Illicit Liaison

(I wrote this series of stories without dialogue intentionally as an experiment)

We follow Jessica to the end of the long arc of the restaurant. On the inside of the arc, near the floor to ceiling windows overlooking the brilliant sunset over the Gulf, are tables for two and four, mostly empty. On the outside of the arc against the dark wood paneling of the back wall are deep booths. All the tables are covered with fine linens, silverware and china. Our hostess continues in front of us as I reach around behind you and under your skirt with one hand. You smirk as my fingers play lightly across the curve of your naked ass, but choose not to draw more attention to yourself by scolding me or struggling.

As we pass each table the eyes of the other guests are all on you, not the sunset. Your skin is still glistening, partly from the colors of the orange and red light of the western sky, and partly from the flush of excitement from our elevator escapade with the doorman.

It looks as though Jessica is leading us to a service corridor, past a thick column at the very end of the row of booths and tables. You are briefly concerned that we might not have a very good table, and wonder whether a booth would be better as Jessica disappears behind that pillar, completely out of sight from the rest of the room.

As you round the corner you see why I have this table especially reserved. The paneled and draped column—certainly one of the main supports of the impressive building—creates a private space at the end of the hallway that can't be seen by the rest of the diners.

As our hostess checks to make sure we are satisfied with our choice I pull out the chair backing to the pillar and offer you a seat. I assure the hostess that everything is perfect as you sit and I move my own chair from opposite yours to the side of the table next to you.

After our host leaves us I lean over to kiss you, my hands on both sides of your face, pulling you against my lips, teasing your mouth with my tongue. We break the kiss when our waiter approaches, conscientiously clearing his throat to warn us before he turns the corner.

Our tall, handsome waiter, with classic chiseled features and a bodybuilder's strong frame, introduces himself as Rocco. With a trace of Italian accent he starts to explain the evening specials. I stop him, explaining that I've already arranged our meal with the chef, from the wine to the appetizer and through the dessert. I'm a little concerned because I thought this should have been taken care of as well. He explains that the regular waiter for this table, Marcus, had a family emergency and couldn't make it this evening. Apologizing, he asks if we want another waiter instead.

I look him up and down...then look over at you. The lust in your eyes should be enough to convince me, but I have to make sure that our waiter won't upset our plans. I trust the chef and Marcus, but it seems as though our handsome servant has not been fully informed.

Without a word I reach over to you and pull the nearest strap of your satin dress off your shoulder, exposing your breast and causing you to quietly gasp and blush. I check Rocco's reaction as I roll your erect nipple between my thumb and finger, pulling and twisting slightly. You gasp again, louder this time. I explain that you are a woman of many passions and hungers and ask suggestively if he will have any problems helping me fulfill those hungers tonight.

He stumbles a bit to find the right words, but assures us both that it will be his extreme pleasure to be of assistance in any way possible. I discreetly hand him three fifty dollar bills and ask him to make sure that all his tables except ours are covered by other staff this evening, since we'll be requiring his full attention. The sommelier appears around the corner with the first bottle of wine for the evening, and I leave your breast exposed as I go through the tasting ceremony.

This man is older than us. I'm sure his presentation is normally more serious and distinguished, but the sight of your chest seems to have him distracted. Rocco excuses himself to make arrangements with the other waiters and check on our evening's plans with the chef.

By the time the sommelier pours your taste of wine into your glass, he is trembling, unable to look away. I decide to tease him and dip my finger into your glass of chilled white wine, then tracing it down your neck from under your ear to the tip of your pert breast. As I lean toward you I explain to him that each wine we select for the evening must taste as good on your skin as it does in the glass. I lick and nibble my way down the trail of cool liquid, savoring the dry flavor of the Riesling on your salty skin, and taking an extra moment to make sure that I pay proper attention to your sensitive nipple.

A bead of nervous perspiration is on his forehead as I finally lift my head and pronounce the wine satisfactory. He bows and excuses himself, backing out of our alcove to make sure he gets as long a look as possible. He doesn't turn to finally leave until I pull up the strap on your dress and cover your lovely breast. We drink our wine and gaze out across the darkening Gulf, holding hands and imagining the pleasures that await.

