Book 2, Chapter 33: Handsy Pants
**Madison**
“Hurry up, you big twatwaffle!” I yelled into the closet. Damien had just showered after returning from a meeting that was supposed to end two hours ago, but of course, he was late. We had dinner reservations in the city, a new and upcoming fine dining experience, and I was starving. I had hastily put on the beautiful black and silver cocktail dress with matching lingerie he had brought me before he decided to stroll into the shower like I wasn’t two minutes away from the horrific death of starvation. I’m being dramatic, I know, but I’m feeling bratty.
“What the fuck did you just call me Zemra ime?” He came out of the room, approaching me. He was buttoning his new, crisp white dress shirt. His deliciously toned abs were starting to disappear behind the fabric. I whimpered slightly.
I said I was starving. I would gladly eat him, too. He was like a tall drink of white chocolate espresso – sweet and creamy, and he could send you into hyperdrive.
“I called you a waffle,” I said with a fake smile. Good save, Madison, I think to myself.
“Uh-huh,” he mumbled skeptically. He then spent the fifteen minutes finishing getting ready, going extra slow, and being meticulous about everything. I caught him smiling when I huffed loudly, sitting on the bed. I started staring at the ring on my finger like it was candy. I wonder how it would taste right about now…
“Come, butterfly! I think the astronauts can hear your tummy grumbling from space,” Damien joked.
“FINALLY!” I sang out as I rushed out the door and downstairs. Damien laughed as I bolted through the mansion and out to the car. I could already taste the food in my imagination.
We spent another agonizing twenty minutes on the road before we pulled up to the fancy space. A giant “GRAND OPENING” banner was strung in front. The place was packed, and there was a line out the door.
Damien chucked his keys to the valet, who caught them effortlessly, and he guided me into the restaurant. Some of the guards followed behind us.
The hostess’s eyes widened, and then she shifted her gaze, licking her lips while she ogled my man. She even dared to adjust her boobs right in front of us.
Being the petty little princess I am, I came to his side and placed my left hand on his chest, showcasing my dazzling ring for her that was proudly sitting on my finger for the last ten beautiful days. “Reservation for Mr. and Mrs. Abizi,” I spat, emphasizing the Mrs., although it wasn’t entirely true yet.
Her lustful stare morphed into a disgusted face, then anger. When Damien just raised one of his impressive ‘don’t fuck with me’ eyebrows, she finally gained a little composure. She sputtered and huffed a moment before quietly saying through gritted teeth, “Right this way, Sir.”
As we walked, Damien leaned down and whispered, “Mrs. Abizi… I like the way that sounds.”
“Me too. In my hanger, I may or may not have accidentally, on purpose, forgotten to add ‘future.’” I shrugged. Damien chuckled, kissing my forehead. I could feel his smile against my skin.
We were seated in the back, in a semi-private circular booth overlooking most of the fine establishment. It reminded me of my mom’s old place – Saturn. It was grandiose with gold embellishments, crystal chandeliers, and fine china on the tables. Our guards were given a table in front of us.
We sat next to each other, our legs touching like teenage star-cross horny lovers. Our waiter came by; Damien ordered me a Dirty Shirley, and he got his favorite bourbon from the rocks. The menu is preset and will be delivered shortly.
“Hands on the table, Zemra ime,” he whispered in my ear before playfully biting my lobe. I gave him the side eye, but I complied.
Damien started playing a dangerous game while we waited for our food. He put his manly hand under my dress, stroking my thigh sensually, getting closer and closer to the heated mound that was starting to burn with desire between my legs. He loved to grope my inner thigh and brush his pinky on my clothed little button.
Our drinks came, and yet he continued to tease me. I could feel my lady juices soaking the thin, lacy fabric. To my happiness, he stopped moving his hand and proceeded to rub my core over my panties, bringing me much pleasure.
“Mr. Abizi!” a man exclaimed loudly, bringing us out of our little bubble and, more explicitly, denying me my sensual massage.
“Mr. Mayor,” Damien responded, standing up slightly to shake his hand. Thankfully, it was not the same hand that was probably smelling like my down-under paradise. They began exchanging pleasantries in a different dialect. It was like a mix of Albanian and Russian. The Mayor was a short, stout man with a scruffy goatee. He was dressed in a business suit and wore the most ostentatious, gaudy watch that screamed, ‘I want to look really wealthy and powerful.’
