July 1st

Well, diary, I decided to take the bull by the horns, particularly after the unpleasantness of the previous week. I took Miss Gonzales out to a fancy schmantzy restaurant.

"L'Herpès de la Prostituée," it was called. Oh yes. They had napkins and everything. I wore a comfortable shirt and slacks – for slacks are always comfortable – and she wore her usual sparkling outfit. White blouse, starched to the point of rigidity, with the top four buttons undone. Beneath the waist, she wore an above knee-length skirt that showed off her lickable knees and sumptuous calves. On this day, she covered her legs with slutty fishnet stockings, snaking down to black toeless stilettos. She was, in a word, delectable. Just by walking in the door on my arm, she had made me the most envied man in the restaurant.

It seemed that she got the better of me last time, because she made the first move. For that reason, and that reason alone, I didn’t want to hang around this time. The eager, lucky waiter handed Miss Gonzales a menu, which I took from her before she could open it. "I'll be ordering for Miss Gonzales," I told him.

Miss Gonzales appeared to appreciate my opening gambit, and put her hands close together, flat on the table, thumbs touching, as if to give her consent her consent. I smiled at her, and turned to the waiter. "She will have the gazpacho soup. I would like the Chicken Marengo, please. She will have a white wine; I’ll have a pint of Guinness with a straw. Thank you."

"A wise choice, sir," said the waiter, and shimmered away.

"So what now, sir?" asked Miss Gonzales, biting her bottom lip. I leaned across the table, and took her little hands in mine. I placed them carefully, flat on the table, about a foot apart.

"You are not going to move your hands from there," I said, after a moment’s pause.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because I don't want you to."

"Oh," she replied, wrinkling her nose. "Okay."

Her chest heaved a little, though that may have been my imagination. What I can say for certain is that when I rubbed my leg against hers, she closed her eyes as she realised that she could not slap me away. She parted them a little, and I kicked off my right shoe, letting my socked toes spider up past her knee, and onto the inside of her left thigh.

"Nice weather," she said between gulps. I looked down and noticed the tips of her fingers were white with the pressure of keeping them in place.

My foot went on, and I wiggled my second and third toes through her panties, but across her pussy lips. She jumped, but her hands stayed in position. She mouthed the words "you bastard" at me, which proved I was doing the right thing. If she called me a twat then I would know she was enjoying it.

I moved my big toe so that it pressed upon her clit, and then made my leg shudder, as though I was stretching it first thing in the morning. Miss Gonzales gave a horrified smile, her back arched, and she leaned herself forwards, pressing her cunt against my foot.

I leaned across the table as much as I could. "You need to ask me."

"Ask you what, you evil twat?"

"You need to ask me to cum."

"Noooo," she mewed. "If I do that, you'll just say 'no'."

I pretended that I was offended. "Moi? Do something like that? I might say 'yes'. Try me, when you have to. It’ll be a while before my leg gets tired."

She pursed her lips and glared at me, which spurred me onwards. My toes wriggled and my ankle twisted and my knee and hip jiggled, never letting her get a second's respite. She spasmed a few times, jumping off her seat once or twice, squeaked and purred constantly, elbows lifting a little, but the hands stayed firmly on the table.

She looked down at her empty plate. "C-can I cum?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the waiter approaching our table. He wasn't quite close enough, so I politely asked her to repeat herself.

"Oooo, you cloth-eared git, please can I cum?" she asked, a little louder. The waiter was just out of earshot of this, but he would hear my answer.

"No," I said, and withdrew my foot before the waiter asked if my chair was comfortable.

"You goddamn fucking swine," she hissed, looking straight at me, ignoring the poor waiter. He left the soup and the chicken on our plates, and fled.

I put my shoe back on, and smiled sweetly. "What's wrong, honey blossom? Careful you don't make a scene. Have a taste of your soup, it might calm you down."

Miss Gonzales shuddered for a moment. She opened her mouth, as if to say that she didn't have a spoon, and then her expression changed to one of defiance. She raised an eyebrow, smiled sweetly, and stood up, keeping her hands on the table. She bent over, and jutted out a tongue, to lap at the soup. I almost applauded at her bravery. She knew that the entire restaurant would be looking at her: half of them had been since she walked in the door, of course. If I hadn’t been with her, I would have done the same.

“Sit down for a moment, please,” I said quietly. She did so, but only after she kissed the napkin that was beside her plate, leaving a soupy pout upon it.

I stood up, walked around to her, and quickly undid the next two buttons on her blouse. The first button was not important, but the second was just below the underside of her bosom – if she leaned forwards now, I would get a dramatic eyeful, and she may just pop out completely.

“Enjoy your meal,” I smiled.

Miss Gonzales snarled at me in an exceptionally cute way. "You really know how to get a girl going, you know that?"

"I try," I replied, wearing my best angelic smile.

She sighed, stood again, and leaned over to taste some more of the soup. I must admit, diary, I was not subtle. When I saw the cleavage that emerged, I chirped a hearty "oh my" and went on to suggest to her how I would like to suck and bite on those glorious nipples..

She ignored me as best she could, she had been told to put her hands on the table, and that is what she was doing. She hadn't been asked to participate in rude conversations. Even so, the flush that came to her cheeks was quite delightful.

"Your drinks, sir," said the waiter, who had crept up out of nowhere. He peered with more than a little curiosity at my partner, and asked me if anything was wrong. "If madam has two broken wrists, I'm sure I could feed her," he said helpfully.

