what's in you."

"His cum," you say, and your voice cracks. "He came inside me twenty minutes ago. And there's there's a plug in my ass. Glass. She can see straight through it."

The wife leans in and looks down into you. "Jesus," the husband breathes.

"Now the toy. Get it wet."

You take it deep for them, cheeks hollowing, eyes on her the whole time, the suckers dragging over your tongue with a soft, filthy pull. A small crowd has found reasons to slow their walk. Nobody is walking fast anymore.

"Using it yourself. Slow." You looked back at me unsure.

You push it in through the mess of us, and the curve finds the spot it always finds. Your hips roll. My load froths white around the base and runs down over the glass. The wife's face is eight inches from your pussy, watching your hole stretch and cling and drip.

The edge arrives fast it's been living in you since four o'clock. Your thighs start to tremble, your back arches, and you look up at me wrecked and certain you'll be made to hold it.

"Please.. Master, may I.."

"Baby." I crouch beside the lounger so the whole deck can hear. "You know better than to ask. I never deny you. You cum when you want."

"So show them," I say. "Cum on that toy with your pussy full of me. Let them hear it."

You break beautifully. Your spine bows off the towel, tits bouncing, pale triangles flashing against tanned skin, and the sound you make carries clear across the water. Your hole clamps down on the silicone in visible waves and pumps my load out around it, froth running down over the plug, your heel scraping against the deck. The wife actually grabs the lounger frame to steady herself.

The crowd exhales as one. "Her arm must be tired," I announce, and hold the toy out to her husband. "Take over. Slow on the way in. Fast on the way out. Curve up you'll know when you find it. She's honest when she's full."

His hand closes around the base. A stranger's grip. A stranger's rhythm, careful at first, then finding the stroke.

"Hands, please" I tell you, and step up beside the head of the lounger.

You wrap your fist around my cock and stroke in time with his thrusts slow, slow, fast your fingers slick from your own mess, your eyes swimming up at me while a stranger works the curve against your spot. The topless women have drifted to the front of the crowd. The valet from earlier is three feet away with his mouth open.

The wife can't bear to only watch. She hooks her fingers into her suit drags it aside, and pushes two fingers into herself, standing, thighs shaking, staring down at your stuffed, dripping pussy the whole time.

Then she squirts. A hard, shuddering arc, splattering across the deck stones, her hips jerking with it, a choked cry tearing out of her. She does it again a second pulse, weaker, dripping down her thighs and into your stolen suit. The crowd makes a sound like a wave breaking.

"She's squirting because of you. All of this is because of you. You are the show. The whole show" I tell you while your hands stroke me.

The husband finds your spot on the next stroke and you come again the second one, harder, your fist tightening around my cock as your whole body seizes, cum and froth pushed out around the teal silicone while you sob through your teeth.

And then it spills out of you. Not another orgasm. The other thing. The true thing.

"Master... please.." you pant, still stroking me, still being fucked by his hand. "Put me on display. Show me off. I want everyone to see what you made me... expose me, please, I want them all to look at me and know I'm yours..."

Your voice cracks and you keep going, wrecked and shameless in front of a dozen strangers:

"I promise I'll be the best slut for you. Your best slutwife. The best you've ever had. Just display me. Use me. Show them. Please, Master, show everyone what I am."

I take your chin and turn your face toward the crowd.

"Look at her," I tell them. "This is my slutwife. Look at what she's wearing. Look at what's inside her." I drag my thumb across your lower lip. "She asked so nicely."

Then I pull free of your fist, strip the last of my control away, and come across your chest thick stripes landing on your swaying tits, painting the pale triangles, marking you in front of every watching face. The final display. The crowd doesn't breathe.

You moan like it's going inside you.