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Erotica: An Outing to Remember

Published: MAY 13, 2022 | Updated: JULY 21, 2022 10:10:17
Roleplaying fun at the kinkiest of shake shops leads to a delicious climax in this short erotica story.

The night is only going to get kinkier.

“It looks like we are going to make that 5:30 reservation after all,” I say. I’ve got my left hand on the wheel of the rented 2021 Honda Insight as we cruise down the long, flat highway cutting through these windswept prairies. I can see the clock tower at the far end of the K Center retail park coming up in the last orange rays of dusk.

“Uh huh,” you say. “Exit 11 is next.”

I’m wearing a charcoal gray sports coat with black leather patches on the sleeves. Plus dark slacks and new patent leather Oxfords from my first stop of the day. I can feel your eyes flitting over to scrutinize the bulge between my legs.

My hand rests comfortably on your left thigh. You’ve kept your long black winter coat on – it’s also new – and I’m curious about what you have on underneath on this chilly November evening. A little handbag rests on your lap.


“Good thing we’re on time,” I say. “They seem super-particular. Cancellation if you’re more than five minutes late, et cetera. I am actually surprised they’ve made a go of it here for more than a year. You’d never guess, right?”

“I don’t know. There were definitely some protests when it opened. But I’d say there were more live-and-let-live people in the area, right?”

“And it does sound like they’re very strict in all their protocols.”

“Which is why I’ve been wanting to come here and telling you about it for the last six months! I like strict. And I like thinking about you that way. A lot.”

As I slow down and head to the turn-off, I lean over for a quick kiss. Our tongues touch lightly and I can feel the ever-present heat between us go up a notch. Knowing what’s to come.

Heading through the main gate with the big neon sign, I ask: “One more run-through with our checklist?”

“Uh uh. We’re good. Let’s get fucking kinky!”

I smile and slow down as we navigate past the chain stores en route to the far end of the lot. It’s actually pretty quiet tonight. Of course, that could change.

“OK, it’s time for you to unbutton now,” I tell you, with a new, firmer tone in my voice. My grip tightens slightly on your thigh.

Your expression shifts to something complex: mischievous, shy, playful, hopeful, challenging. A small smile plays over your lips as you unbutton your coat.

You’re wearing a red corduroy smock dress cut well above the knees. White, gauzy fabric spanning the low-cut neckline does little to conceal the swell of your tits. I detect the fringes of the pink lace bra that you wore when we fucked at the hotel party on Wednesday night.

“Do you think I look pretty?” you ask, tilting your head.

“You look very pretty, Bunny.”

Visibly pleased, you squirm in your seat and cross your boots at the ankles. I know what this is doing to you.

One more gate to pass through to enter the walled-off parking lot. A tall security guard holds up his baton. I roll down the window.

“Could I see your IDs, please? Perfect. Have a great night, folks.”

This lot is considerably busier. I stop at the crosswalk to let two couples – one with a remarkably tall woman in a black, latex catsuit – cross and head into a club called DeMarco’s Bacchanalia. A bronze fountain – turned off for the season, but still floodlit in white and golden hues – features a centerpiece with a voluptuous queen riding a chiselled supplicant, his thick cock thrust up inside her for all to plainly see.

“Oh my God, I fucking love this place!”

“Watch your dirty mouth, young lady.” It’s important for you to know who’s in charge.

Two sex shops with floor-to-ceiling windows flank our destination. I can see your eyes light up with interest. I pull into a parking spot a few doors down. As we get out, our breath clouds the air, but it’s well above freezing. I take your hand and lead you toward the diner.

You stop in front of the first sex shop, admiring the toys on display with unabashed interest. Big, realistically veined dildos. A Magic Wand-like toy with a constantly, subtly oscillating head. A beautifully contoured stainless steel butt plug.

“Fuck, I wish they weren’t closed! Can we please come back tomorrow?”

“You’re being naughty now. We have a reservation at the diner, and we’ll see what happens tomorrow. Come on!”

The place is called Antigone’s Shakes. The lighting is low and purple, with photos of vintage Thunderbirds and Mustangs on the walls. Old R&B songs play moodily in the background. There are seven or eight customers, mostly couples in booths.

The waitress, brisk and buxom with thigh high white boots, strides toward us. “Welcome! I’m Gina. Can I help you?”

“Yes, we booked for 5:30.”

She grabs two menus. “Right this way.”

Coming in, I didn’t spot anything overtly kinky. But as we slide into our booth, with you right across from me, I notice that in the booth opposite us, a businesswoman in her 50’s is half-reclining with her thighs wide apart, with a guy underneath the table, his head up her skirt, eating her out in public.


