They had lingered in their bath for well over an hour. It was only David's slow dawning realisation that they were both near starvation that finally roused them from their sensual explorations.

He was suddenly overcome with an irrepressible desire to show her off. He suggested that they dine at one of the exclusive harbour side restaurants he frequented; Fruits of The Sea

Charlotte was entranced by the notion. She had never been there. It was way out of her price range, but nevertheless, somewhere she had always longed to go. It was famed for both its incredible, trend setting seafood based cuisine and for the glittering celebrity/socialite clientele it attracted. She was impressed beyond words that David was able to call them and book a "Special table for two" to be ready at 9pm on a Saturday when it was already almost 6. She realised that this must mean he was well known and highly valued by them. It said in all the SMH reviews that you needed to book months in advance.

She then had a typical female panic about only having her silver sheath dress, crumpled and bedraggled looking now from having spent the previous day and a half screwed up in a heap on David's bedroom floor.

David, unfazed, bade her to don one of his T-shirts and her knickers "if you must, darling" and they drove in his gleaming XJS over to her flat to pick up something more appropriate for an elegant evening out.

She nervously rattled through her wardrobe, trying to decide which dress would please him most; which one set off her pretty body best. He walked up behind her and reached out for a slinky green off the shoulder goddess style silk gown, still in its garment bag, with the label showing where it had been marked down four times.

“This one. It goes with your beautiful eyes,” he said, in a tone which meant he would brook no arguments. But he kissed the top of her head as he said it, to soften the order.

Charlotte demurred to his choice. It was she knew, an excellent one. She had never had a chance to wear this gown, having bought it on an impulse at a designer Seconds and Samples Shop a few weeks previously. It had been, even when on final clearance sale, far more than she could really afford, now that she was paying the rent on her own. But she had been compelled to take it. She had willingly scrimped on her groceries for the next fortnight to make up the shortfall. Taking handfuls of biscuits from work in place of having lunch or dinner a few times.

Now she knew her instincts had been right. The small sacrifices had been so worthwhile. They had given her the joy of seeing his look of utter approval as she slid its luxurious fabric down over her poor naked, swollen nipples, smoothed its flowing lines around her slender hips and legs and pirouetted prettily before him.

“Will I do?” she asked, batting her unadorned but still impossibly long eyelashes at him coquettishly.

It fit as if it had been cut for her body alone and as David had noted immediately, it was precisely the same shade of sea green as her lovely eyes.

He grunted his appreciation and reached out, grazing her erect nipples through the sheen of the fine fabric.

“I'll do you if you stand there like that much longer.”

“Thwack!” He swiped his hand down on her bottom as she flirtatiously turned away from him, and she leapt, squealing and giggling.

“Ow! “ She arched her back and rubbed at her shapely bottom with exaggerated wincing. Poking it out towards him, like a model on a Brighton Beach Fun Pier naughty postcard. She looked back over her shoulder at him, as she had last night when revealing her sex to him.

“Will you be wanting to spank me again later then, Sir?” she asked him, wide eyed and innocent looking. Batting those lids again. A blush just touching her smooth perfect cheeks at her own boldness in finally asking him so forthrightly for what she had been waiting on so shyly and patiently till now.

“You'd like me to, wouldn't you, naughty girl?” he drawled, cocking his head to appreciate her more fully. A slow smile smile drawing his full lips up; a hungry gleam entering his eye.

She flushed scarlet now, seeing how much and how rapidly her suggestion had roused him. But determined to be the wanton she knew she could be, she tossed her raven hair defiantly and replied quietly.

“Yes. Yes I would. I'd like it very much, I think,.” She paused for a moment, biting her lower lip; furrowing her smooth brow in concentration. Trying to recall just what words those girls in her stories used in these situations. She smiled happily as she brought to mind one of her favourites.

“I am afraid I am dire in need of stern correction sometimes.” She paused to lower her eyes in what she hoped was a penitent looking manner. And added in a breathy little tone, “If you please, Sir.”

