Second Date Plug Tease

The candle between them guttered in its glass, throwing a thin gold line across the white cloth and the rim of Monica’s wine. She was twenty-eight, a senior designer who spent her days arguing with printers, and tonight her hands would not stay still. She set the glass down, lifted it, set it down again. Across from her, Declan watched with the kind of patience that had already ruined her once. Thirty, broad through the shoulders, dark hair just long enough to catch the light when he leaned in. Same corner table as last night. Same quiet restaurant. The difference sat low in her body and would not let her forget it.

She had put the plug in herself in her apartment, standing naked in front of the bathroom mirror with her pulse already high. Smooth silicone, not small, tapered so it opened her and then seated. The base nestled between her cheeks. She had chosen the black dress that skimmed her thighs and the thinnest black panties she owned, and she had walked the six blocks here feeling every step. By the time she sat down opposite him she was wet enough that the cotton clung. He had the little remote in his jacket pocket. She had given it to him the second she arrived, pressed it into his palm under the table and said, quietly, that she wanted him to use it. He had smiled like a man who already knew he would.

Now he turned the dial with his thumb, still looking at the menu as if he were only choosing a wine. The plug woke against her. A low, steady hum. Not enough to make her gasp. Enough to make her thighs press together under the cloth.

“You look flushed,” he said.

“It’s warm in here.”

“It isn’t.” He glanced up, and the hum ticked higher for two seconds, then dropped. Her breath caught. “Last night you left this table shaking. You remember what you asked me for when we got back to my place.”

She did. She remembered the couch, his mouth, the way she had begged. Heat climbed her throat. “Declan.”

“I want you to sit still,” he said, pleasant, almost conversational, “and I want you to think about how eager you were. You opened for me. You asked for more. Tonight you walked in with something in your ass because I told you I wanted to feel you try to behave while I played with you. Say yes if that’s still what you want.”

Her fingers tightened on the stem of the glass. The plug pulsed once, a soft throb that landed deep. “Yes,” she said. “That’s what I want.”

He smiled, small and private, and left the setting where it was. Around them the room murmured—other couples, a waiter crossing with plates, the low clink of silver. No one looked at their corner. Monica shifted on the banquette and felt the base press, felt the hum travel up through her. She was already slick. She was already hoping he would not let her finish here, and hoping, worse, that he would.

Declan set the menu aside and leaned in until his voice was only for her. The remote clicked under his thumb. The plug changed. Not louder, exactly—deeper. A slow pulse, on and off, timed like a heartbeat that didn’t belong to her. Monica’s spine went straight. She kept her face still and failed at her hands; one of them flattened on the cloth as if she could brace against the table itself.

“Last night,” he said, “you bent over my couch before I even asked you to take your panties off. You reached back and spread yourself. Do you remember what you said?”

She swallowed. The pulse hit again, longer this time. “I said I wanted your mouth.”

“You said please.” His eyes stayed on hers. “So I got on my knees behind you and I licked you open. Slow. I kept my tongue on that tight little hole until you stopped flinching and started pushing back. You were dripping down your thighs. I slid one finger in while I sucked your clit, and you made a sound I still hear when I close my eyes.”

The pulse jumped to a quicker rhythm. Monica bit the inside of her cheek. A waiter passed close enough that she smelled rosemary off a plate, and she managed a thin smile that meant nothing. Declan waited until the man was gone.

“Then two fingers,” he went on, voice low and filthy and calm. “You took them. Your ass was greedy. It kept pulling. I could feel you sucking my fingers deeper every time I tried to ease them out. You were loose and hot and shaking, and you looked over your shoulder at me with your mouth open, and you asked if I was going to fuck you there. You were already hopeful. You wanted my cock where my fingers were. Thick. All the way in. You said you could take it.”

“I could,” she whispered. Her hips wanted to rock. She locked them. The plug throbbed in a rolling wave, high for three beats, soft for one, high again. Her clit ached against the seam of her panties. She was close enough that the next pulse might tip her if she let it. “Declan, if you keep—”

“I know.” He reached across and brushed his knuckles over the back of her hand, a nothing touch that felt obscene. “You’re going to sit here and take it. You’re not going to come at this table unless I tell you to. Nod if you understand.”

She nodded. The wave climbed. Her breath went shallow.

