Sparkling champagne slowly filled my glass to the very rim of the flute.

I looked up at the waiter, ready to snap at him. What did he expect me to do? Bring my lips to the glass and slurp up the expensive bubbly? There was no way to lift the crystal in a genteel fashion with the liquid so close to overflowing. My eyes met the waiter’s, and I paused. Normally, when something displeases me, I don’t hesitate to let my feelings be known. But the waiter in question was so handsome in his tux, his boyish face clean-shaven, his blue eyes carefully appraising me. For a moment, I held my tongue.

“I’m so sorry, Miss,” he said quickly. I knew that type of apology. His tone wasn’t sorry. His tone was… daring. “I wasn’t looking at the glass. I was… I was looking at you.”

I settled back in my seat and stared at him, waiting for him to continue. Here I was, solo at the event, seated by myself at a table for two. I don’t mind being on my own. I take myself places all the time. Now, I was pleased with my choice to travel unhindered. I had the feeling I’d leave with a partner.

“What’s your name?” I asked him.

“Byron,” he stammered.

“You were being forward, Byron,” I said. “Would you like to know what I do with forward young men?” His eyes had widened, but before he could even begin to formulate a response, I added, “Would you like to experience how I deal with impudent, careless young men who ought to do their jobs professionally?”

“Oh, yes,” he said, and he moved a step closer to me. “Yes, I would love to know.”

I smirked at him. He was getting on my good side. I appreciated the color in his cheeks, the way his eyes seemed to simultaneously caress my curves and apologize for looking at the same time.

“Then come to my house when you get off,” I said, handing him my card, “And I’ll fill you in…”

I meant the words literally. I wondered if he knew that. Before he could move on to the next table, I said, “But first, what should I do about this?” The champagne was all the way to the rim, the bubbles ricocheting against the very brim.

“Should I get you a new glass?” he asked.

“No.”

“Then what do you want me to do?” He seemed concerned.

“Lick it,” I said evenly.

“Excuse me?”

“Lick the champagne from the glass for me. Lick it like a cat.”

“I pressed forward, slowly, giving him the toy in increments”

He looked confused at first, and then nervous, and finally aroused. I watched all those different emotional states pass across his stunning features in a matter of seconds.

“I’ll be fired,” he said.

“I don’t think so,” I told him. “I know the club’s owner. We’re like this.” I crossed one finger over another. “In many ways,” I added.

“You want me to drink your champagne?” he asked, just to be sure, to be on the safe side.

I shook my head. “I want you to lap the liquid up with your tongue, as if you were my pet. Make it so I can drink from the glass without spilling any.”

He was done hesitating, which made me happy. He didn’t look around. He didn’t pause to see if anyone was watching us. He bent at the waist, brought his mouth to my glass, and lapped up the champagne exactly as I’d requested. I smiled. He was going to lap my pussy like that by the evening’s end. I was sure.

I left the club before the next band took the stage, wanting to prepare myself by the time my waiter arrived at my place. I guessed he would have to stay until one or so when the club closed. That gave me plenty of time to dress properly and put my gear in order.

By the time Byron rang my bell, I was ready. He had changed from his working uniform into a clean white shirt and black jeans. Out of the tux, he looked a little younger, a little more insecure. I liked that. I let him into my place, and then I told him the rules.

“Here, I call the shots,” I said. “If I’m going too fast for you, too rough for you, too anything, you can tell me to stop. Say ‘champagne’ if you want things to end, otherwise, strip and follow me to the bedroom.”

I didn’t wait to see if he would. I simply strode toward my master bedroom, listening to the sound of his boots hitting the floor, his jeans, his belt buckle. I smiled to myself. Sometimes I can spot something good in a second. I was satisfied with my choice this evening. Byron hurried after me, my naked new sub. We entered the room, and I walked to my bed, but he stopped in my doorway. I’d had time to set the stage for the greatest impact. The light over the bed was on. Spread on my mattress was a pair of handcuffs, a strap-on cock, and a bottle of lube.

I could have asked if he was game. But he didn’t use his safeword, so I said, “On my bed, facedown, wrists over your head.”

He obeyed almost before I’d finished saying the words.

Then we were in motion. I attached the cuffs to his wrists and set his hands gently on my pillow. Then I lifted his haunches, spread his ass cheeks and filled him with the lube the way he’d filled my glass. A little too much. A little over-the-top in my generosity. I wanted him to be slick with the lubrication. Finally, I stripped out of my own clothes and buckled into the harness. Byron watched me with a look I understood. He was beyond turned on, aroused to the nth degree, and nervous as fuck. I let him lick my cock first, so he could understand the girth and the length of my toy. Then I got behind him, held his hips, and introduced him to my favorite friend.

Byron, my sweet young thing, sighed beautifully as the cock entered his hole. His hands made fists on my pillow. His whole body seemed to still. I pressed forward, slowly, giving him the toy in increments so he could acclimate. Only when I was all the way to the hilt, did I begin to actually fuck him, rocking in and out at a seductive pace.

“Do you like that?” I asked my plaything.

“Oh, yes. Yes…” His voice trembled erotically.

“Show me,” I said. “Moan for me. Sing for me.”

I started to work him harder, putting my force into each stroke. I sensed when Byron was reaching his limit. I could see the fine muscles in his back tightening, could hear the breathy pauses between each and every delicious moan. He whispered, “I’m going to come…”

I whispered back, “Don’t you dare.”

He looked over his shoulder at me, shocked by my words.

“I can’t… I can’t help it.”

I smiled, because of course I knew exactly what was going on with him. He had reached his cusp. And I was telling him not to plunge. So I said, “Hold on, baby. Five more strokes.” I watched him dig in, search for that strength inside himself. He came on the fifth, and then he collapsed, but I wasn’t through with him yet. I undid the harness and removed the cock. Then I wriggled myself into his embrace, so that his cuffed wrists rested at the small of my back and my pussy was directly in front of his mouth.

“Please me,” I said. “Show me how much you appreciated my cock in your ass.”

He licked me as I’d imagined he would. With gusto. With flair. He drank my pussy juices as they ran down my thighs before focusing on my clit. I swear, I lost my own cool for a moment or two as he stroked my clit with feather-soft caresses and brought me to a climax that made me feel as if champagne were bubbling through my own veins. I was intoxicated. Electrified.

Slowly, I slid back to my senses, unlocked Byron’s wrists, and curled up with him in the bed. We had a long, lovely night ahead of us, filled with all sorts of rules to obey and to break.