Winding through the one-way downtown streets of Austin, I began to recognize the familiar route to Jake's restaurant. Jake's No. 1, a small diner serving classic American food, was his life-long dream that became a reality two years after he graduated with his Bachelor's in business. I'd spent countless hours there, helping him paint the walls, choose the right clocks, handing him bolts to help install the vintage booths that we won at an estate auction. Looking down at my fitted, sultry outfit and his classic black suit, I knew we'd be severely over-dressed, but the thought of biting into one of Jake's burgers was enough to keep me quiet.
As we turned onto the main road by No. 1, Jake breezed past the restaurant and made a quick right.
“What? No burgers?” My stomach growled in protest. The night was about me, and a night of indulgence definitely warranted a cheeseburger.
Jake smiled. “Not tonight.” He shot a glance my way and rolled his eyes. “Try not to look so disappointed, will ya? I'll bring you takeout tomorrow, how's that? Though how you fit those burgers into that curvy little body is beyond me...” he trailed off, his eyes openly raking my shape.
Mocking his manner, I huffed a little. “Well, I suppose that'll do. And for your information, I just happen to have a hollow leg. The left one, thank you very much.”
He reached over and knocked on my knee-cap. “Funny,” he said, “I wouldn't-a guessed.”
Flirting with Jake. I never thought I'd see the day.
Pulling over to the curb, a well-dressed man approached the car and opened my door. Valet. This was big news. Jake nonchalantly handed the man his keys.
The valet accepted them easily, and rushed to climb in the driver's seat. “Evening, Mister Morrison.”
I felt my mouth fall open in what can only be described as a look of pure idiocy. Jake walked around the car, linking his arm with mine, and gently leading me towards the glass round-about entrance of the restaurant. A simple metal 2 hung above the door.
“Jake?” I whispered, as he pressed his hand into my lower back and urged me through the door.
When we entered the restaurant, I was immediately floored by the pristine condition of the place. This wasn't a diner with vintage booths. Each seat looked hand-carved, upholstered in deep leathers which mirrored the polished dark woods of the dining tables. Servers wove effortlessly through the abundant dinner crowd, serving wine while delivering aged scotches and perfectly-cooked steaks.
The hostess looked up and blushed. “Mister Morrison. I didn't know you were coming in tonight. Your usual table?”
Jake looked over and smiled at my gold-fish face, eyes wide and mouth agape. This was not Jake's usual scene. He was a sawdust and hamburger man while this place screamed of class.
“Actually, Madeline,” he said, grabbing my hand and squeezing it gently, “We'll be dining in the back room tonight.”
The hostess paused for a second, glancing quickly from Jake to me, then back again. “But Mister Morrison, you've never requested the back-”
“Madeline,” Jake said, raising his eyebrows.
“Very well, sir. Absolutely.” The hostess recovered quickly, menus appearing in her hand as she led us to the back of the restaurant. As we approached a beautiful set of red mahogany doors, a server stepped forward and swiped a key-card into the reader beside the doorknob, holding it open and smiling. “Mister Morrison. A pleasure seeing you, sir.”
“Thanks, Michael. Happy to be here.”
The hostess led us into the room, relatively small and dimly lit. The sparkling chandelier hung demurely over the polished table, surrounded by a plush booth that looked comfortable enough to sleep in. Music played softly in the background, and I realized it was the same radio station we'd been listening to in the car.
After placing the menus on our tables, perfectly straight, the hostess stepped back and beamed. “Enjoy your dinner, sir.” Turning to me, she bowed her head slightly. “Madame.” I just stared.
She exited through the doors and I nearly leapt across the table. “Jake Morrison! You tell me what the hell is going on right this second!”
He raised his eyebrows in amusement and crossed his arms over his chest, an expectant look on his face.
“Since when do you come to fancy-pants places? Where they know your name? And you sit in private back rooms?!”
The waiter who had let us in approached and set down two glasses of wine; a red for Jake, and a white for me, then quickly excused himself.
