The Girl in the Restaurant

There was a girl there at the restaurant last night. I saw her. You didn't notice her, but she noticed you.

We had just finished our starters, and you had to go to the bathroom. You slid out of our booth and stood - a little unsteadily, we'd been drinking for a while before eating - and did that spin we all do when trying to find the toilets in an unfamiliar bar. A little point of your finger when you spotted the sign and you were off.

I settled back to watch your arse as you walked off. That's when I saw her.

A quick movement past you caught my eye. This girl - woman - suddenly tensed as you came into her view. I imagine she saw your shoes first, then your legs as you strode towards the corridor to the bathroom. I saw her eyes lock on to you and track you, subtly, hooded, as you swept across her gaze.

Her boyfriend sat opposite her, eating, talking, little bits of food falling back on to his plate as he told her about some boring thing or other, oblivious to the frisson sweeping through her body. Her blonde ponytail fell from her shoulder as she shifted, turning her head slowly to watch you better, trying to do it without being noticed. But I noticed.

She was tall, slim, fewer curves than you, with smaller tits inside a loose fitting white t-shirt. Stone washed denims with artfully designed rips painted on to her legs. She had 6-inch wedge heels, worn especially to make her legs look nice and not at all to make herself taller than her boyfriend. You had almost reached her table now and were right in front of her. She had a fork in her hand, stopped halfway towards her mouth, her lips parted in anticipation of the morsel, or you, or both.

You turned away from her behind her boyfriend's chair to head down the long corridor to the bathrooms and she relaxed back into her seat, popped the bite into her mouth, and watched your bum as you walked, as I had intended to do. Her legs uncrossed under the table and I could see her thigh muscles tense rhythmically a few times.

I imagine she was seeing you in her light-filled bedroom as she leaned back against her pillows, your head between those thighs as a sunbeam streaks in through the gap between the drawn curtains. Your tongue parting her labia for the first time, searching, teasing. She has a tight handful of your long red hair, rolling it up in her fist, trying to mash you in tighter. That strong tongue of yours flicking against the tip of her clitoris as your right hand strokes up the side of her body, once, twice, before cupping her small breast, teasing the brown nipple with a fingertip then pinching slightly as the areola creases and stiffens in delight.

She is watching your luscious hair fall over your eye as you begin to work in earnest on her pussy, your tongue sliding round and flicking up, round and up, in a way that she has never experienced before. Her breath catches in her chest, her back arches as she tries to push herself onto you harder. Her cheeks flush lightly as her body readies itself.

She knows you can feel the tension in her frame, and you gently start to push the fingers of your left hand down the inside of her thigh, between her lips to the waiting darkness below. Palm upward, your middle finger slides in, exploring the inner surface till you find that rough patch that every woman has, and start to massage and stroke the inside end of her clitoris even as your tongue works tirelessly against the exposed end.

She's never felt this much before, her boyfriend can't ever know what she wants, needs. Can't get it right. Oh so right. It's too much. Her body tenses again, her toes curl back, her breath intakes sharply. The warmth that has been building steadily finally explodes into the first wave of an epic orgasm that wracks her senses. Juices flood her cavity and you can taste the orgasm even as the shockwaves course through her. You don't stop just yet of course, your tongue still rolling around her clit, your finger still inside her, your hand grasping her stiffened nipple a little tighter.

The onslaught of pleasure overloads her and a low moan escapes her lips, turning to a squeal as another breaker crashes across. She pushes on your forehead to break the connection, she can't take any more, she needs to recover before she expires, and you reluctantly retreat, sitting back, wiping her juices from your chin. She's still rigid under you, breathing heavily, as you lean forward to kiss her, to get your reward...

I see her jump a little in her seat. Her boyfriend has asked a question, noticed her eyes miles away, asked it again a little louder. Broken the reverie. You've turned the corner at the end of the hall by now, gone from her sight. I see her re-cross her legs under the table, mutter an answer, and lean back in her chair to wait, wait for you to come back round the corner at the bottom of the hall, so she can see you again.