His best friend from college was in town, celebrating a milestone wedding anniversary. They were all going out to dinner together, even though it was her birthday.
She felt kind of childish, having been irritated at the thought of sharing her man during a weekend she wanted to celebrate. But she was a grown woman, and he didn't get to see this friend very often. So she decided to make the most of it; to enjoy relaxing with him and getting to know someone from his past.
She checked herself in the mirror one last time, and decided she liked what she saw. She'd put her hair up loosely. She had on her favorite little black dress. It had a long drop waist, and the sheath part of the dress was cut so that it clung in all the right ways. The skirt was attached just under the curve of her ass, and flared out so that it ruffled a little. It was sleeveless with a straight, boat neckline, and the bottom hem hit above her knee. It was conservative but not dowdy. Combined with the right underwear, black stockings and high heels, it was a sexily sophisticated look.
He, dapper as usual, was already dressed in his favorite charcoal gray suit and a daring green shirt that brought out the color in his eyes. He stood near the door of their apartment, collecting his wallet and keys, and looked up at her approach. His face breaking into a broad, mischievous smile, he exclaimed, "Wow."
As she took another step, he said, "Turn around. Let me see everything."
She made a slow pirouette, smiling at the effect she was having on him. He let out an appreciative whistle and held out his hand. Gallantly, he bent and kissed her hand, then drew her closer to him. One hand around her waist, and the other at the back of her neck, he kissed her mouth.
It lit some kind of spark in her, and she didn't just respond. She leaned into him, pushing against him and he stepped back to the wall. He was pressed against the wall, and she took another step into him, putting one leg between his, and raising up on her tip toes. He responded by snaking his arm further around her waist, and she did the same around his. She slid her other hand up behind his shoulder and pulled him into her. He still had hold of her head and she could feel his fingers clenching and straightening as he pressed her face into his.
He was invading her mouth with his tongue and she was trying to do the same to him. She wanted to crawl into him, to have him for dinner and dessert. One of her hands pressed hard into his back, and then moved down to his ass. She felt herself squeeze his ass cheek before she even thought about it. He made a startled noise while still latched onto her and then redoubled his efforts to claim her mouth. She continued pressing against him with all her leverage, and soon was grinding her hips into him, silently pleading with him to do more than kiss.
He realized they were at a tipping point, and would either need to break the kiss, or forget about dinner with his friends. He pulled away from her and put both his hands on her face, cupping her cheeks gently.
"We're gonna be late."
"Ok." She sighed heavily.
"Look at me. I know you wanted us to spend time alone together. We will. I promise, you will not be disappointed."
She nodded, reminding herself that this was important to him, and that made it important to her. "Ok. Let's go."
They straightened their clothes, and she picked up the evening bag that went with her outfit. He took her hand and they walked out.
The restaurant was just across the street from the hotel where his friends were staying. They parked in the hotel's garage, and as they were getting out, he got a text from his friend.
"They're running late, apparently. He said go ahead and get the table. They'll meet us there."
The restaurant was cozy and high end; the kind where the lights are low and everyone dresses up and speaks in soft murmurs. Their table was in the middle of the dining room, in view of the bar and the entrance. There were already diners at tables on either side. They sat side by side and glanced at the menu.
The waiter who came over was young, blond, and skinny, looking like he was still in college. He took their drink orders and suggested an appetizer. As the waiter was walking away, her man said to her, "You think he's cute."
"What?"
"I can tell. You think he's cute."
She looked over at him; he was still perusing the menu, perfectly nonchalant. Before she could respond, he said it again, "You think he's cute. You wanna fuck him."
"What are you talking about?" she queried, trying to figure out which game he was playing.
He leaned over and looked her in the eye. "Don't try to deny it. I know you, horny wench. You want to fuck him. You're getting wet just thinking about him, aren't you?" Still conversational, calm, but not even trying to whisper.
The waiter came back to deliver their drinks, and he ordered the appetizer that had been suggested.
This time, as the waiter walked off, he leaned in close and murmured, "I see you, looking at him. Watching him walk away. Imaging him fucking you."
