“You agreed to play with me tonight: my way, my rules. Leave everything to me. Now turn around, bend over, and grasp your ankles. It will only take a few seconds.”
I stand there, chewing my lip. I did agree to play tonight but I didn’t know playing involved sticking things up my butt. However, what’s the big deal? I’ll try it and if I don’t like it, then I’ll remove it. No big whup. I spin around and bend over, trying not to dwell on what I must look like in this position.
I feel him pull my dress over my back and hear him opening a package. Then something trespasses in a place that should be entirely private. It’s his finger. He pushes it in and out a few times and then I feel something cold and heavy start to slide in. “Push against me, Ella, and it will be easier.”
I do and it goes in slowly and uncomfortably. After a protracted moment, he pulls my dress back down and adjusts it. “All done.”
I stand up and turn around and as soon as I move, the plug shifts and sends all kind of strange sensations through me. Ian sees the look on my face and smiles. He knows what I’m feeling—which is precisely why he wanted it there. He’s going to drive me insane with need before he slakes the thirst.
“Where’s yours?”
“Mine?”
“Don’t you get anything up your ass?” I ask sweetly.
“Not tonight,” he grins. “Just you. Do you want to see how pretty it looks?”
Shaking my head, I say, “Not particularly. I can feel how pretty it looks—those gemstones are not the most comfortable thing, you know.”
His eyes sparkle with evil intent. “Wait until you sit on them.”
“Something to look forward to, I guess. Now what?”
“Now,” he says rising to his feet, “we go out for dinner.” He kisses my nose.
I knew it. I’m not going to get any satisfaction for hours and by the time we get back to our hotel, I’ll probably let him do anything he wants—and he’s counting on that, the Machiavellian bastard. I just know it.
It’s bad enough that I have no panties on, but when you add a short dress and a butt plug to the mix, it makes for one uncomfortable Ella. Ian takes us to an elegant French restaurant on the Upper East Side that serves dinner until eleven. We just make it in by 10:30.
“A little late for dinner, don’t you think?”
“This is the city that never sleeps, Ella. When in Rome…”
“We’re not in Rome,” I say grumpily—those gemstones are starting to smart.
All through dinner, he pays constant attention to me: hanging on my every word, smiling, winking, and oozing charm in general. He also touches me quite a lot, his fingers brushing across my shoulder or the middle of my thigh. At one point he places his hand on the small of my back, almost on my ass but not quite. I’m sitting on the plug—carefully—and it’s becoming excessively uncomfortable, despite my frequent squirming to make it less so. By midnight, I’m more than ready to get back to our hotel downtown and deal with it all.
We get into another taxi but Ian doesn’t give him our hotel address. To my consternation, he takes us to a club. I look at him questioningly, my disappointment surely on my face.
“An after-dinner drink, Ella. Then we’ll go back to the hotel.”
“Why can’t we have the drink at the hotel bar?” My voice sounds whiny.
“You’ll see. Let’s go.”
He leads me into the club that’s literally wall-to-wall people: there’s barely room to move through them to the bar. After about twenty minutes we finally get there and Ian orders two scotches, neat and straight up. “I’m drinking scotch?” I ask.
“Apparently.” He lifts one glass to my lips, offering me a sip and then we go in search of a place to land. Of course there are no tables available but we find a piece of a wall we can claim that has a shelf nearby for our drinks. Ian puts his arm around me and pulls me close.
“Now,” he says, “you wanted to know why we couldn’t go to the hotel bar? I’ll show you.” I feel his hand go right up my dress and he starts finger fucking me right there in full view of everyone. I whip my head around, horrified, but no one seems to be paying us any attention. The room is dark, crowded, and loud with voices and music. My knees have just about gone out on me. Between Ian’s fingers and that damn butt plug, I’m seconds away from an orgasm. He knows it too because just as things start to contract, he stops completely, taking back his hand and kissing me deeply as I feel my climax melt away entirely. I can’t help it: I stomp my foot.
“That was mean!”