Miss Gonzales sat back down, just in time to see me beam with delight. "You know, sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Derek," said the waiter.

"You know, Derek, I have a confession. Miss Gonzales could use her spoon if she wanted to, but she's choosing not to. No need to ask why. No, the spoon’s not dirty, but Miss Gonzales certainly is. You should see what that girl can do with a clean spoon, it’d make your eyes water. But if you have time, I think she would appreciate being spoon-fed by a waiter such as yourself. I'll make it worth your while."

Miss Gonzales blinked at me, as Derek reached for her spoon.

"Come on, Marie," I urged. "Open wide. Let the choo-choo train get into the station."

Derek, bless him, got into the spirit of the occasion, but preferred the idea of a plane to a train. "NeeeEEEeoooowwww!" he said, as the spoon he was holding did an elegant series of banks and turns. At the last moment, Miss Gonzales closed her mouth, and a little soup splashed onto her cleavage.

"Can you mop that up, please Derek? I do apologise, I think Miss Gonzales knows she is a naughty little girl, don't you?"

My smile broadened, and I nodded at my partner to speak.

"Yes," she said with gritted teeth, "I'm a naughty little girl."

"She seems like it," said Derek, taking a napkin and professionally dabbing the soup-stained skin. He looked, and he touched, but he wasn’t inappropriate. "NeeeeEEEooooowwww!"

This time, Miss Gonzales opened her mouth, and the plane landed inside. More planes followed over the next few minutes: her tongue was quite the busy airport runway. I noticed that she took a deep, suggestive breath each time she sucked the spoon clean, never taking her eyes from me for a second.

"I need to go to the toilet," she said, as the bowl was emptied. She wiggled the fingers on the table.

"Shall I bring madam a larger bowl?" asked Derek.

"No, it's ok," I said to Derek. "Thank you very much, you've been most helpful."

He shuffled away, slightly stooped over, with a tenner in his top pocket. Miss Gonzales had this effect on people, usually men, but occasionally women too. There was one big-breasted Canadian woman who was quite taken with her, and some of the girls at Slothlands seem to appreciate her charms too.

"I wasn't joking,” she said as I enjoyed my reverie, “I really need to go to the toilet. And I'm not going here."

Be fair to the girl, she had her limits. Whilst I would like to make her piss herself right there in the restaurant, it wouldn't be seemly. In any case, it was time for my big gesture: I pulled out a small box, about the size of a ring.

"You're p-proposing?" she asked.

"No, no," I said. "As the old saying goes, 'Why buy the cow, when you can fuck Miss Gonzales for free?' No." I opened the box. "This is what you must wear if I let you go to the little girls' room."

She peered into the box. She seemed to know instantly what it was, but couldn't stop herself from saying. "Is that a clit clamp?"

She kept her hands on the table while I held it up for her to look at - it was like a small pair of metal tweezers, topped by a bee-sized black plastic nubbin.

"Well spotted. But this one vibrates, hence the big blob on the top. You'll need to take off your panties, of course, unless you want it your underwear rubbing against the clamp.”

"Yes, sir. No, sir,” she said, taking the clamp, and walking away, blushing.

I smiled, pulled out the remote control from my jacket pocket, and got it ready. She returned after a moment, walking slightly strangely, sitting carefully on her seat, and putting her hands on the table. She looked at me with a shaky smile on her face, and there was a little less arrogance in those dark brown eyes.

“Are you ok?” I asked, half-seriously. If she was genuinely having a bad time, I would have stopped myself from what I was about to do. Fortunately, her sarcastic reply doubled my resolve.

“Am I ok, you ask? Well, maybe if someone clamped your fucking clit, you might know wha-ah-uhhhhhhhYAAAAAAAAAA!”

I pulled out the small remote control box and placed it on the table, between her hands, daring her to move to take it.

“You. Are. So. Fucking. Dead,” she winced.

“Quite an intense vibration, don’t you think?” I said. “I tried it on my nipple, yes I did, and it stung quite vividly. Goodness knows what you must be going through. Would you like me to turn it off?”

She nodded her head vigorously. The entire restaurant was looking closely at her, not knowing whether she was aroused or in severe pain. Only she knew what the balance was. My guess was that it was about even. I picked up the box, and turned it off. She shook it off, wiggling in her chair.

“I need to go to the little boy’s room,” I said. “Please excuse me.”

I stood, waited for her to snort a derisive comment about me being a little boy, and then I pressed the other button on the box.

“Yoooow!!” she yelped, getting to her feet and jumping six inches in the air in one elegant movement. I pocketed the box, and smiled smugly to myself as I headed to the toilet.

Derek was waiting outside when I got out. “Umm. Is she your slave?”

“No, she’s her own, independent woman, part one. She just humours my desires now and then, and I reciprocate.”

“C-can I join in?”

“That depends. Would you be willing to have her hit your cock with a ruler?”

“No,” said Derek after a moment’s thought.

I pulled out the box, pointed in the direction of Miss Gonzales, who was sitting innocently at her table, and Derek and I watched her leap up again, swear loudly, then swear quietly at the people on neighbouring tables. “Well, I’m sorry. Because I think I love this woman, and it’s only the fact that I am willing to let her hit my manhood with sticks that gives me the right to fill her clit with a few milli-volts.”

“You should get a job writing greetings cards. ‘Love is…’. That sort of thing.”

“You hit the nail on the head there,” I said, wondering if I would get a nail on my head next time Miss Gonzales became feisty.

The end.