The waiter stared in a condescending manner that made me bristle. Smug asshole. I resisted the urge to punch him in the face or tie him to a chair and shave off his pretentious pencil-thin mustache. The only thing stopping me was the delicious buzzing sensation that flooded my cunt.
“Should I repeat the specials?” he asked. “We have a nice crab bisque today, or…”
“I’ll have the, um…” I white knuckled the menu, barely able to speak, but played it cool to avoid hard consequences. “The Caesar, uh…” I bit my lip.
“The Caesar salad? Can I add grilled chicken to that for you?”
The vibration in my pussy grew stronger. I wanted to kick Jennifer under the table, but didn’t dare. Not that she would have stopped anyway, her finger seemed to be glued to the goddamn remote. The bitch wanted to force a screaming orgasm out of me right in the middle of lunch.
“Yes, um, chicken sounds, uhhhhh, great!” When the vibration stopped, I took a gulp of ice water. “And a glass of white wine, please.”
Jennifer narrowed her eyes as the waiter stomped off. “You did not handle that well.”
“Holy crap.” I dabbed my forehead with a napkin. “This new gadget is more powerful than the old one. Wow.”
“That doesn’t matter. You broke a rule.” She reached over and twisted one of my nipples.
“Someone will see us,” I hissed, eyes searching the room for potential witnesses.
Jennifer set her martini glass on the paper coaster, centering it perfectly like she always does when she’s pissed. Her OCD kicks into overdrive when she’s pissed.
“Forget I said that, it slipped out,” I said.
“Questioning me is grounds for punishment.”
Outwardly I sighed, but tingled with excitement on the inside. I leaned back and waited for her command. “Yes, madam.”
“Pinch both of your nipples. Now.”
Despite my earlier protests, the thrill of possible discovery made me squirm. My nipples turned into knots as I kneaded them between my fingers.
“Stop. Let’s see. Yes, they are hard.” Jennifer licked her lips. “Tell me about your pussy.”
“It’s drenched. Good thing I’m wearing this leather skirt, or I’d leave a puddle.”
I loathed that skirt. A size too small, the leather’s rough seams left red welts on my skin, but I dared not complain. The rules dictated that Jennifer had the privilege of choosing my outfit for the day.
“Is it still shaved?”
“Clean as a whistle.”
“Do you want me to lick it?”
I quivered at the thought of her hot tongue lapping at my dripping crevices. The vibration started again, courtesy of the silver egg entrenched in my cunt. Jennifer slid across the seat of the corner booth until her knee touched mine.
“That’s the lowest setting, how does it feel?”
“Nice, incredibly nice.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the waiter returning with my drink. I hoped Jennifer wouldn’t notice, but she did, clicking the remote with great delight. My pussy clenched and my spine stiffened.
“Here you are, miss.”
The waiter moved in slow motion. The tickle in my clit warned of an epic orgasm heading my way, a climax that would make me whimper like a whipped dog. I cursed Jennifer under my breath and reached for the glass, trying to ignore the ecstasy taking place in my nether regions.
“Your salads will be ready shortly. Can I get…” The waiter grew somber. “Are you okay, miss?”
“Yes, fine.” I chugged the wine and handed him the empty glass. “More, please and, um, hurry.”
“Right away, miss.”
As soon as he stepped away from the table, the buzzing stopped. I wanted to scream and throw a gigantic hissy fit, but protesting went against the rules.
“That was pathetic. You deserve punishment.”
You can read the rest of this story on Radish Fiction.
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