“Good girl.” He let the speed drop just enough that she could think, then brought it back in a mean little flutter that made her toes curl inside her heels. “When we leave, I’m going to put you on your knees in my apartment. You’re going to suck my cock while that plug works you. I want to watch you try to keep your mouth on me while you come around it. I want your lipstick on me and your ass buzzing and your eyes wet because you can’t decide which feels better. And when you’ve swallowed, or when you’ve made a mess of your chin—I haven’t decided yet—I’m going to bend you over and spank you. Hard. While it vibrates. I want your ass red and full and you thanking me between every smack.”

Monica’s thighs trembled. She pressed them together and the pressure only drove the base tighter against her. A small sound escaped, half a moan, bitten off so fast it might have been a cough. Declan heard it. His mouth curved.

“You like that picture.”

“Yes.”

“Say it properly.”

The flutter became a steady, ruthless buzz. She gripped the edge of the table. “I want to suck your cock while I come on the plug,” she said, barely moving her lips. “I want you to spank me while it vibrates. I want you to fuck my ass after. I wanted it last night. I still want it.”

“There she is.” He eased the setting down to a throb she could survive, then, cruel, nudged it up one notch the moment her shoulders dropped. “You submitted so sweetly. Tongue first. Then fingers. Your hole pulling them in like it was starving. You whimpered when I told you not tonight, that I wanted you ready, that I wanted you walking around tomorrow with something in you thinking about my cock. Look at you. You did exactly what I asked. You’re sitting in a restaurant with your ass stuffed and your panties ruined, and you’re still hoping I’ll fill you.”

“Please,” she said. It came out smaller than she meant.

He leaned closer. She could smell his cologne, clean and warm, and under it the heat of his skin. “Not yet. Finish your wine. Eat something if you can. Every time you shift in that seat I want you to remember how you opened for me. How you begged. How you’re going to beg again when I take that plug out and put something thicker in.”

The waiter returned. Declan ordered for both of them without looking away from her for long—fish, a salad she would not taste, another glass she would not finish. While the man wrote it down, Declan slid the dial. The plug surged, a bright, vicious pulse that blanked her vision at the edges. Monica’s smile went rigid. She nodded at nothing. When they were alone again she exhaled like she had been underwater.

“You’re shaking,” he said.

“You’re doing that on purpose.”

“I am.” Another click. The pattern changed to a climb: low, higher, higher still, then a drop that left her clenching on nothing but the toy. Her ass fluttered around it. She could feel herself getting wetter, a slow spill she couldn’t stop. “Last night your body sucked my fingers in until my knuckles were against you. Tonight it’s doing the same thing to silicone. I can see it in your face. You’re right on the edge and you’re trying so hard to be quiet. I love that. I love watching you fight it in public because you gave me the remote and you meant it.”

She stared at the candle so she wouldn’t stare at his mouth. “If you turn it up again I’m going to come.”

“Then you’ll sit in it,” he said, almost gentle. “You’ll smile at the waiter. You’ll eat your fish. And you’ll know I can do it whenever I want. But I’m not going to. Not here. I want the first one at my place, with your mouth full, the way I told you.” He dropped the intensity to a tease, a faint buzz that was somehow worse, because now she had to live with the ache instead of the peak. “Color?”

The check-in landed soft under the filth. She met his eyes. “Green. God, green. Don’t stop talking.”

“I won’t.” He brushed his thumb over the remote like a promise. “I’m going to keep you like this until the check comes. Wound up. Remembering my tongue in your ass. Remembering how hopeful you were when you asked for my cock. And when we walk out of here you’re going to take my arm and you’re going to feel every step, and you’re not going to come until I say your name and tell you to.”

Monica nodded, wrecked already, wine untouched, the plug a living thing inside her. Across the table Declan sat back, easy, in control, and let the low hum run while the room went on around them as if nothing at all was happening.

They barely spoke in the cab. Declan’s hand rested on her thigh, high enough that his pinky brushed the edge of her panties through the dress, and the remote stayed in his other hand where she could see it. Every red light he gave her a short, bright burst. By the time the elevator doors closed on his floor she was leaning into him, breathing through her mouth, one hand fisted in his jacket.

“Still green?” he asked against her hair.

“Yes. Please. I need—”

“I know what you need.”

