KurvyKate
Magistrate
Waiting Part 3
He’d paid for me until 1.00am the next morning but an important part of my challenge was that I would continue to work in the main restaurant. He told me he’d arranged with my boss to alternate me in 20 minute sessions between serving real customers and serving him in the private room. It was very important for me to watch the clock and be where I was supposed to be on time. The clock was running now, at 7.06pm. There were no friends in the play room, I would be his alone. Then he showed me the contents of his case and I knew how much he wanted me for himself.
Out in the restaurant, while I was trying to work, I would suffer something called a Tickling Truman. I can’t afford dedicated sex toys which is why mine are all home made lash ups. Tonight I would get to experience what all the fuss was about. We’d talked about it, I’d googled it and I knew it was more than a vibrator. It featured lateral contacts through which it would deliver an adjustable programme of electric shocks while inside me, and presumably while vibrating. He put it down on the table after his matter of fact, technical description of it and I tried to stroke it with my fingers to see what it felt like. He playfully slapped my hand away. “No, you don’t touch it.” he told me.
I didn’t touch the Eroscillator either. This would be used on me in the playroom. It was “engineered” in Switzerland. It was different to an ordinary vibrator and so excessively expensive I’d never heard of it. At least one of its multitude of attachments would inevitably blow my head off, but I must resist. “Don’t you dare come!” he said, like that, in the way I’d told him I’d ache to come if he used that tone of voice. I remembered how well he knew me.
To prevent me interfering with being tortured by the Eroscillator, I would be roped or chained variously to any of the anchor points around the room, on the table or the sofa. “I might fuck you.” he said, using another tone of voice to imply I wouldn’t be interfering with that either. I must have looked surprised, we hadn’t talked about that on line, ever. “You answered yes.” he pointed out.
By then the time was 7.13pm, 7 minutes from the end of my first playroom session, when I would have to leave with the Tickling Truman inside me. He told me to remove my tack pad and my original knickers and select a pair robust enough to stop the TT falling out. If it did I couldn’t pick it up, not being allowed to touch it. God help me if I returned to the play room empty! “You’re not kidding are you?” I asked.
There were always these little details, points of procedure intended to trip me up, humour in the serious business of keeping me in my place. I turned to sort through the pile of my own underwear he’d provided for me while he lubed up the TT.
I picked a stretchy black thong and put it on, 7.17pm. “Bend over the table please.”
He told me both its vibrating and shock programmes would initially run on minimum power settings. I worried that it would stick out too far, it was too long and anyone in the restaurant would see it. I hardly heard him explain that the settings would change at his discretion later, because I was panicking over facing normal customers looking like a porn whore. I would have it inserted for a cumulative time period of two hours maximum during the evening he told me, technically. “Got that?” he asked.
My heart was pounding so hard I couldn’t hear him over the noise of my pulse in my ears. I put my hands palms down on the table to steady myself against him pushing the TT into me and felt him ping my thong in place over it. I felt it pushed deeper by the tension in the fabric. Then it came alive when he switched it on but thankfully my stressed breathing was louder. The sensations were easily bearable, I’d get used to those. The worst part of it was that it was there at all, an awful and obvious intrusion. “Go on, get up, get to work.” he said and held the door open for me. “See you in 20 minutes and don’t be late.” 7.20pm, exactly.
He shut me out of the playroom. The feeling of exposure and loneliness when he closed the door behind me was intense. I don’t think I’ve ever felt that naked although physically I wasn’t. What did he expect me to do now? I felt lost, I wanted to cry. Should I hide for 20 minutes? I thought seriously about risking that but what if he checked up on me? It wasn’t an option, it was certain to be a punishable offence. It occurred to me that naked might be defined as being uncovered sexually, to have your dirty secrets displayed for others to judge? That’s how I felt.
To get to the restaurant it’s necessary to walk through the bar. Walk? Yeah right! I felt plugged by the machine inside me but conquered needing to throw up in panic and planned hiding behind the bar. I thought I’d pretend I was serving drinks, at least for as long as I could get away with it. Abandoning the quiet seclusion of the playroom doorway might have been one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. One small challenge at a time eh? Unfortunately my boss was already there, right where I’d planned to hide.