She turned to look at him; his eyes were gleaming in the low light and a smile played one his lips. She was flushed, and now she was imagining the waiter naked. She shook her head, trying to erase the thought.
He sat back in his chair, sipping his drink, and then glancing at his phone. "If I bent you over this table and fucked you, d'you think he'd let you blow him? I mean, you'd probably have to ask nicely. But I'll vouch for your skills as a cocksucker. You think he'd let you suck him off while I was fucking you?"
He wasn't trying to make eye contact, still seeming to pay more attention to his phone than her. His tone of voice suggested he was bored, asking her opinion on a movie he didn't want to see.
The man at the table next to them was looking at them, eyes wide and jaw agape. She leaned over and put her hand on her man's thigh, sliding up until it touched his crotch and found his penis.
She was lightly rubbing his cock through his pants. "He's young," she noted. "He'd let anyone give him head."
He leaned over again, his hand on the back of her chair, shoulder almost touching hers. He finally made eye contact again; his look was hard, predatory, amused. "It'd be hard for you though, to ask my permission to cum, with his cock down your throat. Don't you think?"
She was still stroking him, matching his gaze with a look she hoped implied confidence. "Yeah." She caught the eye of the man next to them, and winked. "Whatever would I do?"
He sat back, reached down and picked up her hand in his, just as the waiter was coming back with the appetizer. He laid their joined hands on the table. Watching as the waiter made his rounds to other diners.
Then he stared at her. "This is what you'll do. When my friends get here, after we order, you'll excuse yourself to go to the bathroom. You will take off your panties. You'll bring them to me here at the table.
"In the mean time, you will imagine a story to tell me later about fucking that waiter. What his cock looks like, what he tastes like, how he moves, what he does to you. What you do to him. It'd better be good. I'll be judging you."
He watched her reaction. She was flushed, and he'd caught her squirming in her chair a little. The wink to the stranger was overcompensation. She was embarrassed but acting like she wasn't. He was enjoying this verbal exhibitionism. Humiliation games were his favorite appetizer.
They drank their drinks, and when the waiter came back to ask if they wanted more, he watched her flush rise, and caught her staring at the guy's crotch for real. He leaned in close and whispered in her ear about how she was proving what an insatiable slut she was. That if she was very careful and played her cards right, he'd convince every man in the restaurant to fuck her. Periodically, he'd lean over and add some detail about how it was obvious she wanted to fuck all the men there; how she planned to pay for their meal by sucking off the chef and all the kitchen staff; how when she was done with them they'd call the owner so she could fuck her too.
She refused to make eye contact with him, fumbling with her own phone, and rereading the menu a hundred times. He just kept talking in the same tone of voice he'd use to read her the news. She was trembling, blushing up to her ears, and he was convinced that if he reached down her panties would be soaked. That was exactly what he wanted.
Then his friends were there, making apologies for being late, but no explanation. They greeted each other warmly, the men kissing the women on the cheek, and then hugging. The old friends had broad smiles on their faces, happiness radiating off of them as they settled in. She was suddenly glad they were having this dinner together. She'd met his best friend a few times when he was in town on business. She'd talked to the wife once on the phone. But she didn't know either of them well.
The waiter came back and got drink orders from everyone, and they all perused the menu. When he returned with the drinks they were all ready, ordered another appetizer and then all their entrees. As the waiter was moving away again, she remembered her instructions and excused herself. He smirked to himself, satisfied that he hadn't needed to remind her of the task, knowing that meant she was as turned on as he wanted her to be.
As she was walking to the bathroom, she regretted leaving her purse at the table. But there wasn't anything to do about it. She went into the stall and pulled up her dress. Sure enough, her panties were visibly wet, and she was still feeling flushed and aroused. She thought back to that kiss in their apartment, remembered the feel of his penis as she was stroking it, and all his commands and suggestions were ringing in her brain.
