Micro Monday, Flash Fiction
Cocktail Hour
It’s cocktail hour and the bar is busy, people are crowded at the counter, laughing and bantering. Isla can see their backs. Guys in suits lean into girls in short skirts and flirty dresses. A lot of hair tossing and man spreading is going on. She’d bet you could almost taste the testosterone in the air.
Occupying a booth on the leatherette seating, the backs of her legs stick to the vinyl seating, simultaneously her swollen pussy moistens the fabric of her skirt. Isla feels pretty and cute wearing the hot pink day collar Sir had given her this week, and is humming with excitement. Literally! Sir has custody of the remote which controlled the sex egg she’d inserted on arrival, in the privacy of the rest room. Once in place she’d sent Sir a text, and he’d been tormenting her with crescendos of vibrations at unexpected moments ever since.
Isla has strict instructions not to come without his permission, but it is a struggle. She’d felt confident enough at the start of this challenge to order the house speciality — a cocktail the name of which she can no longer remember because she is straining so hard to keep a lid on her building arousal. She’s turned its paper parasol into confetti. Pressing her thighs together each time her pussy walls throbbed around the smooth toy, she is aware of creamy arousal dripping out of her like hot candle wax.
A waitress stops at her table.
“Can I get you anything else?” Smiling brightly, she eyes Isla’s empty glass.
“Another of these,” Isla replies, trying not to squeak. At that moment, Sir selects a particularly vigorous rumbly vibe pattern, making her pussy flutter and her desire spike.
“Sure sweetie,” the waitress smiles, a hint of a question quirking her eyebrow.
Isla bites the inside of her cheek, digging fingers into her thighs as she rides the wave of the particularly vicious vibrating pulse currently making her nipples harden and her clitoris throb. She takes some deep gulps of air - entertaining thoughts of spiders and rattlesnakes (a weak attempt at distraction) until the rumbles abate.
The waitress glides into view carrying her cocktail. The glass of chartreuse coloured liquid has a new parasol and chinks with ice fragments.
Placing the glass in front of her, the waitress studies the heart-shaped tag hanging from Isla’s collar. She touches the tip of a pink tongue to her cupid’s bow lips before sliding a small bowl of ice cubes and a stack of paper serviettes towards her customer.
“The gentleman at the bar thought you might need these, Isla,” she gives a knowing wink.
Isla’s face flushes with mortification, as her traitorous pussy throbs with excitement. Glancing over to the bar, she spots Sir, glancing up from the app on his phone. Their eye contact is electric, as is the orgasm he’s finally texted permission for her to enjoy.
[Submitted for #EroticFictionDeluxe where the theme is ‘New’, click the link to see who else has shared something saucy!]
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