David's cock leapt to attention in his elegant pants. She saw it do so, looking up through her fine lashes, but still aware of how it was affecting him, to have her feign the innocent, she did not let on that she saw.

He pulled her to him. Raking her neck with his teeth and murmuring to her in his best imitation of a dilettantish Regency Rake, “Indeed you do need some discipline my girl. If this boldness is an example of your slatternly ways, it's long overdue. I see it as my duty to bestow it upon you.”

His hand slipped down to her backside once more, rubbing it in the slow, mesmerising circles he had drawn upon it once before, in the forest, while she lay over his lap, exposed and vulnerable, leaking her pent up sex juices onto the leg of his designer jeans.

Her legs quailed with the power of the memory and David slapped her arse again, harder than before, and rapidly. Five sharp blows as he held his other hand protectively at her belly, to avoid toppling her with the force of them and whispered into her ear,

“Later. If I am to have the strength to correct you as you deserve my lovely, I am going to need some protein.”

He smiled tightly and added. “ And so are you – if you are to withstand the lesson.”

He grabbed a small suitcase from her wardrobe shelf and ordered,

“Bring other things too. Knickers. Cosmetics. Shoes and day wear. Some more pretty gowns. I want to show you off every night. Gather a good few days supply.” He held her chin firmly and forced her to look right up at him,

“I told you. I won't be releasing you from my custody any time soon. I've already given George the heads up that you'll be off work Monday and Tuesday at least.”

She started, looking aghast. She hadn't wanted anyone at work to know she was sleeping with the boss! She screwed up her face and began to protest. He brought his finger to her lips and mouthed, “Shhhh.” Lightly kissed the tip of her nose.

“Oh don't worry Charlotte. The cover story is that you've been given a few days at a resort in Byron Bay as a reward for having worked the last nine days straight. I'll go into the office for a few hours both days, just so no one makes a connection. But while I am there I want you at my house. In my bed. Naked.“

He ran his hands up over the bodice of her elegant green gown, standing behind her, kneading her unrestrained breasts gently. Rolling her rapidly hardening nipples.

“I want you well rested when I get back there each evening. Because when I do return, you young lady are going to need all your energy for what I have in store for you.”

He smiled wickedly and gnawed at her neck as he said this. She felt herself flood yet again. Damn it was like a tap he turned on inside her loins. Her heart fluttered at his touch. Her quim came alive almost at the sound of his voice. She was sore and swollen down there, she knew. Her breasts were so tender from his attentions to them that even her silken bra was a torment to have rubbing against her nipples, which was why she had left it off to come over here. Even the light, loose fabric of her lovely new dress was a delightful torment, brushing against them delicately, after David had released the engorged little buds.

The lean strong muscles of her thighs ached, from having her legs held by him, her ankles pushed up behind her ears when he lay between her legs, biting and licking; sucking her clitoris. Gnawing her vulva and poking his rough quick tongue into her tight, quivering little hole. Her sex stung raw and hot. Especially when she sat. Or peed. She ached all over. Even her wrists and arms were sore from the way he liked to hold them behind her back or pinned over her head to the mattress while he fucked and fingered her .

Yet she knew that she still wanted more of his lovemaking. And more than that. She wanted what he had first given her. She wanted so desperately for him to spank her again. It had felt amazing, even when there had been no real prospect of sex after it. Outside. Laying half naked over his lap in that little clearing, at the picnic.

What would it feel like, she shivered as she anticipated it, to be fucked by him after had had paddled her backside? Holding her arms behind her as he liked to do so much? Slamming his balls and pelvis into her rosy red arse cheeks as he drove his cock into her again and again?

She shivered in his arms, whimpering at the visions such thoughts conjured as much as in response to his rolling her nipples in his strong long fingers, or the hot sweet smell of his breath at her neck as he did so.

