Pub Meeting
Leaning forward and closing the small gap between them, your bare leg the obvious game, he runs the very edge of a finger slowly across your knee.
Sensing the sharp intake of breath at the merest brush with your thigh, the touch is electrifying and he takes this as encouragement to continue.
He carelessly traces it back; you can’t help but smile and for a few moments, your whole concentration is on that gentle movement back and forth whilst he betrays no visible signs that he understands the effect it is having.
Shifting your position in the seat, you re-cross your legs and allow your skirt to creep up a little, exposing gorgeous long legs hinting now at that tantalisingly forbidden area above the hemline, the point of your shoe heel dangling seductively from your floating foot.
Finding his target now better presented, he resumes his slow trickle.
Instinctively, you relax the crossing fold of your legs, not wanting to, but unable not to. Encouraging, but not blatant.
What is he thinking right now? The slow curve of a smile whilst he speaks and a soft bulge in his trousers indicates his pleasure.
Eye to eye, the conversation does not falter but your mind isn’t totally on it. He could be saying anything and your only response is a smiling nod. That fucking finger is everything. His voice is soothing. Captivating. Seductive.
How far will he go?
Why is it so hot in here?
Can anyone see?
You feel a familiar moistening between your legs and pray for that stray finger to go further along your inner thigh. You aren’t going to ask, but do you need to?
He’s backed away!
Oh no! Trace it back again.
I’m begging.
Please Sir.
Please.
He responds to your shallow breaths and the half closed eyes, and his trailing finger rises once more, lazily almost, following a circular route up your knee and down into your thigh. Your standing leg quivering now, raised on a point as it is by the stiletto heels you wear.
Sensations coursing through your flesh; through your body; a direct route to your very soul.
Seeing your cheeks blush, he whispers a single word instruction.
Should you respond?
Should you agree?
You want to so much…
Relinquish control?
Swallowing hard. There is only one thing to reply. One thing to say in response to him. His command. His quiet authoritative ‘wider’.
Yes Sir.
Yes.
You can’t help yourself anymore, and your legs part; subtly; imperceptibly; barely to begin with, but part they do. Millimeters to begin with, further at his raised eyebrow.
Gripping his other wrist on the table where they are holding hands, you look him in the eyes and know exactly what’s about to happen.
That trailing finger is going higher.
Ignoring the distant conversation around as though on another planet – the only thing that matters is how that fingertip is moving. Both of your legs are now square on the floor. How the fuck did that happen?
You swallow again as it makes it way discreetly up under your skirt.
No one can see.
No one can know.
The only thing that matters right now is Sir before you.
It’s at the gusset of your knickers.
Your soft, silky, inner thighs palpitate with excitement as the finger traces your lower slit through the thin material, feeling the swell of your lower lips and the dampness within.
Slowly and unhurried, the finger is building within you a desire to cum.
Would he allow it? Would he take you that far? Dare he? Here? He doesn’t care! Your body is his. Happily you will submit!
Creating a further gap, that finger is hooking in under the strip of material and you gasp as it becomes flesh on flesh.
Unhurried.
Relaxed.
Languorous even.
The bastard! Can’t he see what he’s doing to you? Can’t he see that you are on fire? That he has taken you too far? That there can only be one result now?
And then it’s on your clit.
Your soft nub swells in response to his touch and the feelings magnify exponentially. Moments away now.
Leaning forward, you don’t care who’s watching – you need a kiss. He obliges, and then as you both break apart, the thinnest stream of saliva momentarily connects you before it falls away as your lips open wider in response to his touch below.
You can’t help it.
Back in for another kiss.
The only two people in the world and their eyes and now lips are locked together.
A shift in his weight and the finger sinks deep into your pussy. You gasp out loud at his brazen intrusion, feeling it filling you; an undeniable, unforgiving and irresistible strength.
Slowly and methodically, he finger-fucks you, right there at the table in the pub.
A swift self-preservation glance around. No one around. No one watching. No one caring. Thank fuck for that, because you aren’t going to last any longer.
Gripping his wrist, you succumb to the lightning bolts of emotion, exhale a deep breath, eyes now tightly shut, and relax through the all-encompassing orgasm.
There is only one thing left to be said…
Thank you Sir.
Thank you.
…
How had it got to this point? Soaking wet and wobbly as fuck. Heart beating like the clappers and not knowing if you are coming or going.
Come on girl, you think.
Pull yourself together.
You stand looking into the mirror in the toilets, checking that your lipstick is perfectly reapplied. Puckering, your lips are a lovely, glossy slutty red. You smile at your reflection. Checking too that your mascara is still emphasizing your sexy eyes and not running with the heat and emotion. Your eyes crinkle excitedly.
