Pushing Limits Ch. 03

This is a multipart series inspired by a man who makes me want to push my own limits. This is fiction based on a fantasy. All characters are over 18 years of age.

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I was not wrong. That's her sitting across from him. Tabby in the flesh. The infamous (to me, at least) Literotica author: Mistress Tabitha. I tell the maitre d' that Sir is expecting me. He casts an appreciative glance at my cleavage as he leads me to the table. It happens every time I wear this dress. I should have 100 others made just like it. Any good IT knows the importance of backups.

Sir greets me with a kiss appropriate for a public setting, while making it clear that he's neither my brother nor my accountant.

He introduces me to Tabitha. I am sure introductions at the Potsdam summit were more relaxed. I flash a superficially charming smile, while she doesn't even attempt to hide the fact that she's appraising me.

Sir's hand is on the small of my back, guiding me into the booth, before sitting beside me. He always wants me on the inside of the booth as a subtle nod that I need to go through him to use the ladies room. I love our little private games.

I assumed there would be some pretense, as if we weren't here to discuss potential depravity, but I was wrong. Tabitha made it clear she and Sir had exhausted small talk before I got there so she cut to the chase.

"Face is passable" she pronounces. "Big tits, nice hair, flat ass but not a deal breaker. From what I can see, she's certainly fuckable. But that's just an initial assessment, pending a thorough pre-fuck inspection."

I'm torn between wanting to burst into laughter or storm out. Incredulous, I look at Sir, and a smile is playing at the corners of his mouth. I think even he is surprised by her total lack of manners. Whatever batshit comes out of her I know he's looking out for me. Let's see where this goes...

She does not disappoint.

"I am a lesbian. Not bi-sexual. Not curious. I don't fuck men. Ever."

Looks pointedly at Sir, "That includes you."'

"Yeah, we already know all that, Tabitha" my Sir says. His impatience with listening to shit he already knows is legendary (to me, at least). If it were up to him, every movie would cut to the car-chase and leave out the exposition. He'll figure it out, he always says.

"I'll try to contain my disappointment" I add, and try unsuccessfully to stifle a giggle.

She turns back to address me. "I am a Domme. Not a switch, not bossy vanilla, not your girlfriend at a slumber party."

She narrows her eyes and continues.

"I like teaching mouthy wannabe subs how not submissive they really are. And I like showing men how willful their subs are when you strip away all their flirty nonsense and damsel in distress crap. So far, you fit the bill."

"Your Sir, as you call him, shared your limit list with me, further proof you're not a sub, just some guy's pampered fucktoy like the rest. I'll be happy to put you through whatever you need to keep your man from getting too bored with you. Again, assuming you pass the inspection."

She has to be kidding, right? Before I can say anything, Sir stops her. They've know each other a long time, and he's heard all this before as well.

"I know how much you enjoy ramping up the shtick Tabby, but you're becoming a cartoon."

She bridles at the take down, and even more at being called Tabby, which she clearly hates. "Look. I am considering this as a favor to you."

Sir laughs, "Like the chance to do more than grope her in a ladies room hasn't crossed your mind. And maybe get a scene out of it for that screenplay you're so secretive about."

Sir smiles and passes her a $50. "Thank you for joining us, Tabby. This will cover your parking."

Judging by the look she shoots us as she storms off, I don't think she enjoyed being summarily dismissed. I, however, found it highly entertaining.

Sir hands me a menu and tells me about his day, acting for all the world like we didn't just interview a potential fuck partner to dominate me for his amusement.

But enough about her. Tabby is gone, and I'm having dinner with my Sir at the place that makes my favorite version of my favorite drink. What more could I ask for? Uh oh...I spoke too soon.

Sir tells the waiter, "Cancel the martini, but the lady may have more water if she likes."

I take pity on the very uncomfortable waiter who must assume I am out with my 12-step sponsor.

"I'd love some water, thanks."

If I'd ordered iced tea, Sir would have done the same. He likes these little games. I do too, but they make such a good one here...

Throughout dinner, Sir keeps pushing my water at me. Insisting I drink, one more sip, just a little more...

