My bitch

The guys were waiting for me at the hostesses desk, chatting and laughing with Marie.
“Long time, Buddy,” Mark said, peering closely at me. “Are you alright? You look . . I don’t know . . . different.”
“Fine fine,” I said, shaking my head and waving my right hand while tightly grasping Crystal’s phone number in my left.

“Sure?” Robert said. “Missed a spot.” He pointed at my face, then handed me a napkin.
I quickly wiped my lips and cheek, wondering if they knew.
“Sorry you got sick,” Joe interjected. “Nothing ruins a meal more than the old upchuck. Eh?”
"Alright, fellas,” Mark announced. “Enough fun. Let’s get back to work.”
As my buddies left, I turned to see Crystal standing beside a table, a hand propped on her thrown out hip, watching me with a steady gaze. Her scent had stained my nostrils and made trying to erase the feeling of her cock on my face and lips impossible. She clearly mouthed the words “my bitch” and circled her lips with the tip of her tongue, the piercing sparkling as it caught the light. Fearful yet also hoping that she would curl her pointer finger towards me and compel me to kneel before her right there in the middle of the dining room, I abruptly turned and dashed out of the restaurant after my buddies.