Sex and Violet Ch. 02

Bradley's Tale

It had been three weeks, but Bradley was still acting dumped. He didn't stay at home in pajamas, or get hideously drunk and sleep around, but he was mopish and anti-social and irritated whenever anyone tried to show sympathy. It didn't make sense, either, because when he thought about Shelley he only remembered her obnoxious habits and her paralyzing frigidity—and mostly assumed he was lucky to be rid of her.

His confidence had taken a hit, that was it. In fact, she had been regularly beating it for several months now, just as she had built it up so rapidly when they first met. She wasn't the type he'd ordinarily be attracted to, but she had pursued him relentlessly and then, the first time they fucked, she had writhed and shrieked and praised his manhood so that he almost felt awkward, like he was present at someone else's bedroom scene. It had been like that for a while, and Bradley had to admit she knew exactly how to make him hard—and how to make him come before he wanted to.

But Shelley had a whole set of bizarre hang-ups and obsessions that Bradley kept bumping up against with increasing frequency the longer he knew her. When she was horny she couldn't seem to get enough of his cock, and she applauded his skill so lavishly that he felt inadequate, knowing most of the things she said weren't true. But the other half of the time she was cold or would suddenly lose it over something that seemed so minor Bradley would just stand there, dumb and incredulous, while she railed at him about how men always took advantage of women and he was trying to use her affection for him against her and if he loved her he wouldn't always be trying to make her subservient to him.

For example, she had this thing where she refused to make him a sandwich—ever. She informed him of this voluntarily before he'd even shared more than a few meals with him. "It's not that I don't want to do nice things for you," she said, "because I do, but every woman has to draw the line, and—well, I feel strongly about it, so don't argue." Bradley had no idea what he was supposedly trying to argue about or why they were talking about sandwiches. And in the months to come his only goal was often just to get some peace. Arguing was not part of the strategy.

It got to the point he never knew when she was going to take sudden, violent offense to something he'd done. A quick fondle while she was on the phone, his compliment about her new heels, his hesitant suggestion that they try anal sex—all proved to be huge mistakes, producing a heated tirade or a storm of tears. And still, the more he tiptoed around her and tried to comply with her strange "rules," the crankier she got. Bradley wondered what she really wanted from him. He was sick of it all but she would still lead him into the bedroom a few times a week for an energetic fuck and that kept him going.

And then, one day, she left. Bradley thought it would have been nice if she'd apologized for being a crazy bitch, but all she said was, "We're not fulfilling each other's needs" in her pretentious, pop-psychology-expert way and now Bradley was mildly depressed.

He didn't let it affect him at work, however. Bradley was a serveur at a five-star French restaurant in the city—the kind of place that employed its own sommelier and where he never had more than two tables at a time. Bradley's own background was solidly middle-class, but he had an instinct for rich people. It wasn't long before management was assigning him to the best tables and the wealthiest, most influential patrons—and he was given carte blanche to make them happy. Since Bradley was deferential but not subservient, punctually helpful but unobtrusive, and good-looking without being striking, he did make them happy, and usually took home a few hundred dollars in tips on a weekend night. He was diplomatic at work as he had tried to be with his girlfriend; his manager had taken lately to saying, "Bradley Banks, you sure know how to please," and Bradley kept thinking a promotion was coming, but so far nothing had come of it.

It was three weeks to the day after Shelley left, a Sunday night, and Bradley was feeling particularly low-spirited, and bored. His first two tables had tipped poorly and he was starting to wish he could go home early. Then, at about 9 o'clock, Alain, the maitre d', escorted a couple to the corner table in his section. Bradley watched them discreetly as they got settled—he could tell a lot about a couple by their actions when they first arrived, and it helped him know how to adjust his approach if, for instance, the man pulled the woman's chair out or took her coat or if the two of them smiled at each other as soon as they were seated. When this woman's coat came off, Bradley was floored. She was ideal. Petite, slender figure, but her curves were delightful, from what he could tell, and she had golden hair down to her shoulders. That outfit didn't hurt, either—red satin blouse, clinging to her breasts and tiny waist, short, flirty black skirt, red kitten heels. She didn't have on any jewelry as far as he could tell. When the two sat down she looked up at the man briefly and smiled before lowering her eyes.