She sat on the toilet, dress hiked up under her armpits, and rubbed her clit through the fabric of the panties. She spread her legs wide, and pressed the lace of her underwear into her cunt. She bit down on her lip and pinched a nipple while she was fingering herself with the other hand. She used the friction of the fabric as much as the pressure of her finger.
She pleasured herself very quietly, trying to manage her breathing, to not even so much as moan. She was embarrassed at all the things he'd said to her, right at the edge of being too mortified to enjoy it. Any interruption now would shatter that delicate balance. The pressure of getting herself off quickly and noiselessly, of knowing that anyone could walk in at any time, made the situation so much hotter.
She imagined: Her fingers are thrumming on her clit when she hears footsteps outside, and the distinctive sound of a lock turning in the door. Suddenly the stall door rattles and she hears the waiter. "I know you're in there, open up." Trembling she reaches for the latch as it suddenly pops open. He's caught her, his blue eyes blazing and erection visible through his dress pants. "You're obviously just as much a slut as he said you were, leaving the stall unlocked like that." The waiter steps in, shutting the door behind himself, pinning her to the toilet, the space much too small for her to maneuver around him. His body fills her vision; his cock at her eye level. She tries to lean back against the toilet tank, to look him in the eye. He's staring down at her, nostrils flared, cheeks red, eyes now half lidded as he sizes her up. He reaches down, pushes her further against the tank, cups his hand under her chin. "You can't move in here, and you don't want to, do you slut?" She finds herself shaking her head in agreement. He's so different from her man. She can see that his confidence is an act, that he's come in here on a dare, a challenge from the real command in her life. She wonders what he was told. She's still playing with herself, teasing herself and showing herself off to this young stranger. She should be more nervous, but all she feels is hungry anticipation. She should feel ashamed, but her humiliation only feeds her arousal. She wants to perform, wants a good review. Suddenly, he pulls his cock out of his pants and she sees, it's a good length, slender, but long enough to play with. Pale with one extra large vein throbbing on the underside. He unceremoniously shoves his hips at her face, more evidence that he's unsure of himself. She takes over, opening up, licking and sucking him, leaning forward to pull as much of him in her mouth as she can. He stands, barely moving, barely making noise, and she sighs against him, thinking that this was not going the way she'd hoped. His youth and excitement work against her, and suddenly he's spurting into her mouth. A salty and slightly bitter load, and her only thought is to wonder if he'd just eaten asparagus. Too quick for her to have put effort into it, her second thought is worry that her man will not be impressed enough to reward her later. The young waiter pulls out, puts himself away, and doesn't leave. She'd let go of herself while working on him and her arousal rears up and demands attention. Surprisingly, he squats down in front of her. He kisses her lightly on the chin, down her throat, and reaches a hand for her pussy. She braces her hands on the stall walls, spreading her legs as far as she can. His touch is gentle at first, exploring her folds, dipping lightly in her center to push the lace up further. As she responds favorably he gets more comfortable, thrusting a finger, then two, to the knuckle, his curled index finger managing to graze her clit with each push. He's softly calling her a slut, a whore, suggesting that he'll lock her in here and get his buddied to take their turn. It's a nice act, but she can tell it's just a script someone handed him. He keeps fucking her with the fingers, his confidence growing now and she finds herself relaxing against his ministrations. Her breath coming in soft gasps as he works harder to satisfy her. He pushes his fingers in, the uses the other hand to attend to her clit, tapping and rubbing, flicking and drawing tight circles around her base. She lays her head back and cums around his hand.
She felt the orgasm building, and kept rubbing herself in all the right spots, furiously, vigorously. Conjuring the names she'd been called earlier out of the young man's mouth. Imagining his long fingers instead of her own; imagining his youthful enthusiasm making up for lack of technique. Imagining the most entertaining way to tell this story to her man when the time was right. Finally, she tripped over the edge, and felt her pussy clenching and even more fluid soaking her panties. She relaxed against the hard porcelain, shuddering ever so slightly. Smiling at her indiscretion, as she hadn't been given permission to play with herself, but neither had she been forbidden it. She delighted in the idea of a punishment for her insolence or a reward for her ingenuity. Giving a thought to how much time had elapsed, she peeled off her panties, making sure they didn't land on the floor.