I can't resist kissing you again, passionately tasting your mouth and running my strong hands up your inner thighs from your knees, toward the hem of your short dress. Rocco politely clears he throat again as he approaches, but this time I don't bother stopping as he turns the corner pushing a service cart covered with a white cloth. My lips are still pressed hard against yours as I spread your legs with my hands, drawing the hem of your skirt dangerously high, risking exposure of your pussy, still wet and flavored with another man's cum.

I draw back and you hungrily lean into me, prolonging the connection of our lips as long as you can. I look down and you are still covered by the black satin fabric, barely. Good. I want to extend the tease.

I ask Rocco if everything has been prepared. He answers in the affirmative, and produces four long strips of black silk scarf from beneath the cloth covering the cart, reaching out to hand them to me. I keep my hands firmly on your quivering thighs and ask him to do the honors, ankles first. He kneels next to you and wraps a length of soft silk around your ankle and then around the leg of the chair. He is tying you too loosely, I explain, and instruct him how to make sure you are firmly, yet comfortably bound to the heavy wooden dining chair.

For the other leg he has to lean across you, which he tries to do without touching you, but that won't do so I push him down so his strong chest and rippled abdomen presses against your thighs. You can feel his heart beating hard in his chest as he secures your other ankle to the chair.

As he shifts behind you I assist him by positioning your arms behind the back of the chair. He takes your delicate wrists firmly and binds them together with the strong supple cloth. You test your bonds, thrilling at the feeling of being powerless and at our mercy...your own excitement rising as you wonder what I have planned.

I ask you to close your eyes as I take the last length of silk from our waiter. You feel the tingle of the cloth on your cheeks as I fashion a blindfold of the scarf and tie it behind your head. I am whispering, but not to you. Instead I am asking Rocco if he is familiar with the term "hotwife." He admits he is not, and I explain in hushed tones that it describes a woman so full of passion and adventure that no one man can fully quench her desires. She longs for the lust and passion of many men, to fill her life with the kind of sexual exploration that most women only dream about.

With your hands and legs bound firmly and your eyes covered so that no light can enter, your other senses are heightened. You are completely aware of your own body now, perched on this heavy chair in a public, though secluded space. You feel my breath on your face as I whisper softly to you. Before we satisfy your sexual hunger I explain (a thrill runs through you as you notice the use of the word "we"), we're going to satisfy your physical hunger.

Rocco uncovers the serving cart to reveal a startling diversity of small plates, each one with a carefully prepared delicacy. Each gourmet selection was carefully labeled with an ornate gold bordered card explaining the delight it contained and its intended order in the carefully orchestrated symphony of flavors, textures and scents. Interspersed with the plates are glasses of wine, sequenced both to refresh and enhance the flavors of the foods.

It starts with light and subtle flavors. I whisper the name of each delicacy to you as I hold it for you to savor its scent, and then ask you to open your mouth as I place the tasty treats on your inquisitive tongue. Thinly sliced exotic fruits, white wines from sweet to dry, relishes of perfectly sautéed vegetables, and pates on crispy breads. As the cascade of savory delights continues the flavors intensify. Paper-thin meats and delicate fish and seafood, both raw and cooked, red wines from light and fruity to deep and complex, rich sauces and deep intense tropical spices, unique curries. Each flavor leads to the next, each scent blends and builds. The final morsels are a dark red caviar and a fine black caviar, one after the other. I carefully smear a small amount of the salty roe on your lips and then press them into your hungry mouth with my tongue, playing with the briny taste as we both excite in the pure hedonism of a perfectly composed, deliciously complex concerto of flavors.

By the time we have finished our meal we are both panting and quivering, the sensual intensity of the gourmet delights nearly overwhelming us. I ask Rocco to inform the chef of our deepest gratitude. As he wheels the cart away you breathlessly ask me if we are done yet. I don't reply, instead I slide behind you and untie your hands, guiding you to put your arms up in a position of surrender. I grip the hem of your dress at the sides and before you can realize what I have done I peel the thin layer of black satin up and off your body. Now you sit, naked except for your high heeled shoes, tied at the ankles to a heavy dining chair, and blindfolded.

