Tethered Desires

The restaurant is like a stage, lit just enough to catch the gleam in your eyes when you walk in, and dark enough that every corner whispers with secrets. The low hum of jazz snakes through the air, mingling with the soft clink of glasses and murmured conversation. I sit back in the booth, a cigarette smouldering between my fingers, watching the smoke curl lazily toward the ceiling. It’s almost as if I’m waiting for the opening act to begin.

Then you appear.

The moment you step through the door, time seems to slow. You’re a vision—classic, elegant, like something from an old film reel, where everything is black-and-white but your presence is pure, vivid. That dress… the one I chose for tonight, clings to your body with dangerous precision, hinting at what lies beneath but never quite giving it away. The slit along your thigh teases with every step, a promise wrapped in silk.

You know I’m watching. You always know.

Your eyes meet mine across the room, and I can see the flicker of amusement in them. You love the way I drink you in, the way my gaze lingers, tracing every curve, every sway of your hips. There’s no hiding it—you’re mine tonight, and the way you move tells me you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You glide toward me, your steps slow, deliberate. The restaurant fades into the background; it’s just you and me, the space between us electric. You slide into the booth, and for a moment, I let you take control, just long enough to settle in, to let the tension build.

“Sir,” you say softly, your voice carrying that soft hum of submission, though it’s laced with the tease of challenge. You’re always testing how far you can push me, but tonight… tonight, you already know the answer.

I reach for you, my hand sliding to the back of your neck, fingers grazing the soft skin beneath your hair, and pull you into a kiss. Not gentle. It’s hard, demanding, the kind of kiss that tells you exactly what this night will become. Your breath catches, but you don’t pull away. You never do.

I pull back slowly, my thumb brushing over your lower lip, feeling the heat of your breath against my skin. “Good girl,” I whisper, my voice low, a growl rumbling in my throat,  a deep, deliberate drawl. The kind of tone that leaves no question about who’s in control tonight.

You respond just as I knew you would. A flicker of excitement flashes in your eyes as you shift slightly in your seat, your knees brushing against mine under the table. The tension between us is palpable, and I can already feel the way you’re aching for me to touch you again, to do more than just brush against your skin.

I pour the wine, watching as you bring the glass to your lips. There’s something in the way you sip, the slow tilt of your head, the way your tongue lingers just a second too long on the rim of the glass. It’s a quiet tease, subtle, but I see it. You want me to take notice.

“Enjoying yourself?” I ask, leaning back, and letting my hand slide under the table. My fingers brush over your knee, a light touch that’s enough to make your breath hitch. The candlelight flickers, casting a soft glow across your skin, but I’m watching the way your chest rises and falls, the way your body responds to even the smallest hint of contact.

“Yes, Sir,” you whisper, trying to keep your composure, but I feel the slight tremor in your legs as my hand moves higher. My fingers trace slow, lazy circles up the inside of your thigh, stopping just before the heat of you. You shift again, trying to press your legs together, but I slip my hand further between them, keeping you open for me.

“Spread your legs,” I murmur, my voice dark, filled with intent. You hesitate, but only for a heartbeat. Then you obey, parting your thighs just enough for me to slip my hand higher, my fingertips grazing the edge of your panties.

You bite your lip, trying to stay composed, but I can see the tension building in your body, the way you’re fighting to keep control. You don’t want to make a scene, not here, not in front of all these strangers. But the way your body reacts tells me you’re already halfway gone, already teetering on the edge of begging.

I smirk, letting my fingers linger, teasing you with the lightest touch, not enough to give you what you need, but enough to keep you wanting. “Stay still,” I whisper, my lips barely moving, but the command is clear.

The waiter arrives, oblivious to the tension between us, and I pull my hand back, leaving you empty, wanting. Your eyes flicker with frustration, but you keep your expression calm, that mask of poise you wear so well. You’re playing your part, just like Bergman in the final act, pretending not to feel what’s bubbling beneath the surface, but I know you too well.

We eat in silence, the tension between us growing with every moment. I take my time, enjoying every bite of steak, every sip of wine, while I watch you fight to keep control. But I can see the way your body shifts, the way your thighs press together under the table, trying to find relief where I left you wanting.

When the plates are cleared, I stand and offer my hand. “Come with me.”

You take it without hesitation, and I lead you out into the cool night air, the city alive with the hum of distant traffic and the glow of street lamps. The moment we’re alone, I pull you into a shadowed alley, pressing your back against the brick wall. My body pins yours, my hand slipping beneath the hem of your dress, fingers brushing against the lace barrier between us.

“You’re not wearing this for long,” I growl against your ear, my breath hot against your neck. My hand slides up, pressing against the damp heat between your legs, and I feel you shudder under my touch.

“Sir…” you whisper, your voice breathless, filled with that delicious mix of need and desperation. You want more, but you know better than to ask. I’m the one who decides when, and how.

I press my lips to your throat, my teeth grazing the soft skin there, biting down just enough to make you gasp. “Good girl,” I murmur, my hand slipping past the lace, fingers finding the wetness already waiting for me. You arch against me, your body trembling with need, but I pull back, just enough to keep you from finding release.

“Not yet,” I whisper, my lips brushing against yours. “You’ll get what you want when I decide you’ve earned it.”

And with that, I pull away, leaving you breathless, your body still trembling with the need I’ve ignited, knowing that tonight is far from over.