Then she peed, wiped herself off completely, and arranged her dress in its proper place. While she washed and dried her hands, her heart was beating double time, her underwear loose on the counter next to the sink. She wadded her panties up in her hand, concealing the fabric as well as she could. She was sure the little scrap of black lace poking out between two fingers was obvious to everyone.
She imagined the heat from the stares of the room full of diners, sure that they were judging her. She attempted a confident stride across the dining room to their table. As she approached, the men stood up, and her man stepped behind her to help with her chair. She took her chance to deposit the underwear in his suit jacket pocket. He whispered that he'd said to give them to him, and there would be consequences.
As she was sitting, his friend joked, "We'd started to wonder if you'd fallen in..."
His wife chimed in, "Yeah, I was just about to come check on you."
"Oh, you know," she stammered, sure that her face was beet red. "I had to search for some toilet paper. A place this fancy, you'd think..." She let the sentence trail off.
She turned to his wife, "So, tell me, what's the craziest story you know about these two?"
They shared a lovely meal full of laughter. The men fell to reminiscing about college, about some particular senior year hijinks, about some prank they and a couple of other friends almost got arrested for. About classes ditched, and pulling all-nighters. About football games and parties. Some stories she'd heard before, but now from a different perspective. Some new stories, illuminating how he'd changed, and in what ways he had been the same, all those years ago.
His friends seemed genuinely in love and were openly affectionate to each other. The wife often touched his friend's arm, or they would lean in close to each other. They seemed to finish each other's thoughts. She decided she really liked the wife. She was a professional in a field not too different from her own, and they had some things in common.
Every now and then, she noticed his best friend twitched slightly, or jumped in his seat. Each time the wife gave a coy smile. She noticed that his friend blushed easily, and wondered if there was some other layer of meaning to a few of the seemingly benign comments his wife made. There was something familiar about the way they were interacting with each other, but she couldn't quite name it.
Hours later, they opted against dessert and decided to go to the friends' hotel room for more drinks and talking. They got the check, haggled over who was going to pay, and the best friend won. His friend and the wife both said that they needed the bathroom.
He told them, "We'll wait for you outside."
After they walked away, he got her attention. Smirking, he took her panties out of his pocket, and artfully spread them out on her plate. Then took her by the hand and walked out to the street. She blushed red from her feet to her hairline. As they were waiting for his friends, he pulled her close, wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head.
"Look in your bag," he murmured. "I know what you were really doing in the bathroom."
Inside, wrapped carefully in a plastic zip top bag, was his favorite butt plug. Small enough to wear for a while, large enough to be constantly noticeable to her. He'd thoughtfully put a travel sized bottle of lube in there. As she shut the bag and looked at him, he ordered, "Put that in when we get to their room."
They walked back to the hotel, and rode up the elevator to his friends' room. It was an extended stay hotel, with a kitchenette, a large living area, and the bathroom separate from the bedroom. She excused herself and did as she'd been told.
She strode out of the bathroom, smiling, liking the sensations in her ass. She wiggled her hips for him and he beamed. He sat at the end of a couch in the living area, leaned up against the armrest. His friends nowhere in sight. He regarded her as she walked over; she was not quite sure where to sit. She nodded pointedly to the closed bedroom door.
"He said they needed a few minutes. Come 'ere." Gesturing with his hand to draw her closer.
"That really is a beautiful dress on you." She sat next to him as he stroked her cheek. "It's kind of a pity you're wearing it tonight."
"A pity? Really?"
"Yeah. Cuz, when we get home, I'm going to slice it off of you."
Ever since they'd started dating, years ago, he had a talent for saying the most outrageous things in a completely casual way. As their relationship evolved, he continued to maintain this nonchalant tone when he described his plans for her. Just as he had in the restaurant, he called her names, assailed her character, or described their deviancies as though none of it affected him.