**

They returned to David's luxurious house later that evening having learned much more about one another over their lingering, elegant meal than even David had dared hope was possible in one evening together.

It had been decided over dinner that she was ready to try what he was at pains to emphasise would be a little light taste of “Discipline” as he taught her to call it. Not the childish sounding “spanking” she had used when asking. David found too much use of that childish euphemism distatsteful.

“Paddle,” he told her. “Thrash.” “Smack.” These were the words he preferred. Less of a Daddy Dom vibe to them, he said, as he fed her Tasmanian oysters from his own plate, sliding them down her throat straight from the shell, glistening with lemon and rock salt.

“Far more appropriate to what goes on between two consenting adults.”

Though the harsher sound of his preferred words frightened her more than a little, she could see well what he meant.

She liked the term “discipline” however. Very much so. And another word he used a few times. “Submission.”

She loved the sound and the feel of the words on her tongue and said them to herself several times during the meal. Mouthing the words almost salaciously. Lingering on their sibilant sounds. Getting used to them and their implications in relation to herself. And what they would soon come to mean to her.And to her tender little arse.

“Discipline.” 

“Submission.”

"Discipline"

"Submission"

She shivered as the words echoed and reverberated around inside her head. Loaded with layers of meaning. Implications she knew of which she had no clear notion, but of which she yearned to learn more. To learn everything.

She had only hesitated a moment when, as the waiter walked away with their empty main meal plates, promising to return with coffee and a dessert trolley, David had leaned over the table to her and hoarsely whispered, “Go into the Ladies. Take off your knickers and come back to the table. Quickly. I want you here when the waiter gets back and they're terribly efficient in this place. It's why the buggers get paid twice as much an hour as you do.”

She was shocked and thrilled at once to hear it from him. She had almost run to the ladies loo. Leaning up against the gleaming Art Deco style tiled wall (damn rich people even peed in elegance, she thought admiringly) she hooked aside the thigh high slit in her flowing green Thai silk skirt and slipped the tiny oyster coloured silk knickers he had chosen for her to wear j, over her sweet little arse and down her smooth thighs. They dropped to the floor and she picked them up quickly, screwing them tightly in her hand, hoping none of the silky fabric could be seen protruding from her clenched fist. Opened the stall door and took a moment to gather her courage.

Her quim was already moist and beginning to throb at the wickedness of such an act here. In public. In this posh and crowded restaurant. With a man old enough, let's face facts, to be her (young and handsome) father, waiting for her to return to him and hand him her damp underwear.

She shivered. Wanting with every fibre of her being to put her hands down to her throbbing little clitoris and rub it till she sailed away on waves of her own pleasure. But she shook her head as if to clear it of a lustful fog and straightened. Knowing that if she were to pass a kind of test of her worthiness for David, she must be back at that table before the waiter arrived. She had no idea why that was so important to David, but he had made a point of it, and she knew she would do anything to please him. Anything he asked of her.

She fled from the toilets, without even thinking about stopping to relieve herself. She could wait. What she could not do was fail David in this, the first real task he had set for her.

**

She got back to the table three paces ahead of the waiter and his laden trolley of delicacies. Some of the “cakes” looked like sculptures. Some of them so beautiful Charlotte could not imagine being able to bring herself to bite into them and ruin their perfection.

She slid back onto her seat, desperately clutching the knickers in her fist. She leaned over to David and giggled, saying to him, “Put your hand out under the table.”

He looked at her coolly and said in his quiet, growly sort of voice just as the waiter arrived by her side, “I think you'll find I'm giving the orders here Charlotte.”

She blushed furiously. Not just at having this aloof young waiter hear David speak to her as if she were a recalcitrant underling, but with the burning knowledge that she was still holding her knickers in the hand nearest the waiter!

She held her breath and shook quietly. Head down. David began to leisurely peruse the delicacies on the trolley, asking about this one and that. Pointing one or two especially fine looking concoctions out to Charlotte and recommending them to her. He seemed to have tasted them all at one time or another.

