"I'm not hungry."
I'm with my boyfriend, the Scotsman, out at a nice pub in our neighborhood, supposedly celebrating our first anniversary as a couple, but I'm a bit pissed off because he got home late from a gig.
Sure, he apologized, saying it couldn't be avoided, but it annoyed me knowing that he didn't pass up that last drink with his musician friends since he knew tonight was our special night out.
I mean, come ON.
So, we're sitting at the table and the waiter is patiently waiting for my order, and, quite frankly, I have lost my appetite over this.
"Well, why don't ye just get a wee starter or somethin'?," The Scotsman says pleasantly.
"No." I say, petulantly.
He is not in the mood for this kind of thing tonight. "How about a salad or baked tattie?"
"No."
"Look, they have prawn cocktail, you like that don't you?"
"No."
"Fine then, then don't eat anythin'," he says and looks up to the waiter as he hands him our menus, "I'll have, eh, that pasta thing, he says pointing to it, "and the wumman's no wantin' anythin', thank ye very much."
He looks back at me with a smile in his big brown eyes and clasps his hands together.
"Gee, thanks a lot." I say sticking out my bottom lip just a bit.
"What?" says the Scotsman, "What did I do now?" He's been in the doghouse for the past week for no damn reason at all, as far as he's concerned.
"Well, what if I get hungry in a little while, you gave him our menus."
"Right. That's IT," he growls as he reaches out with his paw of a hand and grabs my hand.
He pulls me toward him a little and leans over the table. "I've HAD it, Francy," he whispers intensely. "This been goin' on all week ... when we get home you are going straight over my knee, Missy, and you are going to be very, very sorry."
A jolt of electricity shoots through me at the thought of being put over his knee. He's never talked this way before, I usually get my way, even if I do say so myself. Oh, he's threatened to spank me before in fun but then, when we'd get home, he'd flick on the TV and it's long forgotten.
It's a shame, too, cause as much as I adore him, part of me feels that maybe he doesn't really care for me as much I do for him. And if he really cared, he would remember something important like our anniversary or ... putting me over his knee.
We sit there, silently, he has his arms crossed and seems kinda teed off. I am definitely fully teed off.
Just then a cocktail waitress comes by and places my wine spritzer and the Whyte and Mackay he ordered on the table and, I must say, I'm not thrilled with the way his eyes seemed to linger a little on her boobs which were practically hanging out of her low cut top.
Humph. And here I am sitting in my cute little skirt and blouse, pretty darn low-cut as WELL, with no damn panties on. Just for him! I had planned to inform him of this little tidbit bout half way through dinner and let him slide his hand up my leg and under my skirt while we made our way through some crème brulee.
But apparently he cares way more for the skanky cocktail waitress than he does for me. I'm so hurt I could cry, but being the independent gal that I am, I come up with a plan.
I excuse myself to go to the ladies room passing a private dining area where a group of businessmen are having a meeting. Accidentally on purpose, I drop my purse and make sure when I bend over to pick it up that my short skirt lifts up to reveal my totally bare butt and pussy to my boyfriend. What I don't realize is that I also have revealed it to the executives, as well.
I turn and see the Scotsman sitting there, his eyes open wide. Mission accomplished! I then give him my best wicked smile and high-tail it on to the ladies room. The whole time I freshen up in there I smile to myself, knowing how turned on he'll be when I come out and how I had taken his mind off the stupid waitress.
I blot my lips and fluff up my hair and stride back out heading for our table. Just as I notice that the Scotsman is not waiting patiently there for me, I feel a vice like grip on my arm and feel his lips brush my ear.
"Right, Francy! You've DONE it this time, too far, just TOO far. I'm so BLOODY mad at you just now."
I have never heard him this angry before and it elicits a bizarre response from me - I start to giggle nervously. "Oh, come on," I say, "It's funny, though, isn't it?"
The Scotsman looks at me as if I have just dropped to earth from Planet Xenon.
"NO! Francy, it's NO fuckin' funny and what the fuck did you think you were doin' back there, wumman?'
"It's a little bit funny, dontcha think?" I can't believe how big his eyes have gotten as they threaten to pop out of his sockets at me.
He doesn't even answer me he's so mad, instead he takes me by my upper arm and WHACKS me really hard on the butt, right in front of the ladies room!
OW. I'm so shocked my mouth drops open. And to make matters worse, our waiter walks by just as he does and smiles broadly as he goes into the kitchen.
I'm shocked not only that he would do such a thing, he's usually so laid back ... but I'm also very surprised at how wet my pussy has suddenly become through this whole altercation. And, oddly, this all makes me giggle even more.
And the more I laugh, the more angry my Scotsman becomes ...
"What are you laughing about? Eh?" I try to stop and look serious but then burst out laughing again. "You bare your arse to all these men and think this is all fuckin' hilarious?"
"Yup," I snort.
I know, but I can't help it. The serious look on his face is cracking me up. I feel compelled to do this, not unlike a moth careening towards it's death by flame.
He is completely aghast at my response. Which, sorry to say, elicits more laughter from me. He pulls me so close to his face that I can feel his lips moving on my ear.
"STOP IT, right now," he says firmly through gritted teeth and SWATS me again on my butt, really hard this time. I giggle even more and my pussy just keeps getting wetter.
I just can't believe all this is really happening, I mean, people are starting to turn and look ... so I look deep into his eyes to see what is going on here. I wish I hadn't. He REALLY is mad. He isn't playing around this time.
I snicker.
Wrong move.
Suddenly I'm almost airborne, his vice-like grip on my arm has me sailing through the dining room. "I'll show you funny, Missy," he says in a frighteningly calm voice.
We fly past our table and chair. "Oh good, we're going home," I think. "We'll handle this privately." But NOOOOO. We are headed for the private dining room.
Uh oh.
He jerks me to a stop in front of the table where about 10 men varying in age from 20's to 50's, all dressed in suits with briefcases and paperwork on the table. They look up.
"Alright lads, my wumman, Francy here, has done somethin' wrong and she's goin' to say sorry to you all." he announces. "Right. Go on then, Francy."
I look out at him and then these guys and open my mouth to say something but all I can think is, "So, the fuck, what?"
I feel woozy from all this odd excitement, almost drunk. My mouth spreads into a lopsided grin and, in a move, I will very soon live to regret, I say ...
"How'd ya like it, boys!" not unlike a drunken sailor.
There is a moment of silence, the men stare at me not knowing what to make of any of this.
I can't even look at the Scotsman. I figure our next stop is the parking lot.
