Beneath the Table

Him (sipping coffee, gaze steady):

You’ve been shifting in your seat for an hour.

Is your cunt still full from last night, or are you just aching for more?

Her (blushing, voice velvet):
Both.
It’s hard to focus when I’m leaking into my thighs, Sir.
You marked me deep.

Him (smiling faintly):
Good.
Every step you take is a reminder:
You’re used.
You’re owned.

Her (tracing the rim of her glass):
And every word you say drags me deeper.
I feel your voice like a hand between my legs.

Him (leaning in slightly):
If I slipped my hand under that dress right now—
Would I find you dripping?

Her (swallowing hard):
Yes.
You wouldn’t even need to touch.
Just your fingers near me would make me tremble.

Him (voice low, calm, deadly):
You want me to wreck you again, don’t you?
Right here.
Right now.
If I told you to excuse yourself and wait for me in the restroom—
Would you?

Her (breath hitching):
Yes, Sir.
Without question.

Him (smiling into his coffee):
But not yet.
No.
You’ll sit there and suffer for me.
Smile when the waiter speaks.
Pretend you’re not soaked and ruined and mine.

Her (legs crossing tighter):
You’re cruel.
And I’m aching for it.

Him (brushing fingers over her wrist):
You’re glowing.
Everyone thinks it’s love.
But we know better.
You’re in heat, little one—
And I’ll be the one to put that fire out when we get home.

Her (whispering, desperate now):
How long do I have to behave?

Him (grinning darkly):
Until I’m done enjoying your restraint.
And then I’ll bend you over the nearest surface and fuck the good girl out of you.

Her (a shaky exhale):
Yes, Sir.