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ChapterTen
My stomach hardenslike a giant cock. My toes curl as if from an orgasm provided by… err… a giant cock. And my ears turn as purple as… why not, a giant cock.
The worst part is, I have no idea why I’m reacting so strongly. I knew he had the remote, and I put on those panties because I had a fantasy of him activating them. Yet at this moment, it’s all I can do not to run out of the restaurant screaming in shame—and I don’t care if screaming in shame is not a thing.
My emotions must be displayed all over my face—and likely on other body parts—because he sets down the remote with a frown. “Are you okay?”
“I want that back,” I manage to say and grab for the remote.
He yanks it out of my reach. “Not so fast.”
“Give it.” I snatch at the remote with all the speed I can muster.
His hold is like a vise.
I jerk on the remote.
No effect.
I pull harder. Sweat beads on my brow.
“What are you doing?” he asks as I keep tugging at the remote to no avail.
“That’s mine,” I say through clenched teeth and give the remote a hard yank.
Skunk. My fingers must’ve just pressed the “on” button because my panties are suddenly vibrating.
All the blood leaves my face and rushes south as erotic sensations attack my core. At the same time, the paper door slides open, and the perfume stench assaults my nostrils as the waitress comes in, holding two saucers.
This can’t be happening.
I channel all my mortification into tugging harder—and I’m not sure if it’s the waitress’s arrival or Art finally realizing my desperation, but he lets go of the remote.
The problem is, I didn’t expect the lack of resistance, so my tug makes my hand ricochet backward, smacking the waitress’s boob. The remote flies out of my fingers and falls—to my horrified eyes, in slow motion.
First, it makes three rotations in the air.
Next, it hits the edge of my bowl.
Finally, it drowns itself in the miso soup.
Fuck.
My panties begin vibrating at full speed. The soup must’ve short-circuited the remote.
“So sorry!” I gasp as the waitress yelps, gaping at me.
Ignoring her, Art sticks his hand into my soup bowl and fishes the remote out.
“I didn’t mean for that to happen,” he says earnestly. “Here.” He thrusts the wet device into my hand.
“I really am sorry,” I mutter to the poor waitress before squeezing the “off” button as if it were a fire alarm and instead of vibrating, my panties were on fire—liar-liar style.
Nothing happens.
Well, that’s not true. The waitress looks at me like I’m the Anti-Christ, and I’m getting closer and closer to another unwanted orgasm—a threesome of sorts.
“Excuse me,” I say breathlessly and fly out of the tatami room, pushing my malodourous victim out of the way.
