Date Night 72

At lunchtime on Friday, you send me a text message: "When you get home from work, put your suction cups on your nipples. I want them nice and big ready for this evening." I can barely concentrate on my work throughout the afternoon as I try to imagine what you might have planned for the evening.

I get home and put on my suction cups, feeling them pull my nipples outwards as the blood rushes to them. I wonder whether I could get away with having a quick play as I feel my arousal growing. But I know that you would not be pleased if you came home and found me touching myself, so I reluctantly resist.

Your next text message arrives about 15 minutes later: "I've booked a table for dinner. Wear a nice dress, stockings, heels and your crotchless knickers. Nothing else. I'm working late, so I'll meet you at the restaurant at 6.30. Remove the suction cups just before you leave the house." I re-read your message and realise that you did not mention a bra.

I send you a reply, hoping that this is an oversight: "Sir, my nipples will be very large from the suction cups. May I wear a bra to cover them?"

Your reply is a curt "No" and I worry that I have annoyed you by questioning your authority. I begin to imagine how you might punish me for this infraction and get carried away in a daydream until I realise that I do not have long to get ready for dinner. I pick out a dress, trying to find one that is not too low cut, hoping to retain some modesty. When I am ready to leave, I remove the suction cups. My nipples are huge and very hard. They are so sensitive that I can feel every movement of the soft fabric of my dress rubbing against them. I look in the mirror and see that my nipples are very visible, poking against the dress.

Walking to the restaurant, I feel vulnerable with such little underwear and worry that every slight gust of wind will lift up the hem of my dress to reveal my knickers. I am very aware of my nipples and feel as if every passer-by must be staring at me. But I arrive at the restaurant without incident and find you already seated at a table in a quiet corner. You stand to greet me as I approach the table and I melt at the sight of you in a suit. I've always had a thing for a man in a proper suit. Maybe it's the way it adds to their air of dominance. Or maybe it's linked to my fantasies of being a submissive secretary (but that will have to be saved for a different story...!)

You pull me gently towards you and kiss me lightly before pulling out my chair to invite me to sit down next to your seat. "How was your day?" I ask.

"A little stressful," you reply. "But I'm sure it will get better from here on." I feel your eyes on me, scrutinising every visible part of my body. "Was it cold outside?" you ask. I smile, blushing, as I realise that you are staring at my hard nipples. They have begun to return to their normal size, but are still much larger than normal. My arm moves to try to cover them, but I stop as I see you shake your head.

"What if other people are staring at my nipples?" I ask quietly.

"Let them stare at your hard nipples," you reply. "I want them to be jealous that I get to take you home and play with those gorgeous tits."

As the waitor comes over to take our drink orders, I see his eyes move to my nipples but I am distracted from this embarrassment when I feel your hand on the top of my thigh, sliding up beneath my skirt and stroking the bare skin above the top of my stocking. I struggle to maintain my composure as you chat to him about the wine menu, your roaming hand hidden by the long table cloth and his eyes flitting between you and my nipples. He walks away and your hand moves towards the inside of my thigh before finding itself blocked by the way that I am sitting with my thighs together and ankles crossed. "Keep your thighs apart," you growl in my ear. "Do not deny me access to what is rightfully mine." I uncross my ankles and allow my thighs to part slightly. "Wider," you whisper. As I move my thighs wider apart, I can feel my pussy being exposed by the crotchless knickers and my knee comes to rest against yours. Your hand moves up the inside of my thigh and I gasp as I feel your fingers brush over my exposed lips. "Good girl," you tell me, and your hand moves away. "Keep your thighs apart for the rest of the evening."

Before our main course is brought out, you reach into a bag that you have kept hidden by your feet. You pass me a satin drawstring bag and tell me to put it into my handbag. "What is it?" I ask, but you refuse to tell me.

You barely touch me again throughout our starter as we chat comfortably about normal, everyday topics. I have to concentrate to maintain my unnatural position with my thighs apart and I can tell that you notice every time my knee moves away from yours. "If you can't remember to follow my instruction, I'm sure I can come up with a way to help you to remember next time," you say. I bite my lip as I remember a story I read a while ago about a slave who was trained to keep her legs apart by wearing straps with spikes on between her legs, so that the spikes dug in if her thighs came too close. But I decide not to reveal this -- I am sure that you have plenty of wicked ideas of your own, without me adding to them.

