Part 1: Dinner at HIS favourite restaurant
My eyes focus on his hand, how he holds the pearl between his fingers.
They follow it as he brings it to his lips, curling his fingers around the tiny sphere as he gently blows on it.
“Ooohh,” escapes my lips.
His hand rests beside his plate.
It sits quietly in his palm. I desperately want it back. It used to be mine, after all. But now, in this moment, I’m happy to offer it to him as a loan.
His thumb rubs against the smooth pearl, the moisture of his breath allowing it to easily slip under his thumb and palm.
Our young waiter returns. I believe he just asked us about dessert, but I wasn’t listening. My focus remains on my pearl as it remains in my husband’s palm.
My husband asks for more wine and the dessert menu. He captures my gaze.
The waiter fills pours, leaving our menus on the table before turning away.
Now that we’re alone, I watch as my husband dips a finger into his wine, bringing it to a hover over my pearl. I watch as his finger begins to glimmer from a drop of wine lingering on the tip.
The cool air in the restaurant lets me know that I’m beginning to perspire, my exposed skin feeling the chill. In truth, some of my particular senses become heightened.
A very familiar feeling grows between my legs, my breathing becoming heavy.
The droplet on his finger becomes too heavy, falling and engulfing my pearl.
I fight against the spasm.
His thumb passes over the lubricated jewel.
Another moan escapes me.
I can see him press on the sphere more firmly, his thumb turning white from the pressure. Another shutter races through my body.
With my elbow on the table, I forward and arch my back, knowing that the dress he picked out for me has a deep, low cut at the rear.
My free hand reaches beneath the table. I hunch forward, bringing my ample breasts to rest in front of my plate, the low-cut dress presenting plenty of cleavage.
My fingers slip under the thin material of my panties. Sliding my fingertips down, I gleefully stretch the material side, allowing myself unhindered access. I begin tracing the grooves of my juicy pussy.
Biting my lip, I play with the strands of my long, blonde hair having fallen beside my face. Twirling the strand around my fingers, I hope it draws attention away from my other hand which is gainfully employed under the table.
He continues thumbing his palm.
I can feel the damp material of my panties as I slowly push a finger inside myself, my middle finger slipping into a warm pussy.
A very audible gasp escapes me, my cunt lips eagerly swallowing my finger to the knuckle.
Another gasp. An eager moan.
My free hand releases my pent up hair, leading it around my neck. A manicured nail drags along my neck, the skin tingling from the touch.
I grind my hips to the edge of my seat. I try to not let my posture give me away to the other patrons, my attempts at remaining calm being extremely difficult while enduring this much excitement.
My fingers dip into my hole. I hold them in place, allowing my fingers to flex and bend inside myself. I can really care less about how I appear, but I retain my composure, maintaining discretion in a very public space.
I keep a trained bend of my fingers and withdraw before slowly and deliberately re-entering myself. I repeat the technique.
I can feel my pussy creaming with every thrust, finger fucking myself deeper, harder.
My eyes focus on his palm, my pearl in his hand as he slides his finger over it. I’m aware of his broad grin, watching me while sipping his wine, enjoying himself. My tongue curls, white teeth biting my lower lip.
With my thighs pressed against the arms of my chair, I spread my legs as far as possible, frantic fingers plundering my cunt as I watch him toy with my pearl, my womanhood in his hand.
My spare hand reaches for the table’s edge, gripping the thickness of the wood underneath. I’m tipping over the edge and he knows it.
He begins rolling the pearl on his palm with a stern thumb, increasing the circular motion, encompassing the entirety his palm.
It's too much.
Shamelessly, I let myself shake. I fight against it, but my fingers and his foreplay deliver the best orgasm I’ve ever experienced in public.
I climaxed between the main course and dessert, but now I’m recovering, far too ashamed and scared to look around and see who may have witnessed my appalling behaviour.
*
Losing my pearl
I knew from my first date with my husband that I held the control. I decided to give him a chance because he knew I was out of his league. In truth, I’ve never let him forget it.
People joke, “You have his balls in your purse.” I love it, the feeling of control and power over him. To hold all the cards in the relationship is what makes me stay.
Well, until recently that is.
It all began earlier this week. I was in the middle of my weekly hair appointment. Sure, it’s an expensive luxury, but I’m worth it.
I was talking to my stylist about the holiday I want to go on. Having just convinced my hubby to buy me a new car, I knew a special incentive was required to get what I want.
I repeat his words to my stylist, Linda. “So, pick out a nice dress, let’s have a romantic meal, and then I’ll drop some holiday hints your way…” Just then, my phone rings. I glance at the display.
It's Todd.
“Speak of the devil,” I say. “Holiday hints and some extra incentive to take me on holiday.”
Linda smiles and gives me space.
“Hi, Honey,” I tease, knowing I need to leverage all of my charm.
“Jul’s.” I hated anyone shortening my name, but I decided to refrain from scolding him until I had him on board with the holiday.
“I’m still at the salon.”
“Ah, ok. Just phoning to let you know I have your thingy.”
“My thingy?”
“Yea, you know,” he whispers down the line. “I took it out of your purse for safe keeping.”
“What did you take out, Todd?”
Again, he speaks with a hushed voice over the phone. “Your, you know… THINGY!”