tagLesbian SexI'm Not Like That!

I'm Not Like That!

byRightThere©

Thanks again to jacuzzigirl, whose editing made this a better story.

I had three choices. I could go home and drown my sorrows in a carton of Ben and Jerry's. I could order something to eat. Or I could get my wine glass refilled - for starters.

I motioned to the bartender, and decided not to decide right this minute.

I was looking good. I should have been, after the effort I'd made getting ready for this date. The dress was new, and pretty darned hot, frankly. The shoes were new. I had a pleasant tingle of anticipation. Then the jerk from the online dating service showed up. Thank goodness I figured out that it was him -- a good 10 years older than he had claimed and wearing a suit that looked like it dated from the seventies -- before he reached me and asked if I was Beth.

"Beth? No, sorry, you have the wrong girl."

"You're not Beth? But the dress..."

Damn, I had told him what I would be wearing. "Sorry. I would know, don't you think?"

He moved down the bar to wait for his date, but I knew he suspected I was blowing him off. He was going to bore holes in my legs if he looked at them any harder.

So here I was, in a fantastic, sexy dress on a Friday night, alone at the bar of a really posh restaurant,. I wondered if I looked like a classy call girl.

"Close call?"

I was startled from my thoughts and I realized that a high heeled royal blue pump had come into my line of vision. My gaze traveled up a pretty calf, to an obviously very expensive suit, and finally landed on a face framed in soft light brown hair, smiling in a knowing way.

She was standing in what would be called "my space," but I doubted if she was being intentionally intimidating. More likely, I thought, she was very successful, or very rich, or probably both, and used to being the center of her world. Judging by her clothes and jewelry, the rich part seemed like a safe bet. She looked like she spent as much for a haircut as I did for a car payment.

It was hard to say what it was about this woman that made her so stunning. She was too old to have the classic model sort of beauty. Forty or so would have been my guess, more than ten years my senior. A darned good forty, though.

She made my breath catch in my throat, though, and I fumbled around before I managed to get out, "Oh. I'm afraid so."

It was her eyes as much as anything. Where most people find it awkward when eye contact goes on too long, she seemed completely relaxed looking into my eyes, like there was no reason in the world ever to look away.

"I thought so." Her voice matched her appearance, a velvet contralto. She was so poised. So elegant. "I'm dining alone tonight. Why don't you join me? At least he'll think you really were here to meet someone."

Was she nuts? I had never even seen her until fifteen seconds ago. The crazy thing was that I actually considered it briefly, just because she had such an overwhelming presence.

"Oh, I couldn't, really. Thanks for asking, though."

"Of course you could. You shouldn't sit here alone, feeling sorry for yourself."

She boosted herself onto the stool beside mine and motioned for the bartender.

I had to admit that pretending that I was here to meet her would get me out of an awkward spot, so I didn't definitely say no.

"A vodka martini, rocks, please," she said when the bartender arrived. "And another of whatever my friend is drinking."

Good lord, how could my wine glass be empty again? Nerves, I suppose.

"Oh, and would you tell the hostess that there will be two of us now? And I've changed my mind; I'd like to be seated at a banquette."

As the bartender headed off, she turned to face me fully, and said with a smile, "Banquettes are so much nicer when you're with a date, don't you think? Nobody can tell what's going on under the table." She winked.

Did that mean what it seemed to mean? Date? What was going on under the table? It seemed like she was flirting with me. If she was, she was being awfully damned presumptuous. I knew I should get up and walk out the door, but there was a magnetism about her that kept me seated.

"I'm Laura," she said. "I'd shake your hand, but I guess we don't want it to look like we just met, do we?" She leaned over and kissed me. Not a peck on the cheek, a kiss. A soft, sweet kiss, yet somehow demanding.

My head was a little light, and I thought about how much wine I'd had. Not enough to account for the way I felt.

I hadn't managed to get a word out since, "Oh, I couldn't." It wasn't that she blustered. On the contrary, she was serene and deliberate. It was just some outrageous confidence that never entertained the notion that things wouldn't go as she wanted.

The bartender returned with our drinks, and said, "The gentleman," indicating my original date with a glance, "would like to buy these."

She didn't hesitate. "Tell him no thank you," she said, and she laid her hand on my thigh, glancing down the bar with a possessive look.