I guide your arms back straight down to your sides, and you keep them there trembling with anticipation. You feel me at your feet, slipping off your shoes and pushing them aside. I start to untie the silks around your ankles and when done, ask you sto stand. You hear Rocco's breathing next to you, and feel his excitement in the air.

With my hand on your elbow I turn you around so that your back is to the table. Whispering that you should trust me, trust us, I place one hand behind your shoulder and the other behind your knee. Rocco has moved to your other side and does the same. In an instant you are lifted effortlessly by the four strong hands up over the surface of the table, and laid on your back on the cool white linen tablecloth. Your head is a few inches from one end of the table for two, and you can feel the other edge of the table beneath your perfect ass. Rocco and I position chairs and spread your legs, positioning your feet and legs wide apart, but comfortably supported by the chairs.

I reach between your legs and spread your delicious pussy open to Rocco's heated gaze, flicking your clit and sending shocks of pleasure up your spine. You feel thoroughly exposed and vulnerable, your heart racing with erotic anticipation. I ask Rocco to prepare the dessert. He excuses himself and in the few moments we are alone, I relish the reflection of your squirming naked form in the windows overlooking the glittering moonlit Gulf as I continue to tease your sensitive clit.

Rocco coughed quietly as he emerged from behind the pillar with the dessert cart. The way we have arranged you on the table your open pussy is directly exposed to the viewer as soon as they come into view of our secluded table. Having placed you in this position, it is no surprise to Rocco, but the look of astonishment on Jessica's face and in the eyes of the chef as they follow behind our waiter is priceless.

I continue to flick your little nub with my thumb as I introduce you to our chef and reintroduce your to our hostess. She seems particularly fascinated by the trickle of her boyfriend's cum that is still leaking from your wet opening.

Rocco is setting up the cart with four small double boilers and plates of fruits, cakes and sweet creams. The chef, in a deep voice with a thick French accent, asks the hostess and waiter to prepare the "platter" while he serves the dessert. I can't help but smirk as the busty young brunette kneels between your legs...you have no idea what the chef means, even after you feel her tender lips on the inside of your thighs and twitch in response. You react by reaching toward the head between your legs, but Rocco intercepts your hands and holds them together firmly above your head. He brushes your outstretched fingers gently against the growing bulge in his tight pants. You try to stretch toward him but he prevents you from reaching.

I step back as Jessica raises her hands to spread your vulva and ass cheeks, and hungrily plunges her tongue deep into your tight ass to lick out the drop of her boyfriend's jism that had dripped there. Your moan of delight turns into a gasp of surprise as the first drizzle of warm chocolate sauce is expertly spooned onto your naked breast by our chef. He traces intricate patterns of dark chocolate across your chest, neck and shoulders, then dips into two of the other double boilers to cover you with overlapping patterns of milk and white chocolate.

As he turns your body into a work of chocolate art, Jessica has replaced her tongue in your clenching ass with her finger, impishly wiggling it to make you squirm in pleasure and drawing stern admonitions from our chef, who doesn't want his dessert "platter" moving too much during the careful preparations. When he has finished making his pattern of curlicues and arcs across the soft skin of your chest and stomach, he signals the hostess that she can continue.

Jessica pulls her finger out of your backside and spreads your pussy. You've never felt the lips of another woman down there before, but as her tongue flutters across you with such tenderness and familiarity, you wonder why you've waited so long. Her touch is nothing like a man's, yet it is intensely intimate, informed from expertise that comes from knowing exactly how it feels to do the things she does, and doing it with passion. Her dainty fingers reach deeper inside you, and tease out the last of her boyfriend's juices.

The chef is placing tufts of whipped cream and thick sugary sauces across your naked form, and making a pattern of cakes and fruits over the top of the whole delicious confection. He steps back when he is done and calls for a camera. Even through the blindfold you can see the flash, over and over again. By the last flash Jessica's lips are pursing around your clit in sync to the bursts of light, and it nearly pushes you over the edge.