He knew she found it incredibly sexy, this juxtaposition of his relaxed delivery with the utterly depraved and filthy things he was saying. She knew that was a lie too; he was usually his most aroused when he sounded his most detached. That's how he was addressing her now, touching her lightly. His voice was low, as they were sitting close together, but not a whisper. His timbre light and happy; he was smiling and his eyes were gleaming.
"You're going to slice it off of me?"
"Mmm. Mmm hmm." He stroked her cheek, and then the side of her neck. "Yep. First, I'm gonna tie you up so you can't move. Not much, anyway."
He touched her collar bone lightly, then used his fingertips to trace a straight line down her breast, over the nipple, and onto her stomach. "Then, I'm gonna use my straight razor and slice this dress into ribbons."
His hand found her collar bone again, about an inch away from the first touch. "I'm gonna leave them hanging on you while I slice up your bra." He cupped her breast as his hand slid straight down again. "Y'know, I haven't decided if I'm going actually cut the bra off of you, or leave it in shreds. I guess I'll just have to see how the spirit moves."
Now his hand was touching at the hollow of her throat, tracing down her sternum, toward her belly button and then lower. She was watching his face while he was talking, watching his lips move, unconsciously leaning into him. She felt herself drawn into him, into his orbit, and as though he were her sun. She was so focused on his voice and his light touch that the rest of the world was vanishing.
"When it's all sliced up, I'm gonna beat your ass. When I'm done you'll be so red. Huh. You'll be so red a baboon would be proud of you." He chuckled softly and she sighed.
His hand slid all the way down her torso, and when he got to her lap, he pressed against her crotch so she would open her legs. He smiled broadly, and touched her collar bone again, about another inch away from the last imaginary line. His gaze on his own hand, so sure that he had her rapt attention. She leaned into the crook of his arm and back against the couch, already opening herself to him.
"When I'm done with your ass, I'll get to work on your tits. I haven't quite figured out what I'm gonna use for those. Maybe my hands, maybe my teeth. Or, I know, that new belt I just got. It's stiff, I think. It could use some breaking in."
He looked at her, requiring a response. She managed to chuckle. "Yeah, you definitely need to soften that belt up some."
He nodded. "Yep." Touched her collar bone, started tracing a line over the other breast, across a nipple that was already hard. "And when your tits are thoroughly taken care of, I'm going to attend to your pussy. It wouldn't be fair to forget your pussy, would it?"
"No. That wouldn't be fair at all."
"That's what I thought." He was moving his hand down her thigh, finding the hem of the dress. He pushed against her knee, and she spread her legs further, slid her backside closer to the edge of the couch. Melding herself to his body, aching again for him to do more than touch. He moved his hand up the inside of her thigh. "So. Yeah, your pussy. I'm going to use everything." His hand was closer to her crotch. "My hands, my teeth, that belt. Maybe that riding crop you got me for Christmas. I can't forget about that."
His fingers grazed her naked vulva, making a lazy circle around the outside of her lips. His other hand was lightly stroking her hair and the back of her neck. She was leaning into him, feeling like her whole body was thrumming.
"I'm going to beat your pussy until you cum. Screaming."
He slowly, excruciatingly, slid a finger into her, right over her clit. Found what he was looking for; he added another finger and she felt him tapping her inner walls. She shuddered deliciously. Looking down at her lap, as though he could see the part of her that finger was touching. Still conversational, nonchalant. "You're such a good little masochist. Such a good pain slut. I haven't even hurt you yet. Just the threat is making you wet."
He looked up to meet her gaze, his eyes wide, smiling; his curiosity heartfelt. "Seriously, why is that?"
She gave a small shrug. "I trust you. You're a man of your word."
"When I say I'm going to hurt you, you believe me."
"Yes."
"And that's all it takes to make you horny?"
"Past horny, but, yeah." She smiled.
He practically giggled. "You're such a pervert." He'd pulled his fingers out of her and lightly tapped her mouth. Then he slid them into his own mouth, all the way to the knuckle.
She cocked her head to one side. "So are you."
