Birthday Girl

The silent darkness of the car was perfect. She was in the passenger seat tonight, a privilege rarely allowed to her when she's misbehaved. When I glanced over at her I saw she was crying silently.

Good.

We had been out to dinner at the burger joint that had just opened up, celebrating her 26th birthday, and my girl had been unacceptably rude to the servers. She likes her beef rare, her mayo spread thin, and her fries cut thick, and that's all fine. I would hate to be one of those doms that micromanages their sub's diet.

What wasn't fine was the way she ordered her perfect burger.

"I want the burger to be pink and I don't want the mayo to be visible. Can you do that?" A little rude, but I stupidly thought that could let it slide once. It

was

her birthday.

When she turned her attention back to me, her brown eyes went from annoyed to sparkling. She knew I must have something special planned for tonight.

For her last birthday, I had given her a set of pink leather cuffs that could be attached to chain or rope, and since then I had put those cuffs on her every time I wanted to treat her to too many orgasms. Just last Saturday I had slipped them onto her wrists while she slept and gone to town on her.

The pressure of the cuffs woke her up, and after a moment's confusion she grinned. She came fourteen times before midnight. The last five had been a struggle because her overstimulated clit had been practically crawling up inside her to escape my touch, but I gallantly persevered through her begging and crying.

The fourteenth might have been too many; I had to pin her down and attach the cuffs to the rope that's a permanent fixture on our headboard before I could even think of touching her properly. God bless her, but she stopped struggling once her arms were immobilised. She opened those well-bitten lips so sweetly to accept her favourite ball gag, and tried not to thrash too much when I laid feather light touches on her inner thighs.

I couldn't let her stop at thirteen. I'm kind of superstitious like that.

A quiet sniffle brought me back from such pleasant memories. Thoughts of her behaviour tonight - when she had given up playing footsie with me so she could snap at the waitress to say that she had wanted her fries unsalted - steeled me for what I had to do.

"Do you know why I'm mad?" I kept my eyes on the road.

Her voice was small and shaky with fear. "I was rude to the waitress."

"You were a brat. I should have corrected you when you ordered your dinner, but I expected you to be more polite when you'd had something to eat. But you weren't, were you?"

"No, sir."

We weren't drinking alcohol. There are acceptable risks when it comes to our play but I won't have either of us under the influence. The burger joint was famous for its cocktails, though, so for dessert we each got one of their signature mocktails. I had something with apple sauce and grape juice and a caramel breadstick for a stirrer, and she got something yellow with passionfruit slices stuck to the rim of the glass. However...

"Where's the ice?"

The waitress was doing an excellent job of keeping her composure. "The Satin Sunrise doesn't come with ice, ma'am."

"Oh, whatever. Get me some ice."

The poor girl brought her a pint glass full of ice, but which could still only hold five chunky cubes with plenty of space where they pushed against each other. She only put two cubes in her drink.

I let her chatter on through the final course of our ruined date, blissfully unaware of the rage simmering in me. Someone she worked with was having a baby. Someone else was having an affair. Usually I pay more attention to these tidbits but tonight I couldn't stop planning how to correct her terrible rudeness.

Eventually we had both finished our drinks and she made to grab the coat from the back of her chair.

"Where do you think you're going? You haven't finished your dinner."

Confusion was written large on her face, but the tone of my voice let her know she was in trouble. She settled back into her seat. "What do you mean?" I didn't want her to call me 'sir' in public, but the deference in her voice, the first stirrings of worry in her eyes, were just as good.

I nodded to the glass with its three chunks of barely melted ice. "Go ahead."

Her mouth opened in surprise or ready to protest, but she reached for the glass anyway. Lifting it to her mouth, she tipped the inch of icemelt down her throat and put the glass back down. She was avoiding my gaze now. She suspected what I was about to make her do.

"Well?"

Three manicured fingers reached into the glass and picked up an ice cube. She popped it in her mouth and finally looked me in the eye. I raised an eyebrow and she repeated the process. Two ice cubes could barely fit in her mouth and her cheeks bulged and settled obscenely while she tried to find a way to get comfortable.

The seconds before she managed to close her mouth were delightful. When she tried to hide her mouth with a napkin I took her hands. It was a natural enough movement for a man in love with his girlfriend and nothing that would seem suspicious, but it let me pin her hands to the table and watch as her tongue flinched and writhed away from the cold.

Even the most beautiful things can't last, though, and soon enough the heat of her mouth had melted the ice to a disappointingly comfortable size. I couldn't have looked away if I wanted to, and when I could see her tongue working at the remnant ice slivers like a lozenge, I dipped my own hand into the pint glass.

For the first time tonight I saw tears fill her eyes, but she opened her mouth wide enough to let me press the hard chunk inside. I let go of her hands immediately and gestured to our waitress that we needed the bill. I didn't look at my sub again until we were leaving the restaurant, and she didn't dare say anything, but I knew she got the message.

I was really looking forward to making sure the lesson stuck, though.