The Restaurant

In talking to some of my readers, the "

I'm seated in the far corner as you enter the restaurant. It's a somewhat fancy establishment in that they have a wine menu & long tablecloths. You walk the length of the restaurant in the summer dress I told you to wear - purple, short (showing off those lovely legs of yours), with that push-up bra so that "the girls" are right out there. Not a single man in the establishment fails to notice you. As you approach, though, you see that the second chair, instead of being across from me, is besides me.

You take your seat, being sure to raise the front of your dress just a little to show me your panties, first. My right hand finds your left thigh as you sit with a little pat.

After some small talk - how your day was, how traffic was, you feel my fingertips tracing your kneecap, then massaging your thigh, under the tablecloth. Just as you begin to relax, the waiter comes to take your drink order. "Oh, I'll just have some char..." and you pause as my fingers trace your sex through your panties - checking for dampness.

Placing both of your hands on the table, collecting yourself, "chardonnay" you eek out as moistness gathers between your legs. "Fuck" you say to me as the waiter turns, "is that how we're doing this?"

I smile back, allowing my index finger to work inside your underwear & trace along your inner labia, "why yes my pet...just wait for dessert."

Your hand works under the table to find my cock while we wait for your white wine to be delivered. You're not disappointed to find me fully erect. As you start to massage my own member, I whisper "I'm hard as soon as I see you, baby," as I close my eyes & allow your fingers to do that they will.

With my head back & eyes closed, I feel your hand retract as the waiter returns with your drink. I chuckle as he delivers the white wine & your hand retracts. "Wakey wakey" says the flamboyant waiter.

As your hand reaches back for my sex, I grab it - and as you continue trying to reach for that place that you know I'm simply unable to resit you, I pull your index finger back -- not enough to hurt, my pet, but enough to let you know that I'm in charge tonight.

You chug half of your glass of wine in a single gulp as I sip on my bourbon.

Putting your glass down, you look me straight in the eyes. "I want you", you mouth, inaudibly, to me.

My fingers continue their work underneath the tablecloth - massaging your left inner thigh, tracing around your vulva, then letting my index finger slide underneath your panties & across your clitoris. "John, I.....I.....I.....oh, oh", my index finger working over your most intricate bits, with the rest of my hand holding your panties back. "FUCK, I need to fuck you" you finally say, in a whispered yell, several restaurant patrons turning their heads. Throughout the rest of the night, it felt, to me, like at least an eye from every restaurant patron followed your every movement.

As I to played with your clit under the tablecloth, you seemed to lose track of time - though I'm certain that an orgasm failed to mount before the waiter returned to take our order. I ordered eggplant parmesan, my standard at an Italian place.

"and I'll have the..." as my fingers work their way under your panties, *deep breath", "I'll have the veal", my index finger & thumb pinch your clitoris.

"Marsala!" you finish, with your breath uneven. "Veal marsala. Veal marsala. Veal marsala" you say to the waiter. "Veal marsala", allowing your groin to grind against my fingers. "Veal. Marsala" As my index & middle fingers work their way into you. "Vealmarsalavealmarsalavealmarsala!" as I hook my fingers to your g-spot.

"Ok, I got it! Jesuschrist!" explains the waiter as you move your hips to get my fingers just a bit further into you. As soon as he leaves, I pull my fingers out from you.

"Oh, dear god, do we really have to do this through dinner?" you ask.

"Here my pet", I reach under my chair, "why don't you go powder your nose?"

You accept a wrapped package, a long, slender box.

"What is it?" you ask?, shaking it close to your ear, with nothing but a rattle evident.

"Go 'powder your nose' and find out", I smirk back, and you're out of your chair before I can count to one.

Entering the ladies room, you find that this is not a gift-wrapped present, but just a really nice gift box. Inside? A dildo -- a dildo that looks quite familiar to my own cock, minus the piercing. With the "gift" is a handwritten note: "why don't you try this on for size for dinner tonight?"

I see you, minutes later, working your way back to me, stepping with one foot intentionally in-front of the other. I can tell that you're using every muscle at your disposal to ensure that that dildo did not slip from you as you walk from the bathroom to the dining room. I can't help but notice that an extra button or two has been unbuttoned on the top of your dress. Plenty a stray eye watches every step, as you concentrate on keeping that dildo within your sex.

I stand up, holding your hand, refusing to let you sit (though I can tell the stress in your fact to hold the dildo in your sex, to give a toast "To family, friends -- the closer the better!" I raise my glass.

"Hear hear!" the crowd responds, before sitting back down & resuming their own drinks, conversations, & lewd views of you.

You sit down next to me, ensuring that you keep that little toy firmly planted in your sex. I look you directly in the eye & pull our my cell phone. As I look at you, I hit a button & suddenly the phallus begins to vibrate. I smirk as you attempt to catch your breath.

From that point forward, my little present seems to have a mind of its own. Sometimes, it's minutes between the times that you know it's there -- sometimes only seconds. Sometimes the vibration is such that you absolutely must stop eating/drinking/talking . . . sometimes it's just a pleasant reminder that my toy is there.

We complete our dinner, little shocks to your sex coming hither-dither as we eat. "Oh, you better fuck me good" you say to me, your eyes open as I pay the check, reaching between your legs to pull the phallus out. Throwing caution to the wind, you lick up the vibrating member . . . "you better fuck me really, really good", as the restaurant patrons look on.

"Oh, I will, my pet", I smile back . . . "I promise ;-)"