by Gabi Moore
“Well, you’re free to fuck off, of course. Screw every kitchen boy in the city, if you like, but you won’t do it on my dime. Either you get up now and do as I told you or you can sign here and leave in a cab.”
Here’s where I’m supposed to tell you how furious I was with him. How my sense of dignity prickled under his insults, his insinuations, the awful names he had called me. How I stood up, slapped him hard and walked away, never to entertain such a hideous power dynamic again, and that I was better than a sadistic man who wanted to punish me, and wave his influence over me.
But I can’t tell you that. What I will tell you hardly makes sense to me. I sat there, and I liked it. I could see the anger, floating far, far away on the horizon and away from me, leaving behind only a painful, desperate ache between my thighs, a tightening that started in my throat and pulsed all the way through me, right down to my now-soaked panties.
I hated him, sure. But at that moment, I would have let him do anything to me. He could have flung me onto the dining table right there and fucked me in front of a hall full of formally-dressed people, and I wouldn’t have cared one bit. All I knew at that moment was my fierce need for him, the steely look he was giving me, and the inconvenient ache in my pussy.
I stood up and took the box in my shaking hands. He watched me with pleasure as I turned and made my way to the bathrooms. The evening had certainly not gone the way I expected. In fact, that was the best thing about it – I hadn’t known what to expect. All of a sudden this seemed like the single most exciting thing that had ever happened to me.
I passed a pair of heavily perfumed women in heels on my way to the bathroom, and blushed, which was another thing I can’t remember doing in ages. The ladies’ room was plush and glossy, with floor length gilded mirrors and velvet seating and dimly lit chandelier crystals sending little sparkles onto the purple walls. It was an awfully fancy place for a person who about to do what I was about to do. But I suppose if I was to be humiliated, this lush room could not have made a better backdrop.
I went into one of the stalls, closed the door and sat down, trying to still my hiccupping heart. I opened the box again. More velvet. More opulence. But the thing itself was clean and silver and cold. I split my legs and slid down the flimsy, wet fabric. I was swollen and hot, as though my body itself was angry. I picked it up and held it in my hands. It was heavy. What if it fell out?
Tracing my fingers along its curves, I decided which way was up and then pressed it to my body, feeling my clit respond immediately to the cool metallic surface. I closed my eyes and traced circles. It was larger than it seemed. What if I went out there and someone could tell? What if it was really obvious, and I couldn’t walk properly, and then it fell out? I would die. I would actually die of heart failure.
I slid it inside. The bulb of it stretched me slightly, then settled somewhere deeper inside me as my aching body swallowed it. I exhaled and felt a soft wave of pleasure pump through me. It wasn’t the most intense sensation in the world. A small, insistent stretch. I could do this. I could hold it in. For a while. But I probably couldn’t forget that it was there.
I rolled my hips a little in the bathroom stall, trying to hush my own breathing, secretly thrilled that in this pretty, polite room, I was doing this dirty thing. His slut. I tried the idea on for size. Could he be serious? Divorce?
Fine, maybe I would divorce him. But maybe I wanted to have a little fun, first. See how far I could go. He was right: I was a filthy whore. But I didn’t need him. I would play his dumb game for as long as it pleased me, then leave his sorry ass whenever I wanted.
Outside, people were eating and drinking and chatting about their mundane lives. Inside the stall, I rocked my hips, feeling the weight of it stroking me inside, pressing me open, the steel finish now warming with the heat of my body.
I stood up and tried to gather myself. I flushed the toilet for good measure, unlocked the door and was confronted with my own image in the full length mirrors. A slut. A whore. I looked just the same as always on the outside, but on the inside
I applied a fresh layer of bubblegum pink lipstick, checked my brow for any beads of sweat, smoothed my dress and held my chin high. In my life, I had fucked more men than I could keep track of. I was a lonely, stupid housewife and yes, I was an adulterer, and yes, I enjoyed every single moment. And now, I would be punished. Good. Bring it on.
I stepped out and went back to the table.
Chapter Seven - Todd
She took forever in the ladies’. Making me wait. Payback for making her wait, I guess.
I would have been unsurprised by any outcome at that point. She could have climbed out the bathroom window and run away forever, for all I knew. She had sat across the table from me, listened to every word, and, to my astonishment, listened.
She gave a few token objections, sure. She tried to talk back, but that was short lived. It was obvious to me from the second the words left my mouth: she was glad I was punishing her. It complicated things, a little, when your human sex doll was so gleeful, but I was happy I didn’t have to go the other route. I hated her guts, but I didn’t want to divorce her. Not yet, at least.
Our wine arrived and I poured out two glasses. What was taking her so long?
By the time I saw her come out of the bathrooms, I actually had a moment to appreciate her outfit. I had rushed in tonight, nervous I was going to blow my lines, that she would laugh at me or throw a drink in my face, so nervous that I hadn’t taken a moment to properly look at her.
Pink, full lips. Tumbling locks of hair in chaotic shades of blonde and honey brown. A childlike waist and full, heavy breasts. She was beautiful. And more importantly, she had worn the dress I told her to.