He pulled his finger out of his mouth with an audible pop. "Why, yes. Yes I am."
She laid back against his arm as he leaned in. He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger to hold her head still. Met her mouth with his and gave her a long, soulful kiss, his tongue searching in her mouth. He bent the arm that was on the couch back, caressing her shoulder and then pushing her closer to him. She reached up with both hands to grasp the back of his shoulder and head and likewise pull him closer to her. His free arm stroking up and down her side, caressing her breast, hip and thigh. Eventually, they broke the kiss and she relaxed into him with a contented sigh.
He touched her nose, lips, chin and neck gently. Now he spoke softly, words only for her ears. "When we get home, I'm going to whip your pussy until you beg me to let you cum. I promise."
He relaxed against the couch, one arm still draped across the back, hand on her shoulder. She crossed her legs and scooted even closer to him. After a moment, he slapped his knee, like he'd just remembered something important. Looked at her, grinning lasciviously, and declared, "Then, I'm gonna fuck you. In all your holes."
She couldn't help it, she let out a peal of laughter and soon he was joining her. But the glint in his eyes reminded her that he was serious.
That's when, as if on cue, his friend and wife came out of the bedroom. It seemed his friend was moving gingerly. It seemed as if the wife's hair was no longer perfect. They both looked a little flushed.
His friend made them all more drinks, but none of them did more than sip. They chatted amiably for a while. The men telling more stories of their days in college together, the two women reconciling these earlier versions with the men they now knew. At some point the wife had offered her a change of clothes, but she said the dress was more comfortable than it looked. She wasn't about to spoil their other plans.
They told stories of their lives together, how they met, funny stories of the early days. They argued about politics a little. They waxed philosophical. All the while she was clinging to his promises, banking on his sincerity. The evening wore on and eventually they'd all talked enough. His friends exclaiming over what a lovely time they'd had, how much they'd enjoyed catching up. Making tentative plans to get together again before they left the city.
As they drove home he demanded the story about the waiter. He nodded along, his mouth twitching in appreciation. When they got back to their apartment, he led her toward the wall of windows, with the sliding door that opened onto their balcony.
She saw that he'd laid out some things on the table near the windows; they had to have been there before they left, but escaped her notice then. He gestured and she went over to pick up his favorite pair of leather cuffs. They were almost infinitely adjustable, and padded so she could wear them for hours. He sat at the table and watched her put on one cuff, adjust it snugly, and then put on the other. He loved that she willingly restrained herself, that she offered herself up to him.
These cuffs had D-rings embedded in the leather, so that they could be linked together with a hook or carabineer. He picked up a length of chain with a carabineer attached to one end and used that to join them. They moved back directly underneath an eye hook bolted into the ceiling joist. Stepping up on a chair he'd dragged from the dinette, he pulled the chain through the eyebolt until her arms were straight and directly over her head. Her back was to the windows and table.
When he got down from the chair, he grasped on the loose end of the chain and tightened the pull on her arms. He wanted her to feel a slight stretch and still have her feet firmly on the ground. When he had the chain adjusted to his liking, he used another clip to secure two of the links together. He ran his hands all over her body, just stroking her with the whole of his hand and palm.
He pulled the hem of her dress down as far as it would go. He ran his hands over her legs down to her ankles, and back up her ass. Slid both hands up her back and then around to caress her tits. Then down her front and cupped her pussy through the dress. He pressed himself into her back, and started moving his hands all over her again. She leaned into him as best she could, sighing at his touches. They were both quiet, the time for talking at an end.
This time when he got to her ankles, he picked up each of her feet and took of her high heels. Knowing that this would increase the tension in her spine and arms. Knowing that with better contact with the floor she could move during the rest of what he planned. Knowing that, at some point during the night, she would grab onto the chain and try to pull herself up, but that it would never occur to her to kick him.
He wanted her free enough that she could move away if she wanted. He loved watching the struggle on her face and in her body, that combat between the instinct to save herself from pain, and her deep sexual need to experience it. The fight between self preservation and obedience to him. He loved watching for that moment when her masochism and submissiveness won.
