My Pearl in His Pocket

Part 1: Dinner at HIS favourite restaurant

My eyes focus on his hand, how he holds the pearl between his fingers.

They follow it as he brings it to his lips, curling his fingers around the tiny sphere as he gently blows on it.

"Ooohh," escapes my lips.

His hand rests beside his plate.

It sits quietly in his palm. I desperately want it back. It used to be mine, after all. But now, in this moment, I'm happy to offer it to him as a loan.

His thumb rubs against the smooth pearl, the moisture of his breath allowing it to easily slip under his thumb and palm.

Our young waiter returns. I believe he just asked us about dessert, but I wasn't listening. My focus remains on my pearl as it remains in my husband's palm.

My husband asks for more wine and the dessert menu. He captures my gaze.

The waiter fills pours, leaving our menus on the table before turning away.

Now that we're alone, I watch as my husband dips a finger into his wine, bringing it to a hover over my pearl. I watch as his finger begins to glimmer from a drop of wine lingering on the tip.

The cool air in the restaurant lets me know that I'm beginning to perspire, my exposed skin feeling the chill. In truth, some of my particular senses become heightened.

A very familiar feeling grows between my legs, my breathing becoming heavy.

The droplet on his finger becomes too heavy, falling and engulfing my pearl.

I fight against the spasm.

His thumb passes over the lubricated jewel.

Another moan escapes me.

I can see him press on the sphere more firmly, his thumb turning white from the pressure. Another shutter races through my body.

With my elbow on the table, I forward and arch my back, knowing that the dress he picked out for me has a deep, low cut at the rear.

My free hand reaches beneath the table. I hunch forward, bringing my ample breasts to rest in front of my plate, the low-cut dress presenting plenty of cleavage.

My fingers slip under the thin material of my panties. Sliding my fingertips down, I gleefully stretch the material side, allowing myself unhindered access. I begin tracing the grooves of my juicy pussy.

Biting my lip, I play with the stands of my long, blonde hair having fallen beside my face. Twirling the strand around my fingers, I hope it draws attention away from my other hand which is gainfully employed under the table.

He continues thumbing his palm.

I can feel the damp material of my panties as I slowly push a finger inside myself, my middle finger slipping into a warm pussy.

A very audible gasp escapes me, my cunt lips eagerly swallowing my finger to the knuckle.

Another gasp. An eager moan.

My free hand releases my pent up hair, leading it around my neck. A manicured nail drags along my neck, the skin tingling from the touch.

I grind my hips to the edge of my seat. I try to not let my posture give me away to the other patrons, my attempts at remaining clam being extremely difficult while enduring this much excitement.

My fingers dip into my hole. I hold them in place, allowing my fingers to flex and bend inside myself. I can really care less about how I appear, but I retain my composure, maintaining discretion in a very public space.

I keep a trained bend of my fingers and withdraw before slowly and deliberately re-entering myself. I repeat the technique.

I can feel my pussy creaming with every thrust, finger fucking myself deeper, harder.

My eyes focus on his palm, my pearl in his hand as he slides his finger over it. I'm aware of his broad grin, watching me while sipping his wine, enjoying himself. My tongue curls, white teeth biting my lower lip.

With my thighs pressed against the arms of my chair, I spread my legs as far as possible, frantic fingers plundering my cunt as I watch him toy with my pearl, my womanhood in his hand.

My spare hand reaches for the table's edge, gripping the thickness of the wood underneath. I'm tipping over the edge and he knows it.

He begins rolling the pearl on his palm with a stern thumb, increasing the circular motion, encompassing the entirety his palm.

It's too much.

Shamelessly, I let myself shake. I fought against it, but my fingers and his foreplay deliver the best orgasm I've ever experienced in public.

I climaxed between the main course and dessert, but now I'm recovering, far too ashamed and scared to look around and see who may have witnessed my appalling behaviour.

Losing my pearl (I don't know where this goes. Story break?)

I knew from my first date with my husband that I held the control. I decided to give him a chance because he knew I was out of his league. In truth, I've never let him forget it.

People joke, "You have his balls in your purse." I love it, the feeling of control and power over him. To hold all the cards in the relationship is what makes me stay.

Well, until recently that is.

It all began earlier this week. I was in the middle of my weekly hair appointment. Sure, it's an expensive luxury, but I'm worth it.

I was talking to my stylist about the holiday I want to go on. Having just convinced my hubby to buy me a new car, I knew a special incentive was required to get what I want.

I repeat his words to my stylist, Linda. "So, pick out a nice dress, let's have a romantic meal, and then I'll drop some holiday hints your way..." Just then, my phone rings. I glance at the display.

It's Todd.

"Speak of the devil," I say. "Holiday hints and some extra incentive to take me on holiday."

Linda smiles and gives me space.

"Hi, Honey," I tease, knowing I need to leverage all of my charm.

"Jul's." I hated anyone shortening my name, but I decided to refrain from scolding him until I had him on board with the holiday.

"I'm still at the salon."

"Ah, ok. Just phoning to let you know I have your thingy."

"My thingy?"

"Yea, you know," he whispers down the line. "I took it out of your purse for safe keeping."

