Sweet Suffering

I arrive at the café late, but this is planned. Ten minutes, almost exactly – I've been waiting, browsing in a bookshop down the road, calculating how long it would take to get you anxious, tense, in suspense. Yes, ten minutes ought to do nicely.

It's a gorgeous bright, hot sunny day, the heat beating down onto the pavement from the clear blue sky. I'm wearing my sunglasses and you're looking in the other direction, tapping your foot nervously, as I arrive by the outside table of the café. I slip into the seat next to you and you jump in surprise then look at me, relieved.

"You're late," you say, nervously.

"Is that a problem?"

"No... No of course not."

"Good."

You're wearing a low-cut red dress that comes high up your legs, which are crossed very carefully.

"You're dressed as I instructed?" I ask quietly.

You look down at the table, a little embarrassed.

"Well?"

"Yes."

"Good."

I move my chair closer to sit directly next to you, the metal legs scraping across the pavement. I see you wince slightly, not wanting the least bit of attention to be drawn to us. You don't know what's going to happen, but you have a rough idea of what sort of thing it might be, and it makes you nervous. But excited, oh yes, I can tell...

"Uncross your legs," I instruct you simply. You don't look at me, continuing to look down at the table instead, but after a few moments you do as I ask.

"Wider," I say quietly. You part your legs a little more, creating an inviting gap between your knees.

"What if someone can see?" you ask nervously.

I shrug.

"Then they enjoy the view." I grin.

"I can't believe you're making me do this..."

"You can get up and walk away any time..."

"I know."

You stay right where you are. I beckon a waitress over.

"Can I help?" she asks, smiling.

"Yes, I'll have a coke thanks," I tell her, smiling. "Molly?"

You're so nervous and excited you can hardly think of the name of a drink, and the situation probably isn't helped when you suddenly feel, under the table, the touch of my hand on the inside of your thigh, gently brushing upwards towards your unprotected, sensitive spot...

"Um... er..."

"Shall I come back in a minute?"

"No, come on Molly, make your mind up!" I laugh.

"I'll have..." You jump suddenly in your seat as my fingers reach between your legs, where as I had instructed you are wearing no panties. I gently stroke you with two fingers, and a small gasp escapes your lips.

"A coke for me too thanks," you blurt desperately. The waitress smiles and walks off. I stop stroking you for a moment, but keep my hand where it is.

"Please, don't..." You ask desperately.

"Are you telling me what to do?" I ask viciously. "If so, I don't think that's a good idea."

"No, I'm not, I'm sorry, but... I mean please, this is a public place... People could see, we could get into trouble!"

I look across the road opposite us. Cars are passing by, people are walking along the streets, people in the shop opposite are going about their usual business. Nobody cares that you and I are sitting together at that table, with my hand surreptitiously planted up your skirt...

"You don't want this?" I ask teasingly, stroking you more quickly and pushing a little harder, working you slowly harder and faster with my two fingers. You close your eyes and lean your head back a fraction, sighing deeply.

"Yes... Yes I do..." you confess.

"How much."

"More than anything..."

The waitress returns with two ice-cold glasses of cokes and I pay her, even breaking out of my usual character to give her a tip.

"I wouldn't mind holding that down and spanking it," I note mockingly, whispering into your ear. I see you look at her jealously as she walks off, but before you can say anything I suddenly make a new effort and bring you right to the edge. You suppress a slight squeal of pleasure before I ease off, working my hand back down your leg a little but keeping it under your skirt.

I take a sip of my drink, and you do the same.

"Please..." you whisper again, but I can't tell if you mean please stop of please push you over. I think it's a mixture of both, and I start stroking you again, gently, lightly, keeping you nicely simmering.

You say nothing, you simply try desperately not to show any outward sign of your increasing arousal and desperation, your eyes darting around fearfully, constantly worrying that at any moment somebody will spot what's happening and say something. All the time I gradually increase my pace and I feel you shift forward on your chair, trying to force my fingers harder and deeper into you, to finish you off.

"Ah-ah," I whisper, giving your ear a quick lick for the sake of it as I do so. A man sitting in his car waiting for the traffic lights to change glances across at our table, looks down, looks at me, smiles knowingly and winks. He drives off.

"How long shall we stay here?" I ask casually, well aware that you're teetering on the edge of orgasm again, but working my fingers expertly to keep you balancing delicately on that edge and not going over.

"I..." you can barely speak, lost in that semi-dream world of arousal and desire. You moan softly and half-close your eyes, snapping them open as you realise you're becoming too conspicuous.

"Would you like to finish?"

You nod vigorously.

All this time, my other hand has been wrapped tightly around my ice-cold glass of coke. Suddenly and swiftly I remove my hand from between your legs and just as quickly put my other hand there. You feel my freezing fingers press into you and you jolt violently in your seat, gasping. I remove the hand; several people are looking at us, attracted by your sudden exclamation – you do your best to look as if nothing has happened, but in your eyes I can see your crushing disappointment at being brought slamming back down to Earth. I smile happily and finish my drink.