He asked the waiter to refill their coffees. The lad went off to get the pot and David looked at Charlotte with a kind of wicked glee. He leaned forward and asked in a conspiratorial whisper, “So...do you think you'll stick to the seat when we get up to leave, now you're sans knickers sweetheart?” Cocking one eyebrow and waiting for her reaction. She blushed even redder and squirmed in her seat, the involuntary downward thrust and twist she made as she did so not missed by his sharp eyes.

“Shameless minx!” he laughed at her. “I do believe you might!”

“David!” she hissed at him furiously. "Please take my knickers off me."

He laughed again and leaned in close to say, “But I thought you'd already taken care of that sweetheart. What on earth were you up to in the ladies if you've still got. . . "

“David!” She was flustered now and it showed. Christ she was beautiful. Confused and getting ticked with him – and above it all - horny as all fuck.

“I - I mean... You know what I mean. please take them from me.” Her voice was getting desperate.

“No can do, baby. They're your burden now. Put them in your pocket – oh. You don't have a pocket. Well in your bag then. Oh. We left it in the car. “

He had in fact tossed her elegant little gold evening bag in the back seat as he locked the car, saying, "No need to go Dutch, Charlotte. I think I owe you at least one decent meal, after what you've swallowed for me recently."

He looked around the table now as if seeking a solution fir her dilemma, but simply said, “You'll have to hang on to them then. I'd recommend you order a dessert that can be eaten with one hand.”

And again the raised eyebrow and evil little grin. This time he actually winked at her.

She giggled helplessly despite her deep seated embarrassment. The waiter came back with the coffee pot and David began really toying with the set up by saying to Charlotte, “While Alain here pours our coffee darling, could you just grab that lovely looking little miniature canoli assortment there.

No darling not that one. The one on the far side of the trolley. No, no Alain, Charlotte is a good lass, she'll get it for me.”

He turned from the slightly baffled young waiter back to Charlotte. “You'll need to get up and fetch the sweets, sweets.” and he cocked an eyebrow at her.

Charlotte took several deep breaths. All of which worked to make her lovely breasts look even more admirable to an increasingly fascinated Alain and David .

Charlotte stood, frantically clutching her knickers more tightly in her right hand. This meant her left was the only one available to juggle those precariously stacked delicate little confections on their lace edged white china plates. She dreaded dropping the plate and smashing it. Bringing the attention of every diner and wait-person in this imposingly grand establishment to stare at her, while she stood, all but naked, covered by nothing but a filmy sheet of translucent silk. No bra. No knickers. High gold stiletto sandals. The gold brocade belt cinching the gown in just under the swell of her breasts.

David and the waiter both noted at the same time that her nipples, beneath the filmy one shoulder covering of silk, were so erect as to look as if they might cut through the flimsy fabric and poke their little pink heads out, as if to say “Hello boys!”

Her sweet sex juices were again oozing out of her swelling little pussy and leaking down her creamy inner thighs. She quivered and dithered, clamping them together, looking from left to right helplessly.

“Charlotte. You're like a deer caught in the headlights. Do get me the cakes darling. I'm fucking ganting for you to put something sweet and sticky in my mouth.”

Alain was fascinated by the floor show. He knew David of old and had seen him perform similar scenes with some beauties in here. But this one took the blue ribbon of babes. She was the Rolls Royce of rides for sure. Not a lot of miles on the clock either. Oh, how the other half live, eh? Alain thought, as he stood observing her. Enjoying the performance almost as much as David, it's proud producer, director and choreographer was doing.

“Do you know what Charlotte?” David called sharply, just as she had succeeded in manipulating the little tray of canoli from the far side of the trolley into her hand, still managing gamely to keep the knickers screwed tight in her right fist, away from Alain's sharp eye.

