Waiting for Him: Breathless

"How we doing tonight?"

This was the fourth time the waiter had come by in ten minutes,

she thought.

Did he know?

He'd watched her ass the whole way - she felt it. And he knew she knew, by the heat on her face and the way she wouldn't meet his eyes.

But did he know?

"I'm great, thanks." She pushed around the garlic potatoes on her plate in what she hoped looked contented. "Doing just fine --"

She dropped her fork.

Oh shit,

she thought.

"Lemme get that for you." The waiter was already ducking down to grab the fork.

"No!" she said, but she knew it was too late when she heard him gasp. She knew, from the many hours she'd been placed in front of her hall mirror, exactly the sight he was taking in.

Her soft, clean-shaven vaginal lips, unobstructed by any panties, exposed to the world in a skirt far, far shorter than any she'd ever worn. "And you will not close your legs once," he'd told her. "I want you to feel the breeze all night."

She felt more than a breeze. The waiter was making sounds like he was looking for the fork, but she could feel his eyes on her. She wanted to clamp shut her legs, cry pervert, run, but she didn't. He had told her not to, and she knew, no matter how softly she tried to hide it, he'd know if she disobeyed.

She was getting wet.

"Sorry about that," said the waiter, rising. His face was red like he'd been running. Out of breath.

Her face burned too, and she said, "Pleasure's all mine," the words she'd been ordered to use whenever she was discovered. She felt the leather seat underneath her starting to dampen.

Her eyes broke from the waiter and looked around for Him, the one who'd ordered her here. He was nowhere to be found, but she knew he was watching her, from somewhere.

Had he set this up? Had he told the waiter how exposed she was?

It would be like him to do that. "It's like riding the edge of a razor," he'd said. "You are naked before the whole world, and it only takes one to notice." Then his eyes had poured into hers so deep, and in that voice --

that

voice, the one she obeyed with a part deeper than her mind -- said, "We wouldn't that to happen, would we?"

And then he'd penetrated her.

Her breath became heavier in the memory, and the sound of it brought her back.

You're in a restaurant, you're in public,

she thought. Her legs naturally idled together and she SNAPPED them open, looking around.

Had he seen? He was so demanding, and so quick to punish. Sometimes in light touches, sometimes in swift spankings. Worst of all, in no touch at all, but the soft heat of his body lingering over hers, sometimes for an hour, till she begged for his lips or his hands or even just the sensuous slide of his body.

An older man and his wife looked at her, went back to eating. She watched his eyes - had he noticed? Did he know how bare she was? Was he imagining it right now?

Her pussy felt like it was humming. She could feel the warm tension singing. She had to calm down.

"Excuse me!" Her voice came out too loud. A waitress nearby looked up. ABBY on her nametag.

"Can you tell me where the ladies room is?"

"Just past the kitchen," said the waitress.

"Thank you," she said. She carefully set down her fork, neatly folded her napkin, and made her way delicately toward the bathroom, leaving a glistening pool on the seat behind.

The chilled air of the ladies room hit her like a slap. It was very clean: she was impressed. Austere white, with a long row of stalls. Everything was pristine, like the way people imagine the future. Soft lights overtop the mirror made it feel like her own bathroom at home.

She took a deep breath, feeling the freedom of privacy wash over her. For a moment, she just breathed, looked at herself in the mirror. The tight dress, small enough to qualify for a swimsuit, but somehow less modest. She wasn't tiny like a model: she had curves, and this dress did more than accentuate them. It held to her every inch like it had been painted on. Just in shifting, the bottom hem wanted to ride up. She touched the edge and felt that surge of past experience.

"I like this dress," he'd said. "I can do things with it." Feeling his hand grab a handful of the back of the hem, yank upwards, rolling the dress up so easy till she was naked from the waist down, pressed into the mattress, feeling his fist make a knot of the hem and pull her onto him. This was his dress, he'd bought it, he'd put it on her, he'd taken it off. And tonight, it was his plaything, along with her.

"You're going to feel that heat," he said, "though you will not see me. I will see you, and you will feel it."

And she had, all night long. Every glance her way had sent her heart beating: was she revealed? Did they know? Would they say anything? Now the waiter knew, and the danger of it made her blush.

A rush of water and her sudden sense of freedom exploded: someone was in the bathroom. She couldn't look.

A click of heels. Tap water running. "Nice dress." And then another click of heels disappearing back into the world, like an ellipses at the end of a novel.

The door swung shut again, and she closed her eyes, feeling relief, finally.

A voice whispered in her ear - no, not a voice,

the

voice,

his

voice: "I told you to keep those legs open, lovely."

The relief coalesced into that lovely familiar tension. He was there, she could feel him against her. That loving touch that was hard and soft at the same time.

