Dinner And 1

His best friend from college was in town, celebrating a milestone wedding anniversary. They were all going out to dinner together, even though it was her birthday.

She felt kind of childish, having been irritated at the thought of sharing her man during a weekend she wanted to celebrate. But she was a grown woman, and he didn't get to see this friend very often. So she decided to make the most of it; to enjoy relaxing with him and getting to know someone from his past.

She checked herself in the mirror one last time, and decided she liked what she saw. She'd put her hair up loosely. She had on her favorite little black dress. It had a long drop waist, and the sheath part of the dress was cut so that it clung in all the right ways. The skirt was attached just under the curve of her ass, and flared out so that it ruffled a little. It was sleeveless with a straight, boat neckline, and the bottom hem hit above her knee. It was conservative but not dowdy. Combined with the right underwear, black stockings and high heels, it was a sexily sophisticated look.

He, dapper as usual, was already dressed in his favorite charcoal gray suit and a daring green shirt that brought out the color in his eyes. He stood near the door of their apartment, collecting his wallet and keys, and looked up at her approach. His face breaking into a broad, mischievous smile, he exclaimed, "Wow."

As she took another step, he said, "Turn around. Let me see everything."

She made a slow pirouette, smiling at the effect she was having on him. He let out an appreciative whistle and held out his hand. Gallantly, he bent and kissed her hand, then drew her closer to him. One hand around her waist, and the other at the back of her neck, he kissed her mouth.

It lit some kind of spark in her, and she didn't just respond. She leaned into him, pushing against him and he stepped back to the wall. He was pressed against the wall, and she took another step into him, putting one leg between his, and raising up on her tip toes. He responded by snaking his arm further around her waist, and she did the same around his. She slid her other hand up behind his shoulder and pulled him into her. He still had hold of her head and she could feel his fingers clenching and straightening as he pressed her face into his.

He was invading her mouth with his tongue and she was trying to do the same to him. She wanted to crawl into him, to have him for dinner and dessert. One of her hands pressed hard into his back, and then moved down to his ass. She felt herself squeeze his ass cheek before she even thought about it. He made a startled noise while still latched onto her and then redoubled his efforts to claim her mouth. She continued pressing against him with all her leverage, and soon was grinding her hips into him, silently pleading with him to do more than kiss.

He realized they were at a tipping point, and would either need to break the kiss, or forget about dinner with his friends. He pulled away from her and put both his hands on her face, cupping her cheeks gently.

"We're gonna be late."

"Ok." She sighed heavily.

"Look at me. I know you wanted us to spend time alone together. We will. I promise, you will not be disappointed."

She nodded, reminding herself that this was important to him, and that made it important to her. "Ok. Let's go."

They straightened their clothes, and she picked up the evening bag that went with her outfit. He took her hand and they walked out.

The restaurant was just across the street from the hotel where his friends were staying. They parked in the hotel's garage, and as they were getting out, he got a text from his friend.

"They're running late, apparently. He said go ahead and get the table. They'll meet us there."

The restaurant was cozy and high end; the kind where the lights are low and everyone dresses up and speaks in soft murmurs. Their table was in the middle of the dining room, in view of the bar and the entrance. There were already diners at tables on either side. They sat side by side and glanced at the menu.

The waiter who came over was young, blond, and skinny, looking like he was still in college. He took their drink orders and suggested an appetizer. As the waiter was walking away, her man said to her, "You think he's cute."

"What?"

"I can tell. You think he's cute."

She looked over at him; he was still perusing the menu, perfectly nonchalant. Before she could respond, he said it again, "You think he's cute. You wanna fuck him."

"What are you talking about?" she queried, trying to figure out which game he was playing.

He leaned over and looked her in the eye. "Don't try to deny it. I know you, horny wench. You want to fuck him. You're getting wet just thinking about him, aren't you?" Still conversational, calm, but not even trying to whisper.

The waiter came back to deliver their drinks, and he ordered the appetizer that had been suggested.

