The Waiter 3

The polished, coolly professional businesswoman sitting across the table is looking at me with more than a bit of concern. "Are you feeling all right?" she asks.

I've got to pull myself together. If I play today's meeting right, this client could bring in the only steady work I've had since I decided to go freelance six months ago. I need the money, and the assignments would be at least mildly interesting. But I feel her eyes on me and know I'm blowing it. I have an intense, overwhelming headache today. It's so distracting that I'm having trouble focusing, and I'm certainly not making a very good impression.

There's only one thing to be done when I have a headache this bad. I know from experience that drugs won't make a dent, and since lying down in a dark room isn't really an option right now, I'm going to have to wing it. I've got to have an orgasm, and soon, if I'm gonna land this job.

My eyes sweep the sparsely populated restaurant in search of the ladies room. I spot it in a far corner, next to a waiters' station. I quickly excuse myself and make a beeline for the door, only to crash headlong into one of the waiters (who fortunately isn't carrying a tray at the moment). He rights me with steady hands.

"Oh God! I'm so sorry," I blurt. "I have this awful headache and it's turning me into a complete freakshow."

He gives me a quick once-over--I've gotten all dressed up in work clothes for this business lunch--and says, "I'd hardly call you a freakshow," then blushes charmingly, which makes me instinctively like him. He's one of my favorite physical types, tall and lanky, kinda punky and barely cleaned up for work, with longish dark hair and a couple of tiny rings in one ear. I want to stay and chat him up, but my head is clanging so loud I can't even fathom flirting. I give a rushed "I've got to go," and continue toward the bathroom.

I slam into a stall and collapse onto the toilet seat. Fortunately the place is deserted, because even with my exhibitionistic tendencies, I think I'd feel a bit odd getting myself off in a public restroom if anyone else was there. I rummage around in my purse until I find the sleek little vibe disguised as a tube of lipstick. (Hey, you never know when you're going to need one, today being a case in point.) I try to get comfortable on the cold seat, leaning back, reaching beneath the conservative skirt I'm wearing to rake my fingernails up my thighs, giving myself the shivers. I can feel my nipples hardening under the flimsy, silky material of my only good dress blouse. So far, so good. Now the tough part when going for a quick climax--getting the perfect set of mental images to coax me on. But today it's simple: the waiter.

I imagine flirting with him in the middle of the restaurant, moving closer to him so I can gaze up at him from under my lashes, a pose which always makes me feel vulnerable and girlish. His piercing hazel eyes traveling up and down my body and his pupils dilating a bit with desire. In the fantasy I've got a few buttons open and he can, I know, see straight down my shirt from his angle, catching glimpses of my lacy bra and the pale curve of my breasts. And my skirt's shorter in my mind than it is in real life, so that when I turn around to lead him toward an empty booth, the hem rides up with every step I take and he can't help but notice the top edge of each stocking and the straps leading upward, no doubt to a garter belt.

(I'm getting closer, I think, even though the fantasy hasn't even gotten explicit yet. Sometimes the anticipation, the breathlessness of the approach, is even more exciting than the hardcore stuff. But I can't linger here. I've just got to get it over with and get back out there before the client leaves in a huff.)

So I imagine pushing him down onto the bench seat of the booth, which is a few tables away from anyone else--public enough to present a real, titillating risk, but not so brazen as to make eyes necessarily turn our way. He's startled, but doesn't protest. His lips have parted a bit and I can sense that he's waiting to see what I'll do next. I slide in next to him, cup my fingers around his ear, whisper to him, "I want to fuck you right here." I'm so close to him that I feel rather than hear his quick intake of breath. "Do you think that would be all right?" I add innocently. Not waiting for a response, I lean back on the booth and brush my fingers lightly over my nipples, gaudily obvious in their current state, poking through layers of fabric like the pea that bothered the princess through all those mattresses. Then I let my hands drift downward to my crotch, rubbing my mound through the skirt, letting my head fall back against the cushions behind me as the sensations spread through my body. I know he's watching me and that turns me on even more.

In a swift movement I rise off the seat, swing one knee over him and settle decisively onto his lap, feeling in an instant the considerable bulge there. When I take his face in my hands and kiss him long and languidly, sliding my tongue between his full lips to meet his, then dancing away again, I can feel him swelling even further, and I grind my hips down onto him, and I want to groan but I've got to keep quiet so instead I bite down into the wiry flesh between his neck and shoulder, which makes him squirm and thrust himself up to meet me.

(Closer, closer, I think, trying to force myself upwards to that familiar peak. I can hear myself breathing faster and louder, the vibe buzzing quietly, and hope against hope that no one will come in for at least another minute...)

In that blurry, time-lapse way that fantasies sometimes progress, now somehow I've magically gotten my panties off and the zipper of his pants down, his cock, velvety smooth and thrillingly hard all at the same time, in my hand, and I'm guiding him into me with a sudden, ferocious urgency. I slide down onto him easily, I'm already so wet, and I rock forward and back and around, circling my pelvis so I can feel him on every surface of my cunt, which is tightening around him in a rhythm totally beyond my control. He's got my blouse unbuttoned now and is leaning down surreptitiously to bite and suck one nipple, which feels so rocketingly good I can't help but sigh, although I try to make it a quiet one. "Yes," he whispers to me, just that one word, "yes," and his warm breath on the delicate swirls of my ear makes me dizzy, makes me start riding him for good now, potential onlookers be damned, I've got this rising tide inside me that is about to overflow, and I don't want to stop it and neither does he, because I can feel him moving with me, against me, and I reach up and slip two fingers into his mouth (and he sucks them in, hard, like he'd just been waiting for me to do it), and once they're slick with his saliva I reach down and rub my clit, and that's all it takes and I'm over the top, coming and coming so intensely I'm afraid I might cry out with pleasure, and his palm slips firmly over my mouth to muffle any sound I might make, which just makes me come harder...