She sat back down in her seat, a look of concentration on her face as though a stern school mistress had balanced a book on her head and told her that she’d be rapped on the knuckles if it fell. She couldn’t look me in the eyes. Good. All the better for me to get a good, long look at her.
“I’ve taken the liberty of ordering you a starter. I hope you’re hungry,” I said, and she gave me a quizzical look. I reached for her hand over the table and she gingerly gave it to me. I could feel her shaking. The thought of it sent the most delicious pang through me. Slut. My little slut. She had torn our marriage – admittedly not the healthiest marriage you’ve ever seen – into a thousand tiny pieces. Everything was fucked now. But at least she would pay. And I would enjoy every second of it.
“Shouldn’t we …just forget dinner, maybe?”
“Are you crazy? I had to pull some serious strings to get us in here. No way, we’re going to stay as long as we can. Keep room for desert too,” I said and winked at her. Perhaps that was a bit overboard.
She raised her chin and tried to keep cool. Honestly, four years into our marriage and she hadn’t aged a bit. In fact, she looked even younger than when we first met. And I was happy to see that playful, defiant spirit still beating strong in her. Pity she was a raging whore.
I pulled out my phone and tapped listlessly at it.
“In fact, funny thing how we got these reservations, actually. Do you remember Peter Cromwell? I introduced you to him at that gala last year?”
She shook her head.
“No, I guess not. Maybe you were …distracted at the time?” I shot her a look loaded with meaning. “Anyway, Peter’s been dabbling with some really fun projects at the moment. Do you remember I told you he was developing some smartphone apps with the quants from the London office? No?”
She shook her head again. She never paid any damn attention, naturally. It was OK. If she was going to play my bimbo slave, she might as well play dumb, too.
“Well, he was the one who designed that …thing you’re wearing” I said, and gestured under the table. Now she was paying attention.
“I’m sorry what? He designed the…?”
“The dildo, yes. But this one’s fancy. Actually, it’s still in the development stages and this i
s kind of a prototype. Lucky girl.”
She frowned.
I turned my phone screen and showed her some purple and silver dials and knobs.
“See this? This is the app that controls it. Isn’t that clever?” I said. She pored over the screen, and I watched the glowing rectangle reflect on the wet curve of her eye.
“See, that’s where I turn it on or off. And this slider lets me decide the intensity. It’s got a few different modes over here…”
Her eyes went wide. She went to grab the phone from me but I quickly snatched it away from her.
“Oops! Don’t want this to get into the wrong hands,” I said, and laughed. She looked worried. I leaned in, the phone held far off from her reach, and dropped my voice.
“Besides, there are a few things on here I haven’t figured out yet myself, so you’ll have to give me a minute…” I said, and the look that washed over her face was priceless. Good.
She got up to quickly go to bathroom, I presume, but I gripped her arm instantly, pulling her back down.
“That is the last, and I mean the last time you do something without asking my permission, do you hear me?” I was serious. I felt the tension drop from her arm and she nodded. At that moment, the starters arrived. We exchanged heated glances over the crystal and silverware and Egyptian cotton napkins. Nobody else in this restaurant knew what an unrepentant slut she was. But I did.
We ate in silence for a while. For a moment, I could almost believe it was our honeymoon again. The plates were cleared away and I chatted to her about the weather, and how exquisitely the mushrooms had been prepared. She had a distant, glassy expression on her face, but agreed and gave short, one word answers here and there.
Why didn’t she leave? Why didn’t she tell me to stick my stupid dildo up my own ass? Why wasn’t she on the phone with a divorce lawyer right now? Well, that was clear to me: because she liked it. She blushed and pouted and fretted but ultimately …here she was. I was hard under the table cloth.
The entrees came and we chit chatted further. I could tell the whole exercise was making her squirm, and she was barely keeping her embarrassment under control. While she tried to look comfortable above the table, I knew that she was a wet little bitch under it, but she would sit here with me in this overpriced dump of a restaurant as long as I damn well said so.
She picked a little at her food and then the plates were removed, and the table opened up between us. I pulled out my phone again and she pepped up, watching it like a hawk.
“What are you going to do?” she whispered.
“Well, let me show you.”
I slid my finger across the screen and it flickered awake, and then I traced a small circle on the digital dial, turning the intensity up. I lifted my gaze to see her slightly alarmed face. She looked like she stopped breathing. I imagined it vibrating secretly, deep inside her, and the idea thrilled me. She wanted to sneak around and lie and cheat? Well, now she could try her best to keep this a secret.
I watched her carefully. She balled her fists and took a deep breath, and I could sense the strain in her face in the way her eyelids flickered a little as she closed them.
“More wine?” I asked her casually, but never peeling my eyes away from her faintly tormented face. She opened her eyes and gave me a pleading look. She shook her head.
I poured myself some; a big, full glass. She watched as the red liquid swirled and rose in the glass. The phone was at my wrist, casually resting on the table, the instrument of her torture but to everyone else in this room, something unremarkable.
“So, what do you think of it? Shall I tell Peter Cromwell you approve of the design?”
She shot me a dark look.
“It’s nothing special,” she said and tore her gaze from mine. I smiled.
“It isn’t? Well that’s just because we have it on a low setting.”
