Apparently I’ve been doing it all wrong. “Don’t disassemble it,” V admonished, watching me pick apart an avocado roll to make more manageable bites. “Pick it up and put the whole thing in your mouth. It’s meant to be an explosion of flavor in your mouth, all the flavors at once.”
Explosion in my mouth. I could think of something else I’d like to explode in my mouth.
Back to the task at hand: an entire piece of sushi crammed in my mouth, me trying to chew around it.
Hey…it was good. Fantastic, actually. He was right. Even if the size practically made me choke. How do I manage to deepthroat all those cocks?
We were at the restaurant we’d gone to on our first date, and then on our first date-aversary, and now on our second. It’s a tradition, now, right? I guess we better hope the restaurant doesn’t close. What would that portend for our relationship?
Anyway, there we were. Drinking, laughing, me learning to eat sushi the right way. And then he says, “Where’s your EAK?”
I look at him blankly across the table. It’s loud in the restaurant, surely I misheard him. It’s so out of context, here in the restaurant on our (very vanilla up-to-now date), that I’m certain I didn’t hear him correctly. He repeats it, very slowly. And again, when I don’t respond. Oh, I heard him all right, but I am wishing I hadn’t. I’ve gone stiff with the knowledge that I don’t have it with me.
I guess an explanation is in order, since I can’t recall if I have mentioned the EAK before. EAK stands for “Emergency Anal Kit,” a “kit” for anal play (plugs, lube, wipes). I’m to have it with me at all times, for any time he wants to impose this kind of play on me. And, no, I don’t have it. Of course he didn’t expect me to have it with me in the restaurant, but at least I would have it in the car! Right? He frowns, displeased. (Wait, he saw me get into his car. He had to have realized I didn’t have it from the get-go…) I sit, staring at him like a deer in the headlights, as he settles our bill and then takes my hand. He pulls me with him, back into the building that the restaurant shares with a hotel. Then into the hotel corridor. Then into a hallway, where he pushes me against the wall and starts kissing me and pressing his body against mine. I feel his hands at my thigh, and then further, groping toward my crotch. I am worried that someone will see, but he is rough, insistent. In moments his hand is pushing aside my panties and I am spreading my legs for him — but he doesn’t push his fingers into my cunt, as I want him to. Instead he reaches around and pushes a finger, dry, into my ass.
I gasp and squirm. I am shocked and embarrassed. But he pins me and pushes it in and out a few times, his mouth against mine, his body heavy against me. “Wouldn’t this be better with your EAK,” he says. It’s a comment, not a question. Then, “I’ll bet you don’t forget it next time.”
He pulls away from me abruptly, pushing me away to lean against the wall, trembling. “Stay right there,” he says, and disappears into the restroom. A few minutes later he steps partway out the door. He looks both ways down the corridor, then, “Come,” he says, reaching for my wrist. I resist a moment, but then, afraid someone will come, I dart inside with him, into the men’s room. He takes me to the last stall and pushes me against the wall. “Remember this?” he asks. And I don’t, at first. Anti-anxiety meds and alcohol are roofies to me.
But then, looking at him, seeing the bulge in his pants, it all comes flooding back.
Last year…on my knees…in this very bathroom stall.
I think he pushed me to my knees, then. This year, tho I try to hide my eyes from him, I obey as soon as he tilts his chin toward the floor, my signal to get on my knees. I open my mouth and take him in, feeling the wetness already gathering between my thighs.
But he doesn’t come in my mouth the way he did last time. This time he pulls me up and pushes me back toward the door.
We have a party to go to. And, unknown to me, he has another punishment to deliver.
(Part 1 – stay tuned for part 2.)
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