TEN
There was no more constraint between us. There was no sense in trying to
struggle against the things we had discovered in ourselves, or in pretending we
were still a normal couple. We accepted what we were, and embraced it. Slave and
master, masochist and sadist, whore and pimp--the terms didn't matter; we were
what we had to be.
One night not long after our evening at the Harris', I told Pat I was
ready to exhibit her in public. "We'll go out for dinner," I said. "Go change
your clothes. I want to put you on display."
"What do you want me to wear?" she asked.
I thought. "You remember that little sweater your aunt sent you for
Christmas, that you never wore?"
"It's too small for me," she said in a low voice.
"That's perfect. And leave off the brassiere."
"Oh Mel..."
"And put on a skirt. The shortest one you have."
"Yes, Mel." She went.
She came back wearing the sweater, a thin, light brown pullover that
stretched so tightly over her bosom that it looked as though she would burst out
of it at any moment. It lovingly molded every curve and contour of her shapely
breasts, and clearly defined the little protuberances of her nipples. She had
also found an old blue miniskirt that came only about a third of the way down
her thighs. It was not exactly in fashion, but it looked terrific with her bare,
luscious legs.
"That's great," I said. "Every man you see will be raping you in his
mind."
She made a tiny sound in her throat.
Then I had another idea. "You should be tied," I said. "That would make
it perfect. Even if nobody knew."
She caught her breath, but said only: "How will I eat?"
"We'll figure out something," I said. "Bring me a piece of rope."
She brought me the rope, and, following my instructions, turned around
and put her hands behind her. I tied her wrists together. Then, remembering
Emma's technique, I found a light coat sweater and hung it over her shoulders,
buttoning the top button at her throat to keep it in place.
I studied her. It was not obvious that her hands were tied, but she
looked erotic as hell. I couldn't resist putting my hands on the front of her
sweater.
"Now if anybody DID try to rape you," I said, rubbing her nipples, "you
wouldn't be able to do much about it."
She was breathing hard, and I knew if we didn't leave then, we'd never
get out. I took my hands away. "Let's go."
I took her to a restaurant within walking distance of where we lived,
but one that we hadn't been to before. It was not yet dark out, and walking
through the streets I could see that Pat's face was flushed as almost everyone
we passed stared at her, some covertly, some more openly. Men especially
couldn't take their eyes off her; the goggled at her avidly as they went by,
many of them turning around for a long look at her legs, a few actually stopping
in their tracks as she approached to gaze hungrily at her thrusting, jiggling
breasts beneath the tight pullover.
"Enjoying yourself?" I said to her.
Her voice was breathless. "It's...it's humiliating...."
"And it makes you hot," I said.
"Yes...."
The restaurant was a neighborhood place, not too fancy but fairly
crowded. I chose a table away from most of the other diners, but one which
allowed us to be seen by them. Pat attracted plenty of attention as we were
seated. She sat down carefully, holding herself erect in her chair so that her
pulled-back arms would not be uncovered. Seated, her skirt was drawn back even
further over her thighs. The waiter's eyes kept dropping to her breasts as he
put the menus on the table. I couldn't blame him; her quick, nervous breathing
was doing wonderful things to the front of her sweater, and her nipples were
poking out the material in little spikes.
I ordered steaks for both of us, and the waiter went away reluctantly. I
looked casually around. Most of the customers had gone back to their food,
content with occasional or more frequent glances at Pat, but some of the men
were still watching her. "There's a guy across the room who's crazy about your
legs," I told her. "If you slide forward a little bit, he'll be able to see just
about all of them."
She swallowed. "Mel..."
"Do it."
The flush that was still on her face deepened, but she moved forward in
her chair, and her skirt pulled up almost to her crotch. The man across the room
nearly had a heart attack.
I grinned. "There'll be a lot of guys here thinking about you when they
screw their wives tonight," I said.
As we waited for our food, I could see that Pat was becoming
uncomfortable in her erect position, but she was reluctant to move around too
much for fear that someone would realize that her hands were tied. Her slight
twitchings and squirmings only added to the erotic excitement of her situation.
Finally the waiter brought our steaks, his eyes again devouring Pat's
enticingly displayed body, while trying vainly not to be too obvious about it.
When he had finished asking us if we wanted anything else, and trying a few more
delaying tactics, and had gone away again, Pat looked at me helplessly. "How am
I going to eat?"
I was busily cutting my steak up into bite-sized pieces. "With your
mouth," I said calmly.
"What...what do you mean?"
I went on cutting the steak, and when I finished I took her plate and
put mine in front of her. "There you go," I said. "all ready for you. All you
have to do is bend over, pick up a bite in your mouth and chew it up. Just like
the little animal you are."
She stared at me, her eyes wide. "I--I can't," she whispered.
"Sure you can," I cut a bite of my own steak. It wasn't bad.
"Mel, I...Jesus! Everyone will..."
"That's the idea," I said. "Remember?"
"They'll throw us out," she protested breathlessly.
"I doubt it." I went on eating.
"Mel, please..."
"Eat!" I said. "Now!"
