He told me to arrive at 10:30, although he wouldn’t be able to join me until 10:45 or 11:00. I left my apartment in good time, walking in the frigid cold in a mini dress not meant for winter, with thigh highs leaving a good bit of skin exposed. He texted me at 10:31, “You’re late.” My breathing quickened and my muscles clenched. I was only two blocks away, but how did he know? I quickly sent off, “Almost there!”, hoping I wouldn’t be in too much trouble (maybe just a little?) when I arrived.
I walked in and the bar was more crowded than I expected. I found my way to the back and secured a table. I knew I would need a seat for whatever he might have planned. I went up to order us a few drinks, but the bartenders kept serving other people. I strode my way up to middle of the bar and smiled politely to the men in front of me. The bartender looked past them and found my eyes, “What can I get you, miss?” I ordered black label on the rocks for N., of course, and a Bourbon for myself. I received a text, “Order me a Johnny Walker Black Label on the rocks.” I smiled. Learning against the bar as I waited for the drinks, I was a little self conscious of my short dress, my thigh highs. Could anyone see the tops of my bare legs? I didn’t think so, but I felt exposed. Suddenly I felt a presence right up against me and a hand slide around my waist, encircling it. I turned into his arm a bit and saw N. for the first time. Smiling, bearded and strong. We said hello, and I was nervous. One arm still around my waist, the other came up to lift my skirt. His fingers found the edge of the underwear– the ones he had chosen for me to wear. He grabbed my ass, not gently. I found myself idly chatting, wishing the bartenders would hurry up. There were so many people around us, could they not see his hands under my dress? Finally drinks arrived and we made our way back to the table.
N. sat adjacent to me and pulled my legs as close in to him as he could. We chatted as he caressed my thighs under the table. I had my chin resting in my palm and he told me to take my hands away from my face. I liked when he directed me. My first reaction is always a defensive hesitation ‘what if I don’t want to?’ but the combination of strength with which it is said and the underlying satisfaction I know it gives him (and me) to comply makes me obey. It felt as if he had three sets of hands under the table; they never stopped moving, searching, squeezing, groping. It loosened me up, as did the bourbon. He looked up at me and told me to touch myself. In my head I thought “Here!? are you crazy?” but my mouth was open and no words came out. He repeated himself, and I slipped my hand under the table trying to discreetly hike up my dress. I pulled my panties to the side and began to circle my clit. All of my energy was concentrated on my fingers and trying to look normal. I leaned into my hand, my breathing quickened and I tried to keep conversation going, failing miserably.
As he got up to get us another round he turned to me, “I want your panties when I get back.” I got up and made my way to the bathroom. I slid my black lacy boy shorts off one leg, then the other and balled them up into my dress pocket. I slid my hand up the inside of my right thigh and felt how soft and slick I was. I indulged for about 30 seconds before opening my eyes and coming back to reality. I walked out and sat back down feeling even more cold and exposed than I had before. He asked for my hand, and slid my fingers into his mouth completely. I was a bit appalled and turned on at the same time. He dipped in under my dress and felt how wet I was. We drank this round more quickly, as I found it harder and harder to keep my composure. He reached for my drink and finished the last third, putting it down with some force. “Let’s go.”