Collecting himself, Bradley started over to them—and then stopped short as the woman got up out of her chair again. She folded her hands behind her head, and then, amazingly, spread her legs to just past shoulder-width and stood still, facing the man. Bradley had a great view of her cute, shapely little ass in the short skirt—but he had a feeling the front view was even better, and wished he could see her breasts push up against her top when she put her arms up like that. He had a pretty good idea what was going on here and decided to give the couple another minute to themselves.

Just then Alain came over and told him there was a bottle of champagne reserved for this table, so he went to get it. When he reached their table he opened his mouth to introduce himself and bid them good evening, but for the first time in his serving career, he found himself dumbfounded. There on the snowy white tablecloth was a little pair of red, satin panties. He stared at them. The man was saying, "I took the liberty of ordering champagne." Suddenly Bradley remembered where he was and managed to begin his welcoming speech. He faltered slightly when his gaze turned to the woman—God, she was beautiful!—and the man seemed to take pity on him. "Bradley, isn't it?" he said. "I thought I remembered you. Go ahead and pour," and Bradley was thankful for a task to help keep him from gaping. "This is my friend Violet, from England. Isn't she pretty?"

Bradley looked up from pouring and met the man's eyes. He was smiling gently, and Bradley smiled back and said more confidently, "She is, sir."

"And sexy, too," the man went on, still meeting his eyes. "These are her panties here on the table, so you can imagine..." Bradley's eyes snapped to Violet. She was blushing and staring at the tablecloth. She was obviously embarrassed, but wasn't doing anything to stop her "friend" from humiliating her. "Don't be bashful, Violet. Look up. Say hello to Bradley."

She raised her big, sweet blue eyes to Bradley's face and gave him a shy smile. "Hello, Bradley."

Bradley thought he might be in love. He also couldn't believe his luck. It definitely seemed like this guy was going to include him in the couple's evening, and he was more than happy to participate in their little game. He didn't know much about kinky slavery or any of that, but Violet was obviously under the man's thumb and Bradley wondered what he would make her do next.

His hopes were confirmed when the man made Violet give a blow job to the champagne bottle Bradley had been holding. He felt his cock rising as he watched her little pink tongue swirl all around the bottle's neck and then push it all the way to the back of her throat.

"Isn't she wonderful, Bradley?"

Sure now of his role, and already enjoying himself hugely, Bradley said, "You're a lucky man, sir."

The couple ordered—Bradley expected the man to order for Violet, but he didn't, and Bradley liked her soft voice and the way she said "please." He went away to put in their order, hoping this would give his cock time to settle down, but it wasn't long before he saw the man look his way.

"Sorry to be such a nuisance, Bradley, but Violet so enjoyed demonstrating her skills to you that she got very wet—isn't that right, my dear?" He waited for her to say, "Yes, Sir," and Bradley waited avidly for him to go on. "And since she doesn't have her panties on I'm afraid her seat got a little damp as well. Could we trouble you to...?"

Bradley snatched a napkin from the closest table without even thinking about it. He wasn't sure what to do next, but then the other man encouraged him to duck under the table—yes, sir!

Bradley heard the man telling Violet to spread her legs. As she did so, her skirt rode up to her hips and he was faced with the prettiest little pussy he'd ever seen. He licked his lips automatically. She was definitely aroused. She smelled like soap and sex and sure enough, the seat between her legs was slick and fragrant too. He dabbed at the wet spot with the napkin, but tried not to touch Violet's skin, unsure how the other man would feel about that. But then he heard the man telling him to "dry Violet off as well" and he understood that he had permission to do what he wanted. Well, Bradley was no stranger to pleasuring a woman, and there weren't many things he liked more. He covered his hand with the soft napkin, then delicately ran one long finger over Violet's slit. Again, with slightly more pressure so that the tip of his finger slipped between her inner lips. He circled her opening, collecting more and more moisture, and couldn't resist doing the same thing to her clit. He loved the way her hips bucked forward involuntarily. Above him, he heard her quiet voice and thought it was diabolical for the man to make her talk calmly about her day while she was being teased. When he came out, Bradley was grinning from ear to ear.