As the chef takes the last photo of your naked body, adorned in our evening's dessert, Jessica leans back and licks her lips, smiling up at me as she wipes your nectar from her mouth with one finger. She stands and offers me her fingers. I take them hungrily and she moans as I carefully suck them. Encouraged by her response I move her tasty hands closer to her face, and lick my way from her fingertip, to her palm, and up to her chin. In another instant I am tasting your flavor on her cheeks, on her plump, bee-stung lips, and finally on her tongue. I pull her close as I devour her mouth...the same mouth that had so recently been pressed between your legs...and press my hard cock against her round belly. She is delightfully curvy.

I feel my own knees weakening, drawing me down to take a fresh taste of her own sweet honey. If the sommelier hadn't arrived at that moment with a bottle of champagne, I would have been on my knees in front of her, lifting her skirt.

Instead, I watch with bemusement as the older gentleman drinks in the delicious sight before him on the table. His face reddens and he licks his lips in barely contained desire as he gazes upon your trembling form. Jessica slides away from me and moves aside as the older man steps toward you, absently preparing to uncork the bubbly while maintaining an unbroken stare on the treasure between your legs.

He eases the cork out of the bottle without spilling and pours two flutes of the fine champagne. He hands me one and I hold it above my head, toasting the most delicious dessert I have ever beheld. The waiter, hostess and sommelier all applaud quietly as the chef bows his head in humble appreciation. I drain the flute and set it on the cart. Unbuttoning my shirt, I explain that I don't want to get my clothes messy while I eat my dessert. I see your pussy twitch in anticipation when I say this.

The chef steps up to the serving cart and explains the four double boilers. Three contain the dark, milk and white chocolates that I have already watched him apply to your naked body. The fourth, he tells me, lifting the lid and letting the warm strawberry smell escape, is a special warm oil of his own invention. Fully edible and very slippery, he created it for circumstances where sticky chocolate is less desirable. Of course there is also a significant amount of fine whipped cream remaining.

Rocco releases your wrists as I remove my shirt and start to unbuckle my belt. The chef and the waiter step away and wish me bon appétit. I look around at the four and ask them to wait. The dessert is the most wonderful I have ever seen, I explain, but it is a treat that would be best if shared with friends. I ask them if they are hungry and would like to join me for dessert.

Their reactions are immediate and wordless. Rocco's black pullover shirt is on the floor before I finish my question, exposing his strong, tan hairless chest and rippling muscles of his taut abdomen. The chef's white uniform coat is off almost as quickly, but he places the coat over the back of the chair so that the embroidered stitching that reads "Emmanuel Delcour, Chef de Cuisine" is clearly visible. His own bare chest is nearly as well-defined as Rocco's, his long hair pulled back in a ponytail over the strong muscles of his broad shoulders.

The sommelier is having a harder time stripping out of his tie and jacket, his fingers are nervous, trembling. Jessica removes her pullover blouse and bra, letting her large heavy breasts swing free, then takes pity on the poor wine steward, kneeling in front of him to help him with his clothes. At first he tries to help, but their fingers tangle and the young woman decides that the older man will be of more assistance if he stays out of the way. She guides his hands to her naked breasts and while he blissfully fondles them she helps him out of the rest of his clothes.

By the time she pushes his boxers to the floor, Rocco, the chef and I are all naked, all throbbing with excitement, stroking our hard cocks in anticipation of the coming feast. You sense us circling around your quivering naked body; feel our heat as we take positions at your sides. The chef is at your right breast, I am at your left. Rocco stands next to the chef, looking down hungrily at your stomach, covered with chocolate, cream, cake and fruit.

The sommelier takes the position next to me, tugging on his semi-hard cock. He's shaking more than you are, and not fully erect. Jessica slips out of her black wrap skirt and lacy panties. There's no more room at the feast since your body is surrounded by four hungry me so I offer her my spot. She giggles and says she's on a diet...a champagne and strawberry diet...as she takes up the flute of bubbly and a bowl of strawberries and kneels between your legs.