Jake took a minute and sipped his drink, swirling the burgundy liquid around in the glass before setting it down soundly on the smooth service of the table. “This is part of the adventure,” he said simply.
“Clearly!” I replied. I knew he was playing it coy, but I couldn't sit back and pretend to be cool. “Be honest with me, Jake. Have you joined the Mob?”
He burst out laughing, coughing slightly on his mouthful of wine. “Maggie, this is my restaurant.”
“No, it isn't.”
“Yes, it is.”
“No, it isn't! Your restaurant is loud and bustling and...easy. Grubby. Comforting.”
He continued to smile. “Well, yes. My other restaurant is loud and bustling and...'grubby' as you so lovingly put it,” he teased. “And this one isn't.”
“And this one isn't,” I repeated, looking around the warm, clean room, a fire crackling quietly in the corner, surrounded by a marble mantle. I thought back to the sign above the door.“2. As in Jake's No. 2?”
“Exactly. Surprised?”
“That's it? 'Surprised?' Oh, surprise! I own a 5-star restaurant. Surprise, Maggie, I've actually been putting together a restaurant for the last...well, ever, and didn't tell you!”
Jake reached across the table and laced his fingers with mine. “I didn't want to tell you until it was ready. Until we were ready. And now,” he said, bringing my hand to his mouth and lightly grazing his lips against my knuckles, “we're ready.”
Chapter 5
Seeing the waiter approaching, I tried to pull my hands away, but Jake held on firmly.
“Mister Morrison,” the waiter hedged, approaching the table with hesitance.
“Ah, Michael. How's it going man?”
“Well, sir, thank you. Do you know what you'd like to order?”
Jake's thumbs began lightly brushing the backs of my hands and I felt myself turning red. Those thumbs would be the death of me. Michael looked down briefly at the methodical strokes of Jake's fingers before clearing his throat and refocusing on Jake, his eyes expectant.
“We'll start with the eggplant and goat cheese flat-bread,” Jake began, looking to me questioningly. I nodded my encouragement, and he continued. “I'll have my usual, and for the lady, the best cheeseburger we can make, medium-well.” He winked at me before passing his menus over to Michael.
“Very well sir.” And with that, Michael exited through the large doors. I noticed he had to swipe his key-card to get out, as well as get in, and I involuntarily squirmed a little in my seat.
Feeling Jake's hands slightly squeeze mine, I looked up and met his stare.
“I have something for you,” he said, his glinting eyes sending my stomach into flutters.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yes, indeed. Do you want it?”
I laughed nervously. “I don't know. Do I?”
He leaned over to his coat hanging on the end of our booth and dug in the pocket, producing a small gold box tied with black satin ribbon. He placed it squarely on the table in front of me.
“Well, go on,” he said. “Open it.”
Not able to hide my excitement, I untied the silky bow and removed the lid, pulling out the sheets of tissue paper artistically arranged on top. Reaching in, I grabbed a small string, lifting the soft item out and letting it dangle off my finger.
Jake looked at me expectantly, and it finally dawned on me that he'd given me a pair of panties. Actually, “pair of panties” was being generous; what he'd given me was the silkiest, smoothest triangle of
fabric connected with satin ribbons the color of ripe plums. I blushed so hard I thought my cheeks would catch fire.
“Flushed is a good look for you, Mags,” he said with a wink.
I tried to recover quickly. “Ha-ha, Jake. You're so incredibly funny. Now where's the real present?”
He looked nonplussed. “Go put them on.”
“Excuse me?” He may have been the owner of a fancy restaurant, but that didn't mean he could suddenly boss me around.
He leaned in, his mouth dangerously close to mine. “I said,” he began, reaching down and stuffing the tiny panties into my palm, “go put them on.”
We stayed like that for a minute, his warm breath tickling my lips and the silk wadded in my hand. Before I knew it, I felt myself nodding and standing up. Without looking back, I marched automatically to the only other door in the room besides the large mahogany monstrosities, and stepped into the bathroom.
