We had been talking about moving in together. Ken had relocated to Sydney from London three months prior, after a long and undeniable online relationship that developed over two years. We never imagined that all this would happen and the impact it would have on our lives when we first met in chat, but here we were, living what we had only once dreamed.
I had invited him to come to dinner with me at one of my favourite restaurants. Ruby's was only open at night, and it was purposely darkly lit and private. The waiters walked primarily by memory, as the lighting was so poor. The tables were positioned far enough apart so that for all intents and purposes, every gathering was isolated and alone.
Our waiter was an old family friend, Patrick. I had contacted him directly to make the booking, to be certain that we would have the best of everything. He greeted us at the front foyer, relieving Ken of my coat, which he had already helped me out of. "Ken; Laura, please follow me this way." Patrick led us to a booth he had reserved for us; a plush burgundy velvet seat that curved, allowing us to simultaneously sit next to each other but also enabling us face each other.
Ken looked wonderfully striking and handsome, in a sharply tailored suit that accentuated his healthy and masculine physique. He wore his exotic scent that often lingered on my skin after we had been together. His face lit with smiles, and his light eyes spoke volumes that his words did not always reveal. I was excited but nervous as well, a feeling that sent electricity through me. We ordered some champagne cocktails and then fell into a playful and natural conversation around light topics. I loved the way Ken looked directly into my eyes when I spoke and sometimes I would catch a smile in them that made my heart melt.
As I told him about a colleague at work, he leaned in, wrapping his arm around my waist and whispered, " So, I'm assuming you have nothing on under that dress, young lady," the statement interrupting me midsentence.
I blushed, privately cursing myself for spending so much time and money on my lingerie. He laughed softly as he saw the reaction colour my cheeks and, in a breath-filled voice, he instructed me to go into the bathroom and return with my panties for him. He told me he didn't care for the bra, just the panties. I was relieved for the gloom in the restaurant, as my face flushed hot. I scooted along the booth and as I made my way to the restroom, I avoided any eye contact, concentrating on my breathing, fighting its betrayal of the warming I felt growing down below.
Upon my return, Ken took the panties and without comment placed them in his jacket pocket. We ordered and were soon presented with entrées. We fell into an easy conversation enjoyed by two that shared a comfortable and deep friendship, humorous at times, serious at times, captivating the entire time.
Our main dishes seemed to arrive all too quickly. Ken had ordered a steak, presented beautifully with a delicate wine sauce. As I began to pick up my cutlery, his hand reached over to cover mine. His eyes were directly on mine, and held me to the spot, "not so fast, Laura." With an unreadable expression and a demanding voice he said, "Lift your dress above your hips for me."
My eyes widened. "Ken," I replied timidly, and under my breath.
He raised his eyebrows in a confrontational manner, as if to ask, "Yes? Do have something to say to me?" I swallowed hard, and opened my mouth to reply, then thought better of it. I looked around nervously, as much to assess my audience as to find an escape.
"Our meals are getting cold. Please do as I ask."
His tone was not that of a request, and I sensed some irritation growing in his voice.
I once again glanced out towards the rest of the restaurant, and began to wriggle my fitted dress progressively up. When I reached a point on my hips where the hemline struggled, I hesitated. Without giving me a chance to gently negotiate the fabric, Ken reached for the skirt, and in one sharp upward motion, he forced the fabric beyond this point. I felt and heard some stitches tear.
His expression remained unchanged, despite my obvious mix of embarrassment and anger. His glance locked on mine, tempting me to react. He reached across, taking hold of my serviette and laid it neatly on my lap, which I modestly held down to salvage some dignity.
"Okay, now eat my girl."
I looked down at my plate and felt anything but appetite for it! I was flustered and ashamed. I made light of my meal, nibbling distractedly at this and that. I watched him soak the steak in the sauce and bring it to his mouth. It was then that I noticed that he was smiling. His expression had softened and he seemed pleased with me.
"This wine sauce is incredible! Here, try it." He motioned that I should use my finger, which I dipped into the pool of sauce, and as I placed it into my mouth, he made a hissing sound, drawing his breath in.
"Leave your finger there and suck on it, baby."
While I sucked the tip of my finger, Ken reached over and gently guided my finger further into my mouth. He kept hold of my hand controlling it out, and then in, provocatively and suggestively. "Good girl," he said, releasing me to continue with his meal. I continued to graze on mine, my face burning hot and flushed.
Patrick returned to ask if everything was satisfactory, and to refill our wine glasses. I dropped my hands instinctively to my lap, and Ken immediately reached down and gently took the hand closest to him. He brought my hand in his, to rest on top of the table. I understood this to be a command, and so reluctantly raised the other. We told Patrick how lovely everything was, and he smiled and left us once more. I could feel my heart beating in my throat - had Patrick noticed how red my face was? Did he see that I had my dress crumpled up at my waist?
"Laura, this sauce is good, but it needs something. Hmmm, here's what I want you to do. And, I don't want you to hesitate and then do it in your own sweet time. I want you to do it, and do it now."
I caught my breath... noticing that every emotion he seemed to evoke in me, the tension, embarrassment, even my temper was laced by my arousal.
"Dip your finger deep into your cunt, making sure it is covered with your juice, and offer it to me..."
"Oh Ken, come on! I can't do that!" my voice was hushed yet full of depth.
"I won't ask you again!"
I rolled my eyes, incredulous that he would ask me to do something so ridiculous! I knew that I didn't want to irritate him, or disappoint him, but there was no way that I was going to do this here! My eyes searched his, for some warmth that would give me a slither of appeal, but his glance was unmoving and I knew if I defied this demand, the evening would be over. He placed his cutlery down onto the plate and crossed his arms, a gesture of both impatience and of beginning to shutting down.
