We made the dinner reservations for our third anniversary at Anthony's. Eight p.m. Sergei drove us there in the black Mercedes. Anthony's is a very high-class place. There's the regular restaurant, where the public goes in. Then there's a special entrance for valued - rich - customers, that leads to the back of the restaurant. It's very secluded and elegant and romantic.
But I wasn't feeling romantic, in my elegant satin evening dress. I was feeling dominant. I don't really know why. It just hit me. I think it's because Sergei was being so sweet and chivalrous and courtly and he looked so damn hot in his two-piece button-down suit. And I hadn't dominated him in nearly two months.
His hair was short, but it was just the right length to pull. When he pulled out the chair for me, I thought about how great my handcuffs would look on his wrists. And when he bent to pick up the napkin I'd dropped, I thought how beautiful he'd look on his knees.
I needed it bad.
I don't think he realized it until the wine came. He was chattering excitedly about our upcoming vacation to France. And any other time, I would have been chattering excitedly with him. But all I could think about was tying him up. Making him submit to me. It's so distracting. He realized something was wrong when he asked me a question (I presume about France) and I didn't answer. I just stared intently at him, imagining him somewhere else. In some other position.
He could sense it because the smile slowly faded from his face, as he poured me a glass. He stared back at me, hard, for a minute before muttering, "Uh-oh."
"Uh-oh is right." I smiled my hungry smile at him.
He got a rather uncomfortable look on his face. "Maggie. Let's just try to enjoy this evening, please? Let's just eat and go home and make love. Tomorrow we can do - that. Okay?"
He was so cute when he tried to get out of it. He really didn't want to do it tonight. But the thing was, I did. He didn't get a say in when I needed it. I didn't even get a say, really.
"Open your legs," I ordered instead. The tablecloth was long. It would conceal everything above the level of the chair seats.
His eyes took on a truly pained look that made me instantly wet. "Maggie," he half whispered/half whined. "Please. Not here."
I kicked off my shoe and let my bare foot wander up his left leg. He closed his eyes. Then abruptly opened them and looked around. Seeing if anyone noticed. He shifted a bit, eyes scanning.
"Sit still," I hissed in a tone that would brook no argument. But he did argue.
"Maggie. Not here. Not now. Later. At home."
My foot kept inching higher. "I can't wait for later," I answered, letting my dominant stance soften.
"You can," Sergei insisted, a bit desperately.
He started to move his hands - to push my foot away, no doubt.
I snapped, "Keep your hands on the table."
My foot was at his thigh. He closed them. That put me right back in dom-mode. I forced my way to his crotch and dug in with my big toe.
He grimaced and jumped in sudden pain. "I said open them," I nearly growled.
Slowly, he did so and barely.
"Wider."
Looking me in the eye he spread his legs wider for me. He made one last pitch before I burrowed my toes under his balls.
"Please, Maggie, don't do this to me," he whispered. I started exploring his crotch. "Not here."
He flinched and closed his eyes as my toe found the head of his cock. I started rubbing slow circles around it.
That's when the waiter came. It was quite fun to watch Sergei attempt to act like everything was normal as the man took our orders.
He managed to hold fairly still, a white-knuckle grip on the table edges betraying the difficulty of that task to me. His cockhead is so sensitive. The look on his face must have been broadcasting something funny because the waiter gave him a strange look before departing with our menus.
"So," I smiled, my toes working their magic, "that wasn't so hard, now, was it?" I laughed at my own double-entendre.
Sergei had his eyes closed, jaw clenched. "Maggie..." He shifted in his seat, and his balls dragged over the top of my foot. They felt so soft and supple. Heavy. He has the nicest balls I have ever seen. Just brushing them with my foot made me so hot.
"Do you know how wet you're making me?" I ask him. He looks into my eyes and swallows. He can see it's true.
I can feel his heartbeat in his nuts and it's fast. Hard. Like his cock. "I want to hurt you," I continue. "Tonight. When we get home."
That, I can see, he doesn't like one bit. But he will allow it because my eyes are full of desire as I look at him and my voice thick as I tell him.
I sip my wine. "I'm going to use my panties to gag you." I say it conversationally, like it's everyday conversation. Like it's something perfectly acceptable to say during dinner in a public place where tuxedos and evening dresses is the attire of rule.
I've gotten him very hard. It's difficult for him not to rub himself on my foot. For him to keep his hands from traveling between his legs. His face is a bit flushed. I'm sure mine is too. I remove my foot before anyone notices the peculiar tension Sergei is exhibiting.
He exhales in relief as I slip my shoe on. But I'm not finished. Not by a long-shot.
"Put your hands behind your back."
He looks at me and his eyes are so wide and vulnerable. There is a flicker of something I can't quite catch, and then he drops his head.
