Her Birthday

"All the way up?" God, she was killing him. It was hard enough to resist reacting to his wife, but this was almost unbearable.

"Good," she said matter of factly, her face losing all impression of innocence, returning to a relaxed, almost bored expression. She pulled the dress back down and replaced her foot in her shoe on the floor. All three women had the look as if nothing interesting had happened. He could feel his heart beating, and not just in his chest.

The three women spent the next few minutes in silence, watching the windows as traffic passed along the road. He sat there, trying not to look at anything in particular, and trying not to be too obvious about it.

After a few moments, it was Redhead's turn to fuck with him. Her's was a more simple plan, but his still drove him mad.

Redhead leaned over to his wife and whispered. "Are you sure the driver knows where to go?" she asked, loud enough for her husband to hear.

His wife looked at her, shrugged, then told her to, "go ahead and ask him, if you want." With that, Redhead pushed off the seat, sat on her knees on the seat next to Blonde's hubby, and knocked on the opaque divider. It came down with a hum, and Redhead leaned into the front of the car. Both his wife and Brunette watched him, looking slightly bored but with a look of watching television. He was curious as to what they were looking at, but he stiffened when he felt Redhead's thigh rub against his shoulder, and her hip bumped his ear.

Trying not to move too quickly, he slowly swiveled his head to his left, hoping to appear nonchalant, but it was difficult. Redhead was leaning into the front seat while kneeling on the seat next to him, but what had startled him was that what he felt on his ear hadn't been dress.

The bottom of her dress had slid off her back to the right, giving him bare leg from her garters up to her belt. There was cutely freckled, finely toned ass, waggling inches from his face, and there was nothing he could do about it. He could smell her perfume coming off of her milky white skin, and he was sure that if he really tried, he could lean back far enough to see a small stripe of closely shaved strawberry hair.

He was in agony. His whole body was shivering from the building frustration in him. Slowly, he forced himself to look straight ahead, his eyes having to be dragged by the rest of his head. Blonde and Brunette was watching this whole encounter, and from their view, they could probably see everything Redhead had to offer, but the look on their face was still placid. Occasionally they stared out of the window, idly looking around. It took his entire concentration to keep himself calm. In the end, he bit his tongue so hard he had tears in his eyes and it felt as if his teeth met.

Finally, she pulled back, adjusted her dress. Trying not to smile, she looked over to his wife, saying, "Yep, he knows what he's doing." He wasn't sure which 'he' she was referring to.

The limo made a few turns on it journey, but the women seemed satisfied...for now. Occasionally they would call for a refill, but mostly they would just sit and look out the window. This was something that he hadn't really thought he would see in his lifetime. These women were some of the biggest chatterboxes that he had ever seen, but other then the few words that they said to tease him, they were completely silent. These women were in control and they knew it. He could tell they were getting their kicks by just being there, in charge.

He was slowly getting used to the dresses and, progressively, he relaxed a bit. His pants had loosened slightly, but his hard on was still alive and well. He sat there, silent, looking out the windows himself. They were heading into the city, and he watched, as the buildings grew progressively taller. Soon, skyscrapers were looming overhead, and he could look up through the moon roof, staring intently at the overshadowing towers of glass, steel, and concrete.

The car pulled into a building's parking lot, fancy with gold and silver, marble and stone statues decorating the entrance. A red-jacketed man stepped forward and opened the rear door. He didn't need to be told, and immediately exited the vehicle. Holding his hand out, he assisted all three women out of the car. Finally, trailing behind all three, he entered the building.

There was a deep thumping sound coming from the double doors to the right, but he didn't have time to investigate as Blonde led them to the left, towards a grand set of stairs sweeping upward and to the left. As they reached the top, a man stood in front of a huge doorway. As the group approached, he bowed low.

"Welcome to 'La Petite Orange'. He pulled the handle and the doors opened to the entrance hall to a large, fancy French restaurant. Blonde, Brunette, and Redhead, all in a row, walked through the entrance, stopping at the headwaiter's podium.