“ What David?” she asked in a desperate, exasperated tone. Whipping her head round, she inadvertently followed through with her hand, sending the canoli flying off the plate, landing about a metre away from her, rolling to a standstill as they came to rest against Alain's immaculately shined black shoes.

They all looked down at the same time. David raised the white linen napkin to his mouth and spoke through it.

“It's alright darling. I was just going to say, I'll have the little green meringues instead anyway. On the bottom shelf there.” He paused wickedly and looked at Alain blankly.

“You might need to kneel down to get them, sweetheart. But they're worth the effort. Truly. Are they not Alain?”

“Oh yes Sir. You have impeccable taste. As always. The pick of the litter so to speak.”

And they shared a small, comradely smile that Charlotte missed entirely because she, thinking that she might be about to die of an actual heart attack here, had closed her eyes to avoid meeting those of her puritanical Anglican maker.

“Charlotte.” David said in a cajoling voice. “Darling - the meringues?”

She stepped towards the trolley, trying to keep her thinhs together lest the now faster flowing juices from her inflamed, convulsing loins should run right down her leg. Then recalled that she still had the empty plate and its little paper lace doily in her only available hand. She awkwardly put it down in the spot it had been, sighed with relief at one less burden and bent at the knee gracefully, lowering herself to the floor, sadly reaching rather too hastily for the meringues.

Her skirt, slit from floor to mid thigh in the centre front and crossed with volumes of fold-over, slid straight open as she reached forward. She grabbed frantically at it with the right hand, almost over balancing, pawing at it to get some semblance of cover, but with no free fingers to facilitate her modesty, just a scrabbling, clenched and well overfull fist.

She grabbed desperately at the meringues with her left and stood so swiftly in her stilt heeled sandals that she very nearly toppled backwards.

But Alain's head waiter reflexes were superb, and his heart kindly. He dashed forward and steadied her expertly, having as his reward for chivalry a tantalisingly long moment of seeing those nipples of hers in clear relief from only a few centimetres away. Of breathing in the sweet Opium tinted scent of her.

He knew not to make a welter of his luck and released her delicately after making sure she was truly steady again. His soft heart was moved to gently reaching out and taking the meringues, now precariously teetering on the edge of their own little china plate, from her shaking hand, laying them with a flourish in front of David.

She could have kissed him. Instead she smiled beatifically, consumed with relief at her reprieve and said in a heartfelt whisper, “Oh thank you. Thank you so much, Alain.”

He smiled back at her, entranced by her beauty; touched by her show of genuine gratitude and embarrassment. He said in a low tone, “May I get you anything from the trolley, Miss? For yourself?”

“N – No. No thank you Alain. I really don't think I could eat another thing.”

And she sat down then, as Alain deferentially held out her chair. She sat quickly. Shaking and blushing and casting her green eyes down, so as not to have to see the delight she knew was beaming in David's sky blue ones.

“Yes. Thank you Alain”, said David bounteously, while surreptitiously kicking the canoli from where it had landed near his own left foot, to the opposite side of their small table. They came to rest almost squarely at the left leg of Charlotte's chair. He then leaned over under the tablecloth. Charlotte had inched her chair well under it in an attempt to hide the hand clutching so desperately tight at her creamy knickers, and sharply jerked her skirt apart from both sides. Exposing almost the entirety of her naked lower torso to anyone positioned correctly.

She daren't look to see what he had exposed of her, or precisely to whom. For she could feel well enough the crisp air-conditioned air hit her sweat and sex-juice soaked thighs and smooth hairless little mound of Venus. Her flat little stomach felt its caress too. Christ, she was to all intents and purposes naked from the waist down, she realised. In a public place. And not just any public place either. In the best restaurant in Sydney!

Her thighs goose-bumped at the relentless kiss of the chill mechanical air.

She shivered convulsively, and moved to cover herself as she let out a surprised little "Oooh!” before David's stern glare both silenced her and stilled her hand.

