Amanda's Knees , My Pissed-on Face

Amanda's knees are a miraculous thing, see. Most men might well overlook 'em, but that's no excuse not to grant their perfection.

See, Amanda's the kind of girl, fresh out of high school, 19 or 20 years old, long dishwater blonde hair she wears in a ponytail, who'd cause any man a moment's pause and all, but not all would notice her knees.

She works at the small Colorado diner I eat at everyday. I go so often just to watch her walk across the floor, her cute, round ass moving sensually beneath her white poodle-skirt uniform as she carries trays of milkshakes and chili fries from one end of the place to the other.

Her and I live, too, in the same neighborhood. Sometimes I'll see her when I go for a walk, or we meet inadvertently at the communal mailbox.

She knows, of course, that I like her; it's obvious. Then again, a lot of guys like her. Most, I'd say. So it isn't an impressive feat. What would be would be for me to ask her out, which I'm far too shy to do.

I have, you see, an face. Asymmetrical and goofy looking; big nose, weak chin, wrinkly forehead, and ugly patches of seemingly unkillable 5-o'clock shadow. What would a perfect young woman like her see in a 39-year-old dork like me?

Sometime along the line, the diner's waitress-uniform changed. A minor Kartal Yabancı Escort change, maybe as minor as possible. But I, of course, did notice.

The tan, skin-colored, barely-visible-as-such pantyhose were no longer required, though some of the waitresses (often the older ones, I noted) did decide to go on wearing them, perhaps as an excuse not to worry about shaving so often.

Amanda, as perhaps the youngest waitress there, stopped wearing hers, of course, revealing to me the boner-inducing fact that her legs, which I had always assumed to be as tan as the rest of her was, were actually incredibly, almost unbelievably pale.

This paleness gave her barely wrinkled knees a ruddy, almost dirty look. The contrast between her slightly-less-pale knees and her ivory-white legs was enough to bring into my mind a brand new fantasy;

That of her being forcefully pushed to the dirty diner floor after hours by the manager, a bald old man who'd always seemed too-nice-to-be-true to me, forced to take his massive, odorous, unwashed, nine-inch cock down her throat. Forced to gag on it until she swallowed his large load of cum along with whatever vomit her gag reflex had brought up her delicate little neck.

It disgusted me. It was my own fantasy, and Kartal Yeni Escort my cock was rock solid under the salt-and-pepper colored table, but it disgusted me. It certainly wasn't the kind of thing I'd ordinarily imagine. Not that I'm vanilla by any means.

To the contrary, I'm a cock-sucking little masochistic sissy in most of my fantasies, and had masturbated to the thought of (and even DREAMED of, when asleep) being hired on as a waitress as the diner, forced to shave my legs, get breast implants and wear the little poodle dress; Amanda leading the other waitresses in a game of "pin the tail on the sissy" which involved their blindfolded attempt to shove a large, vibrating, pig-tail butt plug into my lubed-up asshole in front of dozens of laughing customers.

But to imagine the subjugation of a woman, especially a woman I was attracted to, seemed somehow wrong, even evil to me. In my warped mind of reverse-sexism and self-hatred, only men, ALL men, but especially ME, deserved degradation.

Barely able to think, barely looking where I'm going, stumbling like a n idiot, I make my way into the diner bathroom. I go into a stall, unzip my pants, falls to my knees on the piss-puddle-covered tile floor and furiously jerk my penis, moaning Amanda's name uncontrollably Kartal Masaj Salonu as cum gushes out of my cock, mumbling, "take that nine-inch cock, you little slut. You flirty little waitress whore. Choke on your own gross vomit, bitch!"

Suddenly there's a loud gasp from the stall next to mine. Someone's in here! Shit! Wait! The stall next to mine? But the men's room only has one stall! Shit! I'm in the ladies' room.

"Who the fuck are you talking about, pervert?" asks Amanda. I'm sure now that it's her. I know her adorable voice like the back of my hand.

"Uh... no one," I stutter, embarrassed and ashamed beyond belief as I try to lose my erection enough to zip my khakis.

"No. You were talking about me, you pathetic old fuck. You think I'd ever even touch you?" by now she was standing above me, naked from the waist down, in my stall, "I don't even like to LOOK at you, you bird chested ugly old wimp! And don't think I believe for a minute your pathetic little dick is nine inches. You're a pussy. Always have been, always will be. You think I don't see you staring at my legs everyday? Fucking dips hit son of a bitch! Should I go get the manager, pussy?"

"No," I pleaded, "NO!"

"What about this," she says, crouching over my head and pissing all over me, literally drenching me in hot, smelly piss, "This is all a dirty fuck like you deserves, you stupid asshole. Now get the fuck out of here or I'll call the cops, you loser."

I run from the diner, covered in piss, the customers and staff laughing at my bright red, piss-drenched faced.