A Restrained Night Out

Desire now rages through me, firmly trapped in the car seat as I am, while I watch you; your soft smile as your fingers smooth the wayward strands of my hair back into their sleek knot before they move to caress my neck.

'We are nearly there,' you whisper and that voice sends whips of heat spiralling through me again.

Once more fear begins to reign supreme... spreading like a dark stain all through me. Oh God, the looks I will be getting, hands handcuffed behind me with my back on display revealing firm evidence of your whipping.

Too soon the car begins to slow and you manoeuvre us into a parking space. The crunch of feet on gravel tells me you are coming around to open the car door and I swing my legs out and stand up shakily. This will not be an easy night for your slave. You know instinctively what thoughts are rushing through my head and pause for a second before unlocking the boot of the car, drawing out a black satin box complete with blood red ribbon.

'A present for my slave,' you say the beginnings of a smile playing around your lips. 'Would you like me to open it for you?'

Very funny, I think and give you a wry smile.

'Yes please,' I reply in return.

You slip the lid of the box open to reveal a beautifully embroidered, long black silk scarf which you unfold before me.

'Does the slave wish to try it on?' you enquire.

Oh you lovely Master, I think and my eyes begin to sparkle once more. I begin to see hope blossom for the evening.

'Yes please,' another whisper, my throat surprisingly tight with emotion.

Gently the material is wrapped around my neck and you position the long trailing ends of the shawl to drape down my back. It will do a good deal towards helping disguise my stripes and covering my cuffs. I will not be quite as conspicuous as previously feared. I can almost breathe again.

'Thank you,' I say... sincerely grateful for your thoughtfulness... and my eyes once more return to yours... darkening with desire for the evening ahead.

We walk towards the restaurant slowly, your arm interlocked in the curve of my elbow and never have those metal cuffs felt heavier on my hands. I can hear the metal chain linking them jingle at each step, the soft brush of the shawl flapping against my throbbing back which teases the angry red stripes, tormenting me even as it arouses me.

Panic is all consuming now as the soft lights of the intimate French restaurant loom closer. Your lips brush my ear once more to murmur 'breathe'. You have felt my body stiffen, sensed the distress tightly coiling within your slave. I try to obey. A deep gasp of air from me then, realising I have unconsciously been holding it.

The gentle tug of your arm guides me forward, up the shallow stone steps and into the cozy glow of candles which decorate the bar. I take a cautious seat beside you, wary of my cuffs and the way they put me off balance. My usual smile isn't forthcoming as the barman takes our order. From the corner of my eye I try to work out whether he has noticed the fact that I don't have the use of my arms. Apparently not, for he seems blithely unconcerned and departs with smooth efficiency.

The gentle ambient music seeping through the bar slowly soothes and wraps itself around me helping to unwind some of my tightness. I am going about this evening the wrong way. My submission, my devotion to you... it should be worn proudly for all to see. Never have I been so enamoured, so in love or so wildly aroused by another. A smile then, as my eyes connect with yours, reflecting the lust I see there and mirroring it.

A hand begins to stroke the velvet of my black dress, teasing at my stocking tops and a moan escapes me. I can feel the heat of your hand through the fine lace and my thighs part almost of their own accord while you smile wickedly - well aware of the devastating effect you have on me.

'My slave is impatient hmm?' you ask. A helpless nod answers that question. 'Well she will have to wait.' That much, however, I knew already.

The drinks arrive swiftly, glasses sparkling on a silver platter. The barman places them in front of us with a flourish and is quickly on his way again. Slowly the panic subsides within me and little by little I can feel myself relaxing; watching as you pick up your drink and take a sip, as I looking longingly at mine.

'Not drinking this evening?' another of those wicked grins.

My lips smile wryly. 'Apparently not,' I reply, trying not to let my chagrin at that show and begin to stare longingly at the pale yellow white wine in front of me. So close, but so far. You watch me suffer for a minute or two, relaxed and comfortable beside me and I wait patiently. Finally, after what seems an age, you hold the long stemmed glass to my lips and I tip my head back to take a sip.

'Mmm,' I murmur as the crisp dry chablis slips easily down my throat. Delicious. It is a long greedy sip, but all too soon the glass is taken away.

'Are my slave's panties very wet?' You whisper, coming close to my ear.

My pulse rockets in response. 'Very,' I reply, feeling myself squirm uncomfortably.

'Good,' you nod in acknowledgement.