Violet was made to thank him for his help, and Bradley replied with real feeling, "It was my pleasure, ma'am."

His next chance to interact with them was when he brought them their entrees, but Bradley's attention was very focused on their table even when he was occupied elsewhere. He noticed that Violet disappeared for a while and thought, "Lucky bastard." Sure enough, when he came back with their plates she was holding onto a mouthful of come. By now Bradley had a continuous hard-on that he was doing his best to conceal in his pants. He could have sworn it turned to steel when she handed him the red panties to keep "until we're done eating," the man said. Bradley couldn't resist sniffing them as soon as he was out of anyone's sight, then he stuffed them back into his pocket.

He was printing up the couple's bill, with his back to the dining room, when he sensed someone approaching. He turned around and there was sweet little Violet, standing before him with her eyes on the ground. She was gripping her hands behind her back and shifting her weight a bit as if she were nervous. His heart pounded, but instinctively, Bradley gave her a cue. "Can I help you, Violet?" He was dimly aware that he hadn't called her "ma'am" this time.

"Please, Sir," she whispered, "may I have my—may I have my panties back?" Her voice dropped even more at the end of her request so that Bradley barely heard her. He felt suddenly powerful and that he knew what to do. He waited for her to look up at him and only then said, "Of course," and handed her her slightly crumpled underwear. He made no attempt to conceal what he was holding, but Violet balled them up in her hand and walked quickly towards the restrooms.

Bradley took the man his bill while Violet was gone. He was already well-disposed to like this guy, but was ready to pay for the meal himself when the man hinted about both of them taking Violet to a private room. Bradley thought fast. It was nearing 10 o'clock and they were unlikely to have any more patrons tonight. Brian, the sommelier, might even have left by now. The restaurant had its own wine cellar (which was really just a climate-controlled back room) and he figured no one would need to go in there again until tomorrow. He suggested this, and when Violet came back the man told her their plan. Bradley noticed that she seemed a little startled—she probably thought they were going home right after the meal—but then she blushed and seemed to squirm a little in her seat, and he thought, She's excited!

The man signed his receipt and said, "Lead the way."

Bradley knew no one would bother them on their way to the back of the restaurant. The manager, once he'd seen that the man at the corner table was one of their regular patrons, had already apprised the staff that he was to be especially well-treated. The three of them entered the dark room with its racks and aisles of wine bottles, and Bradley turned on the dim overhead lights and carefully closed the door. It didn't lock from the inside, but he was sure they wouldn't be interrupted and told the man so.

The scene that followed made up for all the shit he'd taken from Shelley, Bradley thought. First, Violet stripped and stood in front of him the same way she'd posed right after arriving at the restaurant. Bradley was interested to hear the man say this was the "first position." He was dying to know what the other "positions" were but didn't let his curiosity distract him from the sight of Violet's lovely body. Her legs looked long despite the fact that she couldn't have been more than a few inches over five feet tall. He wondered if she was slippery with moisture again like she had been earlier.

The man ordered Violet to turn around and bend over, and she duly presented her ass to Bradley. The man said she was proud of her ass and liked to have it admired, and Bradley was happy to do so, but he wondered if Violet really liked this whole setup right now. She'd been totally quiet and continued to blush. Then his doubts were laid to rest—when Violet returned, as ordered, to the first position, he looked at her face and her arousal was evident. She was breathing, somewhat heavily, from her mouth, and her eyes looked feverish and glassy. Furthermore, when the man ordered her to tell Bradley what a slut she was, she didn't hesitate at all, but met his eyes and said, "Oh, yes, Bradley, Sir... I'm just a dirty little cock-slut, Sir. I like"—her eyes were fluttering open and closed—"I want you to make me do dirty things, Sir. I want to be used..." To Bradley's amazement, her hips had started to rock as she spoke, and if it had been up to him Bradley wouldn't have waited much longer to fuck her.

Her lover obviously wasn't done with her yet, though. "Oh, look," he said his voice deceptively casual, "after all the trouble Bradley and I took to keep your panties clean for you, you've let them get all wet and stained with your pussy juice. Take them off this instant." His voice suddenly got louder and sterner as he gave this last command, and Bradley saw that Violet had been having trouble listening until this startled her. She quickly pulled her panties down over her legs and when she had them off, he said, still in that harsh tone, "Now lick them out. Show Brad how sorry you are—look at him while you lick them clean!"