Before the group had even stopped, he reached out his hand and snapped his fingers. A waiter, complete with white towel over his arm, stepped up quickly to the side of the podium. The first man whispered into his ear, then smiled at the three women, gesturing them to continue into the restaurant, following the waiter.

As the husband walked passed, he nodded to the headwaiter, who's smile fell from his face like a ton of bricks, and he looked down at his podium, as if he wanted to show utter disinterest, as if the man was a spec of dirt to be ignored. Shrugging, the husband continued to follow the trio.

The waiter led them beyond the main dining area, walking up three steps to a VIP area, separated by a set of double doors, in the corner of the building. It was walled in on two sides by glass, showing the night skyline of the city. He assisted the three women to their seats. It was a smaller table, able to fit the four of them, each on their own side, the Brunette and Redhead sitting across from each other, and Blonde sitting across from him.

Looking around, he noticed that there were no menus, but the women didn't seem to care, so he took a deep breath. That just meant that he wasn't going to see how much their meal was going to be until the bill came, and he knew, deep down, that it was coming directly at him.

There was noise as the door to the kitchen opened behind him, and he turned his head around as watched as three waiters entered. The first one set down a pair of stands, while the second carried in two covered trays, placing them down carefully on the stands of the first. Finally, the third carried in a bottle of wine.

The first two waiters came around the table, adjusting the silverware and glasses, making sure that everything was perfect, and the third opened the bottle with a flourish. He placed the bottle on the table in front of the husband, and then all three left as quietly as they came, shutting the door behind them.

He turned back to the table, and was instantly aware of all three sets of eyes looking at him.

"You may serve, now," she said, once again quiet but in definite control. He backed his chair back from the table and stood. Gently picking up the bottle, he proceeded to pour the deep red wine into the women's glasses. When he came to his own place, he saw that, while the waiters had swarmed the table, his place had been deftly removed. Plate, silverware, glasses, only the napkin remained. Replacing the cork, he placed the bottle on the table. Moving to the covered dishes on the stand, he removed the silver domed lid, revealing two dishes with strips of steak, greens, potatoes, and other assorted food. The smell wafted up to his nose, and his stomach growled. Picking up the plates, he served the birthday girl first, then the Brunette to the left. Returning to the stands, he lifted the lid off the last one. His stomach growled louder. There was a plate, identical to the others.

Only one.

He took a deep breath, but it didn't help. The wonderful smell of an expensive steak entered him, almost taking him over, and he nearly cried as he carried the dish and placed it in front of the waiting Redhead. Returning to his seat, he placed his hands in his lap and tried not to look longingly at either the women or the beef.

The two women toasted the Blonde again, and then began their meal. He sat there, listening to the clinking of the forks and knives, as the trio began devouring the wonderful repast.

A small conversation began, the first of the night, as the Redhead looked over to Blonde, inquiring about her day. It was a quiet conversation, not anything like he had heard from these women before, but before he could really pay attention to it; he felt a hand gently lay on his right thigh. Brunette stroked his thigh, slowly moving from his knee up to his waist. Looking around as inconspicuously as possible, if any of the women knew they didn't let on. Not even Brunette gave away anything. Her (supposed) unused hand was (supposedly) in her lap, in accordance to proper manners.

He was about to say something, wondering what his wife would say, until suddenly, he felt another hand begin to stroke his other thigh. Now, both Brunette AND Redhead was stroking his legs, coming so close to his groin that he almost closed his eyes. It was like nothing he had ever experienced.

The conversation continued, and both women contributed as if nothing was going on, but what surprised him was the stockinged foot that set carefully against his manhood, gently stroking him up and down with its toes. Blonde had joined the act. He didn't know what to do. Here were three sexy women, all dressed to kill, and each one was caressing him and stroking him, all while carrying on an innocent conversation. Not one of them gave any hint to what she was doing, and there was he could do about it.

He was breathing hard. He couldn't help it. As good as it felt, he could still feel the ring holding him tightly, squeezing him. He couldn't concentrate. He just wanted to take his wife so bad, and he had to close his eyes and repeat to himself, "No. No. No."

