1. The Local Flavour


    Date: 9/14/2017, Categories: Dark Fantasy, Authoritarian, Female Domination, Mature, Scatology, Author: nunkie, Rating: 0, Source: sexstories.com

    maybe you’d gotten bored and gone to the beach. Lots of nice little girls on the beach, but then, you already know that, don’t you?’ She is radiant in a glittering white strapless gala dress. Her hair is done up in a curly stylish mess. An uncharacteristically large handbag matching the color and texture of her dress is hanging from her arm. I am and feel bitterly underdressed in my jeans and short-sleeved shirt. ‘None as stunning as you, Sara.’ I take her hand and bring it to my lips. I hope my hard-on is not visible inside my jeans. ‘Oh, you’re such a charmer, Frank.’ The maître d’hotel announces our table is ready and holds out a jacket for me to slip into. Then he leads us to a private section of the terrace outside, where a table for two is laid out overlooking the beach. We are away from the chatter and hustle of the public section of the restaurant. ‘I never come down to the restaurant. I usually eat in my suite. But I thought this would be more romantic. Don’t you agree?’ ‘Absolutely, my dear. You must have read my mind.’ The role of the jet set lady killer is as uncomfortable and unnatural to me as is the borrowed jacket, but I try. ‘Would the lady and gentleman care for an aperitif?’ ‘I feel like champagne tonight, Oscar.’ ‘I have a fine Dom Perignon in the cellar. I’ll have it put on ice immediately. How about some oysters?’ ‘Great. We’ll start with two dozen each.’ I refrain from entering this conversation. I wonder if my credit card will hold against the bill. ...
    ‘Ah, what a beautiful evening. You’re right, the beach is absolutely stunning at this hour.’ She throws her head back and stretches her arms upwards. Her breasts are on the brink of popping out again, but somehow the dress holds its ground. She pulls out a gold cigarette holder from her purse and offers me a cigarette. They are long and thin and an elegant dark brown. I light hers, then mine. When the maître‘d returns with the champagne and the oysters, Sara orders a crab cocktail, Bouillabaisse and lobster for the both of us, with a 1992 Domaine de Saint-Laurent-l’Abbaye Sauvignon Blanc. My mood grows darker as the bill adds up. But what bothers me even more is that I am so completely ignored in the food selection process. I may not be a connoisseur of the fine foods and wines, but I am sure I can stand my man with a little help from a volunteering waiter. As things are, I feel branded as a low-life gigolo by both Sara and the maître d’hotel. I have never eaten oysters, and seeing the snotty shells arranged before me does not exactly do wonders for my appetite. ‘Come on, don’t be shy. Dig in.’ I watch Sara as she sprinkles lemon on one of her oysters and then picks it up with her right hand. She places the shell against her lower lip and throwing her head back, sucks its contents into her mouth with a slurping sound. I try to imitate her the best I can, including the slurping. I have no idea if this is how oysters are supposed to be eaten. My first oyster almost makes me gag. ...
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