Dinner Out

San Antonio isn't my favorite city in Texas (I much prefer Austin), and Texas isn't my favorite state (I'll take my native California any day). But when I go there, as I do every year on business, I eat dinner at an expensive French restaurant that is as fine as any this side of Paris.

I know the place well. I'm usual able to get one of my business associates to come with me (especially since they know my company will pay) but this time I went alone.

I always order a chicken dish, for in my opinion French chefs make these better than anyone. That night it was Chicken Kiev. I was seated in the back of the restaurant, my Armani suit on the high end, perhaps, but certainly not out of place.

There was a business party on my right -- five men drinking a lot and talking more. But the other table next to me drew my attention. A well-dressed couple sat there. The man was nothing special -- a typical mid50s businessman -- overweight, overbearing, and over there, his back immediately to my left.

But his trophy wife caught my eye. She was dressed very simply, rather elegantly, and quite sensually. Her luxurious raven hair was pinned up on her head. Her black summer dress was tasteful -- exposing only her arms, showing barely the promise of her breasts, and falling down to almost caress her knees. Her matching black high heels, perhaps three inches, completed the trifecta.

As far as I could see she wore no makeup, nor did she require any. Only her ears were adorned with small earrings, simple gold, with a small diamond. Very tasteful, I thought, and tasty, glancing past her husband's head to gaze at her. She appeared to be in her mid-30s, a few years younger than me. If I leaned slightly to the left to strain to here her, doing my best to block out the loud yammering of the businessmen.

Her husband was asking her questions, and she was answering him. He asked her if anyone had offered to buy her drinks at the bar. She gave him a wan smile, almost a wince, and said that she had received a few offers, but turned them all down. "As I always do," she added.

I remembered that I had seen you sitting at the bar when I came in. I do my drinking with dinner at this place, so I never stop at the bar. But I remember noticing you -- your dress so simple yet so provocative. Some guy was talking to you -- or trying to. I remember noticing how long and sensual your neck was, and how delightful it must be to kiss such a neck.

You glanced at me now -- either because you recalled me looking at you, or because you noticed that I was overhearing your conversation. "Was there no one who joined you?" your husband asked. "Several sought to," you replied, "but they were all boys to me. I sent them away."

"Was there no one who interest you?" he pressed. "Well," you said, pausing, "there was one man" and here I could have sworn you again glanced at me, "but he never approached me." I flushed when she said this, for I had thought about her -- lusted, more accurately.

Her skin, though tan as carmel, seemed to glow under the room's lighting. It looked soft and sensuous, and I was glad that she had left her slender arms bare.

She glanced at me again, then excused herself, saying she had to go freshen up. She kissed her husband lightly on the cheek, then grabbed her purse and walked to the ladies room.

I watched her go -- then paid the check which had been sitting there. I got up, left the dinning room, and walked down the long corridor toward the exit. But I didn't leave -- I couldn't. I waited for her.

And when I saw her open the door to the ladies room and step out, I approached her, lightly touching her upper arm. She turned her face and looked at me -- but I couldn't gage her expression. "I saw you the other man," I said. "Then why do you approach me?" you inquired. "Because I saw you without him, before, as well." Her face went blank, registering surprise or acknowledgement, and she seemed to nod slightly.

I took hold of her sleeveless arm and guided her toward the small alcove near the restrooms. The space wouldn't have existed in a restaurant in Los Angeles -- far too great a waste of space. But it did here. We were out of sight of everyone -- although anyone could easily have turned in and seen us.

"I've been watching you all night," I said, still holding her arm, "if I had known you were ... available I would have bought you a drink." She smiled wanly at me. "I wouldn't say I was available. It's just a game my husband likes -- one he's made me play since our marriage." Your skin felt so soft and warm as I touched it. I looked into your eyes.

"I don't think he means anything buy it. Maybe he's testing me. Or maybe he just wants my attractiveness validated by the attention of other men." I could feel her warm breath on me as she talked. She looked so beautiful, and I wanted her very much.

"I'm not interested in them. He enjoys this game -- I do not." I was disappointed by this news -- which seemed to block any hopes I had. I still held onto her, and tried to be gracious. "Well, at least you can get a good release when he makes love to you when you get home."

You have a short, bitter laugh. "Oh, that doesn't happen. He goes home and plays with himself. I get ... nothing." I looked at her, surprised. "Except frustration." She half-smiled at me for the first time. I know how to take care of myself. I'll be fine."

"You are so very fine," I replied. I felt overcome by her beauty so close to me, and rage at how unfair this all was to her. I leaned in, and my hand rose from her arm to her long neck. I titled her head backwards, and kissed her. Her lips met mine, so full, so fair. I kissed her fully, my lips on her, tasting her for the first time. I let my tongue touch her lower lip, then trace around her lips, then slide under her upper lip. She never encouraged me nor discouraged me. I pushed my tongue in harder, and her mouth opened slightly, just enough to permit me to slide my tongue in her warm, wet mouth, and touch her tongue.

