The movement of his hand under the table is partially
hidden by the drape of the linen tablecloth. Only after the waiter had brought
their brandy and departed, did the hand move, then casually dropping down to
come to rest on the top of her leg, just below the hem of her dress. And there
it stayed, with a proprietary air, warming her with its light touch. Now it
moves from its resting place, to slide down her inner thigh, pushing the dress
back well up her legs before wedging itself firmly between her knees. She turns
to him, her eyes studying his in silence. He smiles at her. She returns his
smile with a tiny one, a slight curl of her painted lips.
The hidden hand nudges, gently but insistently, till the
nyloned legs swing open in silent obedience.
Charlotte straightens, bites
her curled lower lip, but she does not attempt to close her spread legs. She
leaves them like that, open; inviting the intimacy of his touch down there,
welcoming the probing fingers to sample what they find between her stockinged
legs. And what those inquisitive fingers find is that the elegant blonde wears
no panties; he smiles to himself, knowing she has dressed to please him.
He studies the side of her pale face, notices the tiny
shivering breath of air gasped through painted lips as his fingers delve further
to seek and explore her wetness. He is enchanted. Once again she has regained
her composure. Through it all, she somehow manages to remain a lady, an elegant
properly dressed lady, cool, and perfectly controlled, not a hair of her upswept
chignon out of place. She sits holding herself erect, coolly surveying their
fellow diners with indifferent eyes; chin held high. He marvels at her
composure even as, under the table, his wicked hand plays the woman mercilessly;
fingers fondling the slick folds of her hot wet sex, – a virtuoso strumming his
fine instrument.
Her eyes avoid his, staying fixed ahead, gazing unseeing
over the heads of those in the room. He shifts closer on the vinyl bench till
their legs touch, all the while keeping his eyes on her exquisite face, looking
for the telltale signs of Charlotte’s growing excitement. There it is: the
slight flush that comes over her, her small breasts rising as her breathing
deepens. After several minutes of this intense stimulation, her eyes flutter
closed; Charlotte
sways in her seat, her body resonating to a sudden upsurge of sheer pleasure.
He knows that body well. He will stimulate, titillate, play with her till he
hears a tiny whimper escape her tightly-pressed lips, and at that telltale sign,
his fingers will cease their incessant manipulation between her legs, leaving
her to falter, panting, quivering, and aching for more.
The other hand resting on the back of the curved bench,
now comes around her bare shoulders. He leans closer, and she smells his scent;
a clean and manly smell. He moves in to lightly nuzzle her long neck, a pale
white neck left deliciously bare by the low-cut gown that exposes the neck and
chest down to the top curves of her small-mounded breasts. In her lap, her
hands clench tightly, nails digging into damp palms. His lips brush up to a
place just behind her left ear so he may whisper the words that will remind her
of what awaits her once he has taken her back to his flat. There she will be
punished! The murmured words cut through
Charlotte
like a knife.
She knew he intended to punish her, of course. She only
hoped they would be alone, just the two of them, when he did it. It was much
more humiliating when he had asked a friend visit, as he occasionally did. Like
the last time he invited one of his friends over. The man was to witness her
being spanked: an adult grown woman with panties pulled down to display her
reddened bottom, like a child, upended over his lap; she had to ask permission
to pull them up and, set right the rest of her clothes.
But alone or not, she knew she would certainly be
punished. Indeed, she’d been thinking about nothing else all day, as she had
gotten ready, dressing carefully dinner; her stomach all a-flutter, hands
practically shaking with nervous energy as she pulled her dress into place and
ran her smoothening hands down her tall sinuous body.
As they walked into the restaurant, his hand lightly on
her waist, Charlotte
had to swallow down the rising excitement, making a determined effort to
control herself. Throughout the meal, she forced herself to sit as calmly as
possible at the table, smiling brightly at him, sipping her wine, making small
talk. She ate sparingly, unable to shake the powerful image that threatened to
overwhelm her, the heart-throbbing picture she will be forced to present: naked,
but for a thin half-slip and her long black stockings, she will slowly lower her
shoulders, arching her back at a barely-whispered command to raise her hips and
place her body just so. He will lift the silky slip from her hips, uncovering
her naked bottom which she will be told to elevate to even greater prominence –
a charmingly submissive gesture that equally invites the loving caress of the
hand, or the stinging kiss of the whip.
Her mouth is dry and her heart is pounding as
Charlotte, required to hold
that provocative pose until released, wonders which he will choose. She can only
wait, her body tense, buttocks held high in the air. For his part, he takes his
time, as he always does, slowly pacing back and forth, pausing to fully savor
the sight of this submissive mature woman, her erotically-clad body; her long
and narrow buttocks turned up, presenting him with a glimpse of the soft pouch
of the furry vulva tucked up between her arched thighs.
She senses him stepping closer. A hand comes down to
touch her; fingertips lightly caressing her upturned bottom. A single finger
traces a jutting curve, causing
Charlotte to whimper through
tightly-pressed lips. She feels his fingers wrapping around her out-thrust
cheeks, his grip tightening, as her cheeks were pried back, opening her up to
his scrutiny in that most intimate place. Her rear cheeks are held open; she is
inspected. Then he lets the cheeks snap shut, and gives her behind a friendly
slap.
Now, she feels two cupped
hands curving to fit her tightening rear cheeks; comfortably holding her sleek
mounds in his big masculine hands. He fondles her, gently squeezing, moving the
softly pliant mounds while the woman rears up and purrs. Often he pleasures her
like this for long moments at a time, till he has her thoroughly aroused,
burning in heat, her excitement brought to a fever pitch. Only then will he
spank her, or use the dreaded paddle, or even worse – the terrible whip to lash
her vulnerable bottom.
He takes a sip of brandy. Leaning over to retrieve his
attaché case, he sets it on the table in front of them. He has something to
show her, he confides in a murmured whisper. The case is opened to reveal a
small flail – a light weight whip with a short handle and a splay of thin
leather ribbons. Tonight he intends to try out his latest purchase on
Charlotte’s
lovely behind. Tonight, Charlotte is to be whipped!
A whipping means he will have her stretched down and tied
over the back of the thickly-padded chair. He’ll ask her if she’s ready. And
wait till she nods, closes her eyes, tightens every sinew in her body. And then
the hiss of the whip whistling through the air, as the delicate laces are sent
to strike her tautly-rounded bottom, lazily slapping her jutting behind again
and again in deliberate measured strokes, till the terrible sting they impart to
her perfectly exposed buttocks…. The thought makes her dizzy.
In the darkened restaurant, the elegantly dressed woman
quickens in her seat, fighting the urge to clench her thighs on the smooth
leather bench as the first electric thrill ripples through her loins. She
closes her eyes. Takes a deep breath. She settles into the heat; her brow warm,
cheeks flushed. How close it suddenly seems in the candle-lit room. She swallows
the sudden surge of excitement, and straightens, sits upright; looks around at
the other diners, bright-eyed, as the hand moves slowly, retreating back to its
accustomed place, settling on her thigh. Her breathing evens out. Only the
slight tingle along the ridge of her cheekbones tell of
Charlotte’s inner turmoil.
He moves closer to kiss her warm cheek.
The End