This time, as the waiter walked off, he leaned in close and murmured, "I see you, looking at him. Watching him walk away. Imaging him fucking you."

She turned to look at him; his eyes were gleaming in the low light and a smile played one his lips. She was flushed, and now she was imagining the waiter naked. She shook her head, trying to erase the thought.

He sat back in his chair, sipping his drink, and then glancing at his phone. "If I bent you over this table and fucked you, d'you think he'd let you blow him? I mean, you'd probably have to ask nicely. But I'll vouch for your skills as a cocksucker. You think he'd let you suck him off while I was fucking you?"

He wasn't trying to make eye contact, still seeming to pay more attention to his phone than her. His tone of voice suggested he was bored, asking her opinion on a movie he didn't want to see.

The man at the table next to them was looking at them, eyes wide and jaw agape. She leaned over and put her hand on her man's thigh, sliding up until it touched his crotch and found his penis.

She was lightly rubbing his cock through his pants. "He's young," she noted. "He'd let anyone give him head."

He leaned over again, his hand on the back of her chair, shoulder almost touching hers. He finally made eye contact again; his look was hard, predatory, amused. "It'd be hard for you though, to ask my permission to cum, with his cock down your throat. Don't you think?"

She was still stroking him, matching his gaze with a look she hoped implied confidence. "Yeah." She caught the eye of the man next to them, and winked. "Whatever would I do?"

He sat back, reached down and picked up her hand in his, just as the waiter was coming back with the appetizer. He laid their joined hands on the table. Watching as the waiter made his rounds to other diners.

Then he stared at her. "This is what you'll do. When my friends get here, after we order, you'll excuse yourself to go to the bathroom. You will take off your panties. You'll bring them to me here at the table.

"In the mean time, you will imagine a story to tell me later about fucking that waiter. What his cock looks like, what he tastes like, how he moves, what he does to you. What you do to him. It'd better be good. I'll be judging you."

He watched her reaction. She was flushed, and he'd caught her squirming in her chair a little. The wink to the stranger was overcompensation. She was embarrassed but acting like she wasn't. He was enjoying this verbal exhibitionism. Humiliation games were his favorite appetizer.

They drank their drinks, and when the waiter came back to ask if they wanted more, he watched her flush rise, and caught her staring at the guy's crotch for real. He leaned in close and whispered in her ear about how she was proving what an insatiable slut she was. That if she was very careful and played her cards right, he'd convince every man in the restaurant to fuck her. Periodically, he'd lean over and add some detail about how it was obvious she wanted to fuck all the men there; how she planned to pay for their meal by sucking off the chef and all the kitchen staff; how when she was done with them they'd call the owner so she could fuck her too.

She refused to make eye contact with him, fumbling with her own phone, and rereading the menu a hundred times. He just kept talking in the same tone of voice he'd use to read her the news. She was trembling, blushing up to her ears, and he was convinced that if he reached down her panties would be soaked. That was exactly what he wanted.

Then his friends were there, making apologies for being late, but no explanation. They greeted each other warmly, the men kissing the women on the cheek, and then hugging. The old friends had broad smiles on their faces, happiness radiating off of them as they settled in. She was suddenly glad they were having this dinner together. She'd met his best friend a few times when he was in town on business. She'd talked to the wife once on the phone. But she didn't know either of them well.

The waiter came back and got drink orders from everyone, and they all perused the menu. When he returned with the drinks they were all ready, ordered another appetizer and then all their entrees. As the waiter was moving away again, she remembered her instructions and excused herself. He smirked to himself, satisfied that he hadn't needed to remind her of the task, knowing that meant she was as turned on as he wanted her to be.

As she was walking to the bathroom, she regretted leaving her purse at the table. But there wasn't anything to do about it. She went into the stall and pulled up her dress. Sure enough, her panties were visibly wet, and she was still feeling flushed and aroused. She thought back to that kiss in their apartment, remembered the feel of his penis as she was stroking it, and all his commands and suggestions were ringing in her brain.

