We arrived at the posh New York City restaurant at 8 pm sharp. It was a new out-of-the-way place that had been featured prominently in a number of exclusive social magazines. Since we were visiting from out of town, it took several phone calls to get a prized reservation, but persistence finally paid off when I learned that a friend of a friend knew the head wine buyer.
The hot spot was crowded, with at least a two hour wait for those unfortunate enough not to make the short list. The dining room was dimly lit, with only tiny halogens beaming down onto each white linen tablecloth. Live piano jazz played from a back room.
A young male waiter, dressed in black slacks and a stark white shirt, showed us to our table by the window. It was a celebration of sorts. You had finished a major project at work and, after closing the deal late last night, we felt like spending some of our newfound money on an expensive meal and nice bottle of wine.
You wore a slinky emerald dress, cut perfectly low in the front and amazingly low in the back. I hardly could take my eyes off your breasts as they swayed from side to side when you slid into your chair. I caught the waiter sneaking a glance downward, too, confirming that he liked a beautiful woman as much as I did. I didn't mind, I was proud that you looked so great.
We enjoyed light-hearted conversation, ordered cocktails, then a nice Amon-Ra Shiraz. The food came after a while, civeche, sushi-grade fish, exotic sides. The service was attentive and the presentation was impeccable, every bit as lavish as promised. At first, it seemed uncommon how many different waiters stopped by our table to fill our water glasses and clear our plates, but I chalked up the extra service we received to your loud giggles and exposed cleavage. Not a single breadcrumb was allowed to rest on our table more than the briefest of moments. Of course, you obliged each waiter by giving a flirtatious smile each time. You mastered the art of positive reinforcement.
"What a fantastic night," I commented.
"I don't think I've ever been happier," you replied.
Your eyes wandered to a spot across the room to my left. "I feel,... hot," you added, taking another full-lipped sip of rich, purple-black wine.
After a moment, I looked to my left, too, and noticed, for the first time, a table close to the center of the room. Sitting there were two Navy officers, dressed in their sharp white uniforms, and an attractive brunette, probably a wife of one of the men. Both men were chiseled, broad-shouldered, decorated war heroes. One was dark haired and the other blond. They looked chivalrous, sat tall with their backs stiff and moved at ninety-degree angles with disciplined poise.
Catching the men off guard, both of them were staring intently at our table. They averted their eyes when they noticed me looking at them. The woman gave an embarrassed laugh, propped one elbow on the table and spoke to the men through one hand cupped to her mouth.
"Might I interest you in some dessert?" the waiter interrupted, bringing our attention back to our table.
"Sure," we replied in unison.
After a bite of sweets and some coffee, you excused yourself.
"I have to go to the little girls' room," you said, sliding gracefully out of your chair.
I watched the hem of your dress as you walked away. Fine in every way, I thought to myself. The Navy officers watched your skirt, too, I observed. I gave them a confident nod, conveying that I was not troubled by their admiration, letting them know that it was okay.
In the bathroom, you stood at the washbasin and checked your makeup. The brunette walked in and took a seat for a quick tinkle. She left her stall door ajar.
"You are very beautiful," she said, her voice lilting a slight Russian accent, barely detectable.
At first, you were unsure whom she was addressing but then she joined you in front of the mirror, looked directly at you in the reflection and repeated her words.
"You are very beautiful."
"Thank you," you replied, a little taken aback.
"My friends think so, too. In fact, we play a game whenever we are together, a scavenger hunt game, and they sent me in here for you."
"Oh, really?" you flushed, now more than a little curious.
"Yes, and I don't know,... I need to ask,... pardon me being so forward,... I need to ask if you will give me your panties?"
"My panties?"
"Yes,... I know it's a little out of the ordinary, but I have to ask. It's part of the game, you see."
You paused, thinking about the two handsome officers, knowing that when you got back to the hotel you wouldn't need panties anyway, and imagining the thrill you could give the men if their playmate returned to the table with her prize: your panties.
"Okay."
You agreed without thinking, of course. As soon as you said it, you couldn't believe that you had agreed, but then it was too late. Locked in this luscious Russian woman's gaze, your sleek silhouette reflected in the full-length mirror as you hiked up your dress, pulled down your panties, pulled your heels through the leg holes and handed your silken undies to the precocious brunette. She smiled salaciously. Her eyes twinkled with enthusiasm and gratitude.
"I guess I win?" she said.
"I guess you do."
The woman carefully folded your panties and tucked them away in her purse. Then, just as quickly as she had arrived, she dutifully turned and left the restroom. Watching her go, you snickered to yourself and shook your head thinking, "who's going to believe this?" You collected your thoughts, straightened your dress, applied lip-gloss and, after pausing a moment longer, followed shortly after her.
When you came out, the center table was vacant and the woman and officers were gone. You wondered how they got away so quickly and wished you could steal one final glimpse of the two authoritative gentlemen. Masking your disappointment, you smoothed your long blond hair and walked catlike to our table -- more exposed, more sure of yourself.
"Is something wrong?" I asked.
"No," you answered, your furrowed brow betraying the question that was rolling around in your mind.
"I've paid. You ready to go back to the hotel room?"
"You bet," you said eagerly, your mind now racing back to the present moment with me.
In the cab, you sat directly behind the driver and arched your back against the passenger door. The car sped along the city streets, heading back toward mid-town. The driver never spoke a word.
"Fun, huh?" I asked.
"Yes, I'm having a great time."
You pulled off your right high heel and placed your bare foot between my legs, exposing your thighs to me. Your foot gently stroked my crotch as you lifted your fingers to your mouth and licked them until wet. With the same hand, you began to play with yourself. I reached over and spread your legs even wider so I could see you better in the random flicker of streetlights. I watched you attentively, noticing for the first time that your panties were missing, knowing that you must have removed them at the restaurant. I immediately grew hard.
You closed your eyes and enjoyed yourself quietly. As your breathing grew more rhythmic and labored, I knew your mind had left the cab and probably drifted back to the restaurant, to the two handsome strangers. Maybe they were taking you in the women's restroom or pinning you against the marble bar or you were straddling one of them on top of the table's white tablecloth.
A moment later, the cab's breaks squeaked as we came to a stop in front of our hotel. The streets were wet from a street cleaner buffing the curb ahead. I paid the driver and, reluctantly, you pulled down your dress and slipped your shoe back on.
The elevator ride up, we played grab ass, kissed and petted each other heavily.
"Umm, you taste sweet," I whispered.
"Must be the dessert," you replied.
"No, we haven't really had dessert yet."
"You're right, I thought I was still hungry," you smirked.
At the door to our hotel room, my hands fumbled in my pockets.
"What's the matter?" you asked anxiously.
