Sitting in my usual seat in the back of the diner, I was able to practice two of my favorite pastimes – programming and people watching. I was programming a $1,150 remote controlled car, a "toy" to most while a serious tool to some like me. My intention was to make it run its own course, recognize obstructions, and change course to avoid them, while continuing on to the waypoints I was giving it. Fun stuff.
The people coming and going before me provided plenty of people images to gaze at while I contemplated lines of code, that is, until one very hot looking woman strolled in.
She was wearing "Fuck me" clothes, no doubt about it. Heels, stockings, short ass leather skirt, silky blouse, loose and opened to show one hell of a lot of wide cleavage between unrestrained breasts. Her lipstick was a cheap and obvious, fire engine red, her eyes shadowed in a neon blue, black lashes and brows, and all surrounded by a waving red mane that begged to be raked with soft fingers. And she sat down two tables away, facing me.
After swallowing a mouthful of dry air, I managed to look lower, to my laptop to avoid eye-to-eye contact, only to find myself moments later, involuntarily staring between her legs. Damn if she hadn't left her knees a foot apart, stretching the leather skirt tight, allowing me to see her bare snatch. Man, there should be a law. And then I saw it.
I jerked my head away, not wanting to risk being seen in a state of surprise, while storing the image in my memory for a more detailed analysis. My first instinct was to revolt, but it wasn't a string that I saw dangling from her slit, it was a wire, and that could mean only one thing, a remote controlled object was currently inserted into that lovely tunnel.
I was dying to stare again, but had to think. Opportunities like this don't come along every day. Was she carrying the remote control for the thing? She had a small purse, but showed no sign of going for it. No, she was looking at the menu. She ordered something from the waitress. It was as if she walked around all the time with a time bomb up her loins. She just sat there, like anyone else, if I could ignore the spread knees and bare-assed pussy staring me in the face. Then it hit me.
I switched programs, turned on my own transmitter, and slapped together a program to scan the frequencies in the range such devices are legally allowed to use, and set the camera on the back side of my laptop lid to aim directly at her, zoomed to its full extent. And I pushed the "Enter" key.
Nothing happened for several seconds. Then she twitched. I swear, she twitched. She was shocked, not electrically, but surprised. I fumbled and stopped the program on the frequency it had landed, and turned it off. Watching her in the camera video, I saw her fumble too, for her purse. Sure enough, she reached fingers in and tried to manipulate what could only be the remote. Another jump in her seat told me she tested it, but the puzzled look on her face only intensified.
I waited for her to close her purse, and gave her another blast.
She squirmed a bit more this time, less panicky and looking like she almost enjoyed the malfunction. I turned it off.
Could it be? Did she actually look disappointed for a moment? Then she slumped in her seat, as if a load had been taken off her shoulders. Odd, I thought. She went back into her purse, pulled the remote out far enough for me to see her pull the batteries. If there had been any doubt that something had been pushed up into her somewhat glistening pussy, there was none now. I waited until she put her purse down again and the waitress brought her coffee.