“This is my fiancé, Madison,” Damien says in English, turning to me with that special smile reserved for me.
“Fiancé?” the mayor asked with a surprised face. “I did not know you were even seeing someone. I just saw your Uncle yesterday, and he did not say anything… Well, my sincerest congratulations!” the man said, tipping his head respectfully.
I just responded with a smile. Then, the man made a bold move by slipping into our booth to continue a conversation with Damien. His jaw tightened, and his hand was back on his leg, but it was stiff. Damien was pissed.
And I was now sexually frustrated. This was not the best combination. Since Damien’s attention was now on the Mayor, I decided to play my own dangerous game.
I began by taking my napkin and throwing it on the floor… in between Damien’s manspread legs.
“Oops. Excuse me,” I whispered before I leaned across Damien’s lap and picked up the napkin, making sure that my whole arm rubbed against his huge package. When my hand reached the front of his pants, something was trying to say hello.
“Not a good idea,” Damien whispered in my ear before returning to his conversation. I smiled, knowing that it wasn’t a good idea. It was now a great idea. It's a terribly fantastic idea.
I started by rubbing his thigh, acting like I was paying attention to the conversation I couldn’t understand, and sipping my drink. I soon found my hand on his zipper. He straightened his posture, trying to stop me, but that wouldn’t happen.
It took two seconds to unzip his pants and pull out his erection through his boxers. I started to stroke him from the base to the tip, agonizingly slow, just like he did when he got dressed tonight. I could feel his precum on his tip, and I could hear his breath hitch every so often as I tightened my grip before pulling him up. I moved to his balls, dipping my hands into his pants and rubbing them like a kitten with a ball of yarn.
I was so grateful for the extra-long tablecloth that concealed my ministration. Our food arrived, including a plate for the mayor, but neither of us began eating.
One of the best feelings was that I knew my ring was lightly scraping over his shaft, causing him to shiver with pleasure with every stroke. I could feel his leg vibrating next to me.
I felt his muscles tighten even more under my fingertips. He was close to exploding. His chest started to rise more fervently. I took that as a sign to take my pointer finger and lather his soft tip with his leaking cum, paying extra attention to the little slit. I added just enough pressure to hear him inhale quickly. I went back to my lengthy strokes, squeezing him just enough that he could feel the cool metal of my ring scraping his manhood.
When he grabbed my thigh tightly, I knew he was a goner. He placed his napkin over his exposed flesh just as the hot liquid shot out. He closed his eyes, getting lost in the pleasure. Luckily, he covered it up, placing his free hand over his face and leaning onto the table.
“Is everything okay, Mr. Abizi?” the mayor asked.
“Yeah,” Damien managed to rasp out, attempting to hide a groan. His cock was still pulsing as he continued to shoot ropes of cum into the napkin. It didn’t help that I was still stroking him, milking every last drop. Only when I felt him go flaccid in my hand did I slowly remove my hand from him. He gave me a side-eye glare, which I returned with a sappy smile.
“He has terrible allergies, Mr. Mayor. Please forgive him… he needs a moment to catch his breath. His sneezes can be quite… explosive… He caught it in time, though… right, darling?” I asked sweetly. Only Damien knew the hidden jab in my statement. I loved teasing him; it was like my new favorite pastime. I started eating like nothing happened.
Luckily, the mayor finished his meal and made his departure, seeing another constituent’s ass that he wanted to kiss.
“You are a very naughty butterfly, Zemra ime,” Damien said, kissing my forehead.
“Aw, but you loved it just like you love me,” I responded.
“Hmm. Yes, that is true… but I wonder how much you will love this next part,” Damien said more to himself. He tapped on the phone next to him. I thought he was answering a text, but the next moment, my panties started vibrating, specifically right near my most sensitive button.
The twatwaffle gave me vibrating panties! I should have guessed. This game just leveled up, and I was loving it.
*A/N: The next update will be no later than next Tuesday, September 3. I will try to post earlier if I can. Thank you always for your patience while I try to develop worthy chapters for reading.*