His apartment was dim, city light through the blinds, the couch from last night waiting in the middle of the room like a dare. He locked the door. He took her purse and set it on the table. Then he kissed her once, deep and unhurried, while the plug climbed from a murmur to a hard, rolling buzz that made her moan into his mouth.

“Knees,” he said.

She went down on the rug without being asked twice. The dress rode up. He unzipped, pushed his pants and briefs down just far enough, and his cock came free, thick and already flushed, heavy in his fist. Last night she had only gotten her mouth on him after he had worked her open and then stopped. Tonight he fed it to her slowly, one hand in her hair, the other on the remote.

“Suck,” he said. “And don’t you dare come until I say.”

She took him in. Salt and heat and the stretch of her lips. She hollowed her cheeks and worked her tongue under the head the way he liked, and the plug answered with a sharp pulse that jolted straight to her clit. Her moan vibrated around him. Declan’s breath went rough.

“That’s it. Look at you. Plugged and eager and trying so hard to be good.” He turned the dial. The buzz became a relentless throb, high and fast. Monica’s hips jerked. She sucked harder, sloppy now, spit shining on his shaft, eyes wet the way he had promised. The orgasm gathered low and mean. She whimpered around him, a question.

“Not yet.” He fucked her mouth in short strokes, careful of her throat, filthy in the way he watched her. “Last night you submitted so sweetly I almost gave in. Tongue. Fingers. Your ass sucking me deeper. You wanted this cock in you so badly you were shaking. You’re going to earn it. Come for me now. Come on that plug while you suck me.”

The permission hit and the pattern spiked—long, vicious pulses that didn’t let up. Monica came with his cock on her tongue, a full-body clench that made her ass grip the toy and her thighs shake and a broken sound spill out around him. She didn’t stop sucking. She couldn’t. The aftershocks rolled through her while he held her hair and praised her in a low voice, calling her perfect, calling her greedy, telling her how pretty she looked falling apart with her mouth full.

When the worst of it passed he eased out, thumb smearing spit on her lower lip. “Up. Dress off. Panties off. Bend over the couch.”

She stood on unsteady legs. The dress came over her head. The panties were soaked; she peeled them down and stepped out. Naked except for her heels and the plug, she braced her hands on the back of the couch and arched, offering him everything. Declan ran a palm over her ass, appreciative, then brought it down in a firm smack that cracked through the quiet room.

Monica yelped, then pushed back. “Green,” she said, before he could ask.

“I know.” He spanked her again, the other cheek, then settled into a rhythm—left, right, the meat of her ass, the upper curve, never cruel, never careless, hard enough to bloom heat under her skin. Between smacks he thumbed the remote. The plug surged to its highest setting, a buzzing roar she felt in her teeth. “This is what you asked for at the table. Red ass. Full ass. You thanking me.”

“Thank you,” she gasped. Another smack. The sting melted into the vibration until she couldn’t tell them apart. “Thank you—oh God—thank you.”

“Tell me what you wanted last night.”

“Your cock.” Smack. “In my ass.” Smack. “I wanted you to fill me. I still—fuck—I still want it. Please, Declan, please, I’m going to come again if you—”

“Then come.” He spanked her through it, palm landing in time with the pulses, and Monica broke. The second orgasm hit sharper than the first, her hole clamping around the plug, her knees buckling, a cry she didn’t try to swallow. He held her up with one arm around her waist and kept the toy screaming inside her until she was twitching, oversensitive, begging in fragments.

“Too much—yellow on the vibe—please—”

He dropped it at once to a low hum. His hand soothed the heat he had put in her skin. “Good. You tell me. Breathe.”

She breathed. The sting settled into a deep, throbbing warmth. When she nodded, he kissed the small of her back and reached for the base of the plug.

“Ready for me to take it out?”

“Yes. I want you. I want your cock. I’ve wanted it since last night.”

He worked the plug free slowly. She felt the widest part drag, felt herself stretch and then flutter empty, a soft, obscene gape she couldn’t close all the way. Lube from a bottle on the side table—he had planned this—cool and generous over her hole, over his cock, two fingers easing in to spread it, finding her soft and open and still clutching at nothing.

“Listen to you,” he murmured. “Already sucking my fingers again. Greedy little ass.”

“Put it in,” she said. “Please. I can take you. I want to take you.”

