"Whoa, whoa, easy, easy there, pretty girl!" Tom's voice was filled with a warm, comforting condescension that never failed to make Kristina squirm in her seat, despite her best efforts to pretend otherwise. "You want to take little sips of that, sweetheart. That's a strong drink for a little thing like you, and the night is still very young. You don't want me carrying you out of here, do you?"
She knew he could do it if it came to that; Kristina was 5'8", and her boyfriend was still tall enough to kiss the top of her head without needing to raise up on the balls of his feet. And he did, which was one of the things that always made Kristina weirdly, squirmily hot in a guilty sort of way. No matter how many times she tried to explain to her libido that she was a strong, independent woman who bristled at any kind of chauvinism and hated being talked down to, especially by big brawny guys with lots of caveman muscles and a chiseled jaw and sparkling blue eyes....
Kristina blushed, realizing Tom was actually waiting for an answer to his question. "Um, n-no," she mumbled, setting down her fruity drink and staring meekly at the table. "No, I, um... um, thank you." She squeezed her legs together involuntarily, feeling a surge of heat in her wet pussy and wishing that they could skip the 'dinner' part of 'dinner and a movie'. And that they could watch the movie back at Tom's apartment. And that she could skip the 'watching' part and get straight to the bit where she closed her eyes and spread her legs and let him rub her cunt through her soaking panties while he called her a good girl.
God, she felt terrible about this. Even though it was all consensual, even though she negotiated everything and she had a safeword and Tom never pulled his 'now see here little missy' act around her friends or her family or god fucking forbid her co-workers, Kristina always felt so fucking guilty about how turned on she got every time her boyfriend treated her like a silly little girl who needed a big strong man to do the thinking for her. It seemed like she was breaking some ultimate taboo, betraying not just her own independence but the independence of every woman who had to fight non-stop against the kind of treatment Tom was pretending to give her.
But the taboo was what made it so fucking hot, wasn't it? When Tom gave her a big, smug grin and said, "That's my cutie pie! You know that even those girly drinks go straight to your head, don't you?", with an expression of sincere concern radiating from his bright blue eyes, something inside Kristina melted all the way down to her cunt. It felt so comforting, so... so safe to let go of the constant need to push back against obnoxious guys who thought that a Y chromosome and a penis made them an expert on everything. She could let that fuzzy, drifting warmth fill up her head and not have to always be smarter, always be right, always have the proof close at hand for that one asshole who was 'just asking questions'. She didn't have to worry about accidentally slipping up and playing with her long blonde hair or letting out an 'er' or an 'um' that instantly destroyed an entire speech's worth of credibility.
"Um, yeah," Kristina heard herself giggle, staring into Tom's bottomless blue eyes as she took another sip of her drink. "The girly drinks do kind of go to my head, don't they?" She was acutely conscious of the fact that she was repeating a man's opinions back to him. And it was making her so fucking wet.
Tom gave her a chuckle and a tiny encouraging nod, just enough to give her subconscious permission to sink deeper into the post-hypnotic suggestion that drifted lazily out of reach of her waking memory. She remembered being hypnotized, she remembered discussing every suggestion with Tom before she went under and enthusiastically agreeing to each and every one of them. She just... couldn't remember what they were. "Of course they do, sweetie heart," he cooed, reaching across the table and taking her small, slender hand in his own. "Let's face it, you're kind of a lightweight, aren't you? One strong drink and you're completely blitzed."
Kristina's mouth froze in the act of pursing sensually around the straw. She swallowed with a nervous gulp and set the drink down. "I, um... I'm not t-that bad, am I?" she asked, almost as much to herself as to Tom. She looked at the fruity cocktail, thick with pureed strawberries; it didn't taste strong to her, in fact it didn't even taste alcoholic at all, but her boyfriend seemed so certain in his conviction that Kristina found herself questioning her own judgment. Which just made her even more horny and fuzzy and eager to stare into Tom's pretty blue eyes and mess up her own mind that much harder.