The walk back from the ladies rest room is a long one, my body is throbbing in need and the control you have over my being is tightening like an elastic band.
My arms bang against my lacerated back, the cuffs digging into red, raw flesh which serves to elicit a muffled gasp through my gagged lips.
Damn you. Whipped, cuffed, gagged and the evening has barely begun.
Gingerly I return to my resting spot beside you, landing rather more heavily on one's derriere than one would like. Those wrists behind my back have destroyed all semblance of balance and grace.
'Look at me,' you murmur, your hand is once more creeping inside my dress. My body ripples in excitement.
'Open that pretty little mouth for your Master slave,' a wicked grin crosses your features.
My eyes focus on yours, knowing you can see the soft dilation of those pupils, can read that glazed with lust look all too easily. You know always know exactly how much your slave can take and which buttons to press to force her that little bit further and bend her that tiny bit closer to your whim.
Those fingertips once more begin to walk in sensuously softly up the silk of my stockings, teasing and tormenting until they find bare flesh. Finally they slide without warning right into the boiling hot core of my body, taking advantage of my lack of panties.
'Open,' you command.
It is a rhetorical question as my mouth is already opening in a throaty gasp of pleasure. My lips clamp tightly closed on a groan, as a fragment of dark lace from the panties filling my throat threatens to escape.
'Beautiful,' you whisper.
The Maitre D' is slowly heading our way, to inform us our table is ready I suspect.
Sadist that you are, you chose that moment to thrust three fingers up into my slick wet heat. I manage to hold onto my gasp of pleasure by the skin of my teeth, having to grit them tightly to make sure those lips stay firmly closed. How I wish I could glare at you for that, but this body would pay for it later under the wicked stroke of your whip.
You thread your arm through mine and lead me forward. The Maitre D' gives me a slightly 'hmm there's something not quite right here look' but quickly schools his expression to one of efficient professionalism. I am glad of that arm of support as you help me into my chair. I can feel my cheeks burning now, knowing that those hands of mine are conspicuous in their absence. Then the real embarrassment begins.
Our waiter comes over with the menus. I look to you, panicked as the menu is proffered my way. The waiter looks at me. I swallow rather tightly and manage a pained smile. Precious seconds tick by. Aren't my hands tied? I can't even offer a word of excuse. SAY SOMETHING, my eyes plead, begging yours for help.
'I believe I'll order for the both of us,' you finally say to both the waiter's and my relief.
'Would you like a drink Madame?' he turns to ask me.
YES AND A RATHER STIFF ONE ELSE I MIGHT NOT MAKE IT THROUGH THE EVENING! Alas... that mouth of mine remains firmly closed and I shake my head, smiling politely. This test of obedience is a damn site harder than anything that has ever been required of me before.
So your adoring servant sits back to wait helplessly... as you chose the wine and order my meal. I cannot fault your choice, but that is not to say I didn't wish whole heartedly for the use of my voice to return. You must hear my thoughts for the next words comfort me somewhat.
'Open,' a soft smile from those dark eyes.
My lips open obediently. The wondrous thought of those panties disappearing is too great for the humiliation of having them pulled out in public to bother me. Slowly, horribly slowly, you drag them from me. Wet, black lace drips from my mouth...slowly slipping from my lips. Soft blue eyes watch as you roll them into a little ball in your fingertips.
'Thus far, my precious, I am pleased with you,' you intone.
That drags a smile from me, for I adore pleasing you and you know it.
'Spread your legs,' a soft whisper now.
My eyes dart around the restaurant. Thankfully a long table cloth is not going to ruin my modesty but my expression will give everything away. My eyes war with yours, but my legs part, stretching the fabric of the velvet dress to its limit. I can feel my pulse rocket and my body begins to ooze soft, liquid heat. AAhhhh God! How you arouse me.
'We can't have my darling leaking onto her new dress now, can we?' you ask. I'd love to know how you do that, can tell just when lust overtakes me... and just what my body is doing to itself at any given time. The sodden panties begin to roll up my thigh, teasing at the entrance to those nether lips softly. Gently they press for entrance and you push them slowly up inside me, plugging that dripping wet sheath. My face turns bright crimson. You delight in making me blush I swear.
The first course arrives at our table swiftly and the pleasure it gives me to be able to thank our waiter is quite something. My Master knows well how I hate to be gagged. The meal does prove something of a problem however. How will it be possible to eat it with my hands behind my back? As if to solve that problem, you pick up my knife and fork and begin cutting my food up for me.
'Noooo,' I whisper, horrified. Oh God, you can't do this to me, you can't feed me an entire three courses in a restaurant with people watching.
'Relax precious,' you say, with an evil grin suffusing those features. Present your back to me and I'll fasten those cuffs of yours in front.
My relief is audible.
'Thank you,' I get out rather throatily, thinking what a nasty tease you are.
Eating with cuffed hands seems rather wonderful in comparison to being fed, so I am content to begin my meal. If the odd glint of bright lamp light on metal flashes across the room, so be it.
Eating with cuffed hands is not quite as wonderful as I'd thought however, 2 minutes into the meal. Both hands have to be raised at once and there is limited manoeuvrability, but I continue as best I can quietly and without complaint. My meal takes considerably longer to eat than yours, but your slave catches up with you eventually.
'Those panties now need to return darling,' you bend forward to whisper in my ear.
A soft groan greets that.
'Here?' I question softly.
'Here,' you confirm.
With not a little bit of squirming and wriggling my panties find their way back into my mouth, letting me taste my lust for you as they are soaked with the evidence of it. I have a suspiciously bad feeling about dessert.
The waiter doesn't even bother to look at me as he asks you what we would like and that enrages me no end, but I remain smiling. The evening will have an end, I will get through this, it cannot be that difficult.
One crème brulee for you and one... caramelised banana and ice cream for me. Oh no. Oh no no no. The waiter whistles on his way back to the kitchen, having eyed my cuffs and given me giant grin. I swear this face will never recover from these blushes this evening.
'I have to inform you sweetheart, that you will not actually be eating dessert tonight. Your Master is going to be greedy and have two.'
My body is shuddering now, my eyes close weakly and I utter a long, heated groan... watching as your head dips to mine... so that you may growl in my ear softly.
'Your dessert you will feed into those tight wet nether lips of yours, ice cream included precious. Yes my dear, every last drop. You will have to be careful not to spill a drop, else you will be wearing it on your departure.
I daresay that Master will be generous enough to let you have one spoonful of it, which I will feed you before we leave. Then you will have to keep it tightly inside you until I chose to avail myself of it later... after a cup of coffee perhaps. I suggest you clench those pelvic floor muscles tightly when we take our leave, because it would be a touch embarrassing to lose any on the nice polished oak floor. Any accident will also be addressed by a generous whipping later slave.'
That hard, dark menacing glance leaves me no doubt to the fact that you are indeed not joking. My body is now taken over by tremors and I can feel a sodden spot of material under my throbbingly flayed arsecheeks.