I felt the warmth of her body next to mine as we kissed, and realized that I had become very hard. I slowly removed first my tongue, then my lips, keeping my forehead against hers. I was breathing very hard -- short, quick breaths. "Did you like that?" I asked, leaning into her, so I could feel her breasts against my chest, and she could feel my hard penis against her torso. She paused, and avoided my gaze. "I can take care of myself." I put my hand to her chin, raising her head, forcing her eyes to look at mine, and her mouth to accept my mouth in another kiss, even harder and deeper than the first.

"Did you like that?" I asked again, needing to know. Her breath was fast and shallow too. "Did you?" she replied enigmatically. I felt she was toying with me now -- she knew I liked it. I was so thick now, so much blood rushing down -- harder than I had been since I was a teenager. I did something I never had done before, and still don't understand. I dropped my hands down to her knees, under her dress, and slid them quickly up her thighs. I grasped the elastic of her panties, and slid them down her legs -- off her cheeks, down her thighs, over her knees, and down to her ankles, where she lifter up her feet so I could slide them off. Which I did and put them in my inside jacket pocket.

"Did you like that?" I repeated, feeling liberated by my actions, leaning in and kissing her again, my tongue traversing her mouth as if performing in a circus ring. I thought I heard her moan or sigh slightly, but she said nothing. I could take it no more. My left hand went to my pants, unzipped my pants and pulled out my erect and throbbing cock. I leaned her back against the wall and I hooked both my hands under her soft cheeks and lifted her up awkwardly and roughly.

You leaned back, accepting my actions, but neither encouraging nor discouraging me. The calmer you remained the wilder I became. I drove my lips into yours, needing to kiss you, touch you, taste you. I buckled my legs slightly to get more support. My right arm did it's best to support your weight, aided by the wall and my knees. And with my left hand I lifted your skirt slightly, and then took hold of my stiff shaft and searched out your vulva. I found your lips and rubbed my massive member, already sleek with precum against them. I tried to center myself and enter you.

And on my second try I succeeded. My head poked inside your warm, wet walls, parting your lips with my hardness. I don't consider myself unusually large, but at that moment I felt like I held a jackhammer.

I thrust my hips and slid in further, and then I thrust upwards, still holding my cock, and most of the rest of me disappeared into you.

I hooked my arms together under your cheeks again, still using the wall as extra support. I let my lips slide down to the left side of your neck, kissing, licking and sucking it. I've never tasted anything as salty and satisfying, as I worked on your neck, humping you awkwardly.

I moaned very lightly, "yes, yes, yes" and I thought I heard you sigh slightly in reply. I started to jackhammer my hard cock in you, wanting to take you, claim you, use you. I wanted to bury my firm dick as deeply in you as possible and empty my cum in your warm pussy.

I know that technically I wasn't very good. My strokes were short, my angle difficult, my manner forced. But I felt so hard and thick that to me it was heavenly. My mouth never left your neck, nor my penis your vulva, as I furiously fucked you. I wanted to hear you whimper, to make you scream; to feel you cum, release.

Of course it was me who released -- I doubt I lasted two minutes in all, my breathing rapid, my thrusts rapid, my climax rapid. I held myself as deep as I could in you, surrounded by the amazing embrace of your pussy -- and I came hard -- hard and deep. I felt my lust pour into you and your body accept it, your lips holding me tight. When I stopped moving, you brushed your lips against my neck, and gently pushed me back. As I stepped back my semi-hard penis slid out of you.

You calmly brushed down your dress with your hands, then checked your hair. You stood close to me and touched my penis for the first and only time, lifting it and sliding it into my underwear, then zipping up my pants. "Did you like that?" you smiled, then said "I have to go." I reached out and held your left upper arm for a second. You paused while I retrieved my wallet and handed you my business card. "Call me, I implored. You smiled, put the card in your purse, and walked out of the alcove, down the hall, and then turned into the dinning room.

I wish I could say there was a happy ending. It's been two weeks, and I still don't know if I completely understand what happened. Had I seduced her, or had she seduced me? Was it true that this was all some sick game her husband enjoyed playing, and had I justifiably turned the tables on him and given him (and her -- and myself as well) his just desserts. Or was it all prearranged -- were both of them just toying with me? Had they gone home to their separate beds, or had they make passionate love while she regaled with the tale of our tryst?

I don't have any answers. All I knew is that it had been two weeks, and that every night I wait by my phone in hope that somehow, someday I would have an opportunity to relive the most passionate evening I have ever experienced.