I can't believe how lucky I am. Even as I walk now slightly behind her, along the pavement towards the restaurant I feel like pinching myself just to make sure it is real. Of course, it’s not quite perfect because we are meeting others this weekend at the restaurant. I am looking forward to seeing our friends, but my work visits through her city do not happen often enough to willingly meet others on such precious visits.
Everything I am wearing to dinner this evening she has picked out. That helps a little, that even though we are missing our usual Saturday evening activity of my cooking while she relaxes, watching a movie or some play in the comfort of her home, she has influenced and controlled my outfit down to my very underwear.
As my palms move down over the front of my skirt, smoothing it in habit at the sides where the wind threatens to lift it from my thighs, and though I'm not sure how she sees this movement, she stops suddenly. God, I can feel myself dampen at the very look in her eyes as she moves them sharply, in the middle of the street over me. My hair has been left loose, just skimming my shoulders with a single clip in the front to keep it from falling over my face, which she does not like as I hide behind it. My neck is bare this evening. It is never really bare of course, her collar is there around me at all times, or her fingertip as was the case now. She traces along my collarbone as she leans forward and whispers, “Don’t. Touch. That. Skirt.” Her voice is firm and I instantly close my fingers into my palms to help resist the urge to hold it down in the soft wind which still licks around the edge. She fixes the lace trim of the light cream top which hangs loose down my front, and buttons up my back. The chiffon like material follows the natural curves of my body, and clings to the royal blue lace bra below it. You can see the darkness of the bra along the wires which mold to my breasts, from top to bottom and the small bows on each strap under the light cream top, but she didn’t care. In fact, that was part of the reason I suspect she picked it from those I brought in my case. My underwear match pretty well, a dark blue lace in the style of boy shorts, which cling to my hips and hug the curve of my ass cheeks. Hardly looking at the skirt which skims my knees, she lifts the edge and runs one finger along my tights, “You need stockings, by the next time you visit. Don’t forget.” Then turning she takes my hand in hers and leads me on down the street towards the restaurant, the soft click of my heels with each step matching hers perfectly.
She drops my hand as we move into the restaurant, and I hang back as she prefers while she secures a table for four. The others have not yet arrived as we are led to a booth style table, which backs onto a large window which opens onto the street beside us. As I slip into the booth and slide towards the window, I struggle to sit and not touch the skirt. Have you ever tried to sit and not fix your skirt?
After a couple of minutes our friends arrive. We know them from secondlife, the Dominion as well actually. It is where we all met, though I do not know them well, they live close and a dinner is arranged every six months or so. The usual string of conversation follows from how everyone is, to the latest gossip from the courtyard, and a slight mention to the events which are currently going on while we order drinks.
I say we in the loosest sense of the word, as it is not a “we” which I am involved in at all. She has wine, as does the Lady we eat with. Her submissive, one of the boys, is permitted a beer. She orders me water. This interests me, as although I am not a lover of wine it is usually placed before me at such a dinner and I am expected to make my way though at least one glass of the stuff. I sip the water and glance to her, shifting on the seat as I try again to move the skirt which has doubled under me.
I simply adore how she orders for us both now. At the beginning she used to ask some questions, what I liked or didn’t like, what I could eat and what I really would struggle with. I find something so intimate about this, she cares what is both on, and inside my body.
The conversation continues and I drift in and out of it at times, following the tone of her voice more than the words, unable to remove the smile from my face as I am reminded of the joy I feel of being hers in public, during the course of dinner. It always washes over me with pride that I am with her. A second bottle of wine is ordered to the table and as she lifts the glass she turns and hands it to me, nodding slightly to encourage me to taste it. As I hold the glass with the crisp white liquid to my lips she leans forward and murmurs in my ear, “Go to the toilets downstairs and stay there.” As a flush warms my cheeks I swallow the burning liquid after my water and returned the glass to her, my voice quiet as I ask, “Mistress, may I use the bathroom please?”
A smile is forwarded my way from the other side of the table but she lets out a deep sounding sigh and pauses a few moments before allowing me out. I can feel my skirt folded unnaturally against the back of my legs and reach out to smooth it, remembering just as I touch it in walking away that I shouldn’t have. It is like eating a doughnut though and not licking the sugar from your lips. Almost impossible. I dare not glance over my shoulder to see if she has noticed or not as I move between the tables towards the toilets.
I sit there. I wait. I look at my watch. Two minutes pass. I use the toilet while I am there. Five minutes. After what feels like half an hour, when I have read every possible sign in the toilets and looked though all the little bottles of moisturizer in the basket to the side I hear her come though the door. She presses her back against the main door to the toilets, blocking it and looks right at me, her eyes playful and cheeks flushed from the warmth of the restaurant, or the wine, or what she is about to control. “Remove your underwear mine, bring them back to me at the table. You may keep your tights but spread your lips and smooth them against your clit,” she smiles at me, clearly amused and turns once more leaving the toilets. Oh. Fuck. As I move into one of the stalls my hands tremble as I remove shoes, and tights to get my underwear off. I look around for my bag to put them in. Double fuck, it’s at the table. Hanging them on the little hook at the back of the door I pull my tights back up over my legs, smoothing them out over my thighs and returning my shoes. Leaning against the wall I slip my fingers down inside my tights. I am wet. I am terrified and I am wet. As my fingertips guide my lips apart I press the nylon material against myself. Feeling it scratch the delicate skin with each movement as I run my fingers over the outside to check it is how she wants then debate how to fix the skirt. She can’t see me touch it here, but would likely know so I shake my hips sharply to flatten it out a little. Taking my underwear I fold them into my palm, cursing myself in that moment for my dislike of thongs as I attempt to make the boy shorts as small as possible.
