Saturday, September 10, 2005
We walk to the front of the restaurant, and I just have to ask, "Traditional?" "Of course," you respond, with that half smile that sometimes says wonderful things, and sometimes says I'm really in trouble. This time, I think it might just be the latter.
We enter the restaurant and were quickly escorted to our reserved room. I know what we will find there, as we have visited this sort of place in the past. What I don't know was how exactly you expect me to function in there while dressed the way you desire.
You lead me to the cushions, and slowly I sink down onto one of them. You sit beside me, both of us facing the open doorway. My cushion is just high enough that I can cross my legs comfortably, even in those heels. But crossing my legs in that fashion leaves me exposed to the gaze of anyone entering the room. I look at you, and you just grin. I don't even try to protest - what good would it do?
Our server enters the room and approaches you, keeping her eyes averted. You order for both of us - some sort of vegetable dish for me and teryaki beef for yourself. She bows, and leaves us alone.
You put your arm around me and leaned close to my ear. "Give me your hand," you whisper. I tried to give you my right hand, but you gesture toward my left. I offer it to you, and you take it, raise it to your face, and with your thumb bend down my last two fingers. You take my first two fingers into your mouth, moistening them with your tongue. You hold my hand out and look me in the eye. "Into your cunt," you command. I am not really sure I heard you until you shove my hand down between my legs. "Fuck yourself, throughout dinner. Don't cum, just keep fucking yourself. Oh,and you will eat your meal."
Oh, my God, how am I supposed to manage that? You have already made certain that I am about half an inch from cumming, and now you are having me masturbate in public and eat dinner? Well, all I can do was try.
Our server reenters the room, bringing tea. As she enters, you put your arm around my shoulder, slipping your hand under my blouse and pinching my nipple. I know she can see, and the combination of my fingers and yours is pushing me quickly over the edge. You, of course, know exactly what you are doing, and start and stopp just in time to prevent my orgasm.
When she leaves the room, you remove your arm and begin to drink your tea. "Drink up," you say.
Each time she enters the room you hold me and torment me, pinching, pulling and caressing my nipple. Each time I find it more difficult to refrain from moaning.
It is the longest meal of my life. When you finish eating, seemingly hours later, you looked over at my meal, barely touched and said, "I suppose I'll have to let you get away with it this time," implying that there will be other similar occasions.
You tell me to remove my fingers from my cunt, and as I do you tell me to clean them in the usual way - licking and sucking my fluids from them as though I were cleaning them from your cock.
When they have been cleansed to your satisfaction, you rise and hold out your hand to assist me in rising.
"Are we going home?" I ask. "No," you respond, "the night is still young."
We enter the restaurant and were quickly escorted to our reserved room. I know what we will find there, as we have visited this sort of place in the past. What I don't know was how exactly you expect me to function in there while dressed the way you desire.
You lead me to the cushions, and slowly I sink down onto one of them. You sit beside me, both of us facing the open doorway. My cushion is just high enough that I can cross my legs comfortably, even in those heels. But crossing my legs in that fashion leaves me exposed to the gaze of anyone entering the room. I look at you, and you just grin. I don't even try to protest - what good would it do?
Our server enters the room and approaches you, keeping her eyes averted. You order for both of us - some sort of vegetable dish for me and teryaki beef for yourself. She bows, and leaves us alone.
You put your arm around me and leaned close to my ear. "Give me your hand," you whisper. I tried to give you my right hand, but you gesture toward my left. I offer it to you, and you take it, raise it to your face, and with your thumb bend down my last two fingers. You take my first two fingers into your mouth, moistening them with your tongue. You hold my hand out and look me in the eye. "Into your cunt," you command. I am not really sure I heard you until you shove my hand down between my legs. "Fuck yourself, throughout dinner. Don't cum, just keep fucking yourself. Oh,and you will eat your meal."
Oh, my God, how am I supposed to manage that? You have already made certain that I am about half an inch from cumming, and now you are having me masturbate in public and eat dinner? Well, all I can do was try.
Our server reenters the room, bringing tea. As she enters, you put your arm around my shoulder, slipping your hand under my blouse and pinching my nipple. I know she can see, and the combination of my fingers and yours is pushing me quickly over the edge. You, of course, know exactly what you are doing, and start and stopp just in time to prevent my orgasm.
When she leaves the room, you remove your arm and begin to drink your tea. "Drink up," you say.
Each time she enters the room you hold me and torment me, pinching, pulling and caressing my nipple. Each time I find it more difficult to refrain from moaning.
It is the longest meal of my life. When you finish eating, seemingly hours later, you looked over at my meal, barely touched and said, "I suppose I'll have to let you get away with it this time," implying that there will be other similar occasions.
You tell me to remove my fingers from my cunt, and as I do you tell me to clean them in the usual way - licking and sucking my fluids from them as though I were cleaning them from your cock.
When they have been cleansed to your satisfaction, you rise and hold out your hand to assist me in rising.
"Are we going home?" I ask. "No," you respond, "the night is still young."
