The Restaurant

I am in the restaurant. I have been placed at a table that has a free table almost opposite me and all the other tables are full of a mixture of couples and a group who seem to be celebrating a birthday. When you walk in I know immediately that it is you; the fleeting glimpse of her new hairstyle is enough, but I also know from the way that both of you are surreptitiously scanning the restaurant. He notices me first but makes no hint of recognition. As the waiter takes her coat, she notices me too but similarly does not pay more than a glance. We do not exchange any eye contact as the waiter guides you to the free table.

I am sipping at my wine as you order yours and this momentary distraction as you engage with the waiter allows me to take in her dress. I can see partially under the table and notice that the dress comes to just above her knees and I see that her legs are covered by stockings. I cannot see the top of the stockings but I still know that they are stockings. You see, what nobody else in the restaurant knows as they engage in their conversations and eat and drink, is that I know all of the clothes that she is wearing ... because I bought them for her; chose her size for her basque, the right length stockings for her height and the suspenders that match the two items. And he knows too. He knows because he took them from me when we met in a pub days before, when he took them home to give to her. But ... it is our secret.

He and I know both know how the materials feel that cover her body, and she too becomes acutely aware of the touch of the material, especially the basque that lifts her breasts and she becomes aware of this connection between mind and body that makes her nipples tingle and harden. She is further aware of the connection between herself and these two men - first her man who is talking to her as she looks into his eyes, eyes behind which she knows that he is aware too, and then also this older man who sits opposite. The man who, to everyone else is a seemingly disinterested stranger, but she has shown herself to this man, allowed him to see her penetrated by her man, fucked roughly on her hands and knees in her living room as this man watched on webcam.

And now she sits with her two men; disconnected by the pretence of this strange ritual of eating and drinking with no contact; connected by the pretence itself and the growing wetness that betrays how bad she is to have agreed to be wearing this underwear, the underwear bought for her by the man that she has not had direct eye contact with yet.

And then it happens. It is only fleeting but my glance around the room as I eat momentarily collides with hers. That electric moment is shared by him as he recognises in her expression that split second moment and he too turns and we make eye contact ... the faintest hint of a smile from all three. We continue with our food and a second glance at her reveals that she has become slightly flushed. She does not meet my gaze as she is leaning forward in hushed conversation with him.

I know what will happen next, not because we have agreed or even discussed it, but because it is what must happen next. She knows that she must go and she knows that I will follow. She slowly rises from her chair and I watch her walk in her heels past me to the toilets. Within seconds, I too rise and follow. As I enter through the door she is standing in the vestibule before the male and female toilets. She is almost facing the wall and appears to be looking for something in her purse. I walk slowly and silently up to her and behind her. I lean forward and gently kiss the nape of her neck while simultaneously I slowly run my hand up the back of her leg, under her dress and feel the stocking until my hand meets the cool smoothness of her bare leg and the material of the suspender. As my hand travels further up I can feel her legs tense slightly and I notice that her hands have stopped moving in the purse. Involuntarily, as my fingers become swamped with the heat and wetness of her excited lips, her feet move slightly apart and I can hear that she is breathing heavily. Despite the danger of discovery, when the door to the restaurant opens, I do not remove my hand as we both know who it will be, and sure enough he appears. He comes closely towards her and she turns slightly towards him. I come even closer behind her and she becomes aware of my hardness pressing slightly into her so shapely bum. His hand mimics my movement from the front and now she has both men exploring her wetness from the front and from the back, our fingers gliding and bumping into each other as they slip through her syrupy juices. He presses forward and she feels his hardness too. He is kissing the front of her neck as my lips glide across the back and her free hand feels him through his trousers and then comes round to feel me.

We know it must stop and it does when the door handle from the restaurant turns. We disengage and she pulls a small piece of folded paper from the purse and places it in my hand. With that and a smile from all of us, the two of you return to the restaurant. I decide to give you time to go back to your seat for a moment and when I do return you have both gone. He must have paid the bill when we were in the vestibule.

I sit back at my seat and ask for my bill, removing the paper from my pocket. On it is written an address.