4 comments/ 21384 views/ 8 favorites A Prescription for…Spoons? By: ElRoylk She looked at him across the candlelit table, the voices of the other diners, the rattle of dishes and clinks of silverware drowned out by the sudden rush of blood in her ears. She looked at his face to see if she could detect any playfulness, if he was kidding, or even if she had heard him correctly. She had to do something, some kind of response was required; she had drawn out the moment too long. "What?" She asked quietly, over the dwindling mouthful of salad, hoping she hadn't heard him correctly, at least giving her some time to consider his words. Their fourth date in as many weeks and she had been wondering where this was heading. He was somewhat older than her, a fact that troubled her when she wasn't with him - what would her friends think? How could she introduce him to her family? As if that was even a prospect. She toyed with the notions during her daydream moments at work, imagining the first encounters, the raised eyebrows, the mumblings in the corner when the two of them were out of earshot. The first date, not counting when they first met at Loren's party...she had met a lot of folks that night so that didn't count, was so sweet and low-key. A soccer match at a rival school, "park food" for dinner and a great dessert at Marcy's Café. He was a gentleman. She felt so at ease, so able to talk with him, even as she realized he must be bored to tears with her school-girl worries and rants. If he ever felt boredom or dismissive, she never sensed it. The second date couldn't have been more different from what she had dreamt about. He had asked her to go with him to 'an uptown affair'. 'Dressy' he had suggested, and immediately picked up on her panic that she didn't have anything 'dressy', at least in the sense she would mean it, and couldn't imagine spending the money to buy something new. 'Let's go find you something,' he insisted, ignoring her protests and apologies, and ended up buying her the gorgeous 'little black dress' for $250.00. 'Gifts like that don't come for free,' her mom's voice was an echo in her mind as she shyly thanked him for it. The 'affair', an art opening at a friend's gallery, was over-the-top. Champagne, hors' d'oeuvres and Beautiful People who were probably famous but she didn't recognize. She got a little tipsy, which in her case meant she had to sit down and not say anything for fear of giggling or exposing her small town roots, but it had been a wonderful evening. He had thanked her for being such great company, again the gentleman (she couldn't thank him enough for including her), and did not press her to come in or in any way extract 'payment' in return for his generosity. A very brief kiss at her door, his cologne lingered in her memory even now, and a promise he would call her again, perhaps next week. She had wondered if he had any feelings for her, if his feelings in any way matched her growing sense of...desire, curiosity, affection? That he had called her again, true to his word, was a great thing, but she figured that the third date was the time to decide whether she was worth spending time and money on, 'cause he had been spending a lot of money in the last month - the dress, dinners, desserts, not to mention the sweet flowers and gifts he had sent every morning after. If he didn't feel affection for her, he was a psycho. But he didn't press her even the third time out. Their parting kiss, more than a peck, extended by her, not pushed by him. She felt almost like moving her hand down his back and pressing him into her, but the thought of being too forward killed the impulse. Her confidence in his feelings about her grew at his fourth invitation. She had never been to Le Raku, she had no idea what the name meant, but when they walked through the door of the restaurant this evening, the diners bathed in pools of candlelight, the white tablecloths' glow through the sparkle of wine glasses, she drew in her breath. He had suggested she wear 'the little black dress' as the place he had in mind was 'fancy.' She held her grandmother's golden chain mail purse close to her as the maitre d' led them to a small corner booth, not out of fear that it would be stolen-she giggled quietly at the absurd thought, but at the feeling of inadequacy in being in such a place. Not that it would afford her any protection. He ordered a white wine, which she didn't particularly like; she hadn't acquired a taste for it yet, but she sipped it politely. He noticed, he noticed a lot of things, she noticed; asked if she would prefer something else, didn't insist when she politely said no, but again, made her feel comfortable enough to actually say she'd prefer a bourbon and seven. Gracious. That was the word she was looking for. Gracious. He graciously called the waiter over, placed the order and looked...pleased, she guessed...that she had been comfortable enough to ask for it and that he could make it happen for her. Their conversation, up until she had left for the bathroom, had turned to wine, the whole 'wine thing,' alcohol in general, and a brief detour into drug use, which made her only a little uneasy since she wasn't sure where he actually stood on the issue. She excused herself after ordering, to give her some time to take stock and figure out where the evening might be going. As she stared at herself in the women's room mirror, adjusting her hair, the recent bob cut looked great she re-decided for the umpteenth time, refreshed her lipstick and looked at herself in the 'little black dress,' she wondered if he would ever make a move or what his intentions were. Clearly he thought enough about her to spend some serious money on her. He seemed to enjoy her company and reserved the last four Saturday nights, not to mention shopping with her, for dates, the next one better than the last. Would she put out for him if he asked? Would he ask? And now, after settling back into her place at the table, looking at the minute salads in place in front of them, he had asked the most amazing and disturbing thing she could imagine. Well, she could probably imagine far more disturbing things, but in this place, with this atmosphere, the words didn't seem real to her. She revisited the scene, not two minutes old in her mind's eye: she had just picked up salad fork and was beginning to sample one of the odd looking greens when he said, "Laura, I'd like you to do me a small favor if you would." His electric blue eyes held hers as she looked up from the salad plate. Before she could say anything, her mouth full and her attention split between his handsome face and the burst of flavor from the dressing, he continued. "When it's convenient for