Tino, the owner and maitre d' at Valentino's Italian Bistro, gently draped Sasha and John's coats over his forearm and held them out to the hostess. "Please hang these while I seat our guests." He instructed her.
"Signorina?" Tino offered Sasha his elbow, through which she hooked her arm, and he escorted the couple to their usual corner table at the intersection of the two burgundy leather banquettes, John following behind them. Tino pulled the table out from the corner so Sasha and John could seat themselves, and then unfolded their napkins before placing them in the diners' laps. Sasha's short black cocktail dress had slid far up her hips as she sat, and Tino draped her napkin softly over her exposed upper thigh.
"So nice to see you both this evening -- we're always excited when you come. Would you like the usual?" Tino asked?
"Yes," John replied, "a bottle of pink champagne, per favore. No hurry."
"I will tell your server, enjoy your meal." Tino said, giving the couple an exaggerated wink before returning to the hostess stand.
"It's nice to be regulars and get the VIP treatment, isn't it?" Sasha asked.
"They like us here." John replied. "It's a symbiotic relationship."
Fifteen months earlier, the couple had made their first reservation at Valentino's Italian Bistro. Just by dint of good fortune, the host had seated them at the corner table. It wasn't a completely random decision on his part -- the host stand has a clear line of sight to that table, and Sasha was as gorgeous a piece of eye-candy as he'd seen that week. Sasha was half Vietnamese, half white. Lean, with smooth skin that tanned easily. She was five-and-a-half feet tall -- five-foot eight in her heels, beautiful large dark eyes, high cheeks, and a button nose; shoulder length wavy brown hair, perky round breasts unburdened by any bra that evening, and long lean legs well-exposed by her little white party dress. The fabric of her dress became diaphanous in the right light, and the round curve of Sasha's bottom -- as well as the back of her black lace thong -- came in and out of view as she walked through the columns of light beaming down from each of the restaurant's ceiling lamps.
John was nothing to sneer at himself -- tall, muscular, and handsome. He looked sharp in the blue suit he wore that evening. But the host couldn't take his eyes off of Sasha, and he made sure to offer her the banquette seat that faced directly towards the host stand.
The host seemed to be paying them extra attention -- personally delivering two glasses of pink champagne when John told him that it was their anniversary. And when at the host stand, he regularly turned his gaze to their table, which was not lost on Sasha.
"I think the host has a crush on me," she said to John, giggling, before slurping one of the dozen fresh oysters they had ordered to start.
"Yeah?" John said, peeking over his shoulder at the host stand, where the host was talking on the phone and writing in the reservation book.
"He's been very attentive -- and every time I look over there, he's looking right at me. I think he's trying to see up my dress, actually." Sasha laughed again.
"Really?" John asked, eyes widening. "Well, that dirty little bastard!" He said with a chuckle, clinking his champagne flute to Sasha's and taking a long slow slip.
"Maybe if I let him, he'll comp our dinner." Sasha joked.
"Maybe! We should definitely test that hypothesis." John responded with a wink.
John sounded like he might just be serious. Sasha swallowed another oyster and took a sip of her champagne. Images of her exposing herself danced through Sasha's brain -- some imaginary, some real from their past -- she felt the familiar sensation of the butterflies beginning to dance in her belly. Sasha had never been wild or slutty, but she did have an exhibitionist streak, and John knew it. Even thinking about exposing herself to the host of this restaurant was making Sasha's heart beat faster.
John and Sasha's experiments with this "fetish" -- if that's what it was -- had been mild. They had had sex in hotel rooms with the curtains open -- but with the lights off. Once in a while, John would dare Sasha to go out commando, although never in a dress as short as the one she was wearing tonight. Once she had masturbated in the darkness of a movie theater, the other patrons oblivious to her debauchery. It felt edgy, but in truth it was all very safe.
The possibility of being seen, more than the reality of it, was what got those butterflies dancing for Sasha. John would've pushed her further, but he never wanted to take her out of her comfort zone, and he was more than happy with their slightly-edgy-but-mostly-vanilla erotic life. Still, after nearly four years together, deep down, they both yearned for just a little more spark and passion.
Sasha set down her champagne glass and looked into John's eyes with a penetrating gaze. "Don't joke about it. If you want me to, I'll do it."
John furrowed his brow as he studied his girlfriend's countenance to determine whether she was serious. He was pretty sure that she was. And he liked it. He took a slow sip of his own champagne, set the glass down on the table, and took Sasha's hand in his.
"Go to the restroom, take off your thong, come back to the table and hand it to me." He directed her.