She opened her mouth to speak, and he CLAPPED a hand over it, pulling her tight against him, her ear to his lips. She felt a thrill run down her.

"Shhhhhhh," he said, and the sound was sinuous and wet in her ear. His hot breath raised her flesh in little ripples of electricity. His hand pressed firmly against her open mouth, muffling her panting to little gasps through her nose.

His other hand slid down along her right side, down to her hip, pressing along the soft flesh of her belly, upward, always keeping contact, sending little trails of anticipation ahead and pleasure behind. He reached up to the top of her dress, keeping a tenuous surface tension on her breasts, and pulled.

In the mirror, she watched her own breasts spill like a river into the cold air. Her nipples crushed to hardness immediately. His fingernails dragged over the soft underflesh, circling, tracing lines. He pinched one of her nipples, suddenly, and she MOANED through his fingers.

"Shhhhhhhhh," he said. And she reached around, grabbing the edges of his jeans with both hands, pulling him into her, just for contact, just to feel him, all of him, pressed against her.

He laughed, a soft deep sound that made her shake. "Do you want me to continue?" he said, and she moaned a positive.

His strong arms guided her back to the door, and for a moment, she panicked, thinking he would escort her into the center of the restaurant and take her, right there.

And worse, she knew, if he told her to, she would. Happily.

But he didn't. He pressed her firmly against the chilled wooden door, her breasts feeling the press of sleek polished panels. His hand slid past her, and with a sound that POPPED in her ears, slid the deadbolt in place.

She felt his lips graze her ear. "You're going to have to be quiet," he said, and in that familiar motion, took a fistful of her dress and peeled it back, exposing her round ass. Her legs snapped open, and just in time, because he was already out, already hard, and within a breath she felt his full length ride deep inside her.

She MOANED into his fingers. And he held it, making tiny thrusts, barely a quarter of an inch at a time, but enough to beckon sensation out of every eager nerve in her. Backforthbackforthbackforth --

-- and THRUST. The THUD of her body against the door. The moaning through his fingers. It echoed together in one song off the tile walls. And AGAIN, that hard thrust, pushing her open, pressing her deep into the wood. She gasped, and felt that rush as she tried to suck air from between his fingers, and none would come. She pushed against the door, pushed back against him with her pussy, spreading wider for him.

She heard him laugh, felt the fingers open, and took a gasping breath. "Oh God," she said, in low tones for only him to hear.

"Tell me what you're feeling," he said, and withdrew almost his whole length, till she felt just the tip of him beckoning at her entrance.

"Oh no no no nonono --" she said. "I feel empty, I feel empty, I feel -"

He SLAMMED into her once more, driving her into the door. A scream bubbled inside her and he clapped his hand around her mouth again.

Something knocking on the door. "Is everything all right in there?"

Her eyes widened. Someone was at the door, with a bare inch of pine door separating them.

She felt his lips near her ear again. "You better explain to the man what's going on," he said, and thrust again. She felt that lovely penetration, felt the thickness of him brushing her legs as he slid inward. She choked back the moan, and he adopted a slow, rhythmic pace as she spoke.

"Everything's...fine..." she said. "The door is just...stuck."

"I'll get someone to help, just one second," said the man behind the door.

"Oh God!" she said, and she wasn't sure if it was the panic or the pleasure that drove her.

He spoke in her ear as she felt him slide deep in again. "You're going to have to be quick," he said, in the voice she couldn't ignore.

"Please, please," she said, "I'll be quick, I'll be quick --"

Like that was the signal, she felt the rumble grow in his chest. A hand gripped her hips, and one clapped over her mouth, and his rhythm doubled. She felt the pound-pound-pound setting a fire inside her, felt the crush of his body against hers, holding her so tight, owning her completely.

"I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm yours," she moaned through his fingers, taking ragged breaths as he let her, and she felt his grip tighten. His hand slipped down to her clit, engorged, burning, and gently feathered it along the edge, gentle while the rest of him was firm.

He slammed her against the door, bodily, fully, pressing deeper into her, using the door as leverage to penetrate harder and faster. His one hand, still between her legs, cupped her clit protectively, keeping her from harm as he forced his way deeper into her. Protecting her.

And on that thought, she came.

She felt the fire exploding deeper now, and the contractions inside gripping him. "Oh, Goddddddddddd --"

He could feel her, and it shocked his system into a climax. She felt the hard slap of his ejaculate inside her as he pulled her tight, held her, squeezed her as they rode out the song of their passion. Over, and over, the waves rocked them, starting in the flex of his hips and rolling out in her gasps.

For a moment, there was no time, and there was all the time there ever was.

Outside, the maintenance man had just begun to unscrew the hinges from the door when they heard a loud CLICK and the door swung open. There she stood, flustered, out of breath, dress dirty.

"Everything's fine now," she said. And it was.