Tonight's story begins, on the surface, as any routine night in middle America. We have both had a hard day at the office, so we meet at our local burger joint on the way home so neither of us has to cook. Today Samantha gave a presentation to the vice president of marketing so she wore a dark wool suit, the skirt just above her knees. Her silk blouse, burgundy and gray, was high-necked with a bow at the throat. My wife always looks stunning, but this evening she had an extra air of confidence about her, that aura that adds beauty without physical cause.
The restaurant, a small place with only three booths and four tables, caters to the working man, generally the construction trade. Her entrance into the restaurant, striding in on red heels, drew plenty of attention. And if they only knew what I knew ...
I had called her before leaving work and whispered our magic word into her ear. She acknowledged the word, thus signalling that she accepted the role I had crafted for her that evening.
As a sign of her acceptance, she entered the bathroom after we ordered our dinners, then removed her undergarments and loosened her suit jacket. She also rolled the top of her skirt three or four times, thus raising the hemline to mid-thigh. When she sat at the table, she thus barely avoided exposing the tops of her stockings. The other patrons noticed her changed appearance--the wiggle of her bosom swaying gently against the silk, the careful way she walked in her suddenly shorter skirt--and approved or disapproved based on gender.
As she sat down, she winced briefly, then smiled at me. She had remembered to insert the pocket dildo inside her moist recess. Part of her cautious gait was due to this slippery intruder. She had to walk carefully since only her powerful muscles held it in place. (Once it had squirted out and clattered on the floor. When that happens she has to announce, "Oops, my dildo fell out" and pick it up. You can be sure she's very cautious now.)
And so it is we're chomping on burgers and fries at a hole in the wall restaurant, both of us dressed professionally, and she with a sex toy lodged insider her. She tells me about the successful meeting today. I listen intently while staring at the shape of her lips. I can't wait to get them ovaled around my dick, and I tell her so.
My wife is right handed, but as part of our game she's required to keep that hand in her lap and eat only with the left. Merely a symbolic action, it's another way for her to demonstrate her willingness to accept her submissive role for me.
In many ways she has the easier job in our relationship. She merely needs to follow my commands, knowing full well that I'd never truly injure her, nor damage her reputation. In contrast, my part requires creativity--I must continue to come up with new ways to demonstrate my dominance that meet the dual criteria of safety and eroticism, while giving her the chance for explosive sexual release that we both enjoy.
Again I digress from the current scene, so we return to my wife carefully eating fries with her left hand while a plastic phallus fills her cleft and her underwear is stashed in her purse.
My manhood is straining against the trousers of my suit. I think the waitress has noticed: she seems unduly attentive to our table this evening, and keeps glancing towards my lap. I draw the girl to my partner's attention. Naturally, she's already noticed the actions of our server--women are uncanny in detecting when another female is interested in their man.
Remember the difficulty the dominant has in creating exciting new forms of enjoyment? When the waitress, whose name is Wanda, returns with more iced tea, inspiration strikes me. I remind my wife again of the magic word and ask if she's willing to try something new and exciting. If not, she can withdraw her toy and quietly hand it to me beneath the table. Instead of calling the game short, she repeats the magic word in my ear again, along with "I love you."
Smiling, I whisper a few instructions to her. Soon I spot Wanda approaching the table, my wife's back to her. I nod to give my wife her cue, so she recites quietly, "I can't wait to suck your cock--how about a blowjob in the parking lot?" No one but Wanda and me have heard the invitation. I smile knowingly to the waitress and ask for the check. She smiles back, embarrassed to be caught, her blush complete from bosom to scalp. I leave her an outrageous tip, along with a note. "You can watch if you like. Blue Volvo, Nevada plates, back parking lot." I watch as she reads it, her blush redoubling in intensity.
As we head out the door, my wife still carefully balancing on her high heels to keep her slippery friend entrapped within, I overhear Wanda telling the manager "I'm gonna take a cigarette break... see ya in ten."
I walk my wife to the car, open her door, and enjoy seeing her climb gingerly into the passenger seat. She slides to the right edge of the seat, then I climb behind the wheel. I slide my seat all the way back to give her head room while she ducks down to adjust the spacing. She squirms a bit, trying to get the right angle for the blowjob while repositioning the dildo inside.
We're in the darkest section of the parking lot (I always pick this spot, just in case) and soon I detect Wanda's shadow beside me. I look up to see her smiling through the window, waiting to see what tented my trousers before. I tell my wife to unzip my pants and pull out my hard-on. She has a little difficulty--the pressure on the zipper is rather stiff--but eventually I am released into the night air. Wanda gasps when she sees it. Most men brag about the size of their equipment, but I'm not going to bother with dimensions. Instead, I'll merely report that it's all my partner needs and previous girlfriends have all been equally satisfied.
With my manhood now exposed and reaching towards the steering wheel, I rest my hand on my wife's neck. She knows the drill of course, but likes that extra little pressure--another part of the submissive thing, I suppose. She licks my balls for a bit, then slides her tongue along my shaft before finally engulfing it with her lips. At that point I motion to the waitress to climb into the back seat. The sound of the door opening startles my wife, but I'm still holding her head in my lap and she can't pull away. Besides, she knew something like this was about to happen, so she murmurs something unintelligible and resumes sliding her head up and down.
A moment later I feel Wanda looking over my left shoulder as my wife continues to suck. Her perfume is mixed with the smell of grease from the fryer, and her red hair tickles my cheek as she watches. I know I'm going to explode quickly, so I instruct my wife to play with herself. I always prefer that she come first... her release is another sign of surrender, and I love to feel her pounding pulse as she orgasms, the veins in her neck throbbing, her whole body twitching, then sighing with a flush.
With my wife's fingers sliding the dildo in out of her moist recess on the Volvo's leather seat, her aroma overwhelms the earlier scent of Wanda. Then I hear some squishy sounds behind me and realize that some of the musk is coming from the waitress in the back seat, whose fingers are now mimicking my wife's toy as she tries to satisfy her own needs.
