My thanks to LallyH for editing this story. I'm glad she did.
It had been a long, long time since I had been in downtown Miami. Last week, driving down Brickell, I passed Morton's, taking me back to a special time with an old Panamanian lover. "Mi vida loca," I thought. God, what I wouldn't give for one more weekend of that life, to fuck and suck non-stop with him just one more time! My pussy tingled at the thought.
Being remarried, having children, a comfortable life and a wonderful extended family only goes so far. Sometimes a girl wants to relive her single days, and travel back to her "vida loca", with sex, drugs and salsa y meringue! And sex. Definitely sex.
I wasn't driving a Volvo, but I had become a soccer mom. I loved my current life. It was the variety and frequency of cock that I used to get that I missed. And the places in which I used to get it.
Richie had been my Panamanian lover. At the time when we met at my old firm, I was newly divorced, unattached and back in Miami. He was at times co-counsel and also a client. We often worked together closely. In time we became lovers. I am Cuban, curvy and insatiable. He was Panamanian, with an old-world courtliness, and eight inches of thick, uncircumcised cock that was always hard. We both liked champagne, martinis, weed, and fucking and sucking, anytime and anywhere. Really. The connection we had lasted nearly three years. There was little we didn't do, and few places where we didn't do it.
Driving back home, I reminisced about Richie. Whenever he came to town for business, or just to see me, he would stay at my condo on South Beach. He would work from there, or out of a spare office at the law firm, depending upon what he had to do. One spring day he came to work with me, as we had meetings in the morning with clients.
My work attire at the firm was simple, professional and functional -- for two reasons. It comprised a plain silk blouse (sometimes a sheath, and sometimes with buttons down the front ), a tailored wool, linen or silk skirt with the hem above the knees, and high heels. I always wore a lacy underwire bra. My 36C breasts are unmanageable without one. I had to choose my blouse and top combinations carefully because even with a bra on, the dark aureole and pencil-eraser nipples were too obvious if the fabric was too sheer or too thin. I always wore matching panties - lace or mesh. I never wore stockings or hose. On the surface, the look was professional and lawyer-like. This clean, simple ensemble also permitted me to remove quickly whatever items of clothes necessary for sex at the office, in the car, or in public, and then to put them back on just as quickly afterwards. Mostly for Richie, but other men as well.
The last of the morning meetings complete, we were cleaning up in the conference room. As the paralegal was leaving, Richie said, "Let's go for lunch, but first I want call opposing counsel back to let him know that we agree to the extension."
"What extension?" I thought to myself.
When we got to the office, he closed the door, quietly engaging the door lock. Then, gracefully sliding up behind, he embraced me, running his hands along my body. I felt his cock pressed against my shapely ass as he slowly humped me from behind.
"Oh, that extension," I said, grasping him by the balls and running my hand up the shaft through his trousers. He was fully erect and the head of his cock was directly under his belt buckle.
I felt him step back and lift up the hem of my skirt. He knelt down and began licking my inner thighs, running his hands softly along the inside and outside of my legs, gently brushing against my vulva.
"No, not now, amor! I'm hungry. For food. Let's go have lunch first!" I knew that if he took off my panties, he would have his tongue buried in my ass, and I wouldn't be able to stop him from fucking me across my desk. We had done it many times before. Once he started to tongue me, I couldn't pull back. I had no control.
"Bueno, putica," he said, "but first take off your panties for me on the way out." He pulled on the elastic band to slide them over my ass.
I protested, knowing that nothing could stop him from assaulting my ass with his tongue if he did. "I can't do that, I get very wet and then I make a mess of my skirt." I paused.