You’re watching like the bad girl you want to be, a little shiver of pleasure going through you as the woman lets out an audible, raw moan. She’s got a suitcase with luggage tags next to the booth.

“I wonder if she came here with that guy or met a stranger and asked him to lick her like that,” you say. “What do you think, Daddy-O?”

“Why don’t you be a good girl and order your special milkshake?” I say. “That’s what we came here to do.”

You pout. “I want to play with myself now. Don’t you want to see me playing like that?”

I push a menu over to you. “Come on now.”

You stick your tongue out at me. Then you stand up on the bench on your side of the booth, pull up your smock dress, and swivel to let everyone in eyeshot see your white cotton panties, the outline of your lips visible to those nearby.

“See? You literally can’t make me do anything I don’t want to do!” you proclaim. Then you stick out your tongue again.

This is making me so fucking hard. We talked through this last night, but to see you is making me fucking crazy. I’ve jacked off to you with your tongue out so many times: in front of the computer, in my bed, in the shower. But this is so powerful.

I somehow maintain my composure, my dominance. Unsmiling. I get up and come around.

“Now you’re being a brat,” I tell you, taking you by the waist and making you sit down again. “And if you carry on like this, there will be consequences.”

You shrug and peruse the menu, giving me periodic naughty glances.

The waitress comes back over with glasses of water. “Are you folks ready to order?”

“Yes, we’re going to get a couple of milkshakes,” I say.

“Perfect! All our milkshakes are made with local ice cream, frozen berries, and all-natural seasonings and sweetenings.”

“I’ll go for the blueberry toffee.”

“I want raspberry,” you say.

“I’m sorry, honey,” the waitress replies. “We ran out of raspberry this afternoon and we won’t have any more till Monday. How about strawberry?”

“No! Seriously, I want raspberry!”

“You heard what she said, Bunny. Do you want a milkshake or not?”

“Oh, fine! Strawberry, then.”

The waitress goes off. I notice you fidgeting and see you slipping your hand up your dress.

“Hey! It’s not time for you to masturbate right now. I told you that you should have done that before we left the hotel.”

Your lip sticks way out as you comply. I enjoy denying you and disciplining you. The woman at the table opposite has now summoned another guy – fit, big biceps, and a taut ass in denim, definitely a stranger this time. She takes her right tit out for him to suck in the booth while she gets orally serviced. I know how aroused you get from displays of pleasure.

My cock is leaking pre-come into my briefs as my arousal grows. I feel myself sinking deeper into our roleplay. I want you so fucking badly right now, gazing at you, all saucy in your red dress, teasing me with your eyes and your curves and your bad behavior.

The waitress comes back surprisingly fast with the milkshakes. They’re enormous, served in translucent purple plastic glasses with purple-and-white straws. “Enjoy!”

I enjoy my first sip. “Blueberry toffee sure lives up to the hype in the reviews.”

You take one loud slurp and make a face. “I don’t like this. I’m not going to finish it.”

“What are you talking about?”

Your voice rises in pure brattiness. “I told you I wanted raspberry! Fuck!”

“Now, listen to me, young lady. You need to – ”

Before I can finish my sentence, you accidentally on purpose knock your milkshake over. It spills the length of the table, missing me but gushing all over the tiled floor.

“Oops!” you say with a triumphant look.

“All right! That’s enough.”

I rise, come around, grab your handbag, and take you by the wrist. “Follow me.”


The waitress comes up. “Oh dear! Let me clean this up for you.”

“Actually, if you wouldn’t mind leaving it for now. Where are your washrooms?”

“Right down that hall.”

As you fruitlessly moan and resist, I lead you into the accessible washroom and lock the door. There’s a long, pristine, glistening black marble counter. I put the handbag down, scoop you up with ease, place you on the counter, and climb up next to you.

“You’re going to get a good, hard spanking because you’re behaving so badly in public,” I tell you.

You try to wriggle away, but I pull you in, right over my lap. I lift up your smock dress to reveal your white, soft ass cheeks and your cotton thong, soaked from our nasty roleplay fun. I lower my face to enjoy the sweet, delicious smell of your wet pussy.

Turning your face coquettishly toward me, you ask: “Are you really going to spank me hard?”

“You know exactly what kind of spanking I’m going to give you,” I reply. I take off my sport jacket and lay it on the counter. My erection is pressing into your stomach as you nestle into me and brace.

I caress your ass cheeks slowly with my right hand. Then I raise it and bring it down with a solid thwack on your right ass cheek.

“Oh fuck! Oh fuck!” you moan.

“This is for your own good,” I inform you.

I repeat that treatment for your left ass cheek. Perfect red handmarks glisten on each side, the symmetry of obedience inculcated.

