Pizza and a party

At the pizza parlor, Grace orders a Diet Coke and two slices of Supreme pizza. You place your order as well then pay for the food. Grace carries your drinks to a table at the center of the restaurant. You follow her and sit down, waiting for your food. Grace looks both like an excited kid and a beautiful woman all at the same time, and you can’t help but smile at her.

“What?” she asks when she notices you staring at her.

“Just thinking about how beautiful you are.” At that moment, a teenaged boy brings your food to the table. His face instantly goes crimson at overhearing the conversation. Quickly the hot pizza is set on the table as he mumbles something about enjoying the food and darts off. Grace giggles as she watches him leave.

As the two of you eat, you notice something sliding against your leg. You look down and see Grace’s shoe lightly caressing your calf. You give her a questioning look and she just smiles innocently as she finishes the last of her pizza. Plotting to yourself, you take a sip of your drink. “So what now, birthday girl?”

“Can I get some ice cream?”

Grinning softly, you raise your hand and four of the pizza parlor employees dart over with a small chocolate sundae. As they sing “Happy Birthday” loudly, the manager, a rather jolly and heavyset woman, takes a small spoonful of ice cream and places it playfully on Grace’s nose. Your pet giggles and blushes furiously as everyone applauds. Just before everyone can walk away, you lean over the table and playfully lick the ice cream off your pet’s nose as your eyes meet briefly. Grace’s breath catches in her throat for just a moment as your tongue touches her nose.

Then you sit back down as if nothing had happened. Grace eats most of the sundae, leaving a couple of spoonfuls of ice cream. “mmm…that was good.”

“Glad you liked it,” you reply.

“Do we have time to play some miniature golf before we go?” Grace asks.

“Of course we do, pet. It’s your night.”

She smiles happily. “I’m gonna go wash up, then we can go.” You nod and Grace takes off for the restroom. A few minutes later, Grace returns with her Gunsmith Cats shirt in one hand. Instead of wearing it, she now has on the white Lazer Tag shirt she wore earlier. You try not to growl appreciatively, as this shirt is quite snug on your pet and is just thin enough to give a hint of the black sports bra beneath. The two of you walk out to the car, hand in hand, so Grace can toss her Gunsmith Cats shirt in the backseat, then you walk over to the outside miniature golf range.
At Grace’s request, you decide to play nine holes. Each time Grace puts or picks up the ball, she seems to make slight, playful efforts to rub up against you or bend over right in front of you. Deciding to play back at her, you make every effort to pretend not to notice.

When you reach the seventh hole, Grace’s playing quickly deteriorates. On the eighth hole, she can barely putt more than a few feet. And all the while she keeps rubbing against you. When Grace places her ball down on the ninth hole to put, you move behind her so her cute bottom brushes against the front of your pants. Grace stiffens in surprise. “Do you need some help, pet?” you whisper hotly in her ear.

Immediately Grace melts into you. “Yes, Mistress. I…can’t seem to be able to putt very well tonight.”

You wrap your body around her, placing your hands on hers as your chest rubs against her back, your mouth inches from her ear as you talk to her using the same breathy whisper. “Simply place your left hand here, and your right hand here. Now relax and take a nice, calm swing.” Grace puts under your guidance and gets a hole in one. She tilts her head to face you, the soft scent of pizza and chocolate lingering on her breath. Tilting your head, your lips are now mere inches from hers as you place left hand on her exposed hip. “Anything else my pet wants tonight?”

“You, Mistress…I need you to take me…” Without a word, your hand trails from her hip to slide into the waistband of her pants. She gasps, leaning into you and placing a hand on the back of your head, her club falling forgotten to the ground.

“I’m not wearing any panties,” she softly reminds you as your hand trails slowly down.

“I know. Just one more sign of what a good pet you are.” You kiss her lips lightly as your fingertip barely brushes against her labia. Grace moans loudly.

A voice calls out from behind you. “Get out of the way! You’re holding up our game.”

You keep your fingertip where it is. “Pick up your club, pet,” you order. Grace lets go of your head and leans over to follow your order. Her motions cause her to rub against your fingertip, stopping at the tip of her hood. Grace has to bite her lip to keep from moaning. You slide your hand back until it is barely in her waistband as you pull your pet to you. Holding her close, the two of you return your clubs and go to the car as the sun sets on the horizon.

“Grace, I want you to drive. You will go exactly where I tell you to go, understand?” She nods as you climb in the passenger’s seat. Immediately you reach over and unfasten Grace’s pants, sliding your hand inside and resting your finger on the tip of her hood. “You are going to have to concentrate on the road, pet,” you remind her as her eyes close with your touch. With a bit of work, Grace is finally able to pull out of the parking space and on to the road.

Your voice stays at a controlled level, watching the road and Grace in case she gets overwhelmed by the sensation. Your fingertip doesn’t move except when you push it lightly to the left or right as you tell Grace to make the corresponding turn in the car. Quickly getting her off the main roads, you take her to a small pond on the outskirts of town. The moment the car stops, you lean your seat back. “Sit in my lap, Grace.”

She crawls over you as best she can in the cramped quarters, leaning against you. You take her hand and use it to unfasten and unzip your pants, sliding her hand down to your moist opening as you rub her clitoris softly and whisper, “I’m not wearing any panties either.”

With that you finger her slowly as your left hand lifts up her shirt and sports bra, giving you full access to her pert breasts. As you cup her left breast, you watch the setting sunlight play against the light sheen of sweat on her chest. Ordering Grace to keep her hand on your moistness but not move it, you slip a finger inside her, your thumb massaging her clitoris with small up and down strokes. Grace’s free hand grabs the dashboard as she pants and gasps, surrendering to your massages.