He noticed I was stressed but not why as I took a chance on being seen from the restaurant, passing in front of the bar on my way to the access hatch. Behind it he couldn’t see me below my waist, until I joined him. I stood side on so he could stare at my left leg, all stocking and thigh, my real disgrace hidden by it. “Wow, sexy!” he joked, “Is that for him in there?” Of course it was, as if I’d dress like this normally. “Don’t look at me!” I snarled but he couldn’t help it. “We should do this more often.” he joked. I thought “Fuck off!”
“Did he turn up alone?” I asked, meaning my tormentor. My boss nodded in the direction of the restaurant. A middle aged couple sat at one table opposite a young man and what looked like his girlfriend on a second. Between them, at the far end I could see a red headed woman in jeans, reading. Did my tormentor have an accomplice? I was sure he’d mentioned someone like her. Bastard! I wasn’t going to get away with anything!
“Has Vicky gone home?” I had to ask twice because my boss wanted to know who “that bloke“ was instead of answering me. He meant him who could make me wear skirts this short. “Is he a friend of yours?” “Sort of.” I admitted before I discovered Vicky had left, leaving the restaurant’s tables as my responsibility only. Bastard twice.
7.26pm. There’s a clock behind the bar. I caught my boss still looking at me when I checked it. “I’ve seen what’s in that room.” he said, as if that was a bad thing. “So?” I snapped. He asked me if I was a whore. Cleverly, I thought, I said “He’s paying you, not me!”
My boss wanted to know what the deal was, he wanted to talk to me about this interesting new aspect to my character which I’d been hiding. “How often do you do this sort of thing?" he asked with a grin on his face. Sooner or later he was going to find out it was worse than he thought anyway so I turned to face him. So he’d notice my knickers appeared to be stretched over something buried in my chuff. To make sure he did I let him watch me turn round. “I’m struggling OK?” I said, ”Leave me alone please, I’ll explain later.” I checked the clock again, 7.28pm, “Sorry, I gotta go.”
Well I had to. I knew I had to do something to make it look like I was trying to work, and I was faithfully suffering the crushing public humiliation I deserved. That is before I had to be back in the playroom. I tried to forget about what my boss thought of me and finding another job, and focused on the red head. I walked up to her table having crossed the restaurant with my hands crossed behind me under my arse, because danger would come from behind. “Excuse me, is there anything I can get you?” I asked her. How courageous am I?
She put her book down next to a note pad, a pen and the phone on her table and I noticed the book wasn’t in English. Before she looked at me she looked past me, at the two couples my appearance had just offended. Then she wordlessly beckoned me to come closer, watching my face, to enjoy the fear in my eyes? I was certain of who she was then. She looked down at my crotch and ordered me to lift my skirt with a flick of her hand. So I did. A second later she was in my underwear, probing my rose. She made me gasp in shock, indignant that she could be so brutally forward.
I felt like she was inspecting me, more so when she wrote 7.30 on her note pad with something in that foreign language. For some reason my nipples were important too and she reached up to feel for them through my shirt and bra. Did she feel I hadn’t enjoyed (suffered?) enough stimulation? I watched her reach between my thighs for the TT’s controls and felt it escalate. That made me gasp too, and fight to stand still. She seemed satisfied I was now adequately tested and picked up her phone to text something to someone, in the playroom I was sure.
For a while she was entertained by my squirming, watching me put up with the increased power. Then she dismissed me with another wave of her hand to attempt the return journey across the restaurant, this time towards the other tables’ appalled customers. My boss had watched me fascinated, and looked something like bewildered.
I thought I’d hide near the playroom door for the remainder of my time outside it but my boss followed me. “Have you got a vibrator in your snatch?” he asked, as horrified as he was interested. The TT was audibly purring now, on its new setting, and tingling me in waves. 7.38pm, I'd endure two minutes of stupid interrogation then.
“Do you get off on it, showing it off?” he asked. I told him to leave me alone. “Does it turn you on? You dirty cow!” I warned I’d slap him if he tried to touch me, because I thought he would. I put up with “C’mon, lets have a look.” from a crouching position and then “What’s he gonna do to you in there?” dirty cow that I was. I deflected a host of other lewd questions before 7.40pm saved me. He tried to peer round the door when I opened it but I slammed it shut in his face.
