Not only do you make me keep my blouse unbuttoned for the entire drive to the theatre, but you have me lift both breasts out of my bra and have them nestled together and exposed for all to see. I watch the pedestrians on the sidewalk turn their heads as we pass, and you order me to press my chest against the passenger window when we pull along-side a young brat in a top-down red convertible. He almost drives into a telephone pole.
As we pull into the theatre parking lot, you kindly allow me to tuck my tits back into my bra, and let me button the bottom three buttons on my blouse. My bra is still easily visible, and the wet mark from your mouth is still quite visible over my left breast. It's far from modest, but I know you could have gotten away with more and I'm grateful for your generosity.
You open the car door for me and help me to my feet – the short skirt may be sexy, but it makes getting in and out of the car tricky. On my feet, you survey me critically. You straighten my blouse, adjust my skirt, run a gentle hand over my hair. You look again, and pause, frowning. Your head dips to my right breast, and I feel your tongue seek out and tease my nipple. You stand back and squint, then smile.
"I do prefer symmetry," you say. I look at my blouse and see matching wet marks on the red silk, one for each breast. I'm definitely symmetrical now.
You lead me by the hand into the theatre lobby, and I try as best I can to hide my front behind you. You spin me around, showing me off. A few heads turn, but thankfully not many.
You point me to the cordoned line, and order me to get our tickets and a small bag of popcorn. Then you're gone, talking quietly to a staff person, and being led through a 'Staff Only' door. With you gone, I know I could technically button my blouse up to the neck and cross my arms over my chest, but I couldn't do that any more than I could fly. I'm under orders, and I must obey.
I blush as the teenage boy behind the counter gawps at my chest, and stammer my request for tickets and popcorn. He grins as he hands me the tickets, and I hold the popcorn in front of my chest as I wait for you in the middle of the lobby as ordered.
You return a few minutes later, and you're beaming. I always know I'm in trouble when you're beaming.
You take the tickets from my hand and I follow you with the popcorn down the hall to the theatre where our movie is playing. The ticket girl stares at me as we pass.
Up the stairs to the very back row, and you choose seats for us right beside the aisle. You allow me to pass you and seat yourself right beside the aisle. There are a few empty seats to my left, then a group of men who look like they're in their early twenties. You smile and nod in greeting at the one sitting closest to me, and he nods back.
You hold the popcorn, but don't take any, and I know I'm not allowed any until you've had your fill. We exchange casual conversation as we wait, and before long the ads on the screen stop.
As the lights go down, you lean in close to me. I feel your hand resting gently on my thigh, and I wonder if you're going to try a repeat of our little show outside the restaurant. I feel your breath on my ear, and you whisper to me.
"Spread your legs, my dear."
I part my knees.
"Wider."
I spread my knees as far apart as the theater seat armrests will allow.
"Wider."