you, I'd like you to remove your underwear, and place your naked thighs on the leather cushion." She crunched the salad and swallowed the saliva that had gathered in her mouth. The room closed in for a moment as she considered the craziness of what she had thought he had said. "It would give me great pleasure to know that you were absolutely naked under that spectacular dress you're wearing. Would you do me the favor of removing your underwear?" He really had said it, and his face was not the face of a pervert, at least, she never thought of a handsome forty-ish man with a great build, clean cut expensive hair-cut and designer suit as the template for a pervert. But he had just made it clear that he wanted her to sit her naked butt on the leather cushion, and do it while everyone was watching. "But, everyone could see...," she stopped mid-sentence when she realized, after looking around as quietly as possible, that a) no-one was looking their way - they were off to the side, b) no-one could see even if they were staring at them - the booth sides were practically up to their necks and the tablecloths covered their knees, and c) it was a lame response - it suggested she would consider the notion, which apparently she had. Here was his move. Novel, unexpected, but not entirely undesirable. He had made her feel at ease, but she had also felt 'easy' with him. She considered how she could remove the bikini briefs without calling attention to herself, and looked around briefly to figure where she could put them - her purse held her compact, her ID and some cash - no room there. "I'll put them in my coat pocket, if you're concerned about where to put them." Again the gentleman, even now the gentleman - nothing should make her uneasy about the request, except of course for the request itself - which was very unsettling. "Uh, I don't know Gareth..." she stopped again, staring at him, looking for any menace, any sense of disappointment or anger if she didn't comply. His face remained relaxed, his eyes as intense as ever, but his mouth only made her feel as if he would be happy one way or the other. "...it seems kind of...perverted." She didn't consider herself a 'prude', but she hadn't had much experience doing things out of the ordinary. Her only long-term romantic relationship had had relatively little sex in it - she had lost her virginity and she was crushed when he decided to move away to follow his dream to be a rock star - but they had never explored much outside the kinds of things she imagined people did in bed. "Perverted," he paused to consider the remark. "I suppose you could view it that way, although I really don't like the word myself. It seems so...judgmental." He didn't bother to offer a different word for it, leaving her to feel just a little inadequate and...challenged. Up until this very moment, everything had been easy and now the feelings of being 'easy' came drifting in. She imagined where this was heading - he was making her into his mistress, his whore. Visions of her dressing in outlandish lingerie, stripping for him, getting down on her knees blossomed unbidden into her mind's eye and she shivered at her overheated imagination. The side-effect, however, was to cause her to consider his request seriously. That, and the bourbon, pushed her into a new world and a new view of herself. Whore. Hmmm. She put down her fork, picked her napkin off her lap to dab at her lips, and with the pretense of putting the napkin back, shifted herself slightly up. Sliding the dress up behind her legs with her hands, on their return she grasped her briefs' waistband and slipped them down to her knees. Moving her hands back to the table she gave a furtive glance around to see if anyone had noticed. The panties constricted her legs even as she sensed the coolness of the leather against her skin. She wiggled her legs slightly, letting the bit of fabric drop to her feet. She presented them to him with her left foot, pushing between his knees. He winked, his eyes glittering now, his smile lighting up and with a quick motion tucked her underwear into his coat pocket. "Thank-you. I hope it isn't too uncomfortable for you?" Actually, it wasn't. It was almost exhilarating. With the rush of adrenaline she had lost her appetite for the moment. Eating the salad, as enjoyable as the first bite had begun to be, was not something she wanted to contemplate. She took a swig of the dregs from her cocktail. "Would you like something else to drink? Another of the same?" He didn't need to get her drunk to 'do him a favor,' that was obvious, so she didn't distrust his motives for asking. She actually considered getting a little hammered, it might make her decisions going forward easier. She knew exactly where this evening would end up - with him inside her for sure, even if she wasn't completely sure how it would come to pass. "Good idea," she smiled, "I think I'll need another, thanks." She wasn't sure where to go with the conversation given the new thing between them, this secret, this agreement. She shifted, uncomfortable with the silence and having moved, now aware again of her nakedness and potential exposure. With the drink to distract her hands, and the opportunity to take a sip delaying a need to say anything, she settled a little. His voice broke her cycle of discomfort. "The first time I asked a date to do that favor for me, she almost slapped me as she walked out." He said it without apology, his expression open and a bit rueful. The thought that he had done this before, the implication that he'd done it many times before brought a blush to her face. "Not much of a sport, was she?" She replied, daring herself to be as nonchalant as he appeared to be. "No, and I figured I was better off, as was she, probably. She was the only one that had that reaction, though..." He offered his hand to her across the table and held hers softly. His flesh was warm, the palm soft. She noticed the contrast when the rough callouses on his fingers dragged lightly across the back of her hand. The effect was...delicious. Her appetite re-awoke. "I need to taste some more of that salad, before they take it away." She removed her hand and returned to sampling the greens. The crisp leaves were cool on her tongue, the dressing exploded against the background of the sour ferment of the bourbon. She closed her eyes and relished the sensations. He mentioned his interest in gardening and the challenge he'd had over the years trying to grow some of the variety of greens in the salad. The conversation turned to making food and his 'rule' about eating at restaurants and ordering only those things he didn't think he could make at home. She didn't have much to add, he had so much