"Mira, Putica. You're wearing a dark skirt with a liner. Nothing is going to show," Richie said. I relented and stepped into the ladies' room, where I went into a stall. Sliding my skirt up my thighs, not so easy to do with a tight skirt and curvy thighs, I reached down and rubbed my pussy through the silky fabric, making sure that I pushed through the outer lips. When I had soaked the panties sufficiently - and aroused myself - I slipped my thumbs under the elastic waistband and moved my thumbs to my hips. Then I slid the panties down my smooth, tanned legs, until they were above my heels. Slowly, I pulled the panties off one leg, and then the other. Holding the fragrant silk La Perla bikini panties, I arranged them into the shape of a pocket square. Exiting the restroom, I tucked the panties into Richie's sport coat pocket, making them into a passable pocket square.
Richie loved showing off my panties in public. He also loved showing me off in public, and he really got off on showing me off naked or semi-naked, when he had his cock in my mouth or pussy in public.
We got to Morton's and the maitre de, recognizing us, seated us at the usual table, off to the side and away from most foot traffic. Richie ordered drinks for us - Grey Goose martinis with olives. Enjoying our drinks, we selected our steaks and placed our orders. I enjoyed how he took control of every situation, leaving no detail undone.
The martinis had their effect on both of us. The longer we were there, the closer we moved our chairs together, as we talked and laughed about work and life, frequently touching each other. At one point, Richie slipped his hand under the table. I felt him grasp my knee, before he slowly, yet confidently, ran his hand up my inner thigh, pulling on my leg so that I would spread open my thighs. Complying with his non-verbal instruction, I lifted up off the chair and hiked up my skirt high on my hips before sitting back with my legs open. I was grateful for my napkin and the table cloth covering my bare legs. Anyone at or near the table, however, would get a show.
Richie whispered in my ear, "Amor, I am so horny right now" as his fingers rested on my slick outer lips.
My pussy had been gushing even before he spoke. Running his finger up and down my slit he could tell I was soaking wet. I could see his cock thickening in the white linen pants he wore. I had waxed my pussy a few days earlier and it was smooth, as were my thighs and pussy lips. Richie loved my slick pussy. I loved the feel of this fat cock, especially when he wore linen trousers, like that day. I could feel every ridge, bump and vein on his shaft. I reached over and began massaging that fat sausage in his pants, slowly and sensually.
Throughout lunch, we fondled each other discreetly under the table. I was doing most of the talking, allowing Richie to finish his meal first. When he was done, he reached back down to my pussy and, after spreading my thighs, his finger separated the lips and he circled around the opening to my cunt. Slowly, he worked one finger, and then two, inside me before popping them in and out of me. The fingers opened me up and further split apart my lips as he ran them up my cunt opening until he got to the top.
Finding my engorged clitoris, Richie manually stimulated it, flicking it up and down and side to side. His thumb pressed down on my clit and then he went to town on it, rubbing it hard and briskly. His upper arm moved imperceptively, but his forearms and fingers were furious in their repetitive assault on my clit. And then he stopped and slipped two fingers deep into my pussy. Involuntarily I gasped so hard that the waiter, watching discreetly from a distance, came over to the table to "make sure that everything was all right." He knew what was happening; he'd watched us before.
I realized that Richie had wanted to evoke an audible and visual response of my increasing arousal from me. As the waiter turned around and walked back to his station, I reached for the edge of the table, knowing that Richie was going to make me cum at 2 o'clock in the afternoon in downtown Miami at a table in Morton's. His two fingers furiously rubbed my raw clit until I could take no more. My body tensed, my eyes closed and my body shuddered, as I held onto the table to steady myself. Richie slowed his pace, gently lifting his hand up and stroking my cheek. I sucked each finger clean of my pussy juice, while my inner thighs were swimming in my cum. Discreetly, I sopped up some of my wetness with my table napkin, and when I was done, I straightened my skirt.
We finished lunch and the waiter removed the empty plates and martini glasses. Richie ordered a Chardonnay for me and a Frangelico for himself. As we enjoyed their after-meal drinks, his ardor for me increased and Riche unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants, pulling out his semi-hard cock. I could smell the cologne he always dabbed on his well-manicured balls. "Time to pay him back for the meal," I thought to myself.