He brings his wrists - his beautiful, fine wrists - together in front of me, showing them to me, before he slowly brings them behind his back. The bastard is putting on a show for me, right here. Ha! He's getting me so hot I can barely stand it, and he knows it.
"You'll pay for that later," I whisper, as I clench my hands in frustration. Now I want to come, but can't. Smart boy, or so he thinks. He will think differently before this night is over.
He nods his head. "I know." His voice is rough when he says it and I have to close my eyes as a wave of arousal washes over me. I don't know if I'll be able to carry out my plan now. I may have to move things faster if he keeps pushing my buttons. Damn him.
"Waiter." I clear my throat as our waiter approaches. "How long before the dinner will be ready?"
He gives me a strained odd look, but answers, "For your order, approximately twenty-five minutes, madam."
"We forgot something in the car; would it be a problem if we went to look for it?" The man's looks get stranger by the minute, but he preserves his decorum. "Of course, madam. That should be no problem."
"Thank you."
He nods and moves off. Sergei is staring at me as well.
"Let's go to the car," I order. "I want to watch you masturbate."
**********
I pushed him into the backseat of the Mercedes. Cliché, I know, but it's very roomy. He scoots over to the far side. He was very unhappy about my making him walk with his hands behind his back through the restaurant with a hard-on. His suit jacket opened at just the right angle. I wonder if anyone noticed. Probably. I shiver, aroused at the thought.
"I wonder if your hard-on will make the papers," I tease.
He lips twist in a grimace. "Probably will." His accent is amazing. Weeel. It makes my tummy flutter.
I can see his erection is flagging a bit. Time to move things along. I lean forward and whisper in his ear. "Unzip yourself."
I can hear his breathing pick up; feel his hands brush my stomach as he finds his zipper, and my crotch aches.
I reach between us and slap his hands away grabbing his cock through his underwear. He is steel-hard again and he moans thickly. Quickly, I move away before I decide to ride him right there. He whimpers and pouts at me with his big blue eyes.
"Take your cock out." I'm feeling nasty tonight. "And your balls."
He gulps and looks at me. I meet his eyes and I just want to come right there. His eyes...I can't explain what his eyes do to me when I'm this state. They get all liquid-like with lust and I feel like I could drown in them. Truly lose myself and it's such a high. They express such a range of emotions. He tries to use them to manipulate me. Sometimes it works.
But not tonight.
"We have 17 minutes," I inform him. "Stroke your cock."
I see him swallow hard. He brings his hand to his penis and wraps his fingers - his long, strong fingers - around the shaft. He holds his fingers there and gasps,
"Maggie..."
"Stroke," I command, glaring. There is a sharp edge to my voice.
He groans and whispers, "My pants...I can't...stain them."
He's right. We have to go back into the restaurant. Not even in this mood will I ask him to humiliate himself that much.
He throws his head back, clunking it on the window, face twisted in anguish. His hand is still wrapped - tightly now - around his cock. A drop of precum has formed at the tip and it's killing him to keep still.
I reach out and wipe it off with my index finger and he moans my name and arches beautifully. His free hand grips the driver's seat headrest. I smear it along his lower lip and that makes him thrash his head.
I move to the other end and take off his shoe, then his sock. He opens his eyes to watch, wondering what the hell I'm doing, no doubt. I hand him his sock.
"Catch your precum in this."
He gives me a pained look.
"Start stroking." I can see he doesn't want to and he does, more than anything. I don't want him getting off too fast, though. In fact, I don't want him getting off at all.
"Slowly," I specify, and this time he gives me a pleading look. I look back, not budging.
Slowly, he begins masturbating. Leisurely strokes from base to crown. He's very careful to avoid the slit. It's so fucking unbelievably hot that soon I'm moaning with him. When he starts to speed up inadvertently I tell him to stop.
He groans in frustration. I lick my lips, hiking up my dress to touch myself, unable to stand it any longer. "Smear your precum into the head."
"Oh, Maggie, please - " His head is so sensitive.
"With your thumb."
He whimpers, but brings his thumb to the head of his cock. Barely touching himself, he swipes quickly once across the glans. Watching him, I come. He arches his back, grits his teeth, and makes the most beautiful sounds of tortured pleasure I have ever heard. His head whips around a few times and his breath catches in his throat. Just that one touch of his hand across his head and he's squirming like a fish on a hook.
"Again," I order breathlessly. "Smear it."
He whines and begs me with his eyes. God, if he knew what that did to me at that moment - even after coming -- he would not have done it, I'm sure. "Do it. Or I will."
His lower lip sticks out in a pout. Damn, I don't even think he's trying to push my buttons anymore, but is he ever doing it.
