Please, Sir

John’s answer is nonverbal. The corners of his eyes crinkle, he nods slightly, the ends of his handlebar mustache edge upward with his grin.

We’re at a diner off Highway 42, halfway to his mom’s house to celebrate her birthday. He’d said he had something special planned for the trip, but I thought it was the beads.

Oh, yes. The beads. There are four of them strung together, made of hollow plastic, a bit smaller than ben wa balls, with heavy steel marbles inside them. The whole lot is inside me, held in place by my panties, shifting and quaking with every movement.

It’s funny. When we first met, John was so shy about his sexuality that he was nervous about doing the things he wanted to do to me even in his own place. He’d been brought up in a very conservative household and had never expressed his urges until he met me.

I’d been with several doms and had come away disillusioned. I wasn’t even looking for anyone when I met John through a friend of a friend, but the chemistry was immediate. I dated him in “vanilla mode” for a while, but I was afraid to fall for him if I was going to have to suppress my own submissiveness.

So one day, I just blurted it out. “Tie me up,” I said. I’ll never forget the look on his face. He stuttered and stammered and said he didn’t think he could. But I’d seen the look. I knew it all too well. A man who has bondage in his blood gets a certain look when he imagines binding a girl, and John definitely had that look.

And he wasn’t bad at it, for a guy who had no actual “handson” experience. It was obvious he’d studied plenty of pictures and was also handy with a rope from being a Boy Scout.

The result was electric. That first time may have been tame on the surface, but as soon as he had me tied to his bed, he transformed into the most masterful lover I’d ever had. Reading my body, my reactions, was second nature to him. It was heaven.

Still, he remained shy about it for a long time. He needed encouragement to come out of his shell. I suppose some of what I did then could be considered topping from the bottom, but sometimes, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.

That phase didn’t last long, though. He lost his shyness quickly and even went to some workshops with me. But whenever I suggested we try some public kinkiness, he had steadfastly refused—until today.

So it was only natural for me to assume that the beads were the extent of our “public” adventure. Except that now, as we’re sitting here in the diner, he brings out the rope.

It’s just one short length of nylon cord. He lays it on the table and then reaches across and takes my wrists. I’m already wet from the beads, and the way he grips me almost sends me over the edge right then and there. In fact, he has to tighten his hold to keep me from sliding under the table.

She’s fortyish, plump, looks bored with everything, has seen it all. “Hi, my name’s Justine, I’ll be your server,” she chants, monotone, then stops short, noticing the way John is holding on to me. “Are you all right, deary?”

I don’t trust myself to open my mouth, so I nod and attempt a smile. She glances at John and then back to me. She shrugs, skeptical, but not alarmed.

John perks up. “‘Justine,’ huh? DeSade wrote a book called Justine. Did you know that?”

She looks puzzled, then annoyed at the pop quiz. “Look,” she says with a heavy sigh, “do you need more time to decide?”

“Wait!” says Justine with a sudden sign of life. “Didn’t he make cars or something, like, way back?”

John and I both stifle a laugh. “Yes,” he says, “I think that’s right.”

My attention is on John’s hands holding on to me. Carefully forming my words, I ask for a salad only. Justine scribbles and recites the choice of dressings. I nod when she comes to ranch.

She turns expectantly to John, but he’s looking straight at me. “Switch,” he says to me.

Shit. I’m sitting with my legs crossed, right over left. Switching to left over right forces the beads to shift around within their steamy alcove. “Oh!” I gasp. “Mm,” I sigh.

John speaks up. “Justine, we’re on our way to my mother’s house, so what I want is a nice grilled cheese sandwich, just like Mom used to make when I was a boy. Good ol’ American cheese between two slices of white bread, buttered and toasted on a hot griddle till the cheese oozes from the sides. And be sure the cook smashes it down real good with a greasy spatula, too.”

Justine rolls her eyes. “A number three,” she mutters, jotting it down on her pad.

As she saunters away, John loops the rope around my wrists. I can’t believe he’s actually doing it. I sit mesmerized as he forms the square knot and pulls it tight.

Under the table, his foot pushes against my crossed leg. Obeying his silent command, I put both feet on the floor and spread them apart for him. Soon his foot is up my skirt, between my thighs, nudging against my…my…

“Yes, Annie?” he says, ever so smoothly. He smiles as he tightens his grip on my bound wrists.

I try to sit still, but can’t help squirming. I keep my mouth closed, but can’t help moaning. I’m panting and sweating, as if I’d just sprinted a few blocks. I hang my head and close my eyes, and pray no one notices us.

It’s happening and there’s nothing I can do about it. The first shudder starts deep within me and quickly spreads throughout. Another follows immediately.

I can see how much John is loving it now. The teasing and tormenting is so much more intense in public. And then I realize why he chose today. It’s precisely because we’re on the way to his mom’s house, where his conservative family will be, especially his starched-shirt brother and prissy sister-in-law. I think he’s enjoying the contrast between them and his own wanton slut.

Justine returns with our orders. I try to tuck my hands under the table, but she sees the rope around my wrists and glares at John.

He shrugs. “She has a condition,” he says. “Seizures. Convulsions. It’s necessary to control her sometimes.”

She glances in my direction, but I’m occupied with trying to guide a forkful of lettuce to my mouth. It’s no easy task with my hands tied and John’s foot still in my crotch. She clears her throat to speak. “Something to drink?”

“Fine. Suit yourself.” She walks away and begins whispering to some of the patrons at the counter.

We finish as much of our food as we can. I know John is excited, too. I can almost see his hard-on through the look in his eyes. Leaving my hands tied, he gets up to pay the bill. I follow along, walking gingerly. The beads are doing such a number on me, I’m sucking air with each step to keep from crying out.

Once outside, John puts his arm around me and guides me to the back of the diner. The small building is on a lonely stretch of road, with only a patch of woods behind it.

He brightens as we round the corner of the building and I immediately see why. He takes my hands and pulls them high over my head. There’s a convenient hook on the back of the building, which he puts to good use. It’s a bit of a stretch, but my toes stay in contact with the ground. I wonder when he noticed that?

He kisses me furiously as I half dangle there. His hands rove possessively up and down my body. I can finally feel his cock straining for release. I can’t believe we’re actually going to do it right here. But I want it. I want it!

He tears himself away just long enough to raise my skirt, rip my panties off and yank the beads from their warm niche. He shoves my things in his pocket, then unzips. His beautiful cock springs out, eager for action.

He grabs my ass to support me as I lift my legs and wrap them around his waist. And then he’s in me, ramming and slamming me against the wall.

It’s over so fast I hardly notice the strain on my arms. He lingers for a moment, then withdraws. He substitutes fingers for cock and does a thorough job of probing my depths and stimulating my clit. I can hardly keep from screaming, but his other hand, quickly clamped over my mouth, helps.

I forget where we are and just let go, coming for him, my body doing his bidding: so delicious.

At last, he pulls the beads from his pocket and eases them back inside me. Then he slips my hands from the hook and unties the rope. He hands me my panties and I pull them back on.

As I follow him on wobbly legs back to the car, we find Justine at the side of the building. She’s smoothing out her skirt. Her face is flushed. It’s obvious she’s been watching us. She’s been watching and masturbating.

There’s an awkward silence, then she smiles and shrugs. “Next time,” she says, “just leave a bigger tip.”