I know why he's doing this, but I'm a little upset about my drink, so I'm punishing him by pretending I don't want to play. Some punishment. He doesn't even notice as he keeps quietly but forcefully insisting I obey. And I do. I can't help myself.

Of course, there are natural consequences to all that water.

"Sir, can I please use the ladies room?"

To my great relief, he immediately gets up to let me out. It's a relief that vanishes when he pushes a small black velvet bag into my hand.

"When you come back I expect this to be in your ass, kitten. After you've done that, text me, and I'll let you know if you can relieve yourself or not."

I know exactly what this is and my mind races as I walk to the ladies room.

Thankfully, the bathroom is empty. I fluff my hair in the mirror as I do a quick mental review of the evening thus far. Not only did we just interview an acquaintance as a candidate to use me as a temporary fucktoy, but now I'm also required to shove a butt plug in my ass in a public bathroom, just because I couldn't sleep last night.

Note to self: get a script for Ambien.

Once I'm in the privacy of the far stall, I open the little black velvet bag. Quite fancy, considering the contents. It's one of mine. Thank goodness it's the medium, not the large, which should really be labeled the "Never Gonna Happen" size. That thing is huge. We recently bought a set of three, which was a story in and of itself...

I had heard of butt plugs, of course, but had never used them. Sir insisted we get some for training, as well as random reminders that my bottom is his to violate as he sees fit. These are for the times when he needs something more discreet than an ass-fucking on command. Like right now.

A few months ago, shortly after we had a play session with this woman named Helga, Sir unexpectedly stopped at a brick and mortar sex shop and ordered me to go in and buy a set. I protested. Why not get them online where we can compare specs, read reviews and, most importantly, not be seen buying them in public? If I had to go in, why wouldn't he go with me? He was unmoved by my very cogent arguments, or whining so I reluctantly obeyed and went in alone. To buy things to shove in my ass, from a real live sales clerk who'll know exactly what I'll do with them. And this is how I know it's not possible to die of embarrassment; if it was, I wouldn't be here to write this.

"Can I help you find something?" God. Even when buying regular stuff, I hate when sales people talk to me before I need them. I shook my head and glanced around. Even if I wanted help I'm pretty sure the words "where do you keep your butt plugs?" would never have made it out of my mouth. Fortunately, the section was easy to find. Unfortunately, this was because there were 11 million varieties from which to choose. I panicked, and grabbed the first set that looked reasonably sized.

"Oh honey, you don't want those!" Oh fuck, is that directed at me? A blonde woman about my age took them out of my hand and put them back on the display

"I keep telling Maureen to stop stocking these...it's like they were designed by someone completely unfamiliar with how assholes work."

"Who's Maureen?" Because that's what I wondered. My tendency to focus on the minutia makes me very good at reading my Sir's responses so I can serve him better, but always embarrassing in conversations where I'm over my skis.

"She's the buyer for this chain. Works out of their corporate office."

"Oh, THAT Maureen!" I lied, with a grin.

She put me at ease as she grabbed a box off another shelf and pushed it into my hands.

"If you're looking for a set of three, these are what you need. Stainless steel, perfectly weighted, a pleasure going in and out, and they stay put. No risk of embarrassing escape attempts."

I opened the box, and they were in little black velvet drawstring bags, which look like something used to hold gold coins in fairy tales.

She took one out and removed the rubber band, then layer of tissue, then cushioned bag ...they had less careful packaging when transporting nitroglycerin by covered wagon.

"Mary!" the clerk shouted, "We have the display models for a reason."

"Thanks, Dwight!" She said, as she completely ignored him.

I was confused now. "You don't work here?"

"Why does everyone ask me that? You just looked lost, and every girl needs a little help buying her first butt plug." What could I say? It was dead obvious.

She pointed derisively to the set she'd put back. "Two kinds of people buy those: Those who want to spend as little money as possible, or those who want to spend as little time here as possible. They're the cheapest and easiest to grab. You didn't look at prices, and you can't get out of here fast enough. Not to mention, you still have that new sub smell."