"Do it slow," I warn. He can hear the "or else", and grimaces.
Tentatively, he rests his thumb at the top of his drooling slit and squeezes his eyes shut as he brings it down the length. I hear his sharp intake of breath and his moans come quickly after it. He begins rubbing his precum in circles across the swelling head of his cock. I watch him as he writhes and grunts moans. I wonder how he made it through his teenage years. Probably just jerked off without ever coming near his knob. Isn't he lucky he found me.
For another minute I watch him do this and he's practically curled into a fetal position, sobbing, before I tell him to stop. Gratefully, he does so, gasping for breath. His slit is very wide anyway and it swells in arousal, exposing the delicate inner flesh of his urethra. Touching it, I know, brings a wealth of sensations almost too pleasurable for him to bear. I touch it, often. Or force him to.
I look at my watch. Eleven minutes left. Sergei's hand is still wrapped around his cock and he's jacking it slowly, unconsciously.
I reach over and take his hand away; his eyes open and he stares mutely at me. His eyes are filled with lust. I'm sure he sees the same in my eyes. I contemplate just calling off the dinner and fucking him right here.
But no. We've had these reservations for months.
And he has to suffer for teasing me in the restaurant.
Taking the sock, I wipe the precum from his hand. He watches me carefully.
"Put your hands on your head," I breathe. He does and his suit coat crawls up his neck. His cock is standing straight out from his zipper. A strand of precum is hanging from the tip and I take the sock and catch it before it can fall onto his pants.
An idea comes to me and I grin evilly.
Seven minutes left. That should be more than enough time to drive him batty.
Being careful to keep the sock away from my clothes, I stretch it taut and bring it to the underside of his glans. He whimpers and shakes his head, knowing what I'm about to do.
"No, Maggie, please." His voice trembles and it sends my stomach into flutters of pleasure. "Please...Maggie, not there. We have to go back in. Please. No." Begging. Ah, the sound. I make myself come with a firm touch. He keeps his hands on his head as he watches me, though he groans and swallows. "Please, no..."
I just smile and being "polishing" the sock across his glans.
He just about goes through the roof. He'll never come like this -- I won't allow it -- but it will stimulate him beyond tolerance.
"Maaagggiiie!!! Don't!" Screams and groans intermingle and I'm sure if anyone's around they can hear. His writhing makes it difficult to keep the sock on his cock.
"Hold still," I growl. It is an order, to be obeyed.
But... "I can't!" he all but screeches. A near sob escapes him and he tries to bring himself under control. I admire his effort. But as soon as he's still enough, I do it again and this time he falls forward, legs spread. I know he aches for the touch, but can't stand it either. His cockhead is nearly purple now and his chest is heaving in choked sobs. He's had enough.
And we're out of time.
"Zip up," I pant. "Dinner's on."
He lets out a long, frustrated growl deep in his throat.
"Let's go home," Sergei suggests instead, reaching for me. But I pull away, adjusting my hair. If I let him get his hands on me, I'll be lost. "No. Put your dick in your pants and let's go."
For a moment he is speechless. "Maggie! I can't go back in there like this!" He spreads his hands over his stiff, drooling cock.
I just raise my eyebrows. "Why not? You went out like that." I touch up my blush a bit.
Resistance is written all over his face. So I lean in and tell him, "We are eating dinner. Put your cock in your pants. I'll deal with you when we get home. This is what you get for messing with me when I'm in my dom mood. You know better." I glare.
He glares back for a moment. Then, uncomfortably, he forces his penis down his right pants leg and zips up over the very obvious bulge. I smile and he scowls.
"Let's go."
**********
Boy, was it a trip back through the restaurant. Sergei tried to hide behind me the whole time, and I let him. I'm sure people thought it was a bit odd how he was practically hanging off my back, but the alternative probably would mortify him. If anyone suspected, I didn't pick up on it.
Except maybe the waiter. "I trust you...found...everything?" he inquired archly. Just like in the movies. My heart thudded, but it was so funny, too.
I stared him straight in the eye even as Sergei looked away, flushed. "Yes, we did, thank you," I replied evenly.
I burst out laughing - quietly - as he glided away and Sergei shook his head.
"Jesus," he muttered under his breath and that made me laugh harder.
"Oh, come on! You liked it. You like this," I accused. "Or you wouldn't be so..." My foot slithered up his leg. "...Hard." Bingo! said my big toe. He jumped. I watched him try to deny it, fingers gripping the table again.
"No, I do not like it. Not in public."
"Your dick says otherwise."
"You know I cannot help that." Teeth gritted. I wiggle my toes a bit and he closes his eyes and swallows. "Maaaagggie," he whispers, pleading. "Please. Don't. No more here. Please." Damn, damn, damn! If you have never seen a man beg like this before you are definitely missing out on one of the great sights in life. Especially if he's begging you.
