The Pearl Necklace

This story is COPYRIGHT 2006, all rights reserved.

Bondage in all forms made me squirm, from the physical reality of handcuffs and rope to the mental thrill of being told not to move. I even enjoyed the way rings on my fingers and the barbell through my tongue felt, because to me it was another form of bondage. Feeling the jewellery there reminded me of bondage by changing or restricting the movements of a body part.

I was sitting thinking about this while I gazed at my husband across the table at our favorite restaurant. I was wearing a stunning white dress cut much like a movie starlet might wear. A collar made of three rows of pearls adorned my neck, and on each wrist I wore a matching bracelet. These were the subtle ways that I showed my submission to my lover.

I caught him admiring the nape of my neck, a place he often pressed warm kisses. Over the candlelight his eyes danced with a spark that I recognized as a building urge to devour me much like a lion relishes in the thrill of a kill. I tilted my head slightly, stretching my neck a little, my fingertips playing gently with the pearls there.

Smiling, he patted the plush velvet beside him, beckoning me to join him on his side of the table. We were sitting in a deep rounded booth and so I slid from my side over to his without having to stand up. My senses were heightened as I now felt that everyone in the restaurant might think it weird that we were sitting together instead of across from one another as most people do. He caught the blush on my cheeks and softly kissed me there.

In a hushed tone he whispered to me that my hands were now to be tied at my sides, that they were no longer able to move. He told me to imagine that the pearl bracelets I wore were actually attached to my waist and would break should I make any movement over an inch. I felt heat spreading between my legs as I imagined the situation and obediently sat still. He turned away from me and began to drink from his wine. For a few minutes, we just sat in silence.

His hand slid over my thigh slowly and caressed my skin through the soft material of my dress. He stroked my leg upwards, moving towards my pussy, and was soon firmly rubbing me through the dress and my panties. I must have looked surprised because he leaned to whisper that I must remember to stay still and not draw attention to us. The table was situated in a way that people around the room couldn’t see what was going on underneath the tablecloth, but I couldn’t help but feel like everyone was watching.

I almost jumped when a waiter came by our table, clearing my plate from the other side. My lover’s hand closed over my mound and pressed into my body tightly. I felt myself growing wet with the excitement of what we were doing he asked to be served dessert. As the waiter left for the kitchen, my husband turned to kiss the nape of my neck and his fingers now crept up under my clothes. I gasped quietly as his fingers found the edge of my panties, quickly slipping underneath and seeking out my clit.

I struggled not to move my hands, aware of the pearl bracelets on my wrists and the cuffs they represented. My pussy grew wetter as his hands became more forceful and hunted down my orgasm, working to make me cum. I was sure that my face was shining red and I felt the skin of my chest begin to flush. My whole body stiffened as he ran his fingers up and down my slit and plucked and tugged at my growing clit. I felt my pleasure cresting, my pussy swelling and clenched my hands at my sides.

I almost let out a moan as I began to cum, my pussy juice gushing down over his hands and soaking my dress. My husbands hands expertly massaged me through the ripples and shudders as I came while I desperately fought to stay still, hands by my sides. He left me panting and struggling to keep my composure.

He had barely whispered to me that I was now released of my bonds as a waiter appeared at our table with two plates full of sweet delights for dessert. I touched my hair, a nervous habit, and smiled quietly, wondering if the waiter had seen anything. He left our cake with a disinterested nod and I knew we had been undiscovered.

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