A Dinner Out
I had tried to be such a good girl.
“Table for two,” he growled. I kept my eyes to the floor, and demurely kept two steps behind him. He pulled my chair out for me, and I muttered a quiet but distinct “Thank you, sir,” as I slid into it. I worked to not seperate my knees as I sat, but in the miniskirt he picked out for me, it was difficult not to spread my legs under the table.
I saw him fiddle with his pocket. Tonight was a large test for me. He so desperately wanted to make me crack under the pressure; I was bound and determined to make it through. He smiled as he played with the remote control in his pocket; his smile, although slightly sinister, made me wet.
He opened the menu across from me. The waiter approached us and asked what my drink would be. “The house chardonnay,” I said, before I could stop myself. He glared over his menu. Damn.
“She will have a glass of Boujelais Nouveau,” he said. “I will have sparkling water.” I grimaced. He was tempting me with alcohol; he planned on staying stone cold sober. The waiter nodded and scampered away.
I heard him fumble in his pocket again. I had to be punished for my slip up earlier, when I dared order my own drink. He was in control. It was difficult for a woman who had trouble giving up power. He flipped the switch in his pocket, and it began: the remote-control vibrator he had slid in my panties before we left began to tickle my clit.
It was going to be a long night. (second chapter to follow)
public sex, vibrator, domination, exhibitionism
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