Life in L.A. is tricky. I know most people think all Angelenos do is hang out by the pool and have pedicures, but such is not my reality. After my initial night with my slave, Michael, we didn’t see each other for a few weeks. I was busy on the set, dealing with a particularly complicated medieval drama; I assumed he was recording or writing. It occurred to me that he might have gone on tour without telling me. If that was the case. I’d just have to seek him out when he got back home and spank his hefty ass extra hard with my studded paddle. One night after work I went out for dinner with a few co-workers at an industry hang-out – an old-fashioned steakhouse with roomy red leather booths that reminded me of the suburban restaurants my parents used to take me to as a kid. After ten minutes of being teased about being a vegetarian by my carnivore friends, I relented and ordered a filet mignon.
“Jeez, will you listen to those guys – thank God there’s no one here under 21!” my friend Alexia suddenly exclaimed, motioning toward a boothful of noisy men in a far corner of the restaurant.
I looked over and saw Michael sitting in another booth with some mates of his. They were comparing notes about various female companions when I thought I heard him say something about “a daft blonde tart with a whip.” Maybe it was presumptuous of me to think he was talking about me. Michael was certainly capable of maintaing a whole stable of daft blondes with whips.
“Excuse me,” I said, “I have to powder my nose.” I sashayed past the booth where Michael held court, making sure he got an eyeful of my butt in my tight jeans.
“Holy shit,” he exclaimed
“You’re a class act, Michael. You’re allowed to call me, you know.”
“Damn, I didn’t see you there.” So I’m daft, huh? Your daft blonde tart –hmm.” “I meant it in a good way. Daft like freespirited, ya know.” Yeah, try and talk your way out of it. There’s a long spanking in store, for you mister.” He slipped his arms around me, enveloping me like a bear capturing his prey,.and French kissed me full on the lips within full view of an amused waitress on her break. “I missed you.” I whispered in his ear, then coyly bit the lobe, teasing him with a pinch. “God, you get me hard just hearing your voice. I bet you ain’t wearing underwear.”
“Just a purple thong”. I purred. He liked that.
“C’mere sit with me”. He gripped onto me hard. “Oh, honey I don’t wanna be rude to my friends.” “They’ll understand.”
When we returned his buddies were sitting at my table, chatting up Alexia and the 21-year-old wardrobe girl. “Well, looks like we have the whole booth to ourselves. How about some dessert, Mr. Hanover?” What’s on special tonight?” “A delicious sugar-coated blow job.” I whispered. I sunk to my knees under the table and unzipped him, the most beautiful sound I’d heard since our first night together.
“Michael, ya ready to go?” One of his friends called. “Not yet – he said. “Leave without me. I have some business to take care of.” “Yeah, a daft blonde.” I heard one of them say as he walked out of the restaurant with the wardrobe girl. I played with him, kissing his cock and his balls, teasing him and getting him ready for the marathon to come. Then I quietly zipped him back up. Clandestinely sucking his cock in public wouldn’t cut it. I needed him full throttle inside me. ‘Cmere, let’s go to the loo. We hurried to the john. He backed up against the wall by the wash basin and I sucked him, dirty and lowdown, just like the street whores he’d gone to as a teen-ager. He slipped my jeans down over my hips then pulled my thong down and slipped a finger inside my shaved pussy. “We shouldn’t stay away from each other for too long. It’s fucking unhealthy.” I wrapped my legs around him, forcing myself on top of him and we fucked. It was a joy to watch his cock plunge in and out. The reflection in the mirror magnified our merged bodies like a camera close-up.