How could she possibly know that? Before I could ask ...

"How could I know that? Easy. Women exhibiting your kind of embarrassment order their sex toys online. You're following orders. And the look on your face: a pout full of resentment, while the excitement in your eyes and the shade of your blush betray your arousal. You've turned a completely different color since you walked in. I bet that handsome guy parked out front, the one who hasn't taken his eyes off the door since you walked in, will find further proof when he checks your panties. And you do need help, judging by the horrible choice I just saved you from making. Trust me, these are the ones. I should know."

She handed one to me after unwrapping it. Stainless is very easy to keep sanitary and I love that. I was willing to take her word on the comfort, but ...

"Do they have anything less.... decorative? This embedded crystal in the base seems unnecessary, and a little gaudy."

She gripped my arm as she barely tried to stifle her laugh. "I'm so sorry, I don't mean to laugh...is it your Master's request that you find something understated?"

"He's my Sir. And he just said to get a set, whichever I liked."

"So, you're the one who wants something understated and elegant. For what, formal occasions?"

"Don't get me wrong, I love shiny pink things. I just..."

"Wanted something unobtrusive and utilitarian, because it feels less slutty?"

"Exactly!"

"Which is precisely why you need these."

I didn't know what that meant, and I didn't really care. I was grateful for her help but I just wanted to get back to my Sir.

I went to pay. Great. Now Dwight the clerk holding my credit card knew my name and exactly which models will be violating my ass. I turned to thank Mary, but she was deep in conversation with a nervous looking woman standing by a display of double headed dildos.

Once in the car I told Sir I'd followed his instructions, and then thanked him for the privilege of buying them. I did resent having to go in, and Sir did have to punish me when we got home about my attitude. My pussy still gets so wet when I remember that lesson...

I shake my head in the ladies room stall and wonder why I'm wasting my time on flashbacks like bad sitcom when I've got my orders and Sir's waiting. I take out the lube Sir makes me carry in my purse, lift my skirt, drop my panties and, following his admonition that there is never too much lube when it comes to anal play, I cover a finger and the outside of my asshole, which clenches even tighter. I take a deep breath, and imagine Sir is doing this for me. Just like all the times I have to stay still while he takes his time preparing my ass with his fingers until I'm begging to take his cock. I work my finger in, biting my lip to keep from moaning. This may not be my idea, but I can't help how excited I'm getting.

Someone enters and I freeze. Are you kidding me!?! They take the stall right next to mine!?! Who does that when all the others are empty!?! Lunatic. I stay perfectly still until she finishes, hoping she doesn't notice my feet are facing the wrong way. She finally leaves and I waste no more time.

Lubing up the plug, and push it into my ass, firm and steady, until it slides in. I know it's secure when I feel my ass clench around it. I take a moment to enjoy the feeling. Not just how good it feels physically, but knowing Sir is at the table thinking about me in here doing as I am told. It makes my pussy ache.

Careful not to touch anything, I wash my hands as if I'm due in surgery then send a text.

"Sir, I did everything you told me to do. May I please go to the bathroom? It's urgent."

Text from Sir: "Yes, you may relieve yourself. Then return to the table."

I race to the nearest stall to take care of things...he's so good to me.

I finally return to the table, and awaiting me is a French martini! I reach for it, but Sir lays his hand on my arm, "Not yet, kitten."

His voice quiet, but above a whisper, he asks, "First tell me what you did and how you felt." I answer as he's trained me to answer: specific, detailed, in explicitly graphic language. Even though speaking too softly to be heard by anyone but Sir, I'm embarrassed to talk so dirty, surrounded by strangers. But I'm fighting arousal so strong it's hard to keep my voice steady. Even more so when Sir runs his hand up my thigh, and starts lightly teasing me outside my panties.

When I finish, he kisses me on the head, whispering, "Very good. Tell me, whose fuckslut are you?"

"I'm your fuckslut, Sir."

"That's right. Mine. "

The way he looks at me in that moment is why I want to give this experience to him. Why I want to give him everything he's ever wanted. Why I want to let him see me dominated by another woman.