Sasha didn't even hesitate. She lifted her napkin to wipe her mouth, set it atop the table, stood, and walked to the ladies' room. She could feel the heat of the host's gaze on her the entire way. Sasha checked her makeup in the mirror and reapplied her lipstick. She slid her thumbs up under the sides of her dress, hooked the waist band of the lace thong, and pulled it down until it dropped to the floor around her heels. She stepped out of it, and bent forward to retrieve it from the floor. She could feel the breeze from the ceiling fan on her bare vulva as she did. Sasha set the thong on the vanity in front of her, and lifted the front of her dress to inspect what the host might see. She had deep tan lines from her Brazilian bikini. Her legs were deep brown, but her bikini area was almost white. She had trimmed her soft straight black public hair into a tidy little triangle that made a stark contrast to the white skin on either side of it.
Sasha ran her fingers through her tiny bush and over her otherwise-smooth mound, admiring her grooming, and sighed at the comfort of her own touch. At that moment, Sasha heard the bathroom door creak and the sound of a woman's voice. Sasha hastily dropped her skirt, snatched her thong off of the vanity, and turned to go. She passed the other diner as she clutched her underwear in a tight fist and walked back towards the table.
Sasha held her knees together and slid into back into her seat next to John. She extended her hand to deliver her thong to him.
"I think he knows that something is up." John said.
"What? Why? How could he know?" Sasha asked incredulously.
"All I know is that when you walked back to the table just now his eyes were glued to your ass, and they were wide. He definitely saw something he liked." John responded with a sly smirk.
"I can't imagine what he could see -- this dress falls below my butt." Sasha said.
"It's a little bit see-through. Maybe he could tell that your underwear is gone." John shrugged, as if to say 'who knows?'
"Well just wait until he sees what's coming next!" Sasha said seductively, leaning forward to kiss her boyfriend deeply on the lips while stroking his cheek with her hand.
Sasha continued to pinch her knees together, but as the multi-course meal unfolded, she began to forget that she was panty-less, and her knees would fall ever so slightly apart; or she would turn her hips toward John, and then back towards the host stand; or she would cross and uncross her legs. Each time, she would remember that her crotch was bare and she would shoot a glance at the host to see if he had noticed. She couldn't tell if he had or if he hadn't.
The host finally brought over their entrees -- a salmon filet with orzo and pesto for John, and a lamb chop with risotto for Sasha. As the host set Sasha's plate down in front of her, standing to her side, she caught him looking down into her lap.
"I am glad that you both enjoyed the oyster course so much." The host said.
"Oh, we love oysters." John responded immediately. "Such a delicacy!"
"I love oysters, too. Very much. Please enjoy your entrees." Said the host as he retreated.
"You dope -- he was telling us something!" Sasha said as soon as the host was out of ear shot, elbowing John in the ribs.
"What? What'd I miss?" John asked defensively.
"Look at my lap." Sasha instructed.
John leaned to his side and looked down at Sasha's lap. Her shifting movements had driven the hem of her dress up past her hips. Her napkin was wrapped around her bare thigh. Her little black triangle, the tip of her clit, and the very top of her slit were clearly visible from above. The tan lines running up the creases of her thighs framed the view.
"My favorite oyster." John cooed as he leaned in to give Sasha a kiss.
"Seems like it's his too!" She quipped, kissing him back.
"Well, now that you know he has seen it, you can stop being so prim." John teased. "I don't think anyone in the restaurant can see under the table except the host. Why don't you relax and really give him something to get excited about?"
The butterflies were doing somersaults now. Sasha's mouth was dry. She slurped from her water glass before placing her hands atop to the table to make sure nobody could see them shake. She scanned the room and confirmed that nobody at all was looking at her, and that they probably would not be able to see beneath the table even if they tried.
The butterflies began to put on an entire Cirque du Soleil show in Sasha's belly. Her breathing grew shallow. Sasha turned her head toward the host stand. The host was, once again, directing his gaze towards her. Sasha very slowly, languorously, but deliberately separated her thighs -- first an inch, then several, then several more. She didn't stop until her knees hit the edge of the banquette. Her sex now open to the host's hungry eyes. Sasha's heart was pounding out of her chest and her breathing grew shallower. She never felt so alive. Or so aroused.
The host licked his lips. Sasha looked down into her lap. Here she was, with her boyfriend, in a restaurant full of people. Her vulva was splayed wide, the lips of her labia slightly separated, as the light from the lamp above their table illuminated her now-moist and glistening pussy. The host's eyes, unblinking and intense, were locked onto Sasha's crotch. She could hear her own heart beating in her chest.