Before our main course is brought out, you instruct me to go to the bathroom and insert the object that is in the satin bag that you passed to me earlier. When I am safely in the bathroom, I open the bag to reveal a medium sized butt plug and a small sachet of lube. Even with the lube, it is hard to push the width of the plug into my ass and I can feel it stretching me as I walk back to our table. I wince as I sit back down and try to rest my weight on my thighs to keep my ass from touching the chair. But then I feel you give a sharp pinch to my upper thigh to remind me to keep my legs apart. I am forced to sit back onto my cheeks and I feel the plug being pushed even deeper inside me. As I eat my meal, the slight discomfort of the plug constantly reminds me of your control over me. This causes my nipples to harden, which further increases my feeling of exposure as I realise how evident my arousal is to you and anyone else who is close enough to notice.

As the waiter returns to clear our empty plates, I feel your hand on my thigh once more. This time, it continues to move upwards and I feel your finger pushing inside me. Although I know that the table cloth hides the position of your hand, I blush and concentrate on trying not to react. "Your pussy is soaked," you whisper to me as the waiter walks away. "I hope you're not making a wet patch at the back of your dress..."

After dessert, you whisper to me, "I want you to rub your clit. Don't stop until I give you permission. And don't cum."

"Sir, I can't..." I begin, pleading with you to let me off. But I am cut off by your hard stare and I find myself obeying you, your dominance overriding the logical thoughts in my brain. I feel incredibly vulnerable as I reach my hand under the table cloth and begin to lightly stroke my clit. You maintain eye contact with me after a quick glance to check the location of my hand. This only serves to heighten my embarrassment at being forced to play with myself in the middle of a restaurant. You call the waiter over to ask for the bill and engage him in conversation as I focus on making sure that my upper arm doesn't betray my movements and my face doesn't show my humiliation.

"You're beginning to look very flushed," you tell me as the waiter walks away. "We'll get you out into the fresh air soon... Maybe that will help."

The waiter returns with the bill and you again engage him in conversation, enjoying my obvious discomfort as you notice the subtle signs that I am close to orgasm. You finally allow me to stop playing with myself just before we stand up to leave. As we walk out of the restaurant, I feel sure that everyone is staring at me, either noticing the wet patch that I imagine must be showing at the back of my dress, my hard nipples poking through my dress or the flush that has probably spread over my neck and chest. You use a hand on the small of my back to guide me, asserting your claim over me, and I am grateful for the way that this gesture helps me to feel secure and protected despite my feeling of vulnerability and embarrassment. But as soon as we walk out of the door, you heighten my feeling of humiliation by taking my hand and raising it to your lips to suck my finger, tasting my wetness still on it.

You keep hold of my hand and I begin to relax slightly as we walk along the pavement although every step causes the plug to shift in my ass. "It's a lovely warm evening," you say, "so shall we walk through the park?"

"But, Sir, I need you to take me home and make me cum, please, I'm so wet for you..." I reply, hoping that we can get home as quickly as possible so that you can provide me with some relief from my arousal.

"My poor slut," you reply. "Maybe I'll make you wait for your orgasm... Or maybe walking through the park and making you cum aren't mutually exclusive..." My eyes widen as I realise the implications of your suggestion. Although we have sometimes engaged in discreet play in public, like this evening in the restaurant, you have never actually made me cum in a public place. The thought both excites and horrifies me.

We turn off into the park and you lead me towards an area with a few bushes and trees. You stop, positioning me so that my back is against a tree and you have a good view to make sure that there aren't actually any people nearby. Your hand reaches towards one of my nipples, rubbing it through the fabric of my dress and enjoying the way that it instantly hardens underneath your fingers. Then you reach into my dress and pull my breasts upwards, lifting them out of the dress. I gasp as I realise how exposed I am, but you silence me with a deep kiss, rubbing my bare nipples to hardness before pinching them firmly.

Your knee nudges my thighs apart and I can feel your hard cock pressing against me. "I can't walk home with a hard-on," you tell me, "so you're going to have to do something about it." I consider arguing that you expected me to walk around with enlarged, hard nipples showing through my dress, but think better of it. I feel your hands on my shoulders, pushing me down, and I begin to protest, until you threaten to spank me here in the park instead. Kneeling on the soft grass with my tits still exposed, you silence me with your hard cock, thrusting it into my mouth and using a hand on the back of my head to encourage me to take it as deep as possible. It doesn't take long before you near orgasm, aroused all evening by admiring my hard nipples, enjoying watching me squirm and anticipating all the things you still have planned for when we finally get home. I swallow your cum, not wanting to add to my humiliation by dribbling any onto my dress.