Hunching yourself forward for the mirror, you check the alluring swell of your breasts. The cage bra is doing a brilliant job but at the back of your mind is the nagging thought that maybe today, you should have been braless. What good was a bra when you are just aching for it to come off?
Using your fingers and red painted fingernails carefully, you hook each breast in turn back up and square in it’s respective cup and you smile in appreciation of the created cleavage. More than mortal man deserves.
Standing back you smooth your sundress down across your belly and thighs. Short, but not too short, it finishes a little above the knee.
Clinging, it exaggerates your toned figure with your voluptuousness in all the right places.
The heels set it off. Plain tan stilettos match any outfit and with the effect of lengthening your already very long legs, pulling the calf muscles into place, they create a tempting gap between your legs. You were aware of his eyes constantly on you as you sashayed to the toilet from the table. He had been panting.
The night had been fun so far and you had already had a fantastic orgasm, but it still seemed early and an itch between your legs had started up again.
Sir had been in charge so far that evening, and as a sub you swore you would obey him but you never agreed to not push the limits. It was time to see how far you could test his resolve and what was the worst that could happen? Perhaps caution when sitting down tomorrow?
Meh. Such is life!
Fixating on your image in the mirror, you pull up your dress and hook a finger into each side of your panties. A swift pull down and within moments you are untangling the lacey nothings from your shoes.
Wet and sticky, they betray your obvious excitement; the smell of your previous elation, a pleasant pervasive odour.
You push them quickly into your handbag, but then take a moment.
The vision of your bare thighs and glimpse of pussy in the mirror, though regularly seen and just as regularly dismissed, all of a sudden had a different viewpoint.
You see for a moment what he was going to see.
What he was going to feel.
What he was going to possibly taste?
Your lower lips are still engorged and the nub of your clit still protruded arrogantly. Still fucking wet.
Fetching a handful of toilet paper from the cubicle, you dry between your legs. The sopping wet mess of paper is thrust into the toilet and you compose yourself to join Sir.
Enough preparation. Time to see what would happen.
The stroll by the river opposite the pub in the gathering dusk is romantic. It’s a warm dry evening, and the sounds of chirping crickets accompany your arm-in-arm amble. Conversation flows easily and mutual ground is found.
You can’t help yourself but stop frequently for a kiss. And then, he takes you into his arms and lifts you gently onto a low wall. Cupping your face, he leans in for another kiss. You throw your arms around his neck and relax into the heaven of his clutch.
It could have been mere minutes or above an hour when you surface from the embrace. Time seems to have moved at a different speed to the steadily darkening day and you become aware that your skirt is hoisted right up and your legs are wide and gripping around his waist as he is stood before you.
Lost in his eyes, you are dimly aware of his hands at your waist, on your thighs, and now climbing their way under your dress.
So public and yet so private. His body blocked all from the view of you, not that there is anybody about.
If he’d commanded, you would have hoisted the dress off where you sat, except that he didn’t!
So curious? A glance here and there. A pat down of the dress hem if it creased too high.
That was his weakness!
You giggle to yourself.
I am his. My body now belongs to him and he isn’t a sharer. Some scope for fun there, surely. He was a protector. Was it all bravado?
Though right this moment, all you want is to be commanded. To relinquish every semblance of personal control. To be taken. To be used. To submit to his every whim. To see how far over the edge your sexy look and compliant attitude could take him.
All of a sudden you feel him guide your hands behind you and then the sundress suddenly being forced down from your torso, exposing your chest within your sexy bra.
You gasp. The sundress is gathered at your middle offering little to no protection.
You whisper, “I’ll do as I’m told” at his questioning raised eyebrow. Almost immediately, you feel the bra pulled away from your breasts and up and over you head, and down behind, effectively trapping your hands behind you and exposing your bare breasts to the night.
At least it had been useful somehow, in the end.
Nervously you want to cringe backwards, but the pressure of his hand on your back encourages you to sit up straight! Be proud.
As he takes half a step backwards, you realize that you are completely open and exposed for him. Your lower lips gape expectantly for a stroke. Your breasts pert and longing for his caress. Your nipples swollen, erect and eager for his lips.
For his inspection. For his approval. For his searching eyes, hands and tongue.
Getting his approval too, considering the considerable tenting going on in his trousers.
A sound of a voice from the pub opposite and you watch him move forward and block all view, taking your uncomplaining head in his hands for another kiss. The voice noise changes to an engine noise and is soon gone.
A protector. A practical man. Alone and safe once more.
You are beginning to enjoy yourself. It wasn’t so bad doing as you are told. Giving complete ownership of your body to this man was going to be fun.
Isn’t it funny how the Dom thinks he is in control and yet his attention of you, your safety, security, body, pleasures and peace of mind is almost slavish.
What had he got planned for your helpless body now?