Bradley thought, Brad. He could tell it was hard for Violet to keep her eyes on his as she held her panties up to her mouth and started tonguing the crotch of them. She kept her other hand behind her head and had spread her legs again immediately after removing her panties, and Bradley wanted to smile at her to make her feel better, but he was mesmerized by the sight of her bare pussy. As he remembered, it was completely smooth, and he saw that her outer lips separated a little when her legs were parted wide like this.

After a minute or so the man stopped her. "Well, that's a little better," he said, "but I still think you should be punished. Give your panties back to Bradley and ask him if he'll please give you a good spanking, if it's not too much trouble."

Bradley saw Violet tremble as she turned her big eyes up to him again and held out the damp panties. He clutched them awkwardly as she whispered, stammering, "Will you—will you please s-spank me, Sir, if—if it's not too much trouble?"

Bradley hesitated. He wasn't sure he would know how to do it. He was afraid if he tried to spank her that he'd hit too hard or somehow do it wrong. He didn't want to hurt her, and she seemed so delicate. But then, suddenly, she seemed to be giving him a secret little smile. Was he imagining it? No—Violet's eyes were twinkling and the message they gave him was, It's okay—go ahead.

The man's voice: "You don't mind, do you, Bradley?"

And Bradley realized that he desperately wanted to spank that perfect little ass. His cock had never been this hard in his life and he was no longer making any effort to conceal his erection. He was hot even in the cool wine cellar; he knew he was sweating; his mouth was dry,I but he managed to croak, "Not at all."

Then the other man sat on a nearby empty crate, and had Violet bend forward and put her hands on his shoulders. Bradley stepped behind her. The view now, of Violet's naked sex peeking out from between her legs, was spectacular.

"Whenever you're ready, Bradley."

Bradley took a deep breath and drew back his hand. He smacked the center of her right cheek and watched in fascination as her legs trembled slightly and the spot slowly turned pink. He looked over Violet's body at the man and was given a look that definitely said, "You can hit harder." So his next blow was more forceful, on the opposite cheek, and the next one, as he aimed for the under curve of her ass, more forceful still. Violet arched and tried to wiggle out of the way and Bradley hesitated again.

"Be still, Violet. Count the strokes out loud for me."

Bradley thought, again, that he knew what the man was doing. He was providing Violet with a task, to distract her so she could take the spanking more easily. And then, after the next two swats, when Violet had obediently said, "Four, Sir" and "Five, Sir," he ordered Violet to kiss him between strokes. Another distraction. Five more, faster, and he had to reprimand Violet for almost biting him and order her to focus. Bradley, however, was having no trouble focusing—all his senses were sharpened, he was exhilarated, and when Violet was made to give him the man's belt to use he took this in stride. She even folded it in half first, so he would know how to hold it. And then she was ordered to take off her bra. Now the man was going to pinch her nipples if she didn't do a good job kissing him during her spanking.

When she was back in place the man said, "All right, Bradley—continue."

He swung the belt and Violet let out a shriek. But she kept her mouth on the man's, and he praised her. She moaned and whimpered continually throughout the next few strokes, but she didn't try to wiggle away again. Bradley could see the muscles clenching in her legs as she fought the impulse. After fifteen strokes, the man suggested Bradley give her five more, and, completely caught up in the moment, Bradley swung harder than ever. He made eye contact with the man again after fifteen, saw the nod, and made number sixteen his chef d'oeuvre.

After that the scene started to pass in a blur for Bradley, who was increasingly preoccupied with his throbbing cock and balls. But he still thoroughly enjoyed inspecting Violet's spanked body, stroking and pinching her red cheeks, and running ice over them and her sore nipples, all at the man's direction. Violet was trembling but her pussy was literally dripping, moisture running down her inner thighs. Then Bradley heard what he'd been praying for—"Bradley has been very nice to you tonight, hasn't he? I think you should kneel and thank him for disciplining you so thoroughly. Oh, and ask him if he'd like you to suck his cock as a reward." Thank God.