Thursday, 14 April 2011


In celebration of my functioning replacement fishie from ;)


I'm sitting at the table, my hands folded into my lap, my eyes downcast. I daren't look at you because all I see in your eyes is sex when you think that no one is watching, and the thought of you is making my mouth water, making me hot and wet and most unladylike for civilised dinner company. The trouble is, the more I try not to think about the lust written all over your face, the more I want you. My face goes red and I hunch down further into my shoulders and hope no one has noticed. Thankfully our friends are chatty and cheerful and don't seem to be noticing that I'm not talking much.

There's a throb between my legs and I glance up at you. You've got a wicked gleam in your eyes, a grin twitching at the corners of your mouth. I all but begged you to let me wear the remote control egg during dinner, but I'd half hoped you wouldn't use it. It's one thing to fantasise about being remotely fucked in a public place, but another thing to actually do it. I'm sat quite still, one leg crossed over the other, and the gentle vibrations of the egg send sensations up and down my abdomen. It's pleasant, not overly arousing, and I relax a little. Perhaps I won't get too turned on and it'll be fine.

A rustle at my ankle. You've slipped your shoe off and are caressing my foot with yours. I shiver at the warmth of your toes on my bare skin. The vibrations increase and I inelegantly quash a spasm as the egg shifts about. I stifle a moan as it settles on a sweet spot and flutters of heat radiate outwards into my legs. I want to touch myself. I put my hands calmly on the table and lace my fingers together. I shift in my seat, which doesn't help, but sitting still just makes the vibrations seem all the more potent. Again, an increase in intensity. I gasp and try desperately to muffle it as a cough. You're laughing at me, your hands under the table, and I know that you're slowly turning up the settings, pushing me to see how long I'll last before I either come or run away to the ladies. You look so smug that I'm determined to see it through. Even if I come here at the dinner table. I won't give you the satisfaction of knowing that you beat me.

The food arrives. I whisper a breathless thank you to the waiter as he places a plate of pasta in front of me. He glances at me a little oddly but says nothing, just tops up my wine glass and goes on his way. Our friends look at me with concern. I cough a little and say that some wine went down the wrong way. I sneak a look at you. Your eyes are drowning, satisfaction and want and amusement and I have to swallow another gasp because all I want right now is for you to fuck me over the table. I'm beginning to tremble with the effort of keeping my composure but I'm stubbornly not going to give in. I look at my plate and somewhere at the back of my mind is a query about how I'm going to eat, but I can't really think it through because you've notched up the egg another level and the heat pulsing between my legs is all I can concentrate on.

I can feel a flush creeping up my neck. My breathing has gotten very shallow and I'm starting to feel light-headed. My legs are shivering, my stomach turning knots, and the electric lines of orgasm are beginning to creep outwards into the rest of my body, small currents that promise larger currents to come... I grip the edge of the table and grit my teeth. I will not moan. I won't give in. I bite my lip but even that feels sensual, my mouth dry at the thought of release. I've given up trying not to look at you. You look good enough to eat, and all I can think about is what you'd be like inside me. I imagine that you're hard just watching me, and I want to take your cock in my hand and show you what it feels like to have control of your arousal taken away from you until you beg me to stop. I want you so much that I almost manage to stop focussing on my building orgasm but with a wicked half sneer you jack the remote up to the final setting and I catch a moan in my throat, managing to release it as a strangled sob. Our friends look at me again and my face turns bright red. I try and stand up but my knees buckle before I'm more than a few inches off the seat and as I flop back onto the chair with a thump I come, my back bowing outwards, my hands curling around the seat of the chair. I somehow manage not to moan, but I close my eyes and let out a long low breath, every nerve in my body tingling, fire flooding through my veins, spilling into every limb and leaving me weak and lethargic. I shakily get to my feet and apologise and say that I'm going out for some air.

Mercifully you turn the egg off as I leave the restaurant. A cool breeze wafts into my face as I open the door and I realise just how hot I am. My hair is stuck to the back of my neck with sweat. I walk a little way down the road and lean again the wall, enjoying the jagged bricks against my back. You appear next to me within a few minutes. You're swaggering, your face a picture of pride and amusement. You pull me into the circle of your arms and my skin tingles. I realise how strange it is to have come without any physical touch. I'm tired. I rest my head in the crook of your neck and you massage my back. I let out another long breath and allow myself to whimper a little. You chuckle softly and a plant a kiss in my neck. You trace the line of my neck with your nose and gently nuzzle my hair. I shiver again and moan slightly. I still want you. Your hand is on my thigh, travelling under my skirt to my panties, which are soaked. You groan into my neck, your breath hot and tickly against my skin. I feel you harden slightly against me as you push my back against the wall and kiss me roughly on the lips.

“You wanted this,” you growl in my ear.

“I did,” I reply, my voice brimming with pride. I've passed the test. You chuckle.

“Careful what you wish for,” you say.


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