“Oh God, you’re spanking me hard!” you moan. You try to rub your crotch against my thigh as I hold you in place with my reach and my strength.

Your yells of pain and pleasure echo through the washroom. I know people can hear us in the cafe. I keep spanking you hard, giving you what you deserve, my hand landing in the same spot over and over again, bruising your ass to perfection.

“Sir, I don’t think I can take much more,” you tell me, your face flushed with overwhelming arousal. I feel a huge urge to come myself.

“You’ll take four more of the best,” I tell you. I spank you four more times, easing off with the last two, running my hand gently over your cheeks again at the end.

“I promise to be good now,” you say. “Can I see?”

I nod and you slide off my lap, tottering over to check out your ass in the long mirror next to the toilet. Your face transitions from a little “O” of surprise to a glow of pure bliss.

“I love that,” you tell me. “Knowing that I’m going to feel it every time I sit down this week, knowing that you took me in hand for both of us. I really need to cream badly now.”

So do I, if I were to reveal the truth. My cock is so hard now it almost hurts. I’ll be beating off to this memory many times in the future. But right now, while we play our dirty bathroom game at Antigone’s Shakes, I’m not done with you.

“Then come here.”

You obey, and once again, I scoop you up, laying on your back on the counter this time. Calmly, almost clinically, I pull up your dress. I can hear the music from the diner. It’s a slow, heavy blues that I recognize as Big Mama Thornton’s “Everything Gonna Be Alright.”

“Open your thighs for me.”

As you show me your panties, looking up at me, wanting more, I pull off your shoes and toss them on the floor. Methodically, I take hold of the waistband of your panties and slide them down, exposing the wetness of your seam, your clit swollen up beautifully, tip just exposed beneath your hood.

You squirm impatiently. “Please, please, please, masturbate me, sir!”

I reach down for your handbag. I’m fully focused. I know you love to tease me and distract me, inviting me to reach in and see what I’ll pull out.

Two days ago, it was an actual Polaroid of you in black silk lingerie with red trim, on your hands and knees on a motel bed, your ass on full display, your head turned to look challengingly back over your shoulder. Yesterday, audio of you on a small Sony digital recorder, masturbating yourself to orgasm on what you afterwards told me was a park bench near a busy downtown street.

But this time, my fingers quickly locate both your favourite bottle of lube and your new air suction toy.


“Keep your hands by your sides,” I tell you. Outside the bathroom, the blues bass line throbs through the walls.

I slide the lubed-up forefinger and middle finger of my right hand easily and directly up inside you. God, you’re even more soaked than I thought. And hot. I use my thumb to just tease my way up your inner labia, stopping just short of your engorged clit.

You start to push insistently against my fingers. “I need you to fuck me so bad.”

I begin to slide in and out of you, applying just a little more pressure with each thrust. Riding your rhythm as you fuck back. Starting to circle your clit in circles as I fingerfuck my girl good.

“Does it feel good to be spanked and fingered in the bathroom?” I ask you. “Do you love having me right up your pussy?”

Your face contorts with urgent need as I press up, up, up against your G-spot. The wet slapping noise merges with the sounds of the drums and those big, bluesy wails from the diner.

I press the toy into your hand and turn it on. “I’m going to suck your tit now, brat.”

I pull your top down roughly and expose your nipple. Visibly overwhelmed with gratitude and need, you bring the toy down to your bead and hold it in place.

I show you my tongue and then lean down to suck you into my mouth while I continue pulsing your G-spot good. You start to groan and push, tensing for your orgasm.

“Do you love creaming under my control?” I ask. “Do you? Do it for me, Bunny.”

I apply firm pressure on your G-spot and you let go, your entire body pulsing with pleasure from your face to your chest to your clit to your toes. I have to hold you in place, continuing to finger you steadily, as you ride your orgasm hard, gasping and yelling out like a real good girl.

As you come back down gradually, I lean in to kiss you. “I trust you enjoyed that half as much as I did,” I say with a wicked smile.

“Mmmhmmm,” you reply. “But you...you haven’t come yet. I really want to see you come.”

I help you down and you pull your panties and shoes back on. You adjust your dress and I give you back the handbag.

“All right, let me put it this way,” I say. “There’s a table and a floor in there still covered with spilled milkshake. And things are only going to get messier after I get what I want, need, and deserve.”

You smile gleefully. “Lead on. Like I said, I like you strict.”

The night is only going to get kinkier.

Photo for Erik Gardner
Erik Gardner

Erik Gardner is a Canadian writer and kink enthusiast. He enjoys 90s music, groan-worthy puns, and the antics of neighborhood raccoons.