Closing the door behind me, I leaned against it. “What?” I said out loud. Opening my hand, I looked at the panties more closely, running my fingers over the incredibly soft silk and feeling my center pulse instinctively.
I stood in front of the mirror and stared straight into my eyes. “Maggie. Margaret. Margaret Wells. You are not going to put on these panties. Jake gave them to you for goodness' sake. JAKE. Gave you panties.” I sighed, shaking my head and looking down.
“What is happening to me?” I muttered, hiking up my skirt and sliding the pink boyshorts down my thighs. Stepping purposefully into the panties Jake gave me, I slipped them slowly up my legs, feeling the softness glide against the smoothness of my skin.
Settling them into place, I lifted my skirt above my waist and turned to get a good look in the mirror. The thin satin strings sat perfectly on my hips, showing off the gentle curves of my body. Turning around, I noted how the small t above my butt framed my ass in the most flattering way. I hated to admit it, but Jake knew his panties. Shaking my head once more, I lowered my skirt, smoothing it into place, and taking a minute to tousle my hair. If Jake wanted to play, it was game on.
Walking back into our private dining room, I saw Michael, the waiter, setting down our flat-bread and refilling our wine. Without realizing it, I'd apparently already blown through my first glass. Making sure my discarded boyshorts were securely hidden in my clenched hand, I approached the table as nonchalantly as I could.
“So,” Jake said, looking up, “how do they fit?”
I glanced quickly at Michael, who seemed intentionally unfazed by Jake's remark.
“Um, what?” I stuttered, not entirely sure of the correct response.
“The panties I gave you. How do they fit? Do they feel good? I picked them out for you specifically because of how soft they are.”
At that moment, I sort of wanted to kill Jake.
“Well?” he persisted, a mischievous glint in his eye.
“They're fine,” I snapped, sliding into the booth.
“Huh, just fine?” he teased. “I'll have to see what we can do about that as the night progresses,” he said with a wink. “Now give me your old ones.”
“Excuse me?!” My face could not have possibly gotten any redder. To Michael's credit, he simply continued to cut the flat-bread into equal squares.
“Miss Wells.” Jake leaned in again, a stern look on his face that I'd never seen before. “Put your panties on the table.” I'm not entirely sure what came over me; maybe I wanted to show Jake that I could go as far as he could, or that he couldn't beat me in whatever game he was playing, but I dropped the boyshorts on the table and slowly slid them across the short distance between us.
“Now then,” he said with a smile, “that wasn't so hard, was it?” He held them up, lightly fingering the crotch and displaying them up for Michael's review. “Well these are pretty, aren't they, Michael?” Michael looked them over, reaching out to stroke the soft material that glimmered gently in the warm lighting.
“Yes, sir.” Turning to me, he said, “You have excellent taste, Madame.”
“Thank you,” I mumbled, not entirely sure what was going on.
“Will that be all, Master?” Michael asked, bowing slightly to Jake.
“It sure will be. Thanks, Michael.”
After he left, I leaned in. “What are you doing, Jake?! Master? Is this some sort of weird...sex...den?” I reached quickly for my glass of wine and downed it in three big gulps. I felt like laughing hysterically.
Jake continued to rub his hands over my discarded panties, stopping only to run his tongue along the crotch, his eyes not once leaving mine. “You could say that.”
He must have seen the look of alarm on my face because he quickly switched back into silly Jake mode. “Mags, I told you tonight would be an adventure.” He laid my panties on the table and grabbed for my hands again, holding them tightly between us. “I'm not going to do anything to hurt you emotionally or physically, okay? But I need you to trust me. Can you do that, darlin'? Can you trust me?”
I looked into his pleading eyes, and forced myself to remember that this wasn't just Jake, this was my Jake, and I would trust him with anything. “Yeah. Yes, of course I trust you.”
His face relaxed. “Good.” He bent his head and kissed my hand again, this time letting his tongue dip slightly between my fingers. “Now, I won't hurt you, and I won't let anyone else hurt you, but...”