He went back to the table and opened a box that was sitting there. He pulled out the new item. It was a gag he'd had made, basically the same size and shape as his own flaccid dick. Flaccid, because then it would fit in her mouth and she'd still be able to breath comfortably. He'd had another one made, which replicated his erect cock, and he knew he'd use that on her too, some night. He showed her the gag, held it to her mouth and told her to kiss it. Told her to suck on it and lick it like she was trying to make it hard.
When it was thoroughly covered in her saliva, he pushed it into her mouth and fastened the straps behind her head. She sucked in a breath through her nose as well as she could; she tried to swallow around the gag, like she sometimes swallowed around him when giving him head. He didn't usually gag her, because he liked listening to all the involuntary noises she made. If he needed her to be quiet, she was in for a long night.
Just that thought made her pussy clench, and she could feel more juice flowing out of her. He was circling her, slowly, with one hand out, barely making contact with his fingertips. Touching her waist, hips, the width of her ass, grazing lightly over her pussy and then back up to her shoulders. Around and around he circled her as she settled the gag in her mouth. She writhed against him, trying to prolong the contact, every nerve ending in her skin crying out for something more, something firmer, something harsher. She bored into him with her eyes, wanting to beg him for her release, the tension rising in her.
Then he walked away. She heard the curtains being opened behind her. She stood there, trying not to whimper, her eyes watering and fingers clenching around the chain. She laid her head back, relaxing her knees, slightly bending her legs to hang there, luxuriating at the increased tension in her arms and the proof of her reliance on his mercy. Or reliance on his mercilessness.
He left her there like that, went into their bedroom and stripped down to his boxer briefs. His cock was more than half hard and he wanted a moment to really plan the rest of the night. His goal was to keep her going until dawn.
He gathered some more implements and toys, and laid them out on the table. He told her to turn around, and the twisting of the chain caused her to rise up on her toes. He watched her eyes widening over the gag as she looked at the table and catalogued what was laying there. The straight razor. The new belt, and one of his old favorite belts. Several wooden spoons, and a couple of spatulas. The riding crop. Another butt plug, dildos of various sizes, and at least two vibrators. A box of thumb tacks. A flogger.
She felt her breath coming faster, as she anticipated what was going to happen to her. Memories of other nights, and visions of him fulfilling his promises were colliding in her mind's eye. She felt hot and cold, shaky and very calm. She was afraid of being consumed by her growing need.
Her saliva was running and she was sucking on the gag, this poor substitute for him. Her ass barely registered the plug and ached for more. She kept clenching her vaginal muscles, just wishing that something was inside her. That something was rubbing her clit. That she was feeling the impacts of all these instruments, all preparation for him.
He picked up his newly sharpened straight razor. He came to her and touched her spine and shoulder blades with his free hand. Turned her away from the table, so her heels were on the floor. Glided his hand over her back and down to her ass. Tugged at the seam where the skirt of her dress flared out. Circled her again so that she could see him, see what he wasn't wearing; so that she could clearly see his growing erection. She watched him hungrily.
He stepped very close to her and ran the back of the razor over her cheeks, up one arm and down the other, and very lightly across her collar bone and throat. She shuddered against him and let out a long breath through her nose. She laid her head back again, baring her neck for him to do his best. He traced more lines across and down her neck with the back of the razor, pressing lightly in the hollow of her throat.
Then he pinched up the fabric of her dress where it covered one breast, poked the corner of the razor through the fabric and turned it sideways. Made the first long slice in the dress, carefully avoiding cutting her skin. For now. She shivered and the first moan escaped around the gag. Her eyes were wide, pupils dilated, her breathing controlled in the moment. Her anticipation growing, fingers clenching around the chain holding her up, her body arching toward him.
He finished the first slice, and pushed the razor through the next section of dress. He leaned in and kissed her lightly on the hollow of her throat. Then looked deeply in her eyes, his gaze full of love and admiration.
"Happy Birthday, Cunny. I promised you wouldn't be disappointed."
