“So am I seeing you next weekend?” I ask, looking up at you from my favourite place; your dainty ladylike little thatch underneath my nose.

“Oh no I can’t, birthday dinner with the girls.” You respond between gasps. Your hands trailing through my hair.

An idea forms as I carry on taking my time with you.

A week later on your birthday you are at the office with a lot to get through before you can get home and freshen up for dinner at your favourite restaurant.  The box on your desk that was delivered earlier may have remained hitherto unopened but has been anything less than intriguing.  Now you sit and pick carefully at the ribbon.

The familiar bloom of fluster races to your cheeks as you recognise the handwriting on the card. You have seen it before, often describing many of the carnal indulgences its writer has enjoyed with you.

“If I can’t have my ways with you in the flesh then from a distance will have to do. Happy birthday Lena.”

Another flush burnishes your cheeks as the cards meaning becomes clear.  You remember when I showed it to you on One Night Only. Your head resting on my shoulder, our breathing slow and in unison. You always wondered about that remote control toy (and controlled from an app on your phone no less), where would you dare to use it?

Your phone chimes and you see a message alert from me.

“Enjoy dinner tonight. Why not premier your new toy, like a good girl?”

Tonight’s the night.

You’re at the restaurant early.  It’s as if the whole world knows what you are wearing inside you.  You keep scanning the patrons looking to see if I am nearby but to no avail. One by one your friends start to arrive and it’s hugs and presents and laughter and ordering drinks.

Nobody notices the preoccupation.  Nobody sees the furtive glances as you continue to try and search me out in the crowd.

But you wonder.  Did anyone notice your sudden gasp as that little egg suddenly gave a twitch? You carefully compose yourself.  Again looking around to see if you can single me out.

Another twitch. And another.  Before you know it you are under the spell of a low rhythmic vibration, trying like hell to ignore the wave that is building up inside you.

I’m loving this.  From my little booth seat I can look straight at you but you will only see me if I make myself visible.

I turn the dial a little to the left, easing the frequency down a little, letting you breathe.  Conversation seems to flow as it has done so far and nobody has noticed any change in you.   I take the dial slowly back to the right.

I watch as at first your jaw clenches, your gaze becomes more resolute.  I am enjoying seeing you mask an intensity that only I can recognise, and know so well from seeing it burn in your eyes as you stare up at me, legs wrapped around my waist.

I know your body so well now.  I can see when an orgasm is on its way from a mile off.  I know when you’re about to explode.  And I know you hate to slow things down. But I’m guessing right now, in front of all your friends, you would welcome some respite.

At this stage everyone has had a few drinks and conversation is at a robust pace.  You are just watching and smiling. Trying to hide the tension building up.

The dial goes further up.  I watch as you clutch the sides of the table, your legs clamped shut, the rippling through your shoulders.

An orgasm of considerable proportions barrels its way through your entire body.  I watch with admiration as you mask every subsequent twitch and flexion, knowing full well that when you have come that hard you tend to feel it for a while afterwards.  I can see your chest heaving.  Your feet tapping.  And your face is a mask of composure under which the true face of rapture writhes and fights being subdued so nobly.

Suddenly our eyes lock.  You have seen me.  I smile and wave.

A mixture of lust, hunger and consternation blaze in your eyes.

I watch as you stalk your way to the bathrooms and moments later see a familiar message.

“Second stall on the left.”

I make my way there at a casual pace so as not to garner any attention.

The way you launch at me as I open the stall door, the heat of your breath in my mouth as we kiss like savages, the urgency of your hands at my belt… I drink it all in.

I love you like this.  Your lust is a silent white heat.  You have removed the toy and just swallow my cock inside you.  Riding me as if into some hellish crusade.  Your nails dig into my neck. Your teeth sink into my shoulder. And the tiny whimper you allow yourself as you come is holding back the bellow and roar that I know wells up in your delicately wrought frame.

As if contagious it suddenly hits me and I fill you beyond capacity.   Even as we take a minute to breathe I can evidence of our entanglement oozing down your inner thigh.

Your kiss is a forceful distillation of a million different sensations.

“My place in an hour,” you whisper hotly into my ear.