more experience than she did, but the fact that he had opinions about these things and that they were formed from experience, not just rants, impressed her. As she watched the waiter take away the salad plates, she noticed the skin on her thighs and butt was sticking a little to the cushions. She shifted again. The air felt good. The bourbon felt good. The memory of the salad was still lingering. She looked up at his face and caught him staring at her, a kind of wistful intensity, as if he was searching in her face for something he'd lost. She almost didn't hear what he had said; his eyes had pulled her attention away from the room. "...spread your legs." The echo of his request came through. She raised her eyebrows even as she looked him straight in the eyes. He gave the tiniest of nods to suggest he really meant it. No doubt because of the alcohol, one part of her brain rationalized, she found herself complying without much hesitation. Her dress crept up her thighs as she spread them as wide as possible. The air now flowed against her crotch impressing on her how exposed she was. She felt his knee pressing her leg, holding it against the front of the banquette. "I hope you like the pasta," his conversation continued as if the scene playing below the table was not going on or was as normal as breathing. "The scallops are flown in, not farmed, and they claim the fettucine is home-made, but I couldn't really tell if that was true. In any event, I think it's a great dish." As he finished, the waiter appeared with several small plates - the pasta didn't look like it would feed a child, the portion was so small. Topped with two small scallops the whole thing looked kind of ridiculous to her. She stifled a laugh at the silliness of the portions and let him divide them up onto their individual plates. 'Was it scallops,' she thought, 'that are supposed to make you horny, or oysters?' "It is a bit over the top," he agreed, noticing her expression. "But we'll have plenty to eat, and I really like all the tastes." "Oh!" She let out a startled gasp and gave a little jump, looking at his face. He looked as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening, even as his naked toes began to stroke her, opening her lips and seeking her clit. She wriggled and looked down at her plate to avoid his eyes. She was sure everyone was staring at her, even though she knew at the same time, that their little scene was going completely unnoticed. "I know it's a little surprising, but try and keep still. It may get a little more intense in a moment, perhaps you'll even climax, which by the way, I would enjoy greatly, but do try to keep it quiet." The words were incredible to her, but the matter-of-fact tone was even more amazing. She looked up again to make sure he really meant it, even as his big toe began to insert itself into her. He was working on his food and didn't catch her eye. She tried not to squirm. At least the nail is trimmed, she thought, and then, I hope he washed it! The thought made her giggle and he looked up to smile at her. "Good, huh?" Whether he meant the food or the feelings he was stirring in her, it didn't matter. She mutely nodded her head and tried to concentrate on the wonderful flavors. As his toe worked its way into her and then up against her gradually swelling clit, she unconsciously rotated her pelvis down, tucking her butt towards the front of the booth in an effort to push against him harder. The feelings from his toe's attention began to halo out, a kind of golden glow that was matched by the rich seasonings of the pasta. Her stomach, caught in the middle did a little flip-flop and she held still for a few breaths, closing her eyes to steady herself. His toe stopped. Her eyes snapped open. "Too much?" He asked, concerned but not apologetic. "Umm, maybe a little," she said, swallowing the tidbit of fish and noodle. She was salivating even as she knew she was getting juiced up downstairs. She wondered if she would leave a wet spot when they left. The thought caused her take another swallow of bourbon. "Mmmm. I'm really enjoying it. I love the fettucine and your heat is a beautiful addition to the ambience, wouldn't you agree?" Again, his nonchalance at discussing her arousal, her exposure and her sluttiness shocked her. But being a slut right now started to sound really interesting. An idea occurred to her. "I think I need to visit the ladies' room again, if you don't mind," she said, smiling slightly, innocently she hoped. His knee slid off hers as she slid across the seat and exited the booth. Walking away, she turned back and gave him her most school-girl look, wiggling her butt just enough to tease him. He raised an eyebrow and gave her a smile. Once in the bathroom, thankful it was uni-sex, she removed her dress and stripped off her sheer bra, rolling it into a tight ball and wrapping it in the napkin she had taken with her. She took a moment to stare in the mirror, the candlelit marble sink and dark walls momentarily disorienting her...or was that the bourbon? She took a breath and stared at the figure staring back at her. Her breasts were okay and her bush was nicely trimmed, ready for a summer of bikinis and swimming pools. She held the dress up from the floor and thought hard about how to be his whore tonight. For starters, she wouldn't be sitting across from him when she got back. Figuring she had stalled long enough, she repositioned the spaghetti straps, took one last look at her body sheathed in simple black, her nipples just barely visible and returned to the table. Always the gentleman, he stood as she approached. She looked at him openly (she hoped enigmatically) and suggested she should sit on the same side as him, as she had seen Europeans doing it. She emphasized the doing it, just to ham it up a little and the italics weren't lost on him. As she scooted over to let him sit down, she brought up the napkin, pulled the balled up bra out and deftly stuck it in his nearest coat pocket. Now he had all of her underthings in his pockets...soon, she realized, he'd have his underthing in her pocket. "Hmm?" He looked down and then up at her. "What is that, now?" "I suppose that if my being naked from the waist down was exciting to you, then I figured being completely naked would make it even more exciting." She busied herself with rearranging the table settings even as a wandering server rushed over to help. A Prescription for…Spoons? The plates had been removed, with new warm presentation plates in their place. She noticed the steak knives and a large flat spoon was added to the place-settings. She sipped her bourbon and opened her legs for him, even though it was more a symbolic gesture as he could