Flushed with embarrassment I move timidly back to the table. Knowing I am aroused makes me think you can smell my excitement. I also realised I have now been gone close to fifteen or maybe twenty minutes. As I approach the table she stands, holding out one hand. She wants them, standing there.. not slipped under the table. Fuck. I am sure my cheeks are crimson by the time I hand them over and move back safely behind the table. I notice the other Lady look at me, a look of amusement. I realized in that instant they know. I sip my water, trying to calm myself. The table had been cleared and a few minutes later deserts arrived. I unsuccessfully scan the table for my underwear.
Keeping my hands steady while I ate was going to be difficult enough. As I felt her left hand move the hem of my skirt upwards on my thigh closest to her while she moved the spoon though the smooth creamy top of the cheese cake, I almost drop my spoon. The spot where her finger moves on my skin feels like it burns intensely. She seems to be drawing patterns on my thigh, along the outside, over the top and down the warmth of my inner thighs over the thin covering of the tights. I can’t help but notice in that moment that he, the he on the other side of the table is saying as little as I am, and her hand is also below the table. I choke on the food in my mouth as I realise the same was happening on the other side. Needing water I swallow, still trying to clear my thoughts which now threaten to spin out of control. Her hand stops moving, well hidden now by the skirt as she leans back on the bench, “I enjoyed that” she smiles, placing the spoon down and sipping from the wine once more. I can no longer eat, all I can feel, focus on is how her little finger curls against one of my exposed lips, though it doesn’t touch it felts like is pressed against my clit as she runs her thumb over the warm curve at the top of my thigh, back and forward slowly. Her hand stays like this, torturing me with being so close, almost touching, in a crowed restaurant.
I have no idea what is said between the two of them during the rest of the time there, but with a slight shift and a tap over my clit with her fingertips I realise we are leaving. Now I knew why I had water. If I’d had wine, I would have cared just slightly less as to who could see, who knew, what was going on. Wine relaxes me and I knew then that she didn’t want me relaxed. I was to feel every bit of this public teasing.
She fixes my skirt for me this time as I stand. I can feel the eyes of an older couple at the table beside us looking. Two women still turn heads in this city. I take a deep breath of the cool night air as we leave, and move a little way along the street to a small bar.
As we wait in line to pay at the door, she pressed her palm into my back and pulls me close, looking into my eyes. I can get lost in her eyes. When she holds me like that, the rest of the world just leaves. She is the only thing there. The pinch against my top, the pulling of my bra so she could find my nipples below it and nip at them was enough to bring me crashing out of the depths of her gaze as I wince, a moan sipping out with my breath as one, then the other perks against the wire, just visible below my top.
As we find a space at the bar I am backed onto a stool, one of those large ones where you have to step up onto it, and she moves back against me, pulling my body snug against hers, my legs parted around her hips from behind her as she places my palms on her belly. I close my eyes, enjoying the contact in the darkened bar where I can relax slightly. As cocktails are ordered and shared she slips an ice cube from her drink, and focuses on me, running her icy fingertips up my belly she is threateningly close to placing it in my bra and I hold my breath as her fingers move once more lower, over my belly before slipping down and pressing it against my tights, holding it below my skirt as it melts against my tights, against my warm clit. I can hardly sit still. As she takes the ice away, only seconds later and slips it into my mouth she laughs, kissing my lips briefly.
I hold the ice against my tongue, sucking while it melts. Watching while she chats, and dances, I can feel how she is becoming more and more excited as the evening passes. I am kept on the stool by the bar, and perhaps twenty minutes later, with a new drink comes more ice. This time she seems more interested in the ice than her drink, and it is placed straight into my mouth. Her voice warms my ear over the music “Don’t let it melt.” I almost laugh at this point, I feel like I’m on fire. How could I not let ice melt in my mouth? But the look in her eyes snatches the laughter from me, and I become aware of her fingertips pulling the band of the tights from my belly and slipping something hard in. With the slight pressure arrives an unmistakable buzzing against my already hard clit. I shift on the stool, my thighs trying to close only to find her hips still between them as I tighten around her. Looking at me once more she takes a second piece of ice and smiles, coyly as she leans forward, “If you can cum mine, before that melts you may. If it melts and you cannot give me back ice then you need to tell me to take it out.” As she turns her back once more to me she guides my body snug against her back, on the edge of the stool as she continues to dance I can feel my body shooting fire from my clit as the dull vibrations torture me. Torn between the desire to orgasm and the shocking awareness of where I am battle within me as I rock my hips forward to her back. Her fingers find mine and link between them as she holds me there. I will get no help from my hands, only the small, battery vibrator as it buzzes against me.
Just as I realise the ice is as good as gone from my mouth the other Lady appears, pressing another cube of ice between my lips, into my mouth. I flood with both shame that she knows, and relief at getting a few more minutes to try as I move closer, and closer.
As I see them watching me I press my face into her shoulder and release. My thighs tighten around her body as I gasp for breath against her hair. My whole body is pulsing and numb as I tremble on the stool behind her. She turns and presses her lips to mine, her tongue slipping between to find the last penny sized piece of ice left. It melts somewhere between our tongues as her fingers retrieve the vibrator once more. As she steps back and returns it to her purse I spot my underwear and she smiles, “I think it’s time for home now my girl.”
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