Chapter 22: Building Desire

MIOKO

The next evening, I stood in front of my closet trying to decide what to wear to dinner.

What does one wear when they’re going to be secretly orgasming in a fancy restaurant? Is there an etiquette guide for this? “Dear Abby, what’s the appropriate attire for public vibrator torture?”

I settled on a dark blue dress – fitted but not too tight, hem just above the knee, modest neckline. Professional enough that no one would suspect I was wearing a sex toy underneath.

Perfect. I look like a respectable young woman, not someone about to get off in front of the pasta course.

In the bathroom, I opened the small package Daniel-san had given me earlier.

The butterfly vibrator was smaller than I’d expected – a soft silicone device that nestled against my clit with thin straps that wrapped around my hips and thighs to hold it in place.

I put it on, adjusting it until it sat comfortably against my most sensitive parts.

Great. I’m literally wearing a remote-controlled orgasm machine. What’s next, a fucking on/off switch tattooed on my ass?

I pulled on my panties to hold it more securely in place and looked at myself in the mirror.

You’d never know. I look totally normal. Totally innocent. Totally not about to be sexually tortured in public.

A knock at the bedroom door. “Mioko? Can I come in?”

“Hai, Kioko.”

She slipped inside, wearing a simple black dress, her face flushed with nervousness.

“Did you ... did you put yours on?” she asked.

“Hai. You?”

She nodded, blushing furiously. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

“Me neither. It’s like we’re secret sex agents. Mission: Don’t Cum in Public.”

Mission difficulty: Impossible.

“Or a complete disaster where we both cum in the middle of a restaurant and get arrested for public indecency,” Kioko said.

I burst out laughing. “Kioko! I didn’t know you could make jokes like that!”

She giggled nervously. “I surprise myself sometimes.”

Look at us, bonding over our impending public humiliation. This is what sisterhood looks like, apparently.

Daniel-san appeared in the doorway, looking devastatingly handsome in dark slacks and a charcoal sweater.

Of course he looks perfect. He’s not the one wearing a sex toy.

His eyes traveled over both of us appreciatively. “My beautiful girls. Ready for dinner?”

“As ready as we’ll ever be,” I muttered.

Translation: We are not ready. We will never be ready. Please have mercy.

He pulled both remotes from his pocket, showing them to us. One had a small red sticker on it, one had blue.

“Red is Mioko, blue is Kioko. Each has five intensity settings. I control when, how much, and for how long. Your job is to act completely normal. Understood?”

Act normal. Right. Sure. No problem. Just act normal while being remotely stimulated in a restaurant full of strangers. Piece of cake.

“Hai, Master,” we said in unison.

“Good. Let’s go.”

We’re going to die. We’re literally going to die of embarrassment and they’ll find our bodies slumped over the appetizer course.

DANIEL

I’d chosen a nice Italian restaurant in Midtown – upscale enough to require reservations, busy enough that we’d blend in, but with tablecloths long enough to provide some discretion.

We were seated at a corner table, and I positioned myself across from both women so I could watch their faces.

The waiter came by with menus and water, and the girls studied their menus intently, both clearly nervous about what was coming.

After we’d ordered – I chose for all three of us – I leaned back in my chair and pulled out Mioko’s remote.

I clicked it to the lowest setting.

MIOKO

OH FUCK.

The vibrator buzzed to life against my clit and my hand clenched on my water glass so hard I nearly shattered it.

Nope. Nope nope nope. This is not okay. This is--oh god that actually feels really good.

“Everything alright, Princess?” Daniel-san asked casually, like he wasn’t currently controlling a sex toy attached to my most sensitive parts.

“F-fine, Master,” I managed, my voice slightly strained.

Fine! Everything’s fine! Just sitting here with a vibrator on my clit in a public restaurant! Totally normal Tuesday evening!

The buzzing was low but insistent, a gentle hum that was just enough to make me squirm but not enough to push me over the edge.

Evil. He’s absolutely evil. This is psychological warfare.

After what felt like an eternity but was probably only a minute, he turned it off.

I let out a small breath of relief.

Thank god. Maybe he’ll go easy on us. Maybe this won’t be--

“Your turn, Kioko.”

Never mind. We’re both doomed.

KIOKO

When Master activated mine, I gasped softly, my hand flying to the edge of the table.

The sensation was ... strange. Not bad. Just intense and unfamiliar and oh god everyone can probably tell what’s happening--

“Breathe,” Master reminded me gently.

I took a shaky breath and forced myself to relax.

This is fine. This is manageable. I can do this.

He turned it off just as the waiter returned with our appetizers.

“Enjoy,” the waiter said cheerfully.

If only you knew what you were interrupting, I thought, fighting down hysterical laughter.

MIOKO

The first few activations were manageable – low intensity, short duration, giving us time to adjust.

Okay, I can handle this. It’s not so bad. Kind of nice, actually. Maybe this will be--

During the salad course, Daniel-san turned mine on medium while I was mid-sentence explaining something about my English class.

MOTHERFUCKER.

I stuttered, lost my train of thought completely, and had to grip the table to stay focused.

What was I saying? Who am I? What is language? Why is there a vibrator attacking my pussy in the middle of dinner?

“Sorry, what was I saying?”

Daniel-san smiled innocently. “Something about verb conjugations, I believe.”

Bastard. Beautiful, evil bastard.

I tried to continue my story while the vibrator buzzed against my increasingly sensitive clit.

“And then the teacher said--” OH GOD “--that irregular verbs--” FUCKING HELL “--require memorization--” I’M GOING TO KILL HIM.

Somehow, I managed to finish the sentence before he mercifully turned it off.

I deserve a medal. A trophy. A goddamn Nobel Prize for maintaining composure under sexual duress.

Across from me, Kioko was doing remarkably well, maintaining composure even when he activated hers.

Of course she is. Trauma survivor with nerves of steel over here, meanwhile I’m about to cum into my salad.

But I could see the flush creeping up her neck, the way her breathing quickened.

She’s struggling too. We’re in this together. Partners in vibrator-induced suffering.

During the main course, Daniel-san decided to escalate.

He turned on both of our vibrators simultaneously – medium intensity.

OH NO. OH NO NO NO.

Kioko and I looked at each other and I saw my own desperation mirrored in her face.

We’re going to die here. They’ll find our bodies collapsed over the osso buco. Cause of death: remote-controlled orgasm devices.

“So, Kioko,” Daniel-san said conversationally, as if nothing unusual was happening, “how are you finding New York so far?”

He’s actually making conversation. He’s making us TALK while doing this. I take back everything nice I ever said about him.

Kioko tried to answer, but what came out was a strangled, “It’s ... it’s very ... oh god...”

“Very what?” he prompted, and I felt my vibrator crank up to high.

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST ON A BICYCLE.