Dirty Whore At The Bar.

"Go to the bathroom and take pictures of your pussy for me," she said pushing my phone across the table to pass it to me.

I looked at her and then at my own reflection in the glossy napkin holders that were at every table in the bar. I looked like someone else. I am by no means conservative but I never dress flashy or loud. She dressed me that evening in a bright red skirt and a leopard-print almost-golden top. She put sparkly golden glitter over my eyelids and painted my lips a bright pink before handing me a pair of golden shoes that made me six inches taller than I already am.

"Why would you dress me like this?" I had asked her, uncomfortable in the attire.

"Maybe I just want people to think I paid for you," she had said pushing me against her closet and placing her hand against the nakedness under my skirt.

I thought she succeeded. It's one thing to be a whore, one can be a whore in any kind of clothing, but it's another when whore is distilled into a look and clad on you. I didn't feel like a whore as she drove as to the bar, but I was sure I looked like one. In my mind I could actually see my pink lips constantly, I could see myself sweat into the glitter on my eyes. I could see the uncomfortable feeling of there being too much oil and sweat on my skin. When we went inside and got a table at the crowded bar we usually go to on the weekends, I could see people stare. Especially those who saw us there often, I could see them look at me and then immediately look back more intently to confirm what they might have seen. She ordered for us as usual and we got a table right beside the bathrooms. We sat quietly at the table as I fidgeted with everything at the table. I don't normally fidget but I am not normally at a loss for words either. I am not normally wearing animal prints.

She broke the silence by telling me to go to the bathroom and take pictures of myself. There was a strange awkward silence between us before then, the kind that you would think couldn't exist between two people who had known each other forever and simultaneously could only exist between them. We often think strangers make us self-conscious but it's much more jarring to feel exposed and displayed to be the people we love. Strangers will look for a second but then ones who love us will never forget. These images of us are their memories. She broke the spell of that awkwardness by making me wet. As she leaned over to kiss my neck, I grabbed my phone and made my way to the toilets. I entered the cubicle on the far right, ignoring the two women who stood facing the mirrors, and sat straight down on the toilet. I turned the volume down on my phone and snapped a few pictures of my pussy. I sent one of them to her.

She responded,

'Pull your skirt up higher.'

And so I did and leaned back against the cistern to take more pictures. It was starting to feel a bit heady and so I pulled one of my breasts out of my shirt and took another picture to send to her.

She texted,

'Come back to the table.'

I got up and went back outside. While I was anxious to see her, I was also ashamed that she had just made me do those things and we were definitely going to talk about them. When I got to the table I saw her phone was lying flat on the table, bright as day, reflecting a zoomed in version of my pussy right at me or anyone who passed by our table. My hand dove instinctively for the phone but I met her eye before it got there and stopped mid-air.

"Sit," she said pulling at the hem of my skirt and I complied immediately because a few good tugs would have ensured that skirt be lying on the floor.

She started to scroll through the pictures I had sent her, zooming in her and there, sometimes on my face and sometimes on my tits. She didn't tell me to look but she placed the phone right before me so I couldn't avoid it. I looked from the phone to the people passing by the table and back to the phone. As if keeping an eye on both would ensure no one would glance at the glaring brightness in the darkness. I drank the beer in front of me as she she she spent her time observing the last picture. She spent the most time on it.

"Got turned on, did you?" She asked me leaning close to my ear and sliding her hand under my skirt.

Her fingers slid between my legs. She pushed one inside me, scratching the walls of my cunt with her nails, and her thumb settled against my clit.

"Look at your pictures," she said to me, "Keep scrolling."

I looked down at the screen and moaned silently in response to her fingers against me. I hate looking at pictures of myself. I really hate it but somehow seeing myself in those clothes leaning into a toilet and exposing myself was easier than looking at portraits meant to commemorate moments I can never remember. Maybe it was easier because her fingers know my insides like I know bathroom floors, the longer I looked the harder it became not to writhe and release against her fingers. Afraid to moan out loud I suppressed it into a quiet squeal and shudder as I came against her fingers. She pulled out of me immediately and started to stroke my face with her wet hand. Rubbing the wetness into the make-up on my face.

"That was fast," she said picking up her beer and drinking it all in one quick swig.

I nodded my head, as if she wasn't right there watching me real-time. I realised I was nodding incessantly but I couldn't make my head stop. My eyes felt heavy. Like they were drooping. The glitter felt like it was inside my eyes and stuck on my cheeks. I had no idea how it had gotten there.

"Go wait for me in the last cubicle," she said, "Take some more pictures while you wait."

I wasn't sure if I could walk in those shoes just then but once I got it up it felt like I was floating towards the washroom. Everything around me was so loud but it felt quiet, like when you're on ecstacy. I leaned over the toilet and took more pictures for her. This time, I wasn't as concerned with what I was doing. The drug of arousal will lower inhibitions much easier and faster than any other substance. I sent them to her in a stream. I could see that she was looking, but she didn't say anything. I worked harder and harder for her approval but she didn't say anything even as I bent over the toilet and stuck my own fingers up my ass.

Finally, she responded,

'Unlock the door. I have to pee.'

I unlocked the door and sat waiting for her. I heard people come and go outside but I can tell when she walks into a room even when I can't see her. I can smell her and I can discern the distinct rhythm of her soles against the floor. When she walked into the toilet, I was expecting her. I got up to accomodate her and put the seat down for her to sit. She pulled off her panties and sat down at the edge of the seat with her legs apart.

"Get on your knees," she said.

I didn't expect that but it was easy to comply with anything she said at that moment. I kneeled between her legs and she thrust her cunt in my face.

"Don't spill on your pretty clothes," she said as I put my mouth entirely around her cunt, "Or worse the bathroom floor."

She started to piss easily and much faster than I could swallow. I gulped as quickly as I could, barely tasting the liquid I usually savour against my tongue, but the overspill landed against my chest and rolled down my legs and skirt. She pulled me closer with her hand at the back of my head but that didn't keep the spill from dripping down my chin. When she finished she wiped herself against my face as I placed my arms against the walls to steady myself. She pushed me back and stood up to put on her panties.

"What a mess," she said looking down on me.

I looked at the piss on my chest, the floor and the rim of the toilet, and then back up at her. As if to apologise for not choking and drowning on it.

"Clean up before you come back out," she said unlocking door, "I'd like to see you lapping all of it off the bathroom floor."

I locked the door behind her and bent over on the bathroom floor. As I started to lick it clean, I felt my hand reaching for my phone. Seemed like there was no point in being a dirty whore on the bathroom floor, if she couldn't see it.