"That should convince him that you're with me, don't you think?"

I couldn't feel a thing but her hand on my leg. It was nearly a jolt, like electricity. I cleared my throat, and said, "It, um, might be a little over-convincing." I didn't pull away, though, and she didn't move her hand.

"So, that was a blind date?"

Why was it always so embarrassing to admit to meeting someone online? It seemed even more embarrassing to admit that to her. She wouldn't understand resorting to meeting someone online.

"Something like that. How could you tell?"

"Oh, I just watch people. I like to think I'm pretty good at sizing them up."

I smiled a little ruefully, and said, "And that's how you sized me up?"

"Oh no. I get much more than that from you."

I was trying to figure out how to ask what that meant when I was saved by the approach of the hostess, telling us our table was ready.

"Come," Laura said, holding out her hand and silently asking for mine.

No, not asking, really. Assuming. I hadn't said that I would join her. But I gave her my hand. Don't ask me why.

We crossed the crowded restaurant and arrived at a curved banquette, big enough for four. I slid in and sat toward one end, assuming that she would sit across from me, but she slid in almost to the center, and said, "Come sit beside me."

Who did this woman think she was? Yet, it was hard not to do what she asked. Again, "asked" wasn't really the right word.

I slid in to the seat beside her, but I felt incredibly self-conscious as I did it. Nobody could think we were just two acquaintances.

She ordered champagne, again without asking me, and the hostess went away, saying that she would send our waitress.

"I think I heard you say that your name was Beth? Or rather," she said with a slight chuckle, "I guess I heard you say it wasn't."

I blushed at that, and said, "I'm sorry. Yes, Beth. Nice to meet you, Laura." This was feeling more like a twilight zone episode by the minute.

"Have you been here before?" she asked.

"Only to meet someone for drinks. It's...well, it's a bit expensive for me."

"We'll come here more often, then."

I wondered again if that was what it sounded like. "Um, Laura, I'm going to be awfully embarrassed if I'm reading this completely wrong...but...well, I'm kind of...straight."

Her eyes never left mine, and she didn't bat an eye. "And yet you're here." She extended her index finger and gently raked the tip of a perfect nail up from the hollow of my neck, until it barely brushed my lips. I don't remember actually shivering, but I did realize that my back was relaxing out of the arch it had somehow formed.

I would almost certainly have slapped any guy who did that, but I seemed helpless, glued to my seat. At least I knew that I wasn't imagining things.

"Laura, I met you ten minutes ago. You're a bit...intense."

We were interrupted by the waitress, who poured champagne and took our orders.

"We'll each have the grilled shetland salmon in balsamic reduction, please." Then to me, "It's heavenly. Wait until you try it."

When the waitress had gone, I couldn't help saying, a little peevishly, "I have a mind , you know. What if I don't like salmon?"

"My beautiful Beth." She laid a hand gently on my thigh, and I got that jolt again. "No, you're not reading this wrong. You know that. But, Beth, I insist that my girls be very, very obedient."

Something flopped in my gut as I realized what she meant. "That's your thing? I'm not your girl, Laura. I'm not even your date."

Her hand tightened on my thigh, close enough to a pinch to be uncomfortable. "Mistress. Address me as Mistress unless I tell you differently."

"You're out of your mind."

"Leave then. I'm not stopping you."

I could tell I was turning crimson, partly from embarrassment and partly from anger. But I didn't get up. The fact was that the whole domination thing did have a dark fascination for me. I never thought in a million years that I would actually participate in anything, but when I visited my favorite erotic story website, I often found myself drawn to that section, and when I masturbated to them, I had some of my most intense orgasms. Could this really have some appeal to me? I didn't know, but I didn't seem to be capable of getting up and walking out right now.

"Darling Beth, I told you I'm good at sizing up people. Of course you aren't leaving. Look." Her gaze traveled down from my eyes, and settled on my nipple.

My gaze followed hers, and if it was possible to turn any redder, I did then. The halter dress I wore did nothing to hide the fact that my nipples were rock-hard.

"Look at you. You want this, Beth. You're wet, too, aren't you?"

"I am not!" But as I thought about it, I realized that might not be entirely true. Was I? I moved my thighs slightly to try to tell, and realized that I might be, a little.

"Pet, I insist that you be absolutely honest with me at all times."