"AHEM". His wife's voice was quiet, but there was poison in it. He opened his eyes, and saw that she was staring at him as if he had said something insulting. The hands were removed from his legs, but the foot was still there, although it had halted its movement.

She brought her heel down on the edge of the chair and kicked backwards. He fell with the chair, rolling with the fall and ending up on his knees. Looking up at the table, he was about to rise, but his wife had gotten up and walked around to stand in front of him. Grabbing his bowtie, she tilted his head up as she bent down, their eyes meeting inches from each other. Her face was calm and collected, her eyes looking over him out of pity rather then rage. He was surprised, but knew that this wasn't the end of it.

Slipping her finger underneath his tie, she pulled him up. "Come," she said, tugging him along. He followed, submissively, being led around the table to her seat. She pulled away and encouraged him to get back down. He was on his knees as she released him, and then she went and retrieved her chair. Pulling it forward, he was forced backwards underneath the table.

Before pulling the seat all of the way forward, she leaned over and grabbed his cheeks between her thumb and forefinger, saying, "Just like your birthday. You know the rules. This is my birthday. I am your Mistress, and you will obey me. Everything you do, you do because I wish it. If you displease me, you will be punished." She released his face and scooted forward. On his hands and knees, he kept his head bowed. The chair to his right was pulled out, and Brunette moved away. Her chair went with her, and he heard it being pulled up behind him. He glanced to his side, noting with a little hesitation, but not without a lot of excitement, that there was nothing between himself and the large, plate glass window overlooking the city.

Suddenly, he felt a high-heeled shoe pressed against his butt, and he was pushed forward roughly. He barely held himself from jabbing himself in the throat with the front edge of his wife's chair, but he was stuck there...between her thighs...two inches from her. He edged forward, but her thighs closed around his ears, holding his head securely.

He was both in Heaven and Hell at the same time. He was not able to do a damn thing, but here he was, surrounded by beautiful women, one of whom was forcing him to dive between her legs, while out the window, anyone could look in, seeing his predicament. He could smell her, and it was driving him crazy. He could hear his own heartbeat racing in his covered ears, but above it, the women were continuing their conversation as if nothing had happened.

He could feel her thighs pulse every so often, and he wanted nothing more then to just move a little closer to his goal. A little lick here, a prod there, a suck here, he'd be in Heaven. She shifted in her seat, getting more comfortable, but he knew that he was getting to her. She could feel his hot breath on her most intimate of intimates, and she wanted the same thing, but she needed to be in control.

She shifted again, and her hand came down, pulled her hem up slightly, and moved in front of him. Roughly, she shoved a dry cracker into his mouth, and, dutifully, he swallowed it, absently. He wasn't thinking about eating anymore, at least not food, so he did it automatically, just taking it as her feeding him something small and paltry. He soon came to realize why she had done it.

His mouth soon became dry. He was parched, and the nearest liquid was mere inches away, ready and waiting for him. His tongue was rough, and he wanted more then anything to just push through her tight legs and go after her.

He couldn't. That would be breaking the rules. He would be punished. He would be fine after a while, but right now it was torture.

The conversation continued, but it was nothing but mumbles in the background to him. What he did notice, however, was the fact that his wife was talking less and less. She was getting as excited as he was, and he could tell that she was dripping wet. She would let him go after her in a moment. All he had to do was wait just a little while longer. He knew she needed relief.

Her left hand came down again, pulling up the hem of her dress and inserting itself between him and her. "Here we go," he thought to himself. But he was wrong. Her thighs remained clamped around his head, preventing him from moving anywhere, while her hand slowly moved by itself between her legs. In the darkness of her dress, he heard her as she slowly rubbed herself.

She was cheating.

She didn't need him for this part. She was doing it herself. While the conversation continued between two of the three women above, his wife was pleasing herself, rubbing her sweet pussy under the table, directly in front of him. He watched, straining against the darkness, as her exploring fingers rubbed her lips, her middle finger gently running over her clit. He held his breath as she slowly, patiently, inserted her middle finger all the way inside of her, holding it there for a long, agonizing moment. He could feel her whole body shudder. Then, even more slowly, she pulled it out, trailing her juices behind it.