His eyes held hers. Serious and intent. Asking her wordlessly, she knew by instinct “Are you ready for me Charlotte. Are you worthy of me really?”

“Yes”

She actually murmured the world aloud and David knew. He knew then she had answered his challenge well. He knew she would do his bidding in this, the first really difficult thing he had asked of her.

He smiled a little. Well pleased with his find. His little treasure, he mused.

“Alain, mate.” he drawled out in an exaggeratedly friendly manner. “Hate to trouble you son, but you couldn't pick up those canoli could you? The buggers have rolled right under Charlotte's chair and I'm terrified she'll embarrass herself something shocking if she slips on 'em as she rises.”

And with that he sat back in his own chair, leaning one crooked arm on the smooth wooden back, the wicked smile broadening. He casually raised a tiny pink and green meringue, sculpted to look like a perfect, solitary rose bud and leaf, to his full wide lips, holding Charlotte's eyes in a long look as he popped it in and swallowed it, seemingly whole.

He licked his lips lasciviously.

Charlotte's eyes swept down to the carpet near David's chair where she knew the fatefully dropped canoli had been just moments before. Aghast she realised that yes, they were indeed gone.

She and Alain looked down at the floor beside herself at precisely the same moment and as they did so Charlotte realised. Of course. This was why David had done it. Why he had kicked them under her chair. Why he had drawn her skirts back. The bastard.

Alain had been given, courtesy of David's nefarious plotting, a ringside seat at the delicious sight of Charlotte in almost all her glory.

Alain moved to Charlotte's side and bent at the knee. She closed her eyes slowly and blushed to the roots of her shining raven hair. At the same time she felt the muscles inside her sopping wet little cunt jump and spasm precisely as if readying for orgasm. And she began to leak sticky fluids profusely all over the smooth birch-wood seat of the designer chair she was sitting upon, through the back of her beautiful, voluminous skirt. She even had the presence of mind to think regretfully “I doubt I shall ever get the marks out” before she lowered her lovely head, as much to hide her arousal as her humiliation. She was aware of them both battling to control her, but certainly felt that the arousal might be the far stronger force within her right now.

Her breathing was becoming necessarily deep as she fought to control the conflicting emotions and sensations besieging her mind and her morals. But especially as she fought for control over her sex organs. Her mind and morals were doing fine left alone. They were both on high alert. Like they would in a small prey species, hearing the eagle's wings above, or the hunter cock his weapon. Those higher senses were screaming “Run!” at her in a mantra.

And yet her body if not quite literally on fire, was smouldering Murmuring to her, ”Stay. Stay” and enjoy the delicious experience it was having down there. Away from her tiresome, sensible, good girl's controlling higher self.

The blood roaring in her ears drowned the voice of her higher self. She stayed. Stayed exposed and quivering. She would stay, she knew, until David gave her permission to retrieve what might be left of her modesty. Until David bade her to leave.

Her breasts were stinging with the strain of her bruised little nipples, swelling again against the fine Thai silk of her half bodice. She squirmed on her chair, unable to resist the reflex to do so. Whimpered almost imperceptibly. Only David and Alain heard it. A sound filled with unreleased pleasure, they both knew at once.

Alain, crouched as he was within centimetres of her naked form was yet ever the professional. Anyway, well used to David's little exhibitionist displays with some tasty tart or other, he inclined his head a little, in order that he would not appear to be overtly ogling the clientele's woman. The angle, fortuitously enough actually allowed him a perfect view of what he and David – and indeed Charlotte - knew full well had been laid out just this way for his sole viewing pleasure. But as before, when he prevented her fall and was treated to a close up view of her lovely breasts; there was no need to be crass about it. Such circumspection and tact was why David tipped him as well as he did.

But tips notwithstanding the floor shows were a priceless, non taxable perk of the job, Alain just had to say.

Lingering for only a moment longer than the task of collecting the ruined sweetmeats actually required, Alain breathed in Charlotte's rich musk as his eyes drank in the lovely site of her.

