Date Night

4 min read

photo: SexArt

It was date night. He had instructed me what to wear. Black, lacy matching bra and panties. My red, silk dress that hung just below my knees. The material clung to my body. Hugging every curve. Caressing, whispering, against every bit of skin it covered. A slit finding its way two inches below my waist on the left side.

He chose my killer black stilettos. The six-inchers that had me standing taller than him. He didn’t mind. He wasn’t threatened. He wanted to ogle me. Wanted to show me off. He wanted to drool over me. So tonight, I was to be his dress-up doll. His very own Barbie.

And then, to top it all off…my diamonds. The almost obnoxiously large hoops in my ears, the glittering bracelets on my wrists, the three piece choker with a length of rhinestone dangling down and disappearing between the plunging neckline.

My makeup was dark. Near black, shimmering eyeshadow. Heavy eyeliner. Cutting contour. Glimmering highlight. Matte burgundy lips.

He looked just as stunning. The black button up. The black slacks with that mouth watering black belt fed through the loops. And my favourite dress shoes of his…I’d always been a sucker for a man with killer shoes.

We looked out of place. We looked as though we belonged on the red carpet on a Hollywood premiere night. I wasn’t used to it. Wasn’t used to the second glances people were throwing our way.

His hand wrapped around my waist protectively, possessively. He was proud of what was his and wasn’t afraid to show the world. In fact, he wanted to show me off. Wanted to parade around the candy on his arm. As long as everyone knew I belonged to him. And by the way he hugged me close. By the way the power of his presence seemed to drift off him and permeate the air around him. He commanded respect without saying a word. The brazen to my demure.

He had made reservations at an upscale restaurant. We did this at least twice a year — got dressed all fancy, and had a six course meal along with at least two bottles of wine. It was an evening of fun. Where conversation ran deep, flowing as freely as our Chardonnay. It was an evening where we’d stay until the last customer left. Where we’d stay until shooed out by the waitresses eager to count their tips.

The music was lovely. I don’t know classical music, but it tickled my ears and raised the hair on my arms all the same. He gently pushed me through the doors with a strong hand on the small of my back.

He gave his name, the hostess leading us to our favourite booth. The same one we’ve occupied countless times before. It was in a cozy corner in a section lit only with candles and dim overheads. The incense burning was subtle. Pleasing. There were roses on the table. The two bottles sitting in a bucket of ice. The hors d’oeuvres — Risotto Tots and Mushroom Stroganoff sitting on warm plates in the center. It was a perfect setup. There were only four other tables occupied. The couples each murmuring their own whispered conversation.

Exceptionally romantic.

We sat down, side by side on the half circle of velvet cushion. He was already reaching to fill our twelve-ounce glasses. “You look absolutely ravishing, my darling.”

I blushed under the low light. My head dipping. My hand tucking a stray curl behind my decorated ear, “And you look rather ravishing yourself.”

I drank deeply. Draining half my glass.

He reached a hand under the table. Rested it on my thigh. His grip sent my nerves careening into the stratosphere. Sent my thoughts collectively spiraling into a frantic, uncontrollable frenzy. I knew that grip. Knew the silent message that came along with the seemingly innocent touch — for that’s how it would seem to anybody else. An innocent. wholesome. touch.

My tongue turned to lead in my mouth. My throat suddenly dried, my ability to swallow vanished as his hand crept further to the apex of my thighs. I started to tremble. Those black, lacy panties started to saturate.

A growl rumbled from his throat as he took an hors d’oeuvre and popped it in his mouth. I couldn’t tell if it was because of the exquisite taste or from the heat that was seeming to emanate from between my legs.

I smirked at the thought, my eyes darting around the room. Wondering if any of the other couples were playing this same sort of game. I was almost irritated. I had come here to enjoy one of our few nights out. Now, I was just going to get horny and wish I was in a bed, tied up and blindfolded.


But as his hand crept higher still…my irritation quickly dissipated as his fingertips brushed the heart of my femininity. A slow knuckle dragging across the lace. Lazy. Indolent. Teasing.

A side of him I rarely see.

It was…unnerving in the most delicious sense.

“Something wrong, my love?” His voice was soft. Sensual. A gentle caress against the inside of my skull.

“N-Nothing’s wrong. It’s just…your hand…” My words came out stumbled. Clumsy. Awkward.

“My hand? Ohh. You mean this one.” He brazenly slipped a finger inside the lace. Feeling my arousal soaking the inner lining, “What a naughty girl. But you know what? These pesky panties are in the way. It was my bad, honestly. I shouldn’t have gotten you to put them on. So…take them off.”

“Wh-what? You want me to…to…?”

“To take your panties off and hand them to me.”

“Oh…uhm…y-yes Sir.”

My cheeks were on fire. My skin seemed to light aflame. Burning. My hands started to shake as they slowly released the glass they were gripping — the Chardonnay sloshing a little close to the rim. My eyes focused on everyone else but him. Wondering if anybody knew. Wondering if anybody suspected.

It would have appeared not.

I was as nonchalant as one could be. It was not graceful. It was not effortless. It was clumsy. Awkwardly bending down as far as I could. Cringing as my own arousal brushed against my legs as I pushed the lacy panties down my freshly shaved legs. It was humiliating. Disrobing myself publicly. Exposing myself in public…however private the setting may have been.

I maneuvered myself to hook my heel in the skimpy material. Clumsily bending underneath the table to ball the panties in my fist. I passed them to him as stealthily as I could.

He took them from me, and what he did next will stay in my mind forever.

He brought the panties to his nose. Dragging their scent in through his nose, he proceeded to glide his tongue along the surface.

My brain clicked the image into my mind. Locked it into a vault. It was one of those things I will never forget.

Nor will I forget the way it made my blood boil. My pulse spike. My breathing hitch. I wanted him now.

Fuck these fancy hors d’oeuvres. Fuck the rest of the food. I would’ve been happy taking the wine to go and heading home. Home to our bed…to our toys…to our privacy…

“I know what you’re thinking, you dirty little girl. I want you to stop thinking it. We are going to enjoy tonight. We are going to eat. Drink. And then afterwards? Afterwards I am going to take you home. And there, darling…once we are home, I am going to tie you to the fucking bed, and take my time with you. Take my time until you are a blubbering, soaking mess. But for now…for now we eat. We will eat our first helping here, and our second at home. Agreed?”

“Oof. Yes Sir. Agreed.”

I finished the rest of my glass in one gulp and poured another.

Perhaps we’d have to get a third bottle after all.

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