Hitech Hijinx Ch 04

One of the strange things about having been a professional thug is the habits that you ingrain, which pretty much stay with you for the rest of your life. For example, when you're part of a tactical protection team, you do what they call a three-unit rotation. One of your team is leading the way, one is with the principal, and the last person is lagging about ten feet behind. All members of the unit are relaxed but watching for movements, analyzing the flow of the foot traffic. Looking for someone in a hurry crossing vectors, someone trying too hard not to look at your principal and his oh-so-obvious guard. When you go through a door, the first person opens it and checks the scene, and the other two units accelerates, the client man moving through the door and into the lead position while the rear man takes his place at the client's side. The former lead man, who held the door, is now the rear guard.

Watching people, watching traffic, identifying exits when you enter a room, identifying anyone who might potentially be a threat - someone who suddenly looks away, for example - becomes a lifetime habit.

Every Wednesday I took advantage of my position to call an IT staff meeting - at the Chili's restaurant three blocks away, within range of our floor radios in case something comes up. Its not mandatory, and everything said is off the record, which is why we rarely invite outsiders; they might be the person we roast in today's casual conversation.

We're a snide bunch, the IT/NetOps guys... we had our usual table of eight, which the restaurant knew to have set for us. Wednesdays at 1pm. Granted, it went against the former lifetime to have a set place and time, but you make some allowance for the fact that you no longer need to carry a Glock 21 in a paddle-holster above your butt, nor wear Class III body armor.

But the other thing - the situational awareness - stays with you. You learn to take the "Boy are YOU paranoid" comments in stride, because the fact of the matter is that those habits only have to save your ass once in a lifetime - and once they do, everything else is gravy.

And thats how I saw you.

I took my usual seat - perpendicular to the windows, and facing the front door - pretending not to have noticed you. I'm successful to the degree that nobody can see my developing erection. Thank Ghod for opaque tables. I wonder how long you've been sitting there, and how you managed to talk the staff into seating you in that little alcove, where pretty much only I can see you. Did you bribe the manager? Did you arrive before the lunch crowd, and specifically request that table?

You obviously dressed for a client meeting today - you're wearing an exquisite, attractive version of the proverbial "little black dress", more appropriate to a dinner party than a client meeting. I'd found out that you were out of the office and working from home today - so either you had a client meeting for which you somewhat over-dressed, or you planned it with deliberation. For me.

The dress hugs your curvy shape, and reveals things - but only to the dedicated observer. Your lips glisten red with newly applied lipstick. Your fingernails are painted the same red, and look long enough to not only look sexy, but to potentially inflict a little pain.

Which I like.

"Hell, even your toenails are red" I think as I catch a little glimpse of these in your open-toed sandals.

All the while I'm doing this - similar to doing a threat assessment on an identified threat vector - you're sitting there with a little grin on your face. A smug, sexy, "I have you right where I want you" grin.

I watch as you take a sip of your drink, licking off the trickle with my tongue. I watch as you dip your finger into your drink and bring it to your mouth, and my pulse beats a little faster as your cheeks hollow as you suck the moisture away.

I watch as you take your finger out of your mouth and run it down from your throat to my cleavage, and then across the bare top of your breasts. The dress gives the illusion that if you were to take too deep of a breath your breasts would be bared for me. I can't tell as to whether or not your nipples are stuff underneath the dress, but I'd bet someone else's life on it.

I may be excited, but I'm not totally nuts.

Yet.

The waiter comes to take your order, and you're forced to break eye contact - and its a damn good thing for me. I take this moment to regroup and reorder my thoughts, occasionally glancing your way. You won't meet my eyes again - yet - and I engage my brain into the IT table conversation. Our table orders - thank Ghod we eat here every Wednesday, so I'm passing familiar with the menu - and when I look back you've taken out a book.

I am both relieved and disheartened; on the up side, you're giving me the small mercy of allowing to actually think about what I'm saying as we begin the meeting. The down side is obvious, and my cock relaxes somewhat, coming to rest at half-mast.

I've barely gotten to the point in my meetings where people are giving me project reports; telling me what I already know so that the rest of the team can come up to speed. You're reading some sort of lurid romance, and I think you've just hit one of the hot scenes; your fingertip is tracing a line in whorls over your breast as you read, and my tongue wants to join it on its merry journey.

I pretty much ignore my staff - as management, one gets a decent amount of practice at nodding at every full pause and saying "Does anyone have any questions" as appropriate. You've tugged open the little slit in the skirt of the dress, and it falls away open. I can see some distance up your skirt, and I watch as your finger plays with your black stocking and garters. You lean back a little, and your skirt drops open a little more. You're still reading, but you've got all my spare attention.

I watch as you glance up, and blush.

Instead of deterring you, it seems to spur you on. You spread your legs a little more, and I can see that you're wearing purple panties today... the lilac color seems to darken as your fingers reach it, pushing the soft material against your mound. Still careful not to look at me, you pull the panel of the panties aside, stroking softly.

I watch, pretending I'm interested in Findem! business as I watch you caress yourself, running your finger over your opening, dipping in between your labia and bringing forth lubrication. You circle your clit with your finger and bear down, beginning a subtle rocking motion with your hips.

Soon you arch your back, and I'm pretty sure that you've had at least a little orgasm, which is one more than me... and the distance between zero and one can be an infinity. I watch enviously as you bring your finger to your lips, and suck on it You look up, and catch my eye, and blow me a kiss.

I excuse myself from the table, and walk past you to the restrooms, my cock feeling like its going to explode. As I near where you sit I casually run my fingers across the bulge, scant feet from your face. Ahh, the restroom. I don't know why they call it there; its not like I actually get any rest. Some cold water to reduce the swelling, and I restore my equanimity. The danger of wearing silk boxers is that every movement on an erection is a sensual delight, and if I'd had to watch much longer, I'd have cum in my pants - which would have been quite an embarrassing situation, requiring me to spill my water glass on myself somehow.

Back at the table, I sit down, and glance your way as the side conversations quieten and everyone begins to focus again. Everyone but me, that is - you ordered a shrimp cocktail appetizer. Yes, the shrimp. The oldest tease in the book, even filmed as part of an erotic sequence in the movie Flashdance. I hate it when old tricks still work... and this one is. I watch as you lick the cocktail sauce off, and bring it to your mouth. I keep watching, while actually running my staff meeting.

Again, you're merciful - you don't start up again until the end of my meeting, and dessert. You've ordered chocolate-covered strawberries, and I watch as you pretend they're miniature cocks, sucking the brown icing away to leave the red, succulent flesh of the fruit... You gently bite the flesh away, and I can almost imagine how your lips and teeth would feel on my cock.

I watch as you raise your skirt again... and this time, you put the last strawberry, cleansed of chocolate, against your pussy. No, I'm wrong... gently you put it in your pussy, and pull your panties back into place. Your skirt falls back into place, and you get up to pay your check, sashaying out of the restaurant. Some of the guys at the table admire your ass after you pass... but they don't recognize you from the back, which I suppose is just as well.

You've finished.

We finish our lunch, and by the time we leave my erection has faded again - good thing, or I'd start to pass out from the loss of blood. I'm still highly excited, and I speak slowly and deliberately to hide it. I pay for the meal on my expense plastic, and we return to the office. I make a few comments and excuse myself, wanting some "alone time" to replay the lunchtime encounter in my mind while my fingers softly stroke my cock

On my chair is a napkin.

And in the center of the napkin is a single, bright red strawberry.