Punishment

Deciding you don't want to be responsible for ruining the evening, you decide to ignore Inara.

"Fine then. I'm allowed to punish you once an evening. I'll at least be kind enough to make sure no one else notices..." You hear a snap, and suddenly Andrea is no longer across from you.

Instead, you can feel your loose jeans being tugged down, and the various old belts being undone as someone frees your otherwise contained horse-like appendage of a cock. You look down, lifting the tablecloth slightly to see that Andrea, shy and timid Andrea, is licking her lips like a wanton slut as she stares at your cock.

"It's so big... it looks so tasty..." You can hear Andrea whisper as her delicate pale fingers begin touching the thick veins of your shaft. You have to bite back as you struggle not to moan in pleasure. Your cock has been tied down for hours, hard that whole time, and finally it has a reason to feel good. You can't help it; you let go of the tablecloth as you slide down further in your chair.

Within a mere moment, you can feel Andrea's black-stained lips wrapping around the head of your cock. You have no idea how her petite mouth can fit around your member, but you can't deny how good it feels. From the way you hear her loud slurping noises, she is clearly struggling to bob on your cock, but it still feels so fucking good.

As Andrea continues to loudly slurp on your dick like it's the best tasting food she's ever tasted, you look around and notice you seem to be the only one to hear Andrea's otherwise loud and sexual ministrations.

The wet, rhythmic sounds beneath the linen tablecloth are deafening to you, a stark counterpoint to the bland coffee shop jazz. Your knuckles are white where they grip the edge of the table, the cheap wood grain biting into your skin. Every pull of her mouth sends a jolt through your hips, a betraying twitch you forcefully suppress.

A shadow falls across the table. You look up, your smile a rictus of strained normality. The waitress stands there, her pad in hand, her expression one of profound, soul-deep boredom. She chews a piece of gum slowly.

“You ready to order, or are you still waiting for your friend?” she asks, her eyes briefly scanning the empty chair where Andrea had been. She shows no reaction to the visible tremor in your hands or the low, persistent slurping that seems to vibrate through the floor.

“Just a black coffee for me,” you manage, your voice tight but level. “She’s, uh, she’s in the restroom. I’ll order for her when she gets back.” The lie tastes like ash, but the waitress just nods, scribbling.

“Sure thing. One coffee.” She doesn’t move. Andrea chooses that moment to swallow you deeper, a frantic, gagging vibration that travels straight to your spine. You jerk slightly, your calves tensing. The waitress’s eyes flicker down to the tablecloth, which trembles with the effort below, then back to your face with utter indifference.

As she finally walks away, Inara materializes in the vacant chair. She leans forward, elbows on the table, a vision of smoldering amusement. Her purple eyes drink in your agony. “Look at you, Steven. The picture of suburban composure. Meanwhile, your shy little goth girl is discovering a truly impressive talent.” She mimics the waitress’s dull tone. “‘One coffee.’ She didn’t even question the tent in the tablecloth or the muffled ****. My punishments have finesse.”

“Make her stop,” you hiss through clenched teeth, a bead of sweat tracing your temple. The pleasure is a cresting wave, insistent and terrifying.

“I could,” Inara purrs, tracing a nail along the table’s edge. “A simple wish. ‘I wish for Andrea to return to her seat, remembering none of this.’ But you won’t ask, will you? You’re too busy fighting the feeling, clinging to that crumbling little moral code like a shipwrecked sailor. It’s adorable.” She smiles, and it’s all teeth. “How does it feel to be so desired, Steven? To be devoured?”

A low, involuntary groan escapes you as Andrea’s hands cup your immense, heavy sac, her thumbs applying a pressure that makes your vision blur. You fumble for your napkin, pretending to cough into it. The fabric of reality feels thin here, stretched over the obscenity happening in plain sight.

“She’s not going to stop on her own,” Inara continues conversationally, as if discussing the weather. “I’ve polished her hunger, just a little. She’ll keep going until she makes you finish, or until she passes out from lack of air. Which do you think will happen first?” The challenge hangs in the air, mingling with the scent of coffee and Andrea’s perfume.

Your body is a traitor, responding with raw, animal urgency to her relentless mouth. The waitress returns, sliding the mug of coffee onto the table. It rattles in its saucer from the tremor in your hand. “Can I get you anything else?” she drones.

You shake your head, unable to speak. As she leaves, Inara’s form shimmers with delight. “So polite. So ordinary. And all the while, you’re being unmade right here in public.” The orgasm builds, a terrifying pressure at the base of your grotesque cock, an avalanche about to bury your last pretense of control. Andrea’s muffled, eager sounds rise in pitch. You close your eyes, the world narrowing to the heat of her mouth and Inara’s mocking, beautiful laugh.

"By the way, Steven, just because I've made it so no one notices what Andrea is doing, doesn't mean they won't notice you if you start making noise." Inara teases you. "However, if you don't want anyone, other than your partners of course, to notice you having sex, oral or otherwise, all you have to do is wish..." Inara finishes, her smile a razor.