I’m sitting at the bar, sipping my drink and taking quick glances around the room. My dress is cut lower than I feel comfortable with, and I’m trying not to fidget with it. I push my hair back around my ear, and then pull it forward again knowing He doesn’t like it when I push my hair back behind my ears. I feel butterflies and a bit exposed, although no one is looking at me in this moment (or so I think).
“Chivas on the rocks, please,” he says to the bartender as he leans into the bar, then turns to me and flashes a smile. It’s so welcoming; I beam a big smile back at him. “And one for the lady,” he says without taking his eyes off of me.
“Oh, I’m drinking champagne,” I say a bit nervous…for a variety of reasons. When Master ordered the champagne that was my cue of what I could order again. Having anything else would require permission. And he wants to buy me a drink. That one I’m not sure about. Is it OK? not OK? Oh, I hate these moments when I must figure out what to do in a split second.
“Then another champagne for the lovely lady,” he says with another smile that makes me immediately forget my angst from a second ago.
He introduces himself and offers his hand; I introduce myself and reach to shake his hand. “I haven’t seen you here before,” he says.
“Oh, I’m here with…a friend,” I reply, knowing saying I am here with my Master – while entirely correct – is too much information so quickly. “He’s a member here.” I look around the room to see if I can see Him to point him out. I was about to say His name when he interrupts me.
He asks me a question and soon we are off in the world of small talk. I feel comfortable with him, and Master wanted me to mingle. It’s quite crowded, and I’ve engaged a few people but the conversations didn’t last for more than a few sentences. My version of “fuck me” heels – which are just high enough for me to walk alright while still creating “the look” – were starting to hurt my feet, so I sat down at the bar.
He buys another round, and I’m feeling a bit tipsy. Every once in a while he reaches out to touch my hair or brush his fingers across my knee. I touch my collar in response, a non-verbal cue that completely goes over his head. I’m enjoying myself, though, and Master wanted me to mingle.
As we talk, I fantasize about asking permission to fuck him – not tonight but sometime later. I find myself eyeing his fingers. His fingers are wider than most, and I start imagining his thick, dark fingers deep inside my pussy. I start fidgeting in my seat because I’m not wearing panties, and I’m worried about having a small wet spot on the back of my dress when I stand up.
Master hears my laughter from across the room, and His eyes dart toward the bar. The demure sub He left sipping a drink with the direction to mingle was now laughing loud enough to be heard across the room. He sees the man’s hand rubbing my knee, and I’m leaning closely in to him giggling after throwing my head back in laughter. He starts walking toward the bar.
I’m laughing and feeling a bit fuzzy when I look away from him for a second and catch Master’s eyes. He’s looking straight at me from a short distance, waiting for me to notice to Him. I sit up and compose myself a bit, then excuse myself by saying I need to visit the restroom.
I walk toward Master and have a sinking feeling in my stomach. He leans in and whispers sternly in my ear, “When we get home, you will be punished.”
I open my mouth ready to justify my actions as mingling. He tips His head down while still staring straight at me asking me – without any words – if I wish to continue and dig myself deeper.
I let out a sigh. I know this is Master’s “turf” so to speak, and my role is to be His companion. Mingling with others is an extension of Him…and being coquettish with another man at the bar strayed from that role.
He shows me a small smile once He sees me surrender. He leans in again and says, “And with every lash of the whip, you will confess to me everything you want that man to do to you.” He kisses me on the cheek and walks away.
I break out in a big smile as I proceed toward the bathroom. Oh, how I love to be owned!