She sat on the toilet, dress hiked up under her armpits, and rubbed her clit through the fabric of the panties. She spread her legs wide, and pressed the lace of her underwear into her cunt. She bit down on her lip and pinched a nipple while she was fingering herself with the other hand. She used the friction of the fabric as much as the pressure of her finger.

She pleasured herself very quietly, trying to manage her breathing, to not even so much as moan. She was embarrassed at all the things he'd said to her, right at the edge of being too mortified to enjoy it. Any interruption now would shatter that delicate balance. The pressure of getting herself off quickly and noiselessly, of knowing that anyone could walk in at any time, made the situation so much hotter.

She imagined:

Her fingers are thrumming on her clit when she hears footsteps outside, and the distinctive sound of a lock turning in the door. Suddenly the stall door rattles and she hears the waiter. "I know you're in there, open up." Trembling she reaches for the latch as it suddenly pops open. He's caught her, his blue eyes blazing and erection visible through his dress pants. "You're obviously just as much a slut as he said you were, leaving the stall unlocked like that." The waiter steps in, shutting the door behind himself, pinning her to the toilet, the space much too small for her to maneuver around him. His body fills her vision; his cock at her eye level. She tries to lean back against the toilet tank, to look him in the eye. He's staring down at her, nostrils flared, cheeks red, eyes now half lidded as he sizes her up. He reaches down, pushes her further against the tank, cups his hand under her chin. "You can't move in here, and you don't want to, do you slut?" She finds herself shaking her head in agreement. He's so different from her man. She can see that his confidence is an act, that he's come in here on a dare, a challenge from the real command in her life. She wonders what he was told. She's still playing with herself, teasing herself and showing herself off to this young stranger. She should be more nervous, but all she feels is hungry anticipation. She should feel ashamed, but her humiliation only feeds her arousal. She wants to perform, wants a good review. Suddenly, he pulls his cock out of his pants and she sees, it's a good length, slender, but long enough to play with. Pale with one extra large vein throbbing on the underside. He unceremoniously shoves his hips at her face, more evidence that he's unsure of himself. She takes over, opening up, licking and sucking him, leaning forward to pull as much of him in her mouth as she can. He stands, barely moving, barely making noise, and she sighs against him, thinking that this was not going the way she'd hoped. His youth and excitement work against her, and suddenly he's spurting into her mouth. A salty and slightly bitter load, and her only thought is to wonder if he'd just eaten asparagus. Too quick for her to have put effort into it, her second thought is worry that her man will not be impressed enough to reward her later. The young waiter pulls out, puts himself away, and doesn't leave. She'd let go of herself while working on him and her arousal rears up and demands attention. Surprisingly, he squats down in front of her. He kisses her lightly on the chin, down her throat, and reaches a hand for her pussy. She braces her hands on the stall walls, spreading her legs as far as she can. His touch is gentle at first, exploring her folds, dipping lightly in her center to push the lace up further. As she responds favorably he gets more comfortable, thrusting a finger, then two, to the knuckle, his curled index finger managing to graze her clit with each push. He's softly calling her a slut, a whore, suggesting that he'll lock her in here and get his buddied to take their turn. It's a nice act, but she can tell it's just a script someone handed him. He keeps fucking her with the fingers, his confidence growing now and she finds herself relaxing against his ministrations. Her breath coming in soft gasps as he works harder to satisfy her. He pushes his fingers in, the uses the other hand to attend to her clit, tapping and rubbing, flicking and drawing tight circles around her base. She lays her head back and cums around his hand.

She felt the orgasm building, and kept rubbing herself in all the right spots, furiously, vigorously. Conjuring the names she'd been called earlier out of the young man's mouth. Imagining his long fingers instead of her own; imagining his youthful enthusiasm making up for lack of technique. Imagining the most entertaining way to tell this story to her man when the time was right. Finally, she tripped over the edge, and felt her pussy clenching and even more fluid soaking her panties. She relaxed against the hard porcelain, shuddering ever so slightly. Smiling at her indiscretion, as she hadn't been given permission to play with herself, but neither had she been forbidden it. She delighted in the idea of a punishment for her insolence or a reward for her ingenuity. Giving a thought to how much time had elapsed, she peeled off her panties, making sure they didn't land on the floor.