A hand sneaks its way once more inside the split of my dress, slowly snaking its way higher underneath the table, creeping up the inside of my leg. I feel smooth fingertips torment the sensitive flesh of my inner thigh, kneading and caressing. A tight whimper escapes me and my body flushes with heat... and still your fingertips trace their pattern. Higher and higher, reaching the very core of me - cupping me beneath the silken panties, testing for yourself how wet this slave is.

Your soft growl is one of approval as you find the fine, delicate silk sodden. Fingers trace the outline of my nether lips and it's all I can do not to groan out loud. I am on fire and burning so very brightly... all thick liquid heat being driven crazy. You begin to push the wet material up inside me, your fingers slowly pushing back and forth.

'Oh God,' I whisper, twisting and squirming. I am nearly mindless with lust. It won't be long before I lie on the floor beneath me and beg to be taken, public place or no. Everyone in here must know. They must all be watching, I think. What do I look like? A wanton, eyes dripping with desire, suffused with animalistic passion.

My eyes plead with yours to stop your particular brand of torture, because I am falling, body careening out of control. Artful fingers find that swollen, delicate nub already throbbing with need and begin to rub in concentric circles... oh so very softly... around and around... and my torment continues.

In front of all these people, in such a public place, you bring me to the edge. You know what that delicate flush is spreading across my cheeks and you can feel my body, coiled tightly on the verge of exploding. The soft tremors of my thighs and the quickly stifled moans are a futile protest as I slam my cuffed hands into the soft velour of the seat behind me.

'Please Master,' I beg helplessly.

A dark smile greets my plea.

'Please I want to cum or please stop? You ask softly, letting your eyes capture mine, watching as I war with myself. This slave is desperately trying to find some semblance of self control and it is hard, Oh God so hard. My blue eyes finally come up to connect with yours and I can feel my chest heaving. So close am I, it is painful and it takes a moment for my breath to return.

'Please stop,' I whisper, though I'm not entirely sure I mean it.

'Coward,' you whisper back at me. You lift the glass of wine once more to my lips and I take another sip, needing it to calm my rather tense body.

Your head comes forward once more to whisper in my ear. 'Now my slave, you will go to the ladies and you will remove those wet panties. You will need to be careful as your cuffs are not going to be undone, so take your time. Then you will roll those panties up and place them inside your mouth before returning to me. I need not tell you, as yet, you are not allowed to cum.' You lean back in your chair then, watching me, those eyes forever dark, sensuous and watchful.

My body stiffens, I can't help it. Not only will I then be cuffed with my hands useless... but I will also be unable to speak. How am I going to manage a meal in a restaurant without the use of my hands or voice? My eyes close tightly. I cannot disobey you, this slave has learned many hard lessons in her training and her spirit is well and truly broken to your will. That is not to say that I don't want to argue with your choice of having me gagged at dinner but I am wise enough by now not too. It seems there will be no chance of an argument over dinner either and the irony is not lost on me.

I straighten my dress demurely and slowly, with a feeling of impending doom make my way to the powder room. This is going to be a very hard night for me and my body pulses and rages in frustration as I make my way forward, trying not to think about the meal ahead. My fingernails bite into my cuffed palms as I let out a silent plea for mercy, already knowing there will be none.

I dare look at no-one as my heels cross the floor of the bar and into the restrooms. My eyes steadily look forward finding a cubicle to hide myself in. Locking the door proves to be an endeavour... my back to the door, fumbling with the lock as I am unable to see what I am doing. A silent curse, now that would be entertaining... if I managed to lock myself in here. Now for the fun part of working my manacles down over my arse, wriggling my way down until I am able to step both legs backwards through my arms. This takes me a few attempts and some interesting balance techniques.

Finally my panties are wriggled slowly down my thighs, slowly because cuffed hands do not operate as they should, but finally the task is managed. My fingertips roll the soft, wet material into a little ball and a look of distaste crosses my features as they are placed into my mouth. This is your ploy to make sure you order my meal for me, knowing I will hate that. You also know I will not defy you and that without the use of my voice there is little I can do about it. You won't allow a frown to cross my features without punishment... but there is little chance of that anyway.

My eyes are big, dark and luminous with desire for my Master. That is all anyone will see... unless they look really carefully and find those dark angry red stripes on my back... or those tight metal cuffs which I must once again now work behind me. Arrgghhh again and a very quiet one as I can no longer speak.

What are you doing to me? But the helpless plea for sanity is not heard by anyone, bar myself.