"What did you take out, Todd?"

Again, he speaks with a hushed voice over the phone. "Your, you know...THINGY!"

My patience wears thin. I'm so confused. "What are you taking about?"

"It's ok, it's safe. I'll look after it. I promise to not play with it," he continues with a laugh.

I begin whispering down the line. "Todd, what did I leave?"

"Are you going to make me say it?"

"Well, yes. So do I know what this important thing is?"

I roll my eyes at his words. "Really?"

My voice is hardly above a whisper. "Just fucking tell me, Todd."

"Clitoris," he says nervously.

"Say that again. It sounded like you said..." I look around to make sure I won't be overheard. "My clitoris?"

He remains nervous. "I did. I have it in my hand. It's so pretty and wet, if you don't mind me saying."

I do my best to ignore the silliness. "Don't be ridiculous. I'll be home in a bit."

"Ok. I promise to be careful with it, but I can't promise not to play with it."

I hang up the phone as Linda returns.

"Did you convince him about the holiday?"

My reply shows some distraction. "No. It didn't come up."

My mind is still processing, attempting to make sense of why he would claim such a thing.

My phone pings with a picture of my husband's hand, a single pearl resting in it. The text is ominous: 'See??????'

Linda begins working her magic as I tuck my phone away.

I feel as though something is off, so I continue thinking about it as I sit in silence, allowing Linda to work.

I can't shake this feeling. It's as though I'm forgetting something. The feeling grows, an emptiness preceding.

"Back in a sec," Linda tells me.

I gaze into the mirror, my blonde hair in foils.

This is crazy. People can't just remove BITS. I know that I've joked about having his balls in my purse, but I don't literally have them.

*PING* Another text. It's a video this time.

I watch Todd play with the pearl, rubbing it in his palm. The video is brief, lasting only six seconds.

A heat spreads across my pussy, I feel the slickness of myself.

'No way,' I mutter.

I put my phone face down on the styling station next to the hot tongs.

I feel myself become hotter under the gown. Puffing up my cheeks, I slowly release a long, deep breath, attempting to quench this feeling.

I use the mirror to sneak a peak of my very limited privacy.

I can't escape the thought, my hand snatching up my phone, bringing it back to life. My long fingernails tap and click on the screen. Impatient, I open the video clip again.

I watch the video over and over again, squirming in my seat. I try breathing through my nose, but the feeling tests my self-control.

I clench my thighs together, feeling how wet I have become.

I've never experienced a climax from zero physical contact, yet here I am, beyond doubt as it frantically chases me.

*PING* A second video.

I open the 5 second clip. The same hand. The same pearl.

This time, however, the finger rapidly moves the pearl side to side, along his wrist to his middle of his hand holding my pearl.

There's no escaping and, honesty, I've surrendered to the pleasure.

Discreetly, as discreet as one can, I orgasm right there in the salon chair, the same chair I have sat in dozens of times before, the same chair in a very public salon.

I focus on my breathing as my carnal brain fog begins to clear, my breathing deep. I manage to tuck my phone under the gown just as Linda returns, feeling her hands on my shoulders.

"You ok Julie?" she asks.

"Mmmm," I muster with a little too much weakness and satisfaction.

She gives me a quizzical look in the mirror as I settle back down, hoping against hope that I don't give off too much of a scent. I do notice, however, the massive smile that has spread across my face and rosy cheeks.

'How the hell did he do that?' I ask myself as I came back to earth, escaping the fog. 'I mean, he didn't actually have my PEARL. He couldn't have.'

I laugh at the absurdity of it all. The empty feeling returns.

With Linda going about her work, I decide to put the claim to bed, under the long gown protecting my clothes. My hands move between my legs, one hand pulling at the waist of my trousers as the other slips into my thong.

I prepare myself against the sensitivity of my recent orgasm. I'm aware that once my fingertips confirm that my clit is where it should be, it will bring yet another involuntary shudder.

I feel nothing. I press harder, then again.

My fingers search the surrounding area and find nothing. There's only a soaked wetness.

My eyes shoot open.

My words echo throughout the solon. "Son of a bitch!"

The shout startles Linda, causing her to jump.

Part 2: New home life

I pay as soon as Linda finishes, jumping into my new car, racing home.

The car screeches to a stop in our driveway. Running inside, I nearly burst through the front door.

My eyes scan the living room.

There, just as smug as can be, my husband sits on the sofa.

"What the actual fuck!?" I shout, my tone conveying no mistake of how fucking pissed off I am.

"Oh, hi honey," he says casually.

"Don't honey me." I storm over to him.

My hands push him hard on his chest, causing him to fall into the sofa.

My words burn. "You better start explaining right now, mister."

"Uh, I ahh," he attempts as he retrieves the pearl, my pearl, into view.

"Bastard. Give it...." I reach for it.

He tuts and swipes my hand away.

"Finders keepers," he jests as he begins toying with it in his palm.

That feeling returns, my legs left weak and heavy.

"Yup. I think there will be some changes around here in the old food chain, Juls," he says. I'm sure he's smiling that wicked smile, but my focus remains on his hand and, in particular, what it holds.

To be continued in part 2