no longer reach her exposed sex. "Too bad," he smiled, sipping the wine and looking at her profile. "I was so enjoying getting you wet...I'll have to give this some thought." The change in the dynamic didn't seem to faze him whatsoever. It was like an improv artist she had seen a couple of years ago at the student union. No matter what the subject, even hecklers, the guy just shifted gears with the crowd. So too with him, tonight. As she began to play into his fantasy of her as his whore, she worked her way into the role. Acting had never been one of her strong interests, even though she always seemed to take one theatrical arts course each semester. She just couldn't let go of herself enough to be a convincing role on stage. Tonight, though, tonight was different. It wasn't so much a role as it was a shift in her attitude, a kind of posture - elevating one side of her that she had always played with but never 'acted out.' The next course arrived - a thinly sliced steak nestled in a vegetable puree/broth thing. She'd never seen anything like it and didn't have the words for it. She delayed putting down her drink hoping to see how he would eat it when she realized he was waiting for her. Embarrassed, she reached for her fork and knife. "Hold it," he said quietly, watching her intently. He picked up his flat spoon and pressed it gently into the pepper puree. "Stick out your tongue." The flavors from the puree were astounding, and she lapped the liquid off the back of the spoon. He held it in front of her. "Do me another favor, if you could, Laura. As gently as you can, please insert this into you so that it won't slip out." She looked at his eyes and again saw nothing but sincere desire. She smiled a little and reached down under the table cloth to fiddle with the paddle-like spoon. It was cool to her lips, and while it wasn't hard to push it in, she wasn't as lubricated as she had been only a few minutes before. The utensil was heavy, she assumed it was silver, and she was worried it would fall out, so she pushed it in as deeply as she dared, until the handle was half-way out. Even then, it drooped against the leather seat front, pushing up against her insides. He was calling the waiter over even as she quickly finished. "Sorry, I seem to have misplaced the spoon. Could you bring another." She covered her blush by picking up her now finished drink. Before the waiter had turned away, he asked her if she wanted something else to drink and she demurred. "Water will be fine." Her hunger was returning and now her need for him had overtaken any shyness. As she ate the steak and sopped up the puree with glorious bread, she wondered what was really in store for her. Would he just take her home and kiss her good night at the door? Unlikely. She chewed the meat carefully, tasting the delicate spices and texture. Would he ask her to debase herself in some way? 'I suppose it depends on what you mean by debase,' her inner voice questioned. 'Well,' she continued, 'how about him taking me home, letting me open the apartment door, and then before I even have finished closing it, stripping me naked? 'Eh,' the voice commented, 'that's not debasement, that's almost romantic.''Besides,' she continued parenthetically, 'it wouldn't take much to get me naked...' Her self-dialog was interrupted as he touched her hand again. His fingers danced lightly over her knuckles, tickling the webbing between her ring finger and her third finger. She looked up at him as he was finishing a bite. "What are you thinking?" he asked. "Uhhh, nothing much really. Just trying to put the whole evening together. I, uhnnh, I've never had a date quite like this before." "Is it uncomfortable for you?" "No! Not at all." She realized she answered a little too forcefully and too quickly. "That's what's a little confusing. Not to be too analytical about it, you know, what with a soup spoon stuck up inside me and stripped bare beneath this sheath. It's just a little confusing, and I was wondering where it would lead." "I can appreciate that," he nodded, taking another mouthful. After he had swallowed, he turned to her. "Where would you like it to lead?" The images of her stripped bare, just inside her apartment door, on her knees, unzipping him and taking him into her mouth sent a jolt up her spine. Her eyebrows raised and she looked at him with an inspired idea. She quickly narrowed her eyes, casting as sultry a look as she could fashion without completely bursting out laughing. "You're making me feel like a slut," she confessed, keeping her voice soft. "Hmmmm, you think so? How?" His fingers continued their dance, sending tinglings up her arm. "Really. You think it's pretty normal to have your date stripped naked next to you with eating utensils shoved up her privates?" She asked it with a smile, the spoon handle bobbing as she shifted slightly. The waiter returned with a second spoon, presented on a folded napkin. He placed it next to Gareth's plate. "Thank you," he said, nodding to the waiter and picking up the spoon. Even as the waiter was turning and walking away, Gareth presented the spoon to her, his expectations needing no additional explanation. She hesitated, knowing what he wanted but not knowing if she could go through with it. Would another spoon fit in her? How much flatware would he want inside her? What kind of perversion, okay, not perversion, but what then, was this? She took the spoon and quickly moved her hand below the table. Once again the paddle was cold to her lips, but it slipped in a little easier, following the path of the other. With the neck pushed in, even with the first, she gently turned it and let it go. It made a soft clink as the handles touched. She returned her hand to her own fork and made a pretense of eating. "So," he pressed on. "I'm making you feel like a slut. I'm interested in what that feels like. How do you feel like a slut?" She focused on her breathing. The two spoons were distracting, as was her nudity, in spite of the black dress. The images of him spreading her wide and fucking her hard came unasked into her head. She shifted again, the spoon handles threatened to fall out. "What 'nice' girl strips naked for her date in a fancy restaurant? Let's start with that?" She challenged him as best she could. "That's not a feeling," he pressed on. She breathed. "Okay, I feel...exposed. Exposed and...a little confused...and..." She couldn't say, turned on, but it was true. "Tell me about the spoons." It was as if he was asking about her most recent shopping trip to the mall. "I...I don't know why I'm doing this...why would I put eating utensils inside me?" "How does it make you feel?" "Naughty. Very naughty," she seemed to have found