"I'm not, I said! And I'm not your pet."

"Show me."

"What?"

"If you're not wet, show me." Her hand traveled up to the top of my thigh, taking the hem of my dress with it, and she tried to pull the leg closest to her away from the other.

"I will not! Stop it," I hissed. Yet the only resistance I could offer was verbal. My body betrayed me as my legs parted.

Laura hiked my dress up nearly to my waist, and her other hand pushed enough of the tablecloth under the table that she had a clear view of my legs...and more.

My mouth was so dry that I took a gulp, rather than a sip, of my champagne.

"Pet, Pet, Pet...What shall I do with you?"

There was a spot of moisture.

"Do with me?"

"Well, yes, Pet. I can't let you get away with being untruthful. I'll have to punish you."

"Like hell! This is just...well...it's just that I'm kind of curious. About you, and, um, you know, how this works."

Of all times, that was the moment our dinner arrived.

As the waitress was setting our plates and refilling out glasses, Laura's hand never left my thigh. In fact her pinkie flirted with the edge of my panties as though she was going to slip it under. Thank God the tablecloth was back in place, at least. I could tell what was going on, but I thought, or at least I desperately hoped, that no one else could see anything.

"Damn you!" I snapped when the waitress was gone. "You can't do that!"

This time it was a pinch. On the inside of my thigh. Hard. I think I only avoided crying out because it was such a shock.

"I know you're not trained yet, Pet, but you really can't speak to me that way and not be punished. Now eat. I'll need to think about this."

Why didn't I argue? Why hadn't I stormed out? Worst of all, why was I getting wetter? Even as I tried to argue with myself, it crossed my mind that I was glad I had shaved and trimmed and primped before my date. My god, what was I thinking? It wasn't like she was going to see my pussy! Still...

I could vaguely tell that dinner was very good, but I wasn't really tasting much. I was drinking more champagne than I really should have, and my mind was racing, but it didn't seem to be finishing off my thoughts into anything coherent.

"I've decided how to punish you. It won't be much, since you didn't know any better."

Well, that certainly got my thoughts back on track. "Punish me my ass. There isn't going to be any punishing."

"Up to you, Pet. If you'd rather, I'll put you in a cab and you'll never see me again."

No! I didn't want that. Yes, I did. No! Damn her!

"I'd...I'd rather stay."

"Hmmm."

She knew exactly what she was doing.

"Can we just finish dinner?"

"No, Pet. You can leave, never finding out. Or you can ask me to punish you."

"Finding out what?"

"You know very well what."

I did, of course. I was insanely curious. I could feel my pussy every time I moved, and her hand on my thigh seemed like the center of my universe. Maybe if I went to the restroom and locked myself into a stall and came, I could start to think. Who was I kidding? That would make matters worse. I couldn't let her do whatever it was she had in mind, though, let alone ask for it. Could I?

"Laura..."

"Mistress."

A long pause, and then, "Mis...Mistress. I'd really like to stay. For a while."

"That's not what I asked for, Pet."

Another pause. "Mistress...how would you punish me?"

She smiled, just faintly. "You know that's not how it works."

"I'm...I'm ready to be punished."

"That wasn't asking."

Damn her, damn her, damn her.

"Please. Please...punish me." It nearly took my breath away to say it.

"For what, Pet?"

"For what I did earlier."

She just looked into my eyes, waiting for more, the picture of patience.

"For saying you couldn't."

"Couldn't what, Pet?"

"You know. Touch me...like that." It practically hurt to get the words out.

"Play with your pussy, you mean? Your wet pussy? While the waitress was here?"

"Yes."

"But you know now that I can."

"Yes."

"You want me to, in fact."

The longest pause yet. "Yes. Mistress."

She beamed at me. "Good girl."

I was incredibly pissed off at myself that it made me feel good to hear that.

"Take off your underwear, Pet."

Take off my underwear? That was my punishment? It could be a lot worse, I guess. As turned on as I was getting, it might even be a good thing. Heck, it wasn't like I was so innocent I had never been without underwear on a date. What a relief! Maybe while I was in the restroom taking them off, I might just touch myself after all.

"Excuse me, then. Mistress."

"Excuse you? Where are you going?"

"To the restroom. To...you know."

"I can't imagine what I said that made you think you could go to the restroom."