Then she peed, wiped herself off completely, and arranged her dress in its proper place. While she washed and dried her hands, her heart was beating double time, her underwear loose on the counter next to the sink. She wadded her panties up in her hand, concealing the fabric as well as she could. She was sure the little scrap of black lace poking out between two fingers was obvious to everyone.

She imagined the heat from the stares of the room full of diners, sure that they were judging her. She attempted a confident stride across the dining room to their table. As she approached, the men stood up, and her man stepped behind her to help with her chair. She took her chance to deposit the underwear in his suit jacket pocket. He whispered that he'd said to give them to him, and there would be consequences.

As she was sitting, his friend joked, "We'd started to wonder if you'd fallen in..."

His wife chimed in, "Yeah, I was just about to come check on you."

"Oh, you know," she stammered, sure that her face was beet red. "I had to search for some toilet paper. A place this fancy, you'd think..." She let the sentence trail off.

She turned to his wife, "So, tell me, what's the craziest story you know about these two?"

They shared a lovely meal full of laughter. The men fell to reminiscing about college, about some particular senior year hijinks, about some prank they and a couple of other friends almost got arrested for. About classes ditched, and pulling all-nighters. About football games and parties. Some stories she'd heard before, but now from a different perspective. Some new stories, illuminating how he'd changed, and in what ways he had been the same, all those years ago.

His friends seemed genuinely in love and were openly affectionate to each other. The wife often touched his friend's arm, or they would lean in close to each other. They seemed to finish each other's thoughts. She decided she really liked the wife. She was a professional in a field not too different from her own, and they had some things in common.

Every now and then, she noticed his best friend twitched slightly, or jumped in his seat. Each time the wife gave a coy smile. She noticed that his friend blushed easily, and wondered if there was some other layer of meaning to a few of the seemingly benign comments his wife made. There was something familiar about the way they were interacting with each other, but she couldn't quite name it.

Hours later, they opted against dessert and decided to go to the friends' hotel room for more drinks and talking. They got the check, haggled over who was going to pay, and the best friend won. His friend and the wife both said that they needed the bathroom.

He told them, "We'll wait for you outside."

After they walked away, he got her attention. Smirking, he took her panties out of his pocket, and artfully spread them out on her plate. Then took her by the hand and walked out to the street. She blushed red from her feet to her hairline. As they were waiting for his friends, he pulled her close, wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head.

"Look in your bag," he murmured. "I know what you were really doing in the bathroom."

Inside, wrapped carefully in a plastic zip top bag, was his favorite butt plug. Small enough to wear for a while, large enough to be constantly noticeable to her. He'd thoughtfully put a travel sized bottle of lube in there. As she shut the bag and looked at him, he ordered, "Put that in when we get to their room."

They walked back to the hotel, and rode up the elevator to his friends' room. It was an extended stay hotel, with a kitchenette, a large living area, and the bathroom separate from the bedroom. She excused herself and did as she'd been told.

She strode out of the bathroom, smiling, liking the sensations in her ass. She wiggled her hips for him and he beamed. He sat at the end of a couch in the living area, leaned up against the armrest. His friends nowhere in sight. He regarded her as she walked over; she was not quite sure where to sit. She nodded pointedly to the closed bedroom door.

"He said they needed a few minutes. Come 'ere." Gesturing with his hand to draw her closer.

"That really is a beautiful dress on you." She sat next to him as he stroked her cheek. "It's kind of a pity you're wearing it tonight."

"A pity? Really?"

"Yeah. Cuz, when we get home, I'm going to slice it off of you."

Ever since they'd started dating, years ago, he had a talent for saying the most outrageous things in a completely casual way. As their relationship evolved, he continued to maintain this nonchalant tone when he described his plans for her. Just as he had in the restaurant, he called her names, assailed her character, or described their deviancies as though none of it affected him.