Lunch at the Fern Bar by Katharine
It’s a place where women lunch, the kind of place with hanging ferns between the tables to create an illusion of privacy and in the entry way an enormous Boston fern on a pedestal, cocktail napkins with a colored edge and fizzy pastel colored drinks with fruit in them that can be served without alcohol.
There are no barstools, just tables with linen clothes and chairs whose upholstery matches them perfectly. A quiet place where the waiters speak in subdued voices and one is never quite sure whether they have asked for your drink order or made some unclearly heard off color joke. Background music played softly as if for a scene in a movie and the only sounds are those of women speaking softly, forks barely touching china plates, or a high pitched tinkle that might be ice in a glass or the laughter of a friend who has had slightly to much to drink.
They are elegant women, the ones who eat here, the ones who wear dark suits to work and subtle silver jewelry that might gleam, but never flash. Their clothes all fit them very well, there are no unsightly bulges or gaps. Their hair has been perfectly colored and cut and properly cemented into place. Their shoes have just the right amount of heel, their lipstick is unsmudged and their nail polish unchipped, and of matching neutral shades.
They are calm, controlled, and confident. They never spill their water or drip salad dressing on their blouses. Their lunches are almost always left half eaten but the wine is always absolutely gone. One must be well fortified to return to the world of men, to go out there and face them and demand the respect one is entitled to from them.
This is a place of refuge, a place where such men dared not go. It was not that they were forbidden here, but that they were so out of place, except for the openly gay waiters who were so cordial and attentive.
Sweeping an errant curl from her forehead with her left hand, Cindy is desperately aware that she does not belong here, not just in this bar, but in the company of such women anywhere. The hair that would not stay in place no matter how she tried, the blister forming on her heel from her stylish shoes, the tiny spot of vinaigrette on her white silk blouse were sure signs to her and anyone who saw her that she did not fit in and never could and was a fool for trying.
She would not have been here at all except for the lovely red-haired Regina who worked in the private office in the corner on the same floor. Lovely, graceful Regina, with skin so pale, eyes so blue and shining. Cindy wondered what color panties she wore beneath the charcoal gray skirt and if those panties were as wet as her own.
Lunching with the women of the office was the only way Cindy ever got near her. Regina was an account executive and Cindy was in graphic design. Perhaps it was only wishful thinking, but Cindy thought perhaps the attraction was mutual, because from time to time she turned her eyes in Cindy’s direction and smiled.
Does she know what I think, thought Cindy, does she know that I would much rather be eating her than salmon salad with balsamic vinaigrette? How I would love to kneel between her legs and lick that gold-red pussy while she instructed me exactly how she liked it done. Perhaps a strap or riding crop to remind me when I do it wrong.
The salad dressing on Regina’s fork drips into the bowl. Cindy’s cunt drips into her panties, her nipples much harder than the pecans that garnish her salad. She eats shyly and tries to pretend she does not know.
Suddenly there is a change in the room. There is no sound to alert them, no breeze, no brightening of the light, yet they all sense it, those five women sharing a table, and simultaneously their heads turn towards the door.
Two more who do not belong here enter, a tall, rather ungainly woman in a tight, black dress and black leather heels lead by the hand by a small woman in a red silk dress that clings to her body like plastic wrap, unrestrained breasts bouncing freely as she walks on her spiked red heels. Ruby lipstick. Ruby nails. Long, dark hair swirls wildly about her as she escorts her companion to the booth in the back, right in Cindy’s line of vision and she cannot remove her eyes.
The smaller one is definitely in charge. She has told the other where to sit and where to put the large black shoulder bag she carries. Her voice is not loud, but it is too loud for the atmosphere and though Cindy cannot hear the words, from the tone alone she knows the meaning. The smaller woman is the Dominant, the larger one her submissive.
Not that the smaller one is abusive at all. She seems, in fact, quite warm and nurturing, making suggestions to the other over the menu and holding her hand in plain view. Cindy watches all this wistfully and sneaking a sideways glance, realizes that Regina is watching too, with, she thinks, the same longing in her eyes. Beneath the table, she “accidentally” touches Regina’s hand and feels the soft, pale fingers close around hers. Her heart beats faster and she seems to feel it pulsing in her ears.
Momentarily distracted, she misses what has happened at the booth in the back, but the small woman is frowning and the taller seems to be hanging her head in shame. The smaller snaps an order and the larger produces a large, flat hairbrush from her purse, plastic, rectangular, cruel. She hands it to the smaller with a small, pleading look, but the other points to the lady’s room and off the go together, the taller in the lead, eyes on the floor in shame, the smaller giving her a pop on the behind to urge her along.
Cindy realizes she has to pee. She really must pee or she will wet herself there at the table. She rushes to the lady’s room and slowly opens the door.
The taller woman is bent over the sink. Her skirt has been raised above her waist. She is wearing black, lacy panties. Cindy notices she has very muscular legs.
The smaller woman turns and smiles at her. Cindy notices she has completely bared her beautiful breasts and unbuttoned her skirt to reveal her pussy. The hair of her vulva is even wilder and more tangled than that of her head.
She extends the hairbrush to Cindy.
“Could you hold this a moment, please? I need both hands.”
Cindy sputters, “I have to..” points toward the stall.
“I’ll just be a moment,” says the woman.
Placing her hands on the waistband the black panties, she pauses a second or two.
“No, Mistress, please,” begs the other, “not in front of her.”