release. Her shoulders relaxed and she exhaled. "And naughty means I'm acting like a slut. Everyone can see I'm not wearing a bra, and I'm sure the waiters are wondering what's happening to the spoons. It's a veritable 'Bermuda Triangle' for spoons over here." She said it with a laugh, reaching for her water, and again feeling the silver handles shift. She squeezed the parts inside her and felt them move against her clit. "'Laura's Triangle' is more like it. And I'm sure it will be a delightful triangle to explore." The image again of her stripped naked, now for his inspection, her patch of pubic hair, not very triangular in her opinion, the focus of his attention. She crossed her legs. The spoons crossed over each other, their edges pinching her uncomfortably. She uncrossed her legs, keeping them closed. She didn't quite know where to put her hands. Her left was holding the fork, but she wasn't interested in eating at the moment. Her right was in the air, its elbow resting on the table top. She put them both down, on either side of her plate and looked back at him. He had finished his food and was sipping his wine, looking at her with those gorgeous eyes. There was a crinkle to his forehead that she took to mean 'sardonic amusement' or more kindly 'what would you like?' Either way, he was leaving the next move up to her. At a practical level, she knew she would be hungry later, and under almost any other circumstance she would be scarfing up the food, it was so delicious. But at this point, she had lost her appetite. "I think I'm ready to leave." Again she said it softly, hopefully with a little sultry tone. He called the waiter over and asked for the bill and for her leftovers to be wrapped to go. She was a little embarrassed at the thought that she was taking a doggy bag out of such a fancy restaurant, but she appreciated him thinking of her. As he signed the bill, she gathered her purse and considered how she was going to extract the spoons. Again, she didn't know quite what to do with her hands. He looked up at her obvious confusion. "Your wondering about the spoons. I'd like you to try and keep them in as we leave." He turned his attention back to the bill. She blushed at the thought. How could she make it across the floor without them dropping out of her. It was absurd! There was no way. She could see herself squeezing her thighs together to keep them in, making her look like some kind of geisha. She laughed at the silliness of it. He looked up again. "Really. I think you can do it." She shook her head. "No way. There's no way. These things are heavy. I can barely keep them in just sitting here." "Tell you what. I'll get up and 'cover' for you. You shift over and stand up. If they slip out, just let them drop to the floor and that will be that." She thought he was crazy, and she was beginning to think she was even crazier for listening to him. As she shifted over, the sound of the handles clinking was so loud she was sure everyone could hear them. He offered his hand and gently pulled her up. The spoons shifted down, but the two of them together widened out and were stuck inside, the handles pressed against the inside of her thighs. "How're they hanging?" He asked conspiratorially, reaching for her purse and the foil swan of leftovers. She laughed at the locker-room greeting. The thought of walking across the floor, next to other diners was overwhelming. "Ready?" He offered her his arm and began to move. She walked with him, slowly at first, making sure the spoons weren't moving out of her. They were moving with each step, but they seemed to move up and down, back and forth, side to side. Miraculously, they didn't seem to be working their way out. Still, she felt like she was walking like a two-year old who had to go pee. She tried to walk more naturally. They were now too far from the table to cover up a dropped spoon. Her more natural stride, still not unconstrained, but at least more like her usual pace, brought them next to the first neighboring table. She smiled at him, trying to look natural, but feeling completely exposed and terrified. They made it to the door, where he reclaimed his coat and her shawl, and then they were outside. The spoons weren't going anywhere while they waited for the valet, so she rested against him, thinking about what lay in store for the rest of the evening. Navigating into the car was equally nerve racking. How to sit with the valet holding the door and not expose the silverware. Using her shawl as a shield with one hand, she used the other to feign shifting her hem out of the way, keeping the handles in hand while she twisted into the seat. She breathed a sigh of relief when the door slammed shut and closed her eyes. With the top down the wind blew her hair and into her dress lifting it away from her breasts and teasing her nipples. The breeze made it down between her legs tickling her and making her feel even more self-conscious - if that were possible. "You enjoying the flatware?" He looked at her with a smile. She smiled and licked her lips tasting the seasoning from the steak. "You play the whore quite nicely. I'm really enjoying you getting into the spirit of the thing. Would you do me a huge favor..." Her phone rang, interrupting him. She didn't want to know what the next favor was; whatever it was, she knew she would do it and the thought of driving around the city naked, her most likely image of his next request, scared her. "Hey. It's great. La Raku. Fantastic." She looked over at him, blowing him a kiss. "Um...he's taking me to his place." She giggled, raising her eyebrows at him and flashing her bush with her free hand. The silverware briefly glinted out of the corner of her eye. "Oh stop. He's not a mass-murderer. He's really sweet!" More eyebrows and her hand traced an exaggerated circle around her nipple, teasing him. "Listen, call me tomorrow, I'll fill you in. Keywords: prostitutes and silverware." She hung up, looking at him all the while. "Silver looks good in you." His words emboldened her further. She spread her legs to show him a little more. The handles clinked softly. She reached over and lightly brushed the placket of his trousers. Feeling his erection beginning to swell, she pushed down on it. As she released the pressure, it pushed up further, beginning to fill the normally empty fold. She licked her lips again and considered her next move. She had never given head in a car. She had read it was dangerous, but it seemed like the right thing to do. She reached her other hand to undo his zipper and pushed it inside, brushing across his increasingly stiffening penis. Snaking her fingers into his boxers, she pulled it free, sliding her thumb across its