She looked wildly around, then took a deep, shuddering breath and bent
over her plate. She swiftly picked up a bite of meat with her teeth, and then
straightened up with it in her mouth. Her face was flaming.
"That's a good little piggy," I said. "Now chew it up and swallow it,
and you can have another one."
I could see that a lot of people were staring at her now, having seen or
been told by their companions what she had done. It took her a long time to chew
the bite, but she finally got it down.
"Now take another one."
She made a little whimpering noise, but after a second she bent her head
to her plate again and snared a second bite. A low buzz went around the
restaurant, and I saw our waiter conferring worriedly with one of his
colleagues.
After she had taken the third bite, the waiter came over to our table,
looking a little nervous. "Excuse me, sir," he said politely. "Is
there...ah...anything wrong?"
"No," I said. "Everything is very good."
He nodded doubtfully. "Is...ah...the young lady all right?"
I looked him over. He was a dark-complexioned guy in his thirties with a
suave manner, and he didn't look like anybody's fool.
"The young lady is fine," I said. "Her hands are incapacitated at the
moment, so she's using her mouth instead. The young lady is very good with her
mouth," I added.
The waiter looked at me sharply, to see if I could have meant what he
thought I meant. Pat was staring at me too. "Her... hands?..." the waiter said
inquiringly.
"They're tied," I said. "Behind her back."
The waiter's face changed, but subtly. He turned to look at Pat again
with a new expression in his eyes. "I see," he said in a thoughtful tone. Pat
was breathing hard.
"Actually, what the young lady needs," I said, "is a place where she can
kneel on the floor, and use her mouth...properly. Would you have such a place
here, perhaps?"
The waiter hesitated only a moment. "I think we may be able to be of
service, sir," he said. "If you and the young lady will follow me..."
I got up and motioned to Pat. The waiter held her chair politely as she
rose. We followed him to the back of the restaurant, and through a door into the
kitchen, where several people were working. Beyond that, he led us into a small
room that was evidently used as a pantry, with cans and boxes of food stored on
shelves along the walls. When we were inside, the waiter closed the door and
slid a bolt.
"Will this be satisfactory, sir?" he asked.
"This is fine," I said. "Now if you would care to gratify the young lady
further..."
"Very happy to, sir," he said, a bit hoarsely.
"Kneel down," I said to Pat.
"If you don't mind, sir..." the waiter said hastily. His hands made a
tentative but eager movement toward Pat's tightly outlined breasts, and he
glanced at me. "May I?"
"Please do," I said.
His hands came to rest almost reverently on the swelling mounds, and for
several moments he played with them, rubbing and caressing, squeezing and
palpitating, testing the hardness of the nipples. Pat stood motionless except
for her heavy breathing, which sounded loud in the little room.
"Thank you, sir," the waiter said. "I am ready now."
I nodded to Pat, and she sank to her knees on the floor.
The waiter unzipped his trousers and released a quite sizeable prick,
which sprang fully erect into the air. Pat brought her head forward and took it
into her mouth.
She began to suck him slowly and thoroughly. As her head bobbed up and
down the man's face twisted with pleasure, and soon he was panting.
"I told you she was good with her mouth," I said.
"Oh yes, sir," the waiter moaned. "She is, indeed....Oh yes,
indeed....Ohh she is...wonderful....Ohhh...Ahhh...Ah yes...Ohh yes!..."
I watched closely as Pat continued to pleasure him, her head gradually
moving faster over his rock-hard cock. When I sensed that he was close to the
end, I said, "The young lady would be obliged if you would come in her face."
"Of course, sir," the waiter said chokingly. And a moment later, he
pulled his cock out of her mouth and with a small cry shot several spurts of
semen directly into her eyes. Pat didn't move.
"Very good," I said. "I'm going back to finish my dinner now. I'll leave
the young lady here for a while." Before I left I took the waiter aside and gave
him further instructions. Then I went back to my table.
My steak was cold now, but I enjoyed it anyway. Half an hour passed
before Pat came out. Her knees were dirty. And her face was covered with sperm.
She sat down opposite me, breathing hard. "He wouldn't let me wipe my
face," she got out.
"I told him not to," I said. "How many were there?"
"Five. Two more waiters and two busboys. And the cook."
"You blew them all?"
She nodded.
"And they all came in your face?"
She nodded again.
"Good," I said. "I'll have to leave a big tip." I stood up. "Let's get
out of here." I put some money on the table.
"My face..." she said apprehensively.
"It looks beautiful," I said. "Let's go."
"Ohhh..." But she got up, and, looking straight ahead of her, her
breasts bobbing, her bare legs soiled, and her face dripping with come, she
walked with me through the restaurant, past all the tables of gawking, gaping
diners and out into the street.
#
"Oh Mel," she moaned breathlessly, when we were outside. "Oh Jesus god,
Mel. Take me home and fuck the hell out of me!"
"Sure thing," I said. I pulled out my handkerchief. "I'll wipe your face
off now."
Carefully, I cleaned the still-wet sperm from her features, being sure
to get every drop. Then I told her to open her mouth. When she obeyed, I stuffed
the handkerchief into it.
"There," I said. "Now you can suck on that all the way home."
And she did.