To be continued.............
He’d paid for me until 1.00am the next morning but an important part of my challenge was that I would continue to work in the main restaurant. He told me he’d arranged with my boss to alternate me in 20 minute sessions between serving real customers and serving him in the private room. It was very important for me to watch the clock and be where I was supposed to be on time. The clock was running now, at 7.06pm. There were no friends in the play room, I would be his alone. Then he showed me the contents of his case and I knew how much he wanted me for himself.
Out in the restaurant, while I was trying to work, I would suffer something called a Tickling Truman. I can’t afford dedicated sex toys which is why mine are all home made lash ups. Tonight I would get to experience what all the fuss was about. We’d talked about it, I’d googled it and I knew it was more than a vibrator. It featured lateral contacts through which it would deliver an adjustable programme of electric shocks while inside me, and presumably while vibrating. He put it down on the table after his matter of fact, technical description of it and I tried to stroke it with my fingers to see what it felt like. He playfully slapped my hand away. “No, you don’t touch it.” he told me.
I didn’t touch the Eroscillator either. This would be used on me in the playroom. It was “engineered” in Switzerland. It was different to an ordinary vibrator and so excessively expensive I’d never heard of it. At least one of its multitude of attachments would inevitably blow my head off, but I must resist. “Don’t you dare come!” he said, like that, in the way I’d told him I’d ache to come if he used that tone of voice. I remembered how well he knew me.
To prevent me interfering with being tortured by the Eroscillator, I would be roped or chained variously to any of the anchor points around the room, on the table or the sofa. “I might fuck you.” he said, using another tone of voice to imply I wouldn’t be interfering with that either. I must have looked surprised, we hadn’t talked about that on line, ever. “You answered yes.” he pointed out.
By then the time was 7.13pm, 7 minutes from the end of my first playroom session, when I would have to leave with the Tickling Truman inside me. He told me to remove my tack pad and my original knickers and select a pair robust enough to stop the TT falling out. If it did I couldn’t pick it up, not being allowed to touch it. God help me if I returned to the play room empty! “You’re not kidding are you?” I asked.
There were always these little details, points of procedure intended to trip me up, humour in the serious business of keeping me in my place. I turned to sort through the pile of my own underwear he’d provided for me while he lubed up the TT.
I picked a stretchy black thong and put it on, 7.17pm. “Bend over the table please.”
He told me both its vibrating and shock programmes would initially run on minimum power settings. I worried that it would stick out too far, it was too long and anyone in the restaurant would see it. I hardly heard him explain that the settings would change at his discretion later, because I was panicking over facing normal customers looking like a porn whore. I would have it inserted for a cumulative time period of two hours maximum during the evening he told me, technically. “Got that?” he asked.
My heart was pounding so hard I couldn’t hear him over the noise of my pulse in my ears. I put my hands palms down on the table to steady myself against him pushing the TT into me and felt him ping my thong in place over it. I felt it pushed deeper by the tension in the fabric. Then it came alive when he switched it on but thankfully my stressed breathing was louder. The sensations were easily bearable, I’d get used to those. The worst part of it was that it was there at all, an awful and obvious intrusion. “Go on, get up, get to work.” he said and held the door open for me. “See you in 20 minutes and don’t be late.” 7.20pm, exactly.
He shut me out of the playroom. The feeling of exposure and loneliness when he closed the door behind me was intense. I don’t think I’ve ever felt that naked although physically I wasn’t. What did he expect me to do now? I felt lost, I wanted to cry. Should I hide for 20 minutes? I thought seriously about risking that but what if he checked up on me? It wasn’t an option, it was certain to be a punishable offence. It occurred to me that naked might be defined as being uncovered sexually, to have your dirty secrets displayed for others to judge? That’s how I felt.
To get to the restaurant it’s necessary to walk through the bar. Walk? Yeah right! I felt plugged by the machine inside me but conquered needing to throw up in panic and planned hiding behind the bar. I thought I’d pretend I was serving drinks, at least for as long as I could get away with it. Abandoning the quiet seclusion of the playroom doorway might have been one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. One small challenge at a time eh? Unfortunately my boss was already there, right where I’d planned to hide.