head. Wriggling out of the shoulder strap, she leaned over and gently blew on the hole before darting her tongue out to lick it. Slowly, building her saliva for lubrication, she slid her mouth down his shaft. Just don't cause an accident, she thought, you don't have any underwear on. **** She sensed they were approaching his house without seeing it. He had slowed down, stopping every once in a while and making turns. The sound of trees overhead, shhshhing in the wind and a distinct change in temperature told her they were somewhere near the river. As he drove up the driveway, she could hear the garage door opening and decided to sit up, leaving his erection glistening from her spit waving up at her. She smiled, thankful he hadn't come yet. The thought he would spray all over his pants upset her and she had never swallowed before. She caught a glimpse of the house just before they entered the garage. It was large. Looking back over her shoulder she could see several other large older homes, set back from the street in an arbored neighborhood. Cornwall, or maybe Grant, she figured, having taking a walking tour of the inner neighborhoods as part of a local history class. "Would you like another drink?" He set down his keys in a tray by the back door, after helping her up the few stairs from the garage. The spoons were stuck to her, glued to her outer lips during the trip over in spite of her stimulation from giving him head. They clinked as she walked; she giggled. "Ummm....are you having one?" She didn't want to drink alone, but she thought she needed a little social lubricant to keep up the act. She felt every inch the whore, walking through his house with only her dress and heels on, the spoons a constant reminder of what she had agreed to do for him. "You bet. Bourbon and seven. Never mix, never sorry." He flipped on a light as they entered a formal dining room. He moved to an antique bar, taking out glasses and bottles. "You can grab some ice from the fridge, if you don't mind." The kitchen was a mixture of old fashioned cabinets and bright, brushed appliances. A large butcher block island occupied the center, immaculate and clear of any clutter save a couple of pieces of mail. She found a bowl in a cupboard, filled it with ice and joined him at the bar. "So, what did you think you were in for tonight?" He filled their glasses and turned to offer hers. She wanted to tell him her fantasy of him taking her right there, of her kneeling down and making him come in her mouth, of a dozen other images in which she was ravaged; all perfectly consistent with spoons in her slit and her acting the whore. But she didn't feel right telling him. Better it just happened. She sipped her drink to buy time, the liquor burning a warm trail down her throat. "What did you want to do to me?" She asked, her eyes quickly looking down from his face into her drink, her tongue licking the drops from her lips. He set down his drink and reached over to her, embracing her tightly against him. His hands pulled on her ass cheeks; she could feel his erection, bent over and pushing against her pubis, even through the two layers of material. His fingers curled under the hem and he lifted the dress up, sliding it between them and forcing her to lift her arms as he whisked it up past her chest. She felt a little dribble of liquid from the glass; she focused on it to keep it from spilling, even as he stripped her bare in the dining room. She extracted her arm with the drink from the loop of the dress and stood in front of him in her black heels, the spoons clinking between her legs. He kissed her, deeply, inhaling even as he probed her mouth with his tongue. She melted against him, the fabric of his shirt and pants rubbing against her bare skin. "Wait," he said, pulling away from her. She felt the glow deepen and settle. "I have a better idea." He stepped back from her, leaning against the bar and pushed her gently backwards so that the curve of her ass lightly touched the table. "What's that, Laura? You have an appointment? Let me check his book." He looked down at an imaginary appointment book in his palms, scanning with his index finger. "Ahh, yes, 9:30. No problem. Let's get you set up in exam room three." She was surprised and confused by his sudden change of character. Looking at her face he smiled gently, as if a kindly nurse and, taking her by the elbows, walked her around the dining room table, her heels clicking on the wood floor. She had left her drink back at the bar and as they came full circle near it she hoped he would stop to let her take a drink. "No, my dear, the doctor will need to examine you before he can prescribe any medicine. Just sit up here. He'll be in you in a moment." The play on words wasn't lost on her and she meekly followed his lead, boosting herself up on the wood table, its waxy surface cool against her bottom. He leaned down and lifted her heels wriggling her backwards until the inside of her knees touched the table edge. "Now, what were your symptoms?" He looked up at her, waiting. "Ummm, there's a fullness...down there...and I'm not sure what it is..." She answered self-consciously, vaguely pointing to her groin. "Down there? In your vagina? Any trouble urinating, bowel movements okay?" As he asked, he gently stroked her upper arms, squeezing gently and pretending to make notes. He stopped briefly to remove her shoes, rubbing her feet. The feeling was glorious, sending sparks up her legs as he gently massaged her instep and arch. She didn't know how to answer these personal questions. In the scene it would make sense, but she couldn't think of any answers that would work. "Uhhh, yeah, everything works fine. I just feel kind of stuffed." "Okay, Laura, the doctor will be coming any minute." He leaned over to her, whispering these last words in her ear and began gently sucking on her earlobe. With his hands, he guided her hands behind her hips, her fingers facing away from her, her elbows locked. In this position she was leaning slightly backwards, her belly tensed, her crotch exposed. A Prescription for…Spoons? "Well, Laura," he leaned back, using a more authoritative voice, "I see Nurse Mumbles has written you're feeling 'stuffed.' Let's see what the matter might be." He reached up and began stroking her nipples, watching as they stiffened. "Any pains in your breasts?" He squeezed them slightly, feeling for lumps, lifting them and watching them drop. She giggled. "No, my breasts have been fine lately. How do they feel to you?" He continued to manipulate them, watching the nipples standing up, completing a curve that started from her diaphragm. "Hmmm...I see Nurse Mumbles forgot to get you completely undressed. I'll need to