Except, I don't. I'm so close, I'm all hot and bothered now, but I can't make myself do it with this tiny little vibrator, or just with my own fingers. Dammit! Now what? I look at my watch and amazingly only a couple of minutes have passed. I think I can still pull this off...but how?

Then an idea occurs to me, and before the logical side of my brain can talk the desperate side out of it, I'm straightening my clothes and dashing to the door of the restroom. I crack the door open, just a bit to avoid being seen, and for the first time today, luck is with me. There's a waitress standing at the wait station near me, and I wave at her to get her attention. As she comes toward me I'm already pointing the waiter out to her, asking her if she could tell him to come over here for a second. She looks baffled but agrees, and I peek through the door and watch as she speaks to him, then he (looking even more confused than she does) begins to make his way toward me.

As he draws near, I poke my head out the door and greet him somewhat sheepishly. "Hi," I say. "Hi back," he replies, grinning but still unclear what he's doing here. "Um, I need to ask you a huge favor," I say. Before he can refuse, I grab his hand, pull him into the ladies room and lock the door behind him.

"This headache," I start. "I really, really can't be having this headache right now. I'm in the middle of an important meeting and if I don't have my wits about me, I'm not going to get this job."

"Okay," he says slowly, "but how do I enter into this?"

"Well, here's the thing." Am I really going to say this, just come right out and say it? Apparently, yes, although I can't look him in the eye while I do it. "The only thing that works when my headaches are this bad is, ah, having an orgasm." I don't want to look up at his face, and he doesn't make a sound so I have no idea how he's reacting. "And I already tried masturbating, but I think I'm too stressed out to make myself come. I was thinking that maybe, uh, you could give me a hand. So to speak." I can feel my face redden, not because I'm turned on but because I am wholeheartedly and deeply embarrassed. What the hell was I thinking? Now he's going to laugh at me and say no and I'm going to go out there and the client's going to say thanks but no thanks and--

"Yes." I look up at him--did he really just say that?--and he's grinning at me again, and this time he's not at all confused.

"Really? You're sure?" I ask him nervously.

"Yeah," he says, and begins to move toward me, the grin growing more and more wolfish the closer he gets. I can smell the sweat on him, and he smells so good I want to sink my teeth into him.

"Just one thing," I add, "we've got to be quick."

And then he's pushing me up against the wall, kissing my neck, sliding one hand up under my blouse, and reaching his other hand up under my skirt and caressing my ass. His fingers are strong and callused and I'm already so aroused from my earlier fantasy it's a relief to just stand there and be mauled, to enjoy the sensations he's causing in me without my having to do a thing. And then he kisses me full on the mouth and it's so intoxicating that my knees get weak--or is it because he's slid his hand around to the front and is now rubbing my clit gently but insistently through my panties? Holy fuck, that feels good, and I can't think what words to say, I just start to moan, and he pinches a nipple, which makes me gasp. And then he's kneeling in front of me and I'm trembling with the knowledge of what's coming next, after he works my panties down my legs, and when his lips touch my clit I forget in a rush why I'm here and how little time I have and all I can think of is his tongue and his fingers and how he seems to know me, know exactly what I like and how to touch me, like we're long-time lovers who have somehow never met before today.

And before I know what's happening he's got a finger inside me, and that feeling of being penetrated is so exactly what I have needed that I come almost immediately, and then my pussy is stretched pleasurably wider as he thrusts another finger inside of me, and then another and I am no longer moaning but purring and then growling. I know I sound like an animal but I no longer care. I somehow manage to tell him, "Purse...condom..." and he hands the bag to me obediently, knowing I will be much quicker at finding it than he will. While I look, he sucks on my earlobe, runs his fingers over any piece of my exposed skin he can find, then moves behind me. He cups my breasts in his hands, and I can feel his erection rubbing against my ass, a feeling I always love. I finally find the blessed cellophane packet, and now it's my turn to kneel, undoing his belt buckle feverishly, slipping my fingers inside while working the zipper down with the other hand--but I've only managed to wrap my lips around his cock and take the length of him into my mouth two or three times before he sputters, "That feels incredible, but there's no time!" And he hoists me up, pins me against the wall again, rolls on the condom. Then grabs one of my legs and hooks it over his elbow, holding me open to him, and I can barely breathe while he works the head of his cock up and down along my slit, til finally, finally he slides inside. I feel, in that moment, like an orange when you have finished peeling it and use your thumbs to pry the halves apart, like I'm split down the middle and about to be devoured. The orgasm starts in my cunt and radiates outward, like a shockwave or an earthquake, and there's so much force behind it I feel like the top of my head's going to come off.

It doesn't, of course, but the headache is summarily blown to smithereens.

He comes shortly after I do and I love hearing the noises he makes. He lets his body relax over mine and I bury my nose in his hair, breathing in his scent. He pulls his head away after a moment, and we look each other full in the face for one long second. And then we begin to laugh. "I've got to get out there, I've got tables waiting," he says. "Me, too," I agree. "I mean, not the tables, but I have to get back out there, too."

It's a little awkward standing there together readjusting our clothes, smoothing our hair, making sure everything is tucked in and re-buttoned. But we keep stealing glances at each other and smiling. "Well, thank you," I say as he unlocks the door. He looks at me and says, "Believe me, the pleasure was all mine," giving me one last grin over his shoulder before he walks away.