The day had finally come. You and your date had just been seated at a prime window-front table at Le Bernardin, one of Manhattan's acclaimed three Michelin star restaurants. Was that Al Pacino at the next table? The evening seemed as though it was poised to be perfect. Until we walked in. From the street Katherine and I saw some useless new hostess sitting you at our table. Sure, we were running 30 minutes late but who cares. We don't need to play by the same rules as the rest of you commoners. And besides, we had a show to go to within 2 hours and we were not going to be waylaid by this nonsense. Eric Ripert, the celebrity chef and owner of the restaurant, was going to personally get an earful from Katherine - that's for sure.
Not surprisingly as we walked through the glass doors into the restaurant every head turned to see us.
Katherine looked resplendent in a Carolina Herrera floral print silk ruffled mini dress. The nearly $5000 sleeveless, backless and strapless cocktail number in canary yellow with a flared neckline magnificently accentuated her bust while giving onlookers the pleasure of gazing upon her leanly muscled but feminine tanned arms and back. The asymmetric sash at the waist profiled her athletic midriff spectacularly and, with a hem that hit mid-thigh, her glorious runners' legs were a display to behold. When coupled with a 4.5" pair of white patent leather Manolo Blahnik platform heels, the outfit easily made the strawberry blonde Mrs. Wray the belle of any ball.
Not to be outdone, I was wearing my brand new, form fitting sharkskin Tom Ford suit. The sheen on the grey material that profiled my highly exercised ass and sizable bulge to their best advantage likewise served to set the fitted blazer off from my tight white Prada shirt. That shirt was opened halfway down my chest to show both my incredible tan and the amount of time I spent working out. A pair of Tod's black soft leather driving loafers coddled my sock-less feet and a $30,000 Breguet watch was strapped around my wrist. Suffice it to say, as I scanned the restaurant to take in all the women looking my way - including your date - I saw nothing but a sea of unworthy losers. No man looked half as good as I and no woman could even approach the goddess who was on my arm.
"May I help you," came the voice of the unfamiliar hostess who had incompetently give you our table as we walked up to her stand.
"You clearly don't have any idea who we are, you stupid girl," snarled Katherine imperiously, "and where on earth is Pierre."
As the cowed hostess endeavored to frame a response, Katherine arrogantly pressed her advantage, "and where is Chef Eric because I assure you once he hears about this you'll be out on your fat ass where you belong."
As my sexy date continued to raise a ruckus, feeding both her ego and my own, you and the other diners couldn't help but notice. Although you and your date were here for the first time, the regulars had seen Katherine and I exercise our dominance before and - as you might expect given their envy - despised us for it. As if we cared.
Pointing at your table, Katherine continued to harangue the now angry but still polite hostess.
"What I need you to do is to get those.. those... commoners... removed from our table and get us our dinner right away," sneered my uber-confident mate.
"And what are you looking at you worm," my gorgeous date practically hissed at you as you stared dumbfounded at her rudeness.
"Put your eyes back in your head," she barked on, "people like me don't have time for the likes of you and I certainly don't need you ogling me. Dream on."
In the meantime, finally taking off my sunglasses that I had worn in off the street, and while you were being belittled by Ms. Wray, I smiled at your date while moving my blazer aside to give her a view of the bulge in my tight, expensive, designer pants. Of course, she wanted me.
Unsure what to do, and with a completely resigned look on her face and apologizing profusely, the embattled hostess asked you and your date if you wouldn't mind sitting at another table. Dinner - of course - would be on the house.
Not wanting to cause any more of a scene, and against the protestations of your date who is staring daggers both at you for not standing up for yourself and at Katherine for causing this mess, you agree to be moved.
"Chop, chop friend, get a move on" I goad you while arrogantly taking your date's hand to escort her from the table, "and by the way, I would have expected more from a man who was able to land such a lovely dinner companion."
Your date's momentary blush was ruined, however, when Katherine cruelly added, "he's only joking dearie - you're nothing but a cow."
Feeling triumphant as usual about getting our way, Katherine and were oblivious to the waiters coming from behind us to reset our table. One was carrying a tray with an open bottle of red wine and one pushing a very ornate cart that contained our plates cutlery and appetizers.
"Be careful," shouted the hostess upon realizing what was about to transpire.
"I've had just about enough of you telling me what to do you peon," Katherine began haughtily to say, as turning on her towering heels she sought again to dress the hostess down.
But that turn, into the oncoming wine tray, began for Mrs. Wray and myself a very unexpected and humbling series of events.
"Madame... look out," the waiter shouts before - running squarely into Katherine and me - he manages to knock the contents of the red wine bottle all over the two of us.
"You clumsy oaf," the startled diva bellows as I - equally drenched and annoyed - take off my now stained and soaking blazer to hang off a nearby chair, "look what you've..."
But before the next words leave her luscious lips, in what is merely the beginning of our end, the sharp corner of the modern, stainless steel bar cart being pushed by the other waiter snagged the waist of her glorious cocktail dress causing on the one hand, the skirt of said dress to peel from Katherine's fantastic body and, on the other, the teetering beauty to fall precipitously toward the restaurant floor. In a scene that would do Vaudeville proud, and in an effort to break her hard fall, the lovely Mrs. Wray reached out and - grabbing the first thing she could get her perfectly manicured fingers on - tore the tapered Tom Ford slacks from my legs.
For a moment, the entire restaurant was silent. But then, as Katherine and I stood relieved of our skirt and pants respectively, the restaurant went wild with laughter, whistles and catcalls. The fall of the self-perceived mighty had begun and, as the full weight of our predicament started to sink in, camera phones were recording it all.
"Oh my God, my dress," Katherine cried as the crowd looked at her perfectly exercised ass now wearing only the tiniest wisp of a thong.
In the meantime, with my tattered pants in a useless heap at my feet, everyone realized that I too was wearing a very naughty pair of underthings. To those looking at me from the front, it appeared that I was simply wearing the tiniest pair of black, mesh boxer briefs which would have been scandalous enough. Those behind me, however, had a view of my bare white ass, not covered by those skimpiest of briefs, but merely bisected by two strings of pearls that effectively made it appear as though I was wearing a thong. If only this was my biggest secret, I thought to myself as my face started to redden with embarrassment due both to my abject humiliation and the stimulation that the pearls brought on as they rubbed my now exposed bottom.
"Nice panties stud," came a voice from a corner of the restaurant as I tried to cover my pasty bottom with one hand while reaching down to get Katherine with the other.
"Do those rhinestones say 'spank me'" laughed the hostess as she realized what was written in the cheap gems on the back of the waistband of Katherine's tiny panties.
As the crowd laughed on I did my best to lift my disheveled date from the ground. Unfortunately for me, as my mortified mate attempted to help herself up she used for leverage the tails of my wine stained skin-tight white shirt which, when she slipped and fell again, caused an incredibly loud RIIIIIIIIIPPPPPP! to be heard throughout the restaurant. In an instant, with Katherine now on all fours staring at my crotch, my fancy Prada frock was entirely torn away from what had appeared to be my completely tan torso.