The food arrives. Just to torture him, I rub my foot along the length of his cock while they serve us. I am as turned on as he is now.
"I have so much more planned for tonight," I tell him as our wine is refilled.
I continue this private rape in a public place as the stewards hover in dangerous proximity. He never once meets the eyes of the waiters or me. His cheeks are flushed and his mouth is a flat line. His heavy breathing is the only indication that there's anything out of the ordinary happening. But I know he is very pissed and very aroused and he's warring with his emotions. I can see it in the set of his jaw. And the way he grips the silverware.
The waiters depart and I nod my thanks. "I want to fuck you," I whisper, leaning into Sergei as my heel finds his balls. He is shaking now, just slightly and he still hasn't met my eyes. "I'm so fucking wet I would come if you breathed on me."
I can see his control slipping and I decide to see how far I can go before people start to stare. I want a reaction, goddammit, and he knows it. He just won't give it to me. But I will get one. I find the head of his cock and squeeze it very gently between my big and first toes.
At this, he groans painfully, trying admirably to be quiet about it, and his body goes weak. He legs fall open wider then close like a vise on mine. All it does is crush his cock against my foot. I allow him to keep them closed for a moment.
"Open. Your. Legs." After a moment, he does. Just a fraction. I reach over and grab his wrist tightly. "Do not close them again or it will be a very unpleasant rest of the evening for you." I practically hiss it. I want to see his fucking eyes.
He haltingly nods his understanding, still studying his plate.
"Look at me." I snap it and he instinctively responds. His big blue eyes meet mine. They're glaring and ringed with pain. I very nearly come and my fingers dig into his wrist. "I want to hurt you. I'm going to make you cry tonight." I punctuate every word with firmer and firmer pressure on his cockhead. He's sweating now, but he dares not look away. I give one last push and remove my foot. "Let's eat," I order regally. "It's getting cold."
The air explodes from his lungs in relief and he leans over his food, wheezing for a moment. I place my napkin on my lap. He's got little beads of sweat standing out on his forehead. He's nervous and looking around, hands shaking just a bit. I just want him right now. He's so fucking hot. I can't wait. But I have to wait.
It will take him a few minutes to get his bearings, I know. I've never gone this far in public before. He'll adjust; it will just take him a bit. I don't want to give him that bit yet.
"Put your hands behind your back."
He gives me a truly pleading look now. I can tell he's bordering on safewording. But I just stare him down. He puts is hands behind him. Sort of. They're more at his sides than behind him but that's close enough. I pick up my fork and cut some of my food.
"I'm going to spoon feed you this entire meal," I tell him matter-of-factly.
His response is immediate. "No." His hands go to the tabletop again. I can tell by the sound of his voice that he won't allow that. He's dangerously close to saying the magical word that will make me stop. I do not want him to say it. But I don't want to lose this battle either. I take his hands once more.
"Yes. Open your mouth."
"Maggie, no." There is no way he will do it. He doesn't even need the safeword. I know.
I pout. "But I need this," I whine, not sounding very dominating at all.
His eyes and mouth soften just a bit and that ignites my need all over. "Later, Maggie. When we go home," he cajoles in a soothing voice. It drops to a whisper, seductively. "You can have me all night. Okay? At home." His thumb is rubbing my hand softly. The same thumb that he rubbed his cockhead with. I suppress a groan. I want to have him now.
"Just do this for me," I breathe. "Just this one little thing. It's hardly anything." Now I'm doing the pleading. But I don't care. If it will get him to do this for me, I'll do anything. Ironic, huh? My need to see him submit to me in this way, at this time is overwhelming.
But he shakes his head. "I understand, Maggie. But I cannot let you do this to me here."
Stalemate.
He sighs. "You know I will do almost anything for you, Maggie. This is too much. Can you understand?"
I nod, not looking at him. Now my jaw is clenched. "At home, lyubovnik. Take it out on me at home. Please."
The use of his pet name for me softens my determination a bit, but not my need. "Let me just feed you half the meal then."
"Maggie! No!"
I meet his eyes intensely. "I need this." I try to make him understand how much with my eyes. After a moment he does. He swallows and looks away.
"Proklyatyia." Damn. I can see the debate in his head. Finally he looks up at me and I can't fathom what's in his eyes. "All right. You can do....that." My heart hammers in excitement. "But only few bites, Maggie," he warns. "Not whole meal. Not even half of meal. Three bites. That is all."
I won't argue, though I wish it were more. "Deal."
He looks as if he may be sick and I just want to hug him. I know he would acquiesce to no one else.
"Now," I begin. "Put your hands behind your back."