"There's a public toilet just over there," I say, pointing. I hand you a small plastic bag I brought with me that I had placed under my chair. "Go in there and put these on."

You take the bag and walk off in the direction of the toilet, knowing better than to say anything or ask any questions, walk off toward the toilets. I chuckle to myself at the thought of your face when you find what I've given you, and wonder whether you'll actually do as I ask. I am actually quite impressed when, a few minutes later, I see you walking back across towards the table, stepping very gingerly, your face grimacing in pain at every movement. You sit back down carefully, wincing, and shoot me your best 'I can't believe you're doing this to me!' look.

"How does it feel?" I ask.

"Horrible," you say.

"I knew you'd like it," I reply with a grin.

The previous evening when I visited you at your hotel, while you'd been in the bathroom I'd taken the opportunity of stealing a pair of your bra and panties. Back home, I'd super-glued into the crotch of the panties and the cups of the bra some very coarse pieces of sandpaper – glass paper, I believe you Americans call it. This, of course, was what I had handed you to put on and what you are very commendably now wearing and suffering from.

"Come on!" I say, standing up quickly. "We're going for a walk."

A look of horror comes across your face.

"I don't think I can take too much of this!" you plead.

"And...?"

"I'll be rubbed raw!"

I give you a look, and you moodily get to your feet. I start walking quickly down the street, and you do your best to keep up, every step becoming increasingly painful.

"You'll pay for this tomorrow when I'm on top..." you say meaningfully.

"That's what I'm hoping for," I reply, feeling a momentary stab of excitement at the thought of what agonies your revenge might inflict upon me. But I push the thoughts to the back of my mind – there's still so much to be done today.

"I know it must be difficult for you," I say as we walk. "So I'm going to give you a chance to get out of your underwear pretty quickly. All you have to do is pass a little test I have in mind. Quite simply really, just carry out a few instructions..."

Perhaps you can tell from my wicked smile that this is not going to be plain sailing. I stop outside the bookshop I was in before, and you stop too.

"What do I have to do?" you ask.

"Well, we've done the teasing, and the pain..."

"Seems like we're still on the pain..."

"Yes, well, anyway, now the humiliation!"

There is a quick look of excitement and horror on your face, overcome with sheer curiosity.

"What do I have to do?"

I tell you. You are suitably shocked.

"But... I can't do that!"

"Why not?"

"It's... people will hear me!"

"That's rather the idea."

"I can't believe you're going to make me do that!"

"You can't to get out of those things don't you? Do this and I'll let you go and take them off. Refuse, and we won't get the tube back to my flat; we'll walk the whole way."

You clearly have no choice.

"And anyway," I point out, "it's not as if you're ever going to see any of these people again. You live on another continent for goodness sake!"

Without another word, you walk into the bookshop. A moment or two later, so nobody inside suspects we're together, I follow. You look over your shoulder angrily at me, before stepping towards the enquiries desk. I go across to the Biography section and pretend to browse, close enough to hear you clearly, especially as you've been instructed to speak up.

"Um... hello," you say.

The guy at the desk – quite young, blond, only about nineteen or so, maybe his first job, perhaps he works here part time while he's at University or something... Who knows? I can't conceal my delight at someone like him being the focus of your public humiliation.

"Can I help?" he asks cheerfully.

"Yes..." You shoot me another look and I calmly make a small gesture indicating that you should speak louder.

"I'm... Um... Looking for a book."

"That's what we're here for," Mr Helpful laughs. I think he fancies you, you know. Perhaps it's that dress...

"Yes... It's, um, erotica."

That gets a couple of other browsing customers looking up briefly. I smile devilishly to myself. Mr Helpful seems slightly embarrassed, but he covers it with a laugh.

"Well, we have that, yes. It's just over here, in the corner..."

He leads you over to a nearby corner and I follow casually, now pretending to look at the Classic Fiction section. I busy myself sorting Orwell's novels into chronological order and to my annoyance find that some idiot has put Down and Out in Paris and London in the fiction section, while listening to your conversation with Mr Helpful. He's content to let you browse the erotica on your own, but I've given you very specific instructions.

"I wonder if you could help me look," you say. I notice a couple of the male customers are drifting close enough to listen, vaguely aroused perhaps by the idea of a sexy young woman talking openly about wanting to buy a porno novel.

"Um... eh... what... um, what sort of novel were you after?" Mr Helpful asks, rather flustered in a horribly Hugh Grant kind of a way.

"Something S&M," you say loudly, taking the plunge. A woman nearby makes her son put down the Harry Potter book he wants to buy and ushers him out of the shop very quickly.

"I see... Well there's this row down here..." Mr Helpful says, desperately trying to avoid making eye contact with you. You look at me again, and I can see you've got a spiteful look in your eye, and I sense you're about to really show me that you can match anything I throw at you.

