Gratuity Not Included


"I’ve found a new place to try for dinner." J’s eyes travel over me approvingly. The green in my silky dress sets off my eyes, and the button-front neckline reveals almost too much cleavage. "You look good enough to eat," he says, pulling me close for a kiss. His hand rests lightly in the small of my back, then travels down to cup my ass, pressing my crotch into his hardening bulge as his tongue ravishes my mouth. "We’d better go before we miss our reservation," and we reluctantly part and head for the car.

Since J likes to eat early, we fight the rush hour traffic to the restaurant. He still has a hand free to caress my stockinged knee, moving up to a thigh left bare by my suspender hose. Knowing his disdain for panties, I tingle in anticipation as his fingers brush my close-cropped hair, but the stop-and-go requires more of his attention and he returns his hand to the wheel.

The restaurant has taken over a historic building in the older part of town, and we pull up to the valet. The attendant opens my door and looks appreciatively at my legs as I swing them out. J catches him looking, smiling as he makes sure the guy sees his hand slip possessively over my ass before taking the claim ticket.

Wonderful smells assault us as we enter the restaurant, garlic and onion and spices all blend together and I feel my mouth start to water. The foyer is decorated with antiques and fresh flowers, the lighting dim and romantic. Music softly drifts toward our ears as a tuxedoed maitre ‘d escorts us into the dining room. I take one look and my eyes widen: the room is intimately furnished with round booths in deep burgundy leather, the tables set with crystal and china on floor-length tablecloths. Floor-length tablecloths! I’ve told J about a particular fantasy of mine, but he can’t possibly mean to… I sneak a glance at him and see the knowing smile, and all the moisture from my watering mouth instantly heads south.

Since we’re early and the place is new, only a few tables are occupied. As I slide into the booth, I discover the tablecloths are only floor-length on the outside. Here in the seat it barely brushes my thighs. We hardly get seated before a starched and bow-tied waiter appears with Perrier for our water glasses, identifies himself as Marc and presents a wine list for our review. His eyes linger on my décolletage as J peruses the menu and orders a bottle of red. When he returns and opens the bottle, he fixates on my cleavage while J tastes the Merlot. He then proceeds to tell my breasts the specials of the evening. As he leaves the table I mutter something about taking a picture, and J says, "You’re enjoying the attention. I bet you could really torture the poor guy if you wanted to. See if you can make him hard." The idea intrigues me, so when Marc comes back for our order, I lean forward, squeezing my arms against my sides to push my breasts up and out. His eyes never reach my face as we order, and before he can leave the table I slide out of the booth, causing my skirt to ride up where he can see some bare thigh. I "accidentally" brush his arm with my breast as I head for the ladies room.

Once there, I remove my bra and undo a few buttons at the top of my dress, then reapply my lipstick and fluff up my hair (what J calls my "freshly-fucked" look.) I take my time walking back to the table, smoothing the dress over my ass and making sure Marc notices my nipples pressing against the fabric. He follows me back to my seat, filling our water glasses, his eyes riveted when I slide into the booth and give him a brief glimpse of rounded breast and hard nipple before he turns away.

J snakes a hand up my leg, pulling my skirt up to reveal my bare thighs. He turns toward me, his arm resting behind my shoulders while his other hand begins to play with my pussy. The tablecloth obscures his actions from the other diners, and he whispers in my ear, "You are soaking wet! You’re really getting off on this, aren’t you?" I push my hips forward and spread my legs in reply, his finger dipping into my dripping pussy and rubbing my juices on my hardening clit.

Marc appears with our salads, and I snap my thighs together. I see his eyes drift down to where J’s hand rests, covering my hair and not much else. Feeling bold, I relax my thighs a bit, allowing J’s finger to slip down. Marc’s eyes widen, and I notice a stirring in the crotch of his tight black pants as he watches J’s finger moving on my clit. He stands there, frozen, until I pick up my fork, then he suddenly remembers something in the kitchen and awkwardly hurries away.

I turn to J with a delighted giggle, and he kisses me, thrusting his tongue into my mouth, his finger keeping the rhythm in my pussy. "How’s your salad?", he asks. I take a bite. "Yummy, want some?" I offer him a forkful, then take another myself. "Here, let me get that," and he takes his napkin to wipe a bit of dressing off my lip. He makes a little show of dropping his napkin, then slides under the table to "retrieve" it.

I spread my legs in anticipation, and feel J’s lips kissing my thighs. His hands cup my ass, pulling me forward on the seat to his waiting mouth. I let out a little moan when his knowing tongue unerring finds my swollen clit, then resume nibbling my salad, trying to maintain my composure for the benefit of the other diners. His tongue works me over good, around my clit to plunge into my pussy, sucking my labia into his mouth. His beard rasps and tickles my thighs, and my breath starts coming faster.

Marc appears again to ask if we’re done with the salads, but his words die in his throat when he sees J’s head in my lap. J lifts his head enough so Marc can clearly see his tongue on my clit, then plunges two fingers into me and I gasp out loud. I see the huge bulge in Marc’s pants, and he now makes no effort to look away as I desperately try to sit still. Marc surreptitiously begins rubbing his crotch; his actions hidden from the other diners by the empty tray he carries. I feel my orgasm approaching; J must feel it too because his tongue moves faster over my clit and his fingers probe deep inside me. I feel something against my shin; J has taken his cock out and is stroking himself with his other hand. The thought of his beautiful dick is too much for me; I grab a dinner roll and bite into it to muffle my cry of pleasure as I cum, drenching J’s hand and beard with my hot juices.

Marc’s contorted face tells me he’s about to explode, I see the dampness starting in his pants. He bumps the table as he cums, knocking over J’s wine glass. I spill my water in his direction, rinsing his crotch. The man’s a quick thinker, even under duress; he snatches up a napkin and blots the table (and his crotch), while I apologize. I hear a muffled groan under the table and feel a warm stickiness on my leg.

After a moment J comes out from under the table holding something in his hand. "I found it," he says, and opens his hand to show me… nothing. He wipes his mouth with the "retrieved" napkin, winks at Marc and says, "we might need some more wine with our dinner." Marc replies, "Let me get a towel for this mess, and I’ll bring your order right out." The meal is delicious, though for the life of me I can’t remember later what my entrée was! Marc delivers a lovely crème brulee which he declares is "on him," and J tips him a good bit more than 15%. J raves to the manager about the excellent service we received; I think we have a new favorite restaurant…

Copyrightã 1999 by Neanderfem

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