When I have licked your cock clean and you have tucked it back into your trousers, you gently pull me to my feet before pushing me back against the tree. Your hand reaches between my legs, feeling my juices almost dripping from me in my arousal. You slide two fingers into my pussy, enjoying the way that the crotchless knickers give you such easy access. I moan as you pump them into me, your thumb now rubbing on my clit.

You continue until I near orgasm and then tell me, "I was planning to make you cum here in the park, but you've tried to argue with me at least twice this evening, so I think I'll make you wait." I whimper in need and you chuckle softly. "I thought you didn't want to be forced to cum in public? You are such a needy slut, aren't you?" You push your fingers into my mouth, making me lick my juices from them before you pull my dress back over my breasts.

We walk home agonisingly slowly as you stop frequently to point out stars or to admire the view. I try to enjoy the romance of a moonlit walk, but am distracted by the plug in my ass and my dripping pussy. When we finally get through the front door, you lead me into the bedroom and I instinctively kneel by your feet. You reach into a drawer and pull out my collar and a set of cuffs. You tug my dress up and over my head, leaving me naked in front of you, apart from my stockings. Then you gently pull my hair out of the way and bend down to kiss my neck before placing the collar around it. I present my wrists to you and you fasten a cuff on each one before pulling my hands behind my back and fastening the cuffs to each other. My restraints have the paradoxical effect of making me feel free, knowing that you will take care of all my needs.

Next, you return your attention to my tits, which are being thrust forward by the position of my arms. You roll each nipple between your fingers before attaching the nipple clamps. I whimper as I feel the sharp pinch, a pain which seems to travel directly through my body to further inflame the tingling of my needy clit. You use the clip of the leash to attach the chain between the clamps to the ring at the front of my collar. As you tug on the leash, I feel it pull on both my collar and on the nipple clamps.

You unfasten my wrists and use the leash to pull me towards the bed, pushing me down and positioning me in the middle of the bed. You attach the wrist cuffs to chains on each bedpost. Your hands slide down my body, over my hips and down my legs. Then you fasten a cuff to each ankle. You push my feet towards my head as far as they will go, spreading them wide and placing a pillow beneath my hips, before attaching each ankle to the same bedposts as my wrists. The final touch is a few loops of rope around each of my thighs, which you also attach to the same bedposts.

"Maybe that will help you to keep your thighs apart," you tell me, stroking the sensitive flesh at the top of my thighs. I am exposed to you, my legs spread wide and lifted so that they pull my ass upwards off the bed, displaying both my holes. You continue to tease and tickle my thighs and I try to wriggle away from your touch, but find that I am unable to move. Then your head dips and I feel your tongue on my pussy, teasing my labia before flicking over my clit. I cannot move towards or away from your tongue as you lick and suck on my clit. Just as you feel me approaching orgasm, you pull your head away abruptly. I moan, begging you to continue, but you sit back and spend a few moments just admiring the sight of my helpless body. The only movement is my chest rising and falling as I pant in need.

Then you begin stroking and tickling my inner thighs again. "What lesson are you learning, my slut?" you ask.

"I'm learning to keep my thighs apart when you tell me to, Sir," I moan, giggling as your fingers reach a particularly ticklish spot. Then your tongue returns to my clit, bringing me to the brink of orgasm again before stopping. I moan in frustration and you tug on the chain between my nipple clamps. The sudden pain makes me whimper, but then I fall silent.

You place the tip of your hard cock against my pussy and then rub it up and down my slit before slapping it on my clit a few times. Then you slide it into me, torturously slowly. I feel your width stretching my pussy inch by inch before you suddenly withdraw, leaving my pussy desperate for you to return.

The physical sensations blur into one as you alternate between tormenting my ticklish thighs, sliding your cock into my pussy and licking my throbbing clit. I am reduced to a quivering feeling of intense need, only able to gibber, "Please, Sir, please, please...". After what feels like hours, you push your cock into my pussy and stroke my clit, feeling me squeeze around your cock as I finally reach a crashing orgasm. Without allowing me to recover, you pound into my pussy, driving me to a second orgasm just before you cum inside me.

You withdraw from my pussy and your tongue returns to my clit, which is now overly sensitive. You ignore my squirming and continue to lick and suck until my squeaks of protest turn to whimpers of arousal and you bring me to a third orgasm.

Finally you untie me and pull me into your arms on the bed, kissing me gently and telling me what a good girl I am.