Saturday night. The bar was busy, as usual for a weekend. Though it may as well have been empty for all it mattered to the two sitting in the corner booth. Amy had gotten off the plane thirty minutes ago, and Jon had been there waiting, just like he promised. It was... awkward, like they always are after one of them has been gone. She'd taken the flight home wearing heels and a black mini dress that rode just a little too high up her legs; the one Jon fingered her under the first time they went to a restaurant they needed reservations for. She endured the sloppy come-ons of the man seated next to her for four hours just because she wanted it to be the first thing Jon saw when she got off the plane. Jon had the same idea and wore his black casual suit with the charcoal grey tie he choked her with the second time they made love (and the first time she'd called him "Sir"). The first thing they each actually saw was the other smiling, because absence really does make the heart grow fonder. They looked, to the world, like a couple out on their first date.
Amy absently stirred her martini with the olive as they traded stories about their week apart, not really listening to the words but simply enjoying the sound of one another's voice. She sat next to him with one leg draped over his lap beneath the table. He stroked her bare thigh, enjoying the way she bit her lip and parted her legs slightly more when he brushed too close to her slit; her thong was in his jacket pocket and her curly, blonde hair hid her face from all prying eyes but Jon's.
"It's still early," she said to him as she finished her drink. "Do we have a plan?"
"I thought we could just lay in bed and fuck all weekend," Jon replied. "You have been gone for a week, after all."
"Is that sarcasm? Because you could have taken time off and come with me," she argued, but smiled.
"That's true," he replied, "but there are better things in this city to do than there would have been in Atlanta. Besides, if I'd left her here alone poor Violet would have been oh so put out with me."
Amy pulled on Jon's tie seductively. "True, and you wouldn't have gotten to fuck that little tiger Kat either," she purred. "I'm glad you did, you need a little girl who likes getting slapped around in your life. Fucking sadist..." She pulled him to her and bit his lip.
"Do you know that you are like the perfect woman?" he flattered.
"Oh, stop..." she said playfully. "But really, do we have a plan? You mentioned fucking me all weekend?"
"We haven't been to Touch in an age," he offered. "And we're already dressed."
Amy nodded. "But you do plan on fucking me?"
Jon laughed. "How about we finish our drinks, go home, fuck in the shower, get dressed, and then go to Touch?"
The cute waitress in heels and pearls brought them new drinks and blushed as she took their empty glasses, grinning in spite of herself and making shy glances at Jon and Amy. Jon assumed she must have overheard part of their conversation. Amy blushed too and craned her head around to watch the cute waitress shuffle away in her skirt, tossing shy glances and smiles back over her shoulder at Amy.
"Aww..." Amy said as the waitress left. "Let's invite her out next time we're here."
Jon chuckled and moved his hand up Amy's leg, placing it directly on her bare cunt. She was freshly shaven and more than just a little wet. Amy inhaled sharply and clutched at the edge of the table as she bit her lip.
"Mmm..." she moaned softly. "What were we talking about?"
Jon leaned in close to her ear. Some things, he'd learned, are better whispered than spoken.
"How do you need to be fucked?" he asked into her ear.
Amy closed her eyes and contemplated the darkness for a long few moments.
"I've been good," she answered.
"And?" Jon pushed.
"I've been very good, but my brain wants me to do things I don't think I can make myself do. I'm tired of being good, Sir," she said as her hand caressed his crotch from under the table. "I just... don't want..." She trailed off, lost for the words.
"You don't want to decide to be?" Jon finished.
Amy cocked her head at him.
"You don't want to think about what you're doing or what it makes you. You don't want to decide whether to be good or bad," he explained. "You just want to be fucked."
Amy lowered her head meekly and looked sheepish. "Yes, please," she whispered in the smallest voice she could muster.
A minute later their glasses were empty and the only sign of their passing was a $50 bill on the table. The night was mild and the sky was clear, but for the lights of the city blotting out the stars. Jon led Amy to the car and held the door for her as she demurely stepped into the seat. It was warm enough that he could put the top down, which he always preferred to do whenever possible. He took his place behind the wheel, produced her thong from his coat pocket, and hung them from the mirror. Amy stared guiltily at them, as though where they hung was a flag for all the world to see her admitting that she wasn't wearing them. Jon fired the engine of his car and let it idle as he reached into the back seat where Amy's carry-on bag had been placed, rummaged around for her hairbrush, and plopped it into her lap. It was wide and thick, made of polished wood and was perfect for spanking her with, which he often did. But as he merged onto the highway, he had other things in mind for it.
"Pick it up and put it inside you," he said. She lifted it gingerly with one hand.
Jon was trying not to let his impatience get the better of him, but driving less than 80mph was proving difficult. Amy slid down in her seat a bit to get a better angle at herself, spreading her long, smooth legs and putting one heeled foot up on the dashboard. She took the hairbrush in both hands by the bristles and inserted the handle slowly between the reddening folds of her pussy, tensing as it slid into her and freezing once it was buried to the hilt in her wet gash. She was biting her lip again. She always bit her lip when she was turned on.
"Keep going," Jon instructed. "Fuck yourself with it. I want you ready for my cock by the time we get home."
Amy slid it slowly in and out of her cunt, chest heaving and her eyes casting furtive glances every time they passed a car. The concern that someone might see her masturbating was enough to keep her from coming, Jon knew, and the longer he could keep her on edge... the more he could chasten her... the longer and harder she would come when he finally let her. Every car they passed added to her anxiety. Every mile they drove pushed her closer to the edge of breaking. One truck blared it's horn as they passed, and Amy almost stopped when she saw the driver leering down at her from the cab of the rig, but Jon scolded her and floored it to put some space between them and the trucker. (He was careful to avoid other trucks too, as the first driver would certainly have radioed the others to be on the lookout for his car.) By the time Jon merged off the highway, meandered through their home suburb, and pulled into their driveway, Amy was on the verge of tears in a beautiful, sexy whirlpool of both desire and humiliation.
He parked the car, turned the engine off, and pushed the button to close the garage door. No sooner than it had touched the ground, Jon was on her. He held her down against the car seat with one arm and snatched the hairbrush away with the other. Savagely, he started ramming it in and out of her cunt while she squirmed and screamed beneath him.
"I told you to fuck yourself with it, you stupid whore," he reprimanded.
"AHHH! Please, no!" she screamed, in that way that meant 'please, yes'. "This one is sorry, Sir! So sorry, my Sir! Please, Sir!"
Jon did not slow down. "Did I tell you to touch it a little and stop when you got embarrassed, or did I tell you to fuck your cunt with this hairbrush?"
"NO, Sir! OHH! OH GOD! You told this one to fuck herself with her brush, Sir!!"
Jon continued his savage treatment of her pussy. It was gushing wet and Amy was screaming and writhing beneath his grip on her shoulders as he pounded into her slit. She was close...