'Oh Penitence thy name is Charlotte,' thought Alain, as his handsome young eyes surveyed her delicate, almost Renaissance beauty. Appreciated the quivering, goose-bumped flesh of her thighs; the delicate swell of her hairless little mound. Her slender hands shaking so badly where they lay forgotten in her lap, that he could clearly see the filmy fabric of her knickers through the fluttering fingers of her right hand. The kinky bastard always had them whip off their knickers at some point. The floor staff now took bets on what course it would happen during the process of.

Alain had in fact blown $50 on Charlotte tonight. He had bet she would wear hers home. He had thought she had a little too much class for playing Fordham's favourite little game. But Christ the sight he got of her was well worth it, he thought as he passed his hand vaguely over the floor, seeking the elusive little pastries. Never for a moment taking his eyes in a direction which would inhibit the direct line of sight to the tops of Charlotte's creamy, shaking thighs and the delicate Y shaped creases marking her secret little recess beyond them.

Remarkable. If anything, he thought, she looked more like a Virgin Goddess now, half naked and willingly, silently exposing herself to his rapt gaze than she had when she had swept in so regally a few hours earlier, fully clad and floating on David's arm. Surrounded by a cloud of pure joy at her first sight of this long awaited social and culinary Mecca.

Charlotte had no notion of precisely what Alain could see from his angle, though she was sure he was gawping madly and that every other eye in the restaurant must be on her too. In fact David, Alain and the Owner/Chef had a very special arrangement when he booked his special table for two. It had been worked out with mathematical precision over the years. In their little nook, tucked away beside a floor to ceiling window, off to one side of the main dining area 37 stories above the ground, only those particularly invited were privy to any of the visual splendours David arranged there.

Aware that he had already lingered longer than David might find seemly, Alain swept the canoli up in his hand and left them wordlessly. Charlotte only heard him go, for her eyes were still shut. Her scarlet face still downcast.

Alain ruefully handed over his $50 to the wine waiter as he passed his station. The guy's bet was chalked on the board: 'before dessert.'

Alain found himself thinking as he retreated to the kitchen with his laden trolley, “I don't give a fuck if she whipped 'em off. She's a cut above the usual type he's in here with. Even if she isn't dripping in diamonds like they so often are. Breeding will out. That one's got real class. Not just a bit of store bought style. Anf she's so fucking young and fine!”

When Alain was almost out of earshot, David had leaned across to her and whispered hoarsely, “Take your time with your coffee sweetheart. I've got a hard on the cat couldn't scratch and we'll need to wait till that settles before we can leave here without getting me arrested.”

Then he kissed her. Long and softly, as they sat at the table. Right here in this fancy restaurant she had only ever hoped she might one day dine in. When he finally drew his head back from hers, she felt as if she might climax right there, with his blue eyes boring into her mossy green ones, and her damp silk knickers clenched in her hands. Still exposed from the waist down, but no longer caring now. Not even noting it anymore, as he probed her sweet pink mouth with his tongue and devoured her with his startling blue eyes.

“And when I get you to that car-park,” he promised her, “I'm going to bare your arse and whack it. Twenty times on each of your luscious, wanton little arse cheeks. Your bare arse. With my bare hand. You will be bent over the bonnet of my Jag when it happens.”

He ran his fingers down the side of her face.

“Because I can't wait till we get home to see you come. And I just know you're going to come the first time I properly tan that delicious young hide of yours. You fucking nearly came here when you flashed your bare little quim at Alain., didn't you, you brazen little strumpet?”

“Yes!” she breathed, burning with a thrilling shame at the knowledge that he was right.

She looked him directly in the eye for the first time since he had bared her for Alain.

“Yes. David. It was the most erotic thing I've ever experienced, apart from having you fuck me.”

David smiled, well satisfied thus far with the way this evening was progressing.