But Mistress yanks the panties to the floor and the sub immediately steps out of them and spreads her legs.
Still holding the hairbrush, Cindy gasps. Between the legs, now forming a perfect inverted “V” hang a penis and testicles. There is a ring through the foreskin of the penis and a second through the loose skin of the scrotum. A chain runs between them. A weight hangs from the chains.
Mistress takes the hairbrush from Cindy’s hand and runs her hand up Cindy’s thigh to her crotch, rubbing gently as Cindy moans.
“Better use the potty, dear. Your panties are already wet enough. We’ll wait for you. Daphne needs a little anticipation time.”
It is such a relief to pee and her clit is so swollen that Cindy nearly orgasms on the toilet. She longs to caress herself until she comes, but she knows somehow that Mistress will not approve of this.
When she exits the stall, Mistress is standing ready. Daphne is still bent over the sink, her penis very stiff and beginning to drip just a little. Mistress’s bright red nails shine in contrast to Daphne’s white ass as she strokes it in preparation. She draws the hand with the wicked brush back slowly but high. The brush speeds forward and there is a crack. Daphne moans. Crack again and the moan is almost a holler.
“You have the worst table manners I have ever seen,” Mistress declares as she brings the brush down again with more force. The weight swings and must pull on Daphne’s testicles painfully. Mistress continues to swing the brush.
When the punished bottom is almost the color of Mistress’s nails and Daphne’s cries have been reduced to contrite sobs, Mistress stops the spanking and begins to rub again. Daphne’s cock is very, very hard and decidedly dribbly. Mistress casually takes the matter in hand and relieves her remorseful submissive of an enormous load of cum which Daphne immediately drops to her knees and licks off the floor.
Cindy stands entranced against the paper towel dispensers. She can neither move nor speak nor does she care that she is unable. These have been the most exciting minutes of her life and she finds it almost unbearable that they should end.
Daphne lifts Mistress onto the counter where Mistress leans against the mirror and spreads her legs wide. Daphne lowers her head to lick the moist jewel before her, but Mistress puts her off with an upheld hand and points to Cindy.
The spell broken, Cindy rushes to obey the unspoken command, diving into her task, plunging her tongue deep into the dark cavity of delight, drawing her tongue up the slit to the hard little bead up front. She has never actually eaten a woman before, but she does not need to be taught how. Her fingers tease and pinch at Mistress’s nipples as her tongue makes rapid little licks to the clitoris. She feels hands caressing her own breasts from behind and knows they must be Daphne’s.
With a great cry of pleasure, Mistress orgasms violently, hips bucking against the table and her head flung from side to side, leaving Cindy’s face covered in pussy juices. She reaches for a towel to wipe herself clean.
“Leave it!” Mistress orders. And so she does.
Mistress, quite recovered from her coming, hops to the floor and reaches for Cindy.
“Your turn, my little darling. Let’s have a look at that naughty pussy of yours that’s running like a faucet.”
Without any noticeable movement, Cindy’s skirt is suddenly gone, revealing magenta panties and a matching garter belt that disappear as swiftly as the skirt did. Her inner thighs are slick and shiny.
“Up on the counter with you, my lovely. Spread those legs nice and wide.”
Thinking her dreams of being finally eaten by another women about to be fulfilled, she does so eagerly only to feel the smack of the hairbrush on her unsuspecting pussy. She gives a little cry as she jumps. Mistress laces her fingers in the bush of pubic hair.
“This will all have to go, of course,” she declares. “Can’t get the proper sting with all this to protect your little pussy. Hold your legs open.”
Cindy grasps the underside over her own knees and holds her thighs open wide. Mistress removes a thin leather strap from Daphne’s black shoulder bag. She dangles it before Cindy’s wide eyes.
“Horrid, stingy little toy, I promise you. I happen to know it hurts like hell. But it does no real damage and you will come harder than you ever have before. That I promise, also.”
Burning, biting blows fall on her inner thighs, her pussy lips, her mons Venus as if she is being devoured by some vicious insect. She cries out not knowing if it is from pain or pleasure and thrashes about on the counter so that Daphne must help hold her still.
“Hold open your pussy lips,” orders Mistress and Cindy obeys. The blows to her clitoris are gentler, but faster, a rapid continuous tap that finally makes her come with a loud scream and fall over into Daphne’s arm.
There is a brief reassembling of clothing. Cindy’s skirt and garter belt are returned to their place, but not her panties. Mistress has plans for those.
“The redhead at the table.”
“You are in love with her.”
“You will take your wet panties and present them to her. I want to watch you do it.”
Somehow, now, it did not seem a strange request. She opens the bathroom door to see the others have all gone, all except Regina who sits waiting with a smile. When Cindy holds out her panties to her, she clutches them eagerly, taking a deep sniff.
“Oh, Cindy, I was afraid you would never ask.”
“I think,” says Mistress, “that Cindy should be punished for keeping you waiting so long.”
Regina, caressing Cindy’s cheek softly, readily agrees.
“Why don’t you both come home with me, now,” says Mistress. “There are many things that I would like to teach you. You can leave your cars in the parking lot. I’ll send some of my staff to pick them up later.”
A limousine with darkened windows waits out front. All four women get into it and the driver closes the door.
“By the way,” says Mistress, “I expect all three of you to be completely naked by the time we reach my building. I suggest you start undressing one another as quickly as you can. For every minute it takes you, it will be a dozen with the cane, so don’t undress too rapidly or you’ll miss out on the fun.”