"But, I can't do it here!"

"Pet, you will do it here. Now. You're trying my patience."

I wondered how long a face could stay red. Looking around to make sure nobody was looking, I raised my dress under the table, pretending to lean forward to look at something so that I could rise slightly and slide it up under my butt, and moved my fingertips to the waistband of my panties. I must have stopped and started five times before they had moved an inch, certain each time that someone had turned our way and would be able to tell what I was doing. I finally reached the point where they wouldn't go any further without raising my butt off the seat. Should I do it slowly, and try to pretend nothing was going on? Should I wait for just the right moment and get it over with quickly? Quickly, I decided. Waiting a minute until I was absolutely sure no one was paying any attention, I raised my butt off the seat as little as I thought I could, and slipped my panties down below it. Relieved, I was sure I could get them the rest of the way off without anybody noticing, and I did, although it was a bit awkward at one point when they hung up on a heel. The embarrassment hadn't lessened, but it surprised me to realize that I felt a little proud of myself at the same time.

"They're off, Mistress," I said, as I reached for my purse and opened it to stash them.

"Uh, uh, uh." She touched a point on the tablecloth midway between us. "Put them here."

It seemed that every time I thought my mortification was at its maximum, she proved me wrong. I slowly raised my hand to the table, and brought it back empty. I was so glad I had worn pretty ones...you know, um, just in case.

She didn't seem pleased with them, though. "From now on when I let you wear underwear, it will be what I've picked out. Put your shoes on the seat beside you."

As I slid my heels off, it crossed my mind that if I continued getting chewed up inside like this, I might vomit before the evening was over. I didn't want to agree, but I couldn't seem to make myself say no, either.

When I had done as she asked, I just waited passively. There didn't seem to be much point in asking any questions.

"From now on, unless I tell you differently, this is how you will dress. A dress only. I'll pick it out. Maybe sometimes a blouse and skirt. But nothing else. Not even jewelry, except for what I give you."

Resisting seemed like it would just be exhausting. I could worry later about telling her there wasn't going to be any from now on.

"Ready for your punishment?"

"What?"

"You heard me."

"But I thought...I thought this..."

"No, my silly pet. This was just a little lesson. There will be lots of others."

Like hell there will be, I thought.

She looked at me and waited. And waited. Until something unspoken passed between us, and we both knew that I was going to do whatever it was.

"Come for me, Pet."

That was just ridiculous. It would be a huge relief to come, but I was sure I couldn't.

I guess it must have been a while that I sat there dumbfounded.

"Pet, are you going to come for me, or are you going to leave?"

Damn her. I couldn't quit now. But surely I couldn't come right now, either.

"I don't think I can."

She fished in her purse and pulled out some sort of clamp, and laid it on the tablecloth in front of me. "I know it takes some getting used to, Pet. We'll figure out something else for now."

Deep breaths, deep breaths. I could put up with this for an evening; there was no point worrying about a later that wasn't going to happen.

I wasn't touching that damned clamp. My hand slowly made its way under the table and into my lap.

"I can touch myself. But I don't think I can come."

"You'll learn, Pet. We have all night."

We didn't, though. We finished dinner some time ago. She had already signaled the waitress for the check. We were talking minutes, and I doubted if I could do it if we had hours.

"Precious, I'll order us cognac. Or whatever it takes. You have as much time as you need."

Even though I recognized how ridiculous this was, I was deeply grateful that this woman who was putting me through the most humiliating experience of my life was suddenly being so sweet about it. I actually had very warm feelings toward her at that moment. She really seemed to care about me. But she sure cared in some perverse way that was new to me. Maybe I could do this. God knows it would be nice to come, I just didn't know if I could under the circumstances.

She seemed to have a sense of what was going through my head. "I know you don't understand yet, Pet, but I don't mistreat my girls just for fun. I'll really take very good care of you."

God help me, I believed her. She was right that I didn't understand, but I suddenly realized that there was more feeling involved here than I had thought. Her idea of taking good care of me was a strange one, but I knew that she meant it.

"I'll try, Mistress."

"Good girl, Pet. I'm proud of you."

She was proud of me!

My fingers found my center, and spread some slipperiness up and over my clit, and I started to think that something might happen after all. If I wasn't out in public, I think I could have come from a breeze. If I could just relax...

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