He set the head against her and pushed. Thick. Hot. Wider than the plug at the flare and then thicker still as he sank. Monica’s mouth fell open. The stretch burned sweet and huge, a fullness that climbed her spine. He went slow, inch by inch, one hand on her hip, the other rubbing her clit in lazy circles so the pleasure had somewhere to go. When his hips met her ass she was shaking, stuffed, impaled, exactly as hopeful as she had been the night before and finally answered.

“Fuck,” he said, rough. “You feel incredible. So tight around me. You took every inch.”

“Move,” she begged. “Please move. Fuck me.”

He drew back and drove in, a deep, rolling stroke that punched a moan out of her. Then another. Then he stopped being careful with the pace and fucked her in long, hard strokes, doggy-style over the couch, the wet sound of it filthy in the quiet apartment. Monica pushed back to meet him. Her ass was hot from his hand, sensitive, every smack’s ghost lighting up when his hips slapped against her. She reached between her legs and rubbed her clit the way she needed, and he let her, praising her for it, telling her to take it, telling her how pretty she looked split open on his cock.

“You wanted this at the table,” he said, breath breaking. “You sat there with that plug in and you thought about this. About me pounding your ass. About coming while I fill you.”

“Yes—yes—harder—”

He gave it to her. The couch creaked. Her heels slipped on the rug and he hauled her higher, one knee up on the cushion, the angle devastating. She came a third time with a sob, clenching so hard around his cock that he swore and had to still, buried to the hilt, riding it out while she pulsed and fluttered and soaked his fingers where they had joined hers.

“Bed,” he said, voice wrecked. “I want to see your face. I want your legs up. Can you?”

“Yes. Green. Don’t you dare stop.”

He pulled out just long enough to turn her. She kicked the heels off. He walked her backward onto the couch cushions—not the bed, neither of them had the patience—and laid her on her back, hooking her knees over his shoulders so she was folded, open, utterly exposed. His cock nudged her hole and slid home in one smooth thrust. Monica’s eyes rolled. Like this she could see him: the strain in his jaw, the way he looked down at where he disappeared into her, the awe under the control.

“There,” he said. “I can watch you. I can watch your face while I fuck your ass.”

He set a relentless pace, deep and thick, each stroke grinding her clit against the heel of his hand. The emptiness the plug had left was gone. She was full of him, stretched around him, taking every inch and pushing up for more. Her hands found his forearms and held on. Sweat shone on his chest. She was loud now, past caring, moaning his name, telling him how good it was, how much thicker he was than his fingers, how she had hoped for this all through dinner while he tortured her with the remote.

“You’re taking me so well,” he groaned. “So deep. Look at you. My good girl. Come with me. I want to feel you come on my cock while I fill you up.”

“Yes—Declan—I’m close—don’t stop—”

He didn’t. He fucked her through the climb, angle perfect, hand steady on her clit, eyes locked on hers so she couldn’t hide. The orgasm crashed over her and dragged him with it. Monica cried out, back arching, ass clamping down in rhythmic pulses she couldn’t control. Declan buried himself and came hard, hips jerking, heat flooding her in thick pulses while he groaned her name against her knee. They stayed locked together through the aftershocks, shaking, breathing like they had run.

When he could move he eased her legs down, still inside her, and kissed her mouth, slow and wrecked and sweet.

He pulled out carefully. Monica hissed at the loss, then sighed, boneless against the cushions. Declan stayed between her thighs and watched, one hand stroking her hip, as his cum welled and slipped from her well-fucked hole, a slow white leak over skin still pink from his palm. She felt it and didn’t close her legs. She wanted him to see.

“Beautiful,” he said, quiet now. He reached for a warm cloth from the bathroom—he had thought of that too—and cleaned her with gentle passes, checking her face the whole time, asking if anything hurt beyond the good ache. Nothing did. She was floaty, sore in the way she had craved, smiling without meaning to.

He kissed her again, deeper, tasting wine and salt and her. When he drew back he brushed her hair off her forehead.

“Third date,” he said. “Friday. Same table. I want the plug in before you leave your apartment. I’ll have the remote. And after, if you’re still green, I’m going to fuck your ass again and I’m not going to make you wait until we get home to start earning it.”

Monica’s breath caught. The ache flared, eager already. She met his eyes.

“What time do you want me wearing it?” she asked.