speak with her about that." As he spoke, he reached behind her, unclasping a small gold necklace, moving to her earrings and finishing with two toe rings. With the pile of jewelry next to her on the table, she felt completely naked. "My diagnosis is more accurate you when you are completely bare," he confided in a fatherly tone. "Okay, let's see what's happening with you." He slid her back on the table, moving her cheeks back. As he pushed her shoulders she was forced to move her hands back as well. He lifted her knees, bending her legs outward, opening her vagina and exposing the spoons. He placed her feet down on the table surface as close to her thighs as she could manage. "Comfortable?" He looked at her concerned. "Adjust yourself as you need to, but please try and keep your vagina as open as possible so that I can get a good look." She blushed at the direction, but complied, the thought of being inspected in such a clinical way, contrasting with the dark wood of the table and the light from the overhead chandelier adding a surreal quality to the scene. She jerked as his hands traced a line from her knees to her labia. "So...stuffed...let's see." He leaned forward, his nose practically level with her open sex. "Why I see the problem! You have serving spoons inserted inside you!" She laughed at the silliness of the diagnosis and then caught her breath as she felt him begin to manipulate the spoons - gently tugging them at first to unpeel them from her outer labia and then sliding them slowly in and then out of her. It felt very weird. Not a turn-on at all at first, and then, as he kept up the rhythm, she found herself pushing out to greet his thrust, moaning slightly when his thumb stroked down on her stiffening clit. He stopped and spread the handles apart, pushing with his knuckles against the fleshy parts of her spread thighs. She opened herself further. "Very interesting," he murmured. "Let me get a closer look." With the spoons spreading her lips open, Laura began to feel as if she really did have a speculum inside her, although they were much smaller and hardly as effective. She looked down at him as he stared up inside her. She imagined what she must look like to someone walking in from the kitchen. A young women, brunette bob cut, stripped bare on a dining room table, her breasts illuminated by a chandelier, her legs spread wide open by a man inspecting her vagina. Almost too weird to imagine, actually, but even weirder was her arousal at the image. He watched as a string of mucous let down between her spread lips. Leaning in, he darted his tongue at the top juncture, pushing momentarily against her erect clit, and then sliding in to her spread channel. Her aroma was intoxicating; the moan his tongue elicited was even more so. He stroked her again, tasting her saltiness, urging her to give him more. "I'm going to make us a drink," he looked up at her, the look of confusion mixed with loss as he stopped his stroking. "Stay there." He turned around and grabbed both of their glasses, along with coasters, and set them down on either side of her spread legs. "You have an absolutely gorgeous vagina, Laura. I especially like the way you've kept your pubic hair trimmed. Planning on wearing a lot of bikinis this summer?" She just looked at him, wondering what direction the conversation and his actions would take next and then nodded, still confused and a little dazed. He moved his hands back to the spoons, they had dropped against the table, resting at the bottom of her open sex, and continued the previous motions. She closed her eyes, tilting her head back as his stroking aroused her up a notch. On an outward stroke, he kept moving, dragging the bowl across her stretched labia and out. She made a feeble sound of protest and then popped her eyes open at the sound of the metal against the glass. "Your liquor and mine. I think it will make a great cocktail." He smiled as he brought his glass to his lips, inhaling her scent as he sipped the bizarre concoction. "You'll have to try it." Setting his glass down, he repeated the gesture with the other spoon, stirring her oils into her glass. "Umm, I don't think...no.." She uttered silly protests as she watched him lift the glass to her lips. At first she wanted to turn away; she had never tasted herself and hadn't planned on doing it any time soon, but as his hand with the drink steadied in front of her lips, his other hand began stroking her, sending a rush up her spine and dropping open her jaw. "Take a taste. I think you'll find it as intoxicating as I do." He moved the glass to her lower lip, the aroma of her scent wrinkling her nose. She tipped her head forward and tentatively sipped the drink. There was only the slightest trace of her taste in the bourbon, the aroma from the handle of the spoon predominating. She took a long draw of the drink, rotating her hips in motion with his fingers as he pushed against her splayed vagina. They stayed in this tableau for what seemed like an eternity; his hand never seemed to tire, his motions never became tiresome. As her arousal built, she hoped he would send her over the top, working with him to move faster, stroke her harder, push his thumb against her now exposed clit. "Please," she moaned, "please make me cum." A bead of sweat had begun to roll down the inside of her underarm, tickling her upper side. "Are you feeling less full?" He didn't stop. "Umm hmm, thank you doctor. You have the healing touch," she responded in her best Marilyn Monroe imitation. He pulled the glass away and watched her as she gyrated slowly against his lower hand. "But I think you really want to feel fuller, isn't that right?" He raised his eyebrows even as he began to insert his thumb between her swollen lips. "Ahhh, yes, I really would prefer that," she hissed. "For that, then, we'll have to move to my operating room." He abruptly stopped, pulling away from her, leaning against the bar. She opened her eyes with a pleading look, noticing his erection pushing hard against his trousers. The thought of fucking him now fought with the thought of being laid down comfortably in his bed. At least that's what she hoped 'operating room' meant. He held out his hand, forcing her to unbend her legs and lean forward. She hadn't realized how cramped a position she had been in and again looked forward to a comfortable mattress under her back. He held her hand, leading her through the increasingly dark house to the stair. He moved her in front of him so that he could guide her from behind, or rather, guide her behind, gently brushing his hands against her smooth buttocks. At the top of the stairs she faced a dark hall, only the light from the dining room seeping up the