He noticed I was stressed but not why as I took a chance on being seen from the restaurant, passing in front of the bar on my way to the access hatch. Behind it he couldn’t see me below my waist, until I joined him. I stood side on so he could stare at my left leg, all stocking and thigh, my real disgrace hidden by it. “Wow, sexy!” he joked, “Is that for him in there?” Of course it was, as if I’d dress like this normally. “Don’t look at me!” I snarled but he couldn’t help it. “We should do this more often.” he joked. I thought “Fuck off!”
“Did he turn up alone?” I asked, meaning my tormentor. My boss nodded in the direction of the restaurant. A middle aged couple sat at one table opposite a young man and what looked like his girlfriend on a second. Between them, at the far end I could see a red headed woman in jeans, reading. Did my tormentor have an accomplice? I was sure he’d mentioned someone like her. Bastard! I wasn’t going to get away with anything!
“Has Vicky gone home?” I had to ask twice because my boss wanted to know who “that bloke“ was instead of answering me. He meant him who could make me wear skirts this short. “Is he a friend of yours?” “Sort of.” I admitted before I discovered Vicky had left, leaving the restaurant’s tables as my responsibility only. Bastard twice.
7.26pm. There’s a clock behind the bar. I caught my boss still looking at me when I checked it. “I’ve seen what’s in that room.” he said, as if that was a bad thing. “So?” I snapped. He asked me if I was a whore. Cleverly, I thought, I said “He’s paying you, not me!”
My boss wanted to know what the deal was, he wanted to talk to me about this interesting new aspect to my character which I’d been hiding. “How often do you do this sort of thing?" he asked with a grin on his face. Sooner or later he was going to find out it was worse than he thought anyway so I turned to face him. So he’d notice my knickers appeared to be stretched over something buried in my chuff. To make sure he did I let him watch me turn round. “I’m struggling OK?” I said, ”Leave me alone please, I’ll explain later.” I checked the clock again, 7.28pm, “Sorry, I gotta go.”
Well I had to. I knew I had to do something to make it look like I was trying to work, and I was faithfully suffering the crushing public humiliation I deserved. That is before I had to be back in the playroom. I tried to forget about what my boss thought of me and finding another job, and focused on the red head. I walked up to her table having crossed the restaurant with my hands crossed behind me under my arse, because danger would come from behind. “Excuse me, is there anything I can get you?” I asked her. How courageous am I?
She put her book down next to a note pad, a pen and the phone on her table and I noticed the book wasn’t in English. Before she looked at me she looked past me, at the two couples my appearance had just offended. Then she wordlessly beckoned me to come closer, watching my face, to enjoy the fear in my eyes? I was certain of who she was then. She looked down at my crotch and ordered me to lift my skirt with a flick of her hand. So I did. A second later she was in my underwear, probing my rose. She made me gasp in shock, indignant that she could be so brutally forward.
I felt like she was inspecting me, more so when she wrote 7.30 on her note pad with something in that foreign language. For some reason my nipples were important too and she reached up to feel for them through my shirt and bra. Did she feel I hadn’t enjoyed (suffered?) enough stimulation? I watched her reach between my thighs for the TT’s controls and felt it escalate. That made me gasp too, and fight to stand still. She seemed satisfied I was now adequately tested and picked up her phone to text something to someone, in the playroom I was sure.
For a while she was entertained by my squirming, watching me put up with the increased power. Then she dismissed me with another wave of her hand to attempt the return journey across the restaurant, this time towards the other tables’ appalled customers. My boss had watched me fascinated, and looked something like bewildered.
I thought I’d hide near the playroom door for the remainder of my time outside it but my boss followed me. “Have you got a vibrator in your snatch?” he asked, as horrified as he was interested. The TT was audibly purring now, on its new setting, and tingling me in waves. 7.38pm, I'd endure two minutes of stupid interrogation then.
“Do you get off on it, showing it off?” he asked. I told him to leave me alone. “Does it turn you on? You dirty cow!” I warned I’d slap him if he tried to touch me, because I thought he would. I put up with “C’mon, lets have a look.” from a crouching position and then “What’s he gonna do to you in there?” dirty cow that I was. I deflected a host of other lewd questions before 7.40pm saved me. He tried to peer round the door when I opened it but I slammed it shut in his face.
To be continued.............