“But?” I interjected, not entirely sure I liked where this was going.
“But you will be pushed outside of your comfort zone. Just know that at any time, you can ask me to stop, and I will. Just call me Jake, and tell me to cool it, and I'll back off. Alright? Tonight's about making you feel good, not scaring you.”
I puzzled over this for a minute. “Alright. But, if I'm supposed to call you Jake when I want you to stop, what do I call you until then?” I clearly didn't understand what was happening.
“Master, darlin'. You call me Master.”
Before I could react, I saw the large doors open and Michael entering with our entrees. We hadn't even tasted the flat-bread yet. Jake leaned over and whispered quietly.
“Touch yourself.”
“What? No!” I threw a furtive look to Michael.
“I'm not asking, Miss Wells. Play with your pussy, or I'll do it for you.”
“And what's that supposed to mean?” I asked indignantly, feeling my nostrils flair in frustration.
Before I could process what was going on, a gentle buzzing began in the panties Jake had given me, the vibrations growing in intensity until I couldn't help but call out.
Michael looked up briefly from setting out our dinnerware, then returned to laying down the forks.
“Michael?” Jake inquired.
“Yes, sir?”
“Should I let Miss Wells cum now, or should I make her wait until dessert?”
Chapter 6
I honestly couldn't believe what was happening. There I was, cheeks flushed, openly panting as Jake looked innocently to our waiter. Michael stood before us, calmly watching me squirm in my seat, the panties tickling my clit relentlessly.
“Jake,” I choked out, “What in the hell do you think you're playing at?” The speed of the vibrations peaked, and I arched against the booth with the sharp charge to my core. The intensity only lasted a few seconds, but it was enough to make my breathing ragged and loud.
Jake pulled a small plastic device out from his pocket and set it firmly on the table, his finger tracing lightly around a small, black dial. I knew instantly that's what was controlling the pulsing in my panties.
“You've forgotten the first rule of No. 2, Miss Wells,” he chided.
“Never talk about No. 2?” I jokingly croaked out between moans, the constant buzzing against my center driving me wild.
“Funny,” he teased, “but no. The first rule of No. 2 is that you may only call me Master. Now, I thought we'd already established this, darlin', but maybe you need a reminder.” With that, his fingers grasped the small dial and gave it
one quick turn. The buzzing turned into large pulses against my core, and my moans grew louder and higher with the tickling vibrations. Without warning, the pleasurable onslaught settled, leaving only a soft buzzing against my mound.
“Understand?” Jake asked, clearly amused with himself.
I brushed my hair out of my face and tried to catch my breath. “Yes. Yes, I understand.”
He reached for the dial. “You understand, what?”
“Master! I understand, Master!”
Jake smiled. “Excellent. Now, let's eat, shall we?” He looked at Michael, and the waiter launched into descriptions about our dishes. It was like nothing out of the ordinary had happened, and if it wasn't for the large bulge in Michael's pants indicating his excitement at watching me writhe in pleasure, I might have thought I'd imagined the whole thing.
Chapter 7
After a few minutes had passed and we'd both tucked into our dinners, (after all, moaning between courses took a lot out of a girl), I finally had the courage to look at Jake.
“Master?” I murmured, not entirely comfortable with the word.
“Yes, darlin'?”
“Is this what you...do...for a living? I mean, like, do you bring lots of women here to...eat?”
Jake chuckled a little and leaned in. “Mags,” he said softly, “you heard Madeline at the front. This is the first time I've ever brought anyone here to 'eat'. I've been waiting to use this room. I've been waiting for you.” He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Don't get me wrong, though,” he continued, “plenty of others dine here often enough, and it's usually booked months in advance. It was just luck that I was able to get us in for tonight. Well, luck, and the fact that I'm the owner,” he said with a wink.
I smiled and took another bite of my burger. Swallowing, I asked, “So, is this it, then? Is this the whole place? People come and eat in the dining room, or they eat in here?”
Mastered Page 2