stairs and a street lamp shining through an upper window outlining the shapes of doorways. "Just up ahead to the right. You're hot, and you're wet, but you aren't enough of either yet." Confused once again at this change in course, she let him guide her to a doorway, moving her into a luxuriously appointed bathroom, the details of which were revealed as he raised the dimmer switch just inside the door. In the subdued light, it looked like an underwater fantasy - aquas and pinks. Ceramic tile covered the floors and walls. The shower was off to the right, an arched doorway covered in the same tile as the floor. The sink looked as big as her bathtub, and off to the left was a huge spa-like tub, built into a tile enclosure. She gasped as she took it all in, and at the same time worried what it was going to feel like with him on top of her, her on top of the hard tile. He stepped in front of her and unbuttoned his shirt, hanging it on a hook behind the door. She reached up to stroke his chest, feeling the soft hairs slide through her fingers. "Ummm," he purred, opening his belt, unbuttoning his pants and sliding them and his underwear down. Her fingers slid up his chest and neck, stroking his cheek. As he stood back up she took a long look at his penis. Even semi-erect it was long and thin, his balls hanging down what seemed like a long way to her. His pubic hair was golden brown, catching highlights of the dimmed bulbs. She moved her hand down to stroke it; she wanted to see it fully erect. He let her toy with him, watching as she took both hands, one gently holding his balls, the other lightly clasping his shaft, pulling it, filling it with blood. Within a few strokes his erection stood out, vibrating with his heartbeat. She let out a little giggle. "They're so weird, don't you think?" He smiled and put his arm around her, leading her to the shower door. Reaching inside, he started a strong stream, letting the water get hot. She wondered how comfortable taking a shower was going to be until he led her into it. It was a huge shower. Big enough for four people. It had a bench around three sides, the spray coming from the open 'U'. He sat against the wall on one of the 'legs' of the U, furthest from the door, and positioned her under the spray. The water was hot against her shoulders, the tension washing down her back. She had long since given up any modesty. She had never bathed with anyone before, but she knew this wasn't going to be about washing. "Put her hands against the wall, up here." He gently placed her palms on the tile wall, opposite the stream. The angle of her back was almost perpendicular to the spray. He had her push her shoulders down, straightening her arms. The beat of the water against her muscles was hypnotic. "Always remember to breathe," he suggested, as his fingers massaged her crinkled shoulders. He spread her legs and she felt the rivulets running down her back to between her cheeks, dripping across her lips. Her breasts hung down, swinging from his massage. He sat forward on the bench and watched her. "Bend your knees, just a little." She complied. She kept her breathing in a steady beat. The water prickling her skin, the stream running now across her open backside and diverted slightly by her protruding sex. She moaned a little on her next breath as he directed her to straighten her legs. "A little deeper this time. Bend your knees on the exhale, straighten on the inhale. At your own pace." He sat back, crossing his legs, his penis standing up more from the support of his closed thighs than from his slowly deflating erection. The water moved against her opening cleft, mixing with her own juices. She kept the rhythmic movements opening and closing herself to the flowing water, in time with her breath. "Don't stop. I'm going to help you now." She flinched slightly as his fingers stroked her, the hairs telegraphing his intention. On her downward motion, he inserted just the tip of something between her lips, his finger she thought, leaving it behind as she stood straight. Again, as she bent, the tip just barely entered her, teasing her. She dipped a little lower to feel it against her erect clit. Again, it left her as she stood. She moaned again as she pushed onto him deeper. As she bore down, she felt it widen, and then further down, a rail or some kind of extension. She knew by then that it wasn't him, but some kind of dildo. Silently she rode it, settling as deeply as she could manage, rising more quickly to straighten in time with her breath. She was oiling up, the smell of her musk mixing in the steamy air. Her breath quickened, picking up her pace. With the deeper bends she moved even more quickly, now sliding onto as much of the device as she could until she felt his knuckles against her thighs. His hand was supported on his knee, giving him all the time in the world as she masturbated. With each downward push, her shoulders pushed towards the front of the wall, stretching her muscles, relaxing her more. Now moving as if a fluid, she cried out. "I'm going to cum!" And she pushed harder against him, stopping on her downstroke to grind her hips against the dildo. "Please, fuck me. Please fuck me. Oh! Gawd! Oh! Please. Please!" She stopped caring about humiliating herself. She just wanted to come. And then it came. In wave after golden wave, she felt the tension flowing down her back into her vagina against his fingers. She let her hands slide down the wall and turned to face him, straddling his now open legs as the release of orgasm glowed through her. She leaned her head against his shoulder, feeling his fingers toying with her, moving her spendings around her swollen lips. She kissed his neck, brushing her nipples against his chest. "Fuck me," she whispered into his ear. He pulled the dildo out of her and pulled her back to face him. "With what?" He smiled, looking directly into her eyes. She looked down to see his penis bobbing at half mast. "Fuck me with your hard, hot cock." He was looking for a whore and she wanted to give it to him. "Where?" He asked softly. She leaned forward again and whispered into his ear, "fuck me with your hard hot cock in my wet hot cunt." "I'm sorry," he pulled away again, "the water was so loud I couldn't hear you." She reared back, looking up at the shower ceiling and shouted as loudly as she could. "Fuck me with your hot hard cock in my hot wet cunt!" He kissed her throat. "It is, I guess, isn't it?" She looked down to see his penis fully erect and pointing towards her. He lifted her up and set her down on it, forcing another moan from her. It was exactly what she needed. "I think the doctor is in," she sighed into his neck. "And you're just what the doctor ordered."