She had made herself come without him, and he had to sit there and watch the whole thing, inches away, with his mouth dry, powerless. His dick felt like it was about to burst.

But, he had to take it. It was her birthday.

She adjusted her dress and scooted the chair back. Without bending over, she snapped her fingers, pointed to the ground in front of her, and said, "Come."

"I want to, more then anything," he thought to himself as he crawled over to her feet. He kept his head down looking at her high heels, averting his eyes in hopes that he didn't displease her again. She was cruel when you were bad. Behind him, Brunette and Redhead were silent, watching the happenings.

Blonde bent over him and set down her wine glass. There was barely half an inch remaining in it, and it rocked a bit as he adjusted his weight on his hands.

Standing back up, she asked him, "Did that cracker make you thirsty?"

He nodded his head, quietly answering, "Yes, ma'am."

"Would my little doggie like a drink?"

"Yes, please, ma'am."

She paused for a moment, relishing the power over him.

Finally, she told him, "Go ahead."

He reached down to pick up the glass, but her foot shot out and kicked it away, saying, "Nice doggies don't use their paws, do they?"

"No, ma'am."

She lifted her leg and pressed it against his shoulder. It rocked him back onto his knees, and he sat on his heels, hands on his knees, the ball of her foot pressing against him. He kept his eyes down, for he knew if he looked up, he could probably see right up her dress, and that was something that his cock didn't need right now. He wouldn't be able to control himself.

Keeping her foot pressing him back, she ordered in a quiet voice, "Say it."

Lowering his head even lower, he whispered, "Thank you, Ma'am, for correcting my mistake. It won't happen again."

"Louder."

"Thank you, Ma'am, for correcting my mistake. It won't happen again."

She pressed harder on him, and his shoulder blades were now pressed against the edge of the table. "One more time, if you would, please," she said in the sweet tone that made you want to do something nasty.

"Thank you, Ma'am, for correcting my mistake. It won't happen again." This time, without meaning to, the words came out of his mouth sounding as if they were accompanied by a grinding sneer. She looked down at him. His face was calm and cool, but she had heard him and couldn't keep herself from grinning at his small rebellion.

Releasing her foot, she allowed him to return to his hands and knees, motioning for him to take the glass. Bending down, he gripped the glass between his lips and teeth, rocking his head back, drinking as the liquid sloshed to his mouth. Being as carefully as possible, he was able to down the rest of the wine before returning the glass to the carpet.

"What do you say?" she asked.

"Thank you, ma'am." Satisfied with that, she bent down and hooked her finger back under his tie. Pulling him back up, she released him and turned. The two other ladies had gotten up, and they followed the Blonde to the door.

Just before reaching the door, the Blonde stopped. Without even turning around, she pointed to the floor next to her. A single snap echoed across the silent room, and, ever the loyal slave, he walked over to her side.

Waiting. She glanced at him, and then nodded to the door. He gripped the knobs, opened one side widely, and then stood next to the other side as he held it opened. All three women stepped out into the main area of the restaurant, walking quickly, but without hurry, towards the entrance. He followed behind, keeping up but maintaining a discreet distance.

Returning to the lobby of the building, instead of going to the front doors, the women moved towards the opposite side, the booming music growing as they approached the door. Once again, the trio stopped and waited as he moved to the front and opened the door.

It led to a club, music thumping a beat that was driving the dark, smoke-filled room and a few people who were on the dance floor. Barely visible in the smoggy darkness was a few tables, and, along the back wall beyond the strobe lighted, mirror balled floor was a bar, complete with stools, waitresses, and a couple of bar tenders. The other patrons were dressed as they were, although the women's dresses were not nearly as revealing. He had no idea what the occasion was, but all the men were in tuxes like his own.

The group moved towards one of the nearer tables, and he pulled out the chairs and assisted the three women to their seats. As he returned to his own, the waitress brought a bottle, three shot glasses, a bowl, a saltshaker, and a larger glass on a tray. Apparently, his wife had set this up as well.