"I like books about being tied up and tortured," you say very clearly. "Particularly being teased, I like that a great deal. Being restrained and aroused to the edge of orgasm and not allowed to cum. I like that a lot. In fact, I find it a real turn on. Do you have anything like that?"

Your face has turned almost as red as your hair and I'm having to put a fist in my mouth to stop laughing. Mr Helpful is practically in a puddle on the floor, and one of the other men listening to you seems to be salivating at the thought of tying you up and doing nasty things to you.

Mr Helpful has regained enough of his composure to dumbly hand you a book. You nod politely and take it to the till and pay for it, heading quickly out of the shop leaving a trail of dazed, confused and no doubt rather excited males in your wake. After a few moments I follow you out. You're standing on the street looking daggers at me, and I clap you on the shoulder.

"Oh well done, that was amazing, it really way. I thought that poor kid was going to die!"

"I thought I was going to die!" you exclaim angrily. "I mean... Jesus Christ! Anyway, can I please take these things off now?"

I'm laughing too much to say anything, so I just nod, and you storm off back to the toilets, thrusting a small plastic bag with a book in into my hands. I take a look – At Pains to Please by Maria del Piero, Publisher's Warning, Contains Adult Material.

I'm still laughing and you're still angry by the time we get back to my flat, but I'm still not quite finished with you for the day yet. Once we're in I take you through to the bedroom and simply command you to strip off.

"Just strip off?" Isn't that a bit plain for your style?"

"Just do it... Oh, and lie on the bed spread-eagled when you're done, there's a good girl..."

You shake your head but do as I ask. Even I can't help but feel a little sorry for you when I see the state the sandpaper has left your breasts in – again, I feel another burst of excitement at the thought of you having your own back tomorrow...

"I'm ready oh Master," you say sarcastically, having spread yourself out on the bed. I ignore the comment, and busy myself tying your wrists and ankles down to the four corners.

"What now? Do I get gagged, blindfolded? What a boring end to the day..."

"I can't gag you," I say. "You need to speak?"

"What?"

I reach into a draw and take out a little microphone and earpiece headset, which slips easily over your head.

"What the hell is that?" you ask.

"A hands free set for my phone," I reply. "I got it in Dixon's the other day, quite natty, don't you think? Useful for when you can't hold the receiver, you know, if you're busy cooking or cleaning or playing kinky sex games..."

I move over to the phone and start dialling a number. The headphones become active and you hear me start to dial.

"Who are you calling?" you ask.

"Well, I thought as the person you know best in England, it's my responsibility to make sure you're okay while you're over here... You know, don't talk to any strangers, don't get lost, call your mother on a regular basis..."

You feel a stab of panic.

"My mother!?"

Before you can say anything else, the phone is ringing, and within a few moments a distant, transatlantic voice very recognisable as that very woman's is on the other end.

"Hello...?"

"Um... Hi mum, it's me! Molly!"

"Molly! Hi! How are you! Are you enjoying your holiday? Did you get the chance to meet up with Paul? You mentioned you might arrange to see him..."

"Oh yes, we've met up..."

You're speaking to her but your eyes are very much on me as I pull something else out of the draw the headset came from – a long, black, sleek-looking vibrator. Your eyes widen in panic and you shake your head mouthing 'No' at me as you listen to your mother's tales from back home and questions about your holiday, but there's nothing you can do to stop it now.

"Yeah, I saw Big Ben," you assure her as I press the tip of the vibrator against you and switch it on. Your body jerks as I move it slowly up, down and around your sensitive spot.

"Oh yes, it's great... Really... Oh good..."

You're doing an amazing job, really you are, but you can't hide the tension and anxiety in your voice as I begin to press the vibrator deeper, thrusting in and out, increasing the speed. Your voice increased in pitch as you start to sigh, gasp and moan in between sentences.

"What... No I'm fine... Must be the line... No, it's okay, I have a phone card... Well, if you have to go..."

I push it as deep as I can, thrusting and moving it up and down, driving you closer and closer to orgasm.

"Yes... Love you too mum..."

You know if I make you cum before the phone call is up there's no way you can hide it.

"What... No, I don't hear any buzzing... Like I said, must be a bad line... Well, you know, this country hasn't been the same since the blitz..."

That does it. I twist and turn the vibrator and switch it to maximum setting.

"Okay, yes I will... Yes, okay!" you snap. "Right... Byeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee."

She's gone, and only just in time it seems, as you shudder and convulse with the force of your orgasm, sweating heavily, moaning loudly. When eventually you're done I switch the vibrator off and slide it gently out of you, laughing and grinning. After getting your breath back, you lift your head and look down at me.

"You bastard!" you exclaim. "You... bastard!"

But I just laugh.

"Would you rather I hadn't?"

You shake your head and grin yourself.

"Not on your life... But you're gonna pay... Oh yes, big time..."

"Let's not think about that just yet," I say, despite my excitement at the wicked tone of your voice. "After all, you're all tied up, and there are still a good few hours of my day left..."