Slowly, I took the phone again and lazily dragged my finger over the intensity control, till it was roughly at the midpoint. This had an immediate effect on her. Now, to my delight, I could hear her breath grow a little jagged as she exhaled and squirmed in her seat a little. Her face was flushed, but she sure was making a brave effort at pretending it wasn’t.
“Natasha? Still here with us?” I asked, teasing.
“I’m here,” she breathed.
“You like it don’t you?” I growled.
More of the same dark look. She looked so cute when she was all pissy and indignant.
“Actually, yes. I do like it.” This time her voice seemed to come from a little deeper inside her body. I could see she liked it. Hell, the people at the next table, if they cared to look, could probably see how much she liked it.
I stopped smiling. “Well, you’re not supposed to. This is your punishment, remember?”
She watched my finger slide all the way to the far end of the control. Almost maximum power. She swallowed hard and tightened her shoulders. She was struggling to keep her eyes open. I leaned in forward so I could see that sweet punishment on her rapidly coloring face.
“Now tell me what that feels like. Tell me what it feels like to be such a slut in this nice restaurant, with all these nice people…” I hissed, so quietly only she could hear me.
Her knuckles were turning white. Here I was, bringing her to the edge, without having to lay a finger on her. I could turn the dial down right now, turn it right down and give her some relief. Or I could make her sit here and take it. But whatever happened to her sweet, guilty little cunt right now was entirely, and exclusively in my control.
She swallowed hard again but this time a muffled moan escaped from her lips. She was trying to conceal every twitch and roll of her perfect body, to hold in just how badly she was shaking.
“Natasha, if you make another peep, I’m going to turn it up as high as it will go.”
Her face was full of begging.
“Please…” she managed to say, but not much more.
“Please what?”
“Please. Turn it off. I’m going to…”
“Come? Yes, I know you are. I can see that. Everyone can see that,” I said and stroked the edge of the phone.
She stifled another moan and then shook her head as though to clear it. But I wasn’t going to give her mercy. Natasha was a screamer. She had always been loud in bed. Always yelped out loud and shuddered and swore and sometimes squealed. But now, I wanted to see just how much of that she could conceal.
“You want to be a filthy little whore? To fuck out in the open where anyone can see you? Well, here we go. You’re going to come now, hard, in front of all these strangers, and that’s the punishment you deserve.”
I took a sip of my wine and watched as her secret writhing and heavy breathing reached fever pitch. Her chest flushed.
“Come, Natasha. Let me see you come like the little whore you are,” I said, and the words themselves seemed to push her over the edge. I turned the dial up to its full power and her eyes went wide, she gripped the edge of the table and cried out, neck straining.
“Oh fuck,” she whimpered, but so loud that the people at the next table turned to look.
I watched as her chest rose and fell, and her body twitched and tightened invisibly under her clothes. And even deeper underneath was her juicy little pussy, taking its punishment, convulsing hard around the dildo I had forced her to wear.
Her hand quickly went to her brow to wipe away the prickles of sweat there, and the color flashed back into her white knuckles. She was panting. I sat back in my chair, cool, calm. I loved seeing her this way. When she had gathered herself, she raised a disheveled gaze to me, lips parted. She looked fucking hot.
“Todd, I’m so sorry. About everything, about the other night, I’ve just felt so alone and I really just needed the affection, and now…” she started saying.
I stood quickly, threw down my credit card on the table and gestured to the waiter for the check. As I walked out I fancied I could hear curious whispers and mutterings behind me. B
ut what I was really interested in was everything that was silent at that moment, everything that was invisible.
Her guilt. Her punishment. Her soaking little pussy, and wet quivering lips… truly, I had forgotten how much fun she could be. I was rock hard, but I brushed off the sensation. Instead, my mind wandered.
I already knew what I wanted her next punishment to be.
Chapter Eight - Todd
The men I work with are pigs.
I would like to say that hiring someone with the right skill set in this industry who isn’t a pig is possible …but I certainly haven’t managed it yet. I get it, though. The work is tough and thankless and incredibly difficult. The hours are long and grueling. For a certain type of man, the longer he behaves himself in a temperature controlled cubicle, in suit and tie, the harder he wants to party when he’s eventually released. The more civilized and abstract the work, the more of an animal he has to be later on.
So the running joke in the office is how our hedge fund office is so close to such a seedy looking strip club almost across the road, but honestly, it should be closer. During work hours, it’s all algorithms and PNL meetings and investor presentations. After hours, it’s all coke and hookers. But they aren’t opposites. In fact, they’re the same stuff. Just two sides of the same, highly polarized coin.
When things get bawdy, I play along. It’s good business practice. But me? I’m not a pig. I take this shit seriously. When I see some kid blustering in like he’s some Wall Street superstar, well, he has my blessing. Hell, I’ll even cut his lines for him. But none for me, though I’m happy to help him along.
Some people build, some people destroy. When I was a child, my mother used my prize money from winning second place at the math Olympiad to pay for groceries. She’d joked on the way home that she wished I’d made first place so we could at least get a bottle of vodka, too.
So, pigs. I know them. I understand them. But I’m not one of them.