The first I knew something was going on was when she put her hand in my lap.
Under the table.
In the restaurant.
"Can I show you the dessert menu?" asked the waiter as he cleared our plates.
"Oh, I think so," she said. He nodded, looking straight down at her hand. She just smiled at him.
"Now, Benjamin," she said as the waiter left, "how about dessert and then brandy in the bar?"
I had lost my tongue, to be honest. Then again, I suspected that the question was rhetorical anyway.
She looked into my eyes and moved her hand along my lap. She held my gaze, smiling, her eyes sparkling and excited. She moved the hand back towards her and then away from her, obviously checking for any signs of movement beneath the thin black material.
I twitched.
Or rather, my cock twitched.
Her eyes opened wider and her smile turned into a grin.
"Madam? Sir?" The waiter placed the dessert menus in front of us and retreated again.
She removed her hand and picked up her menu.
"Mmm, cheesecake, I think," she said, "with whipped cream." She made the last two words sound utterly filthy and adjusted her position in the chair alongside me.
I looked at my menu but the text was a blur. I held it further away and, slowly, my eyes settled down and I could read the four dishes. I put the menu back down, on top of hers. The waiter returned.
"What can I get you, Madam?
"Cheesecake with plenty of whipped cream." There it was again. Those two words, lengthened and contorted around her mouth to sound absolutely debauched.
"Sir?" The waiter looked at me just as her hand took up its former position.
"Chocolate," I said.
"The Chocolate Fondant, sir?" he asked. I nodded.
As he picked up the menus he looked directly at her hand, his gaze lingering for a second longer than was necessary. I glanced at her. She was smiling up at the waiter; a smile of satisfaction.
"Thank you," she said, as he left.
"Chocolate Fondant," she said, "isn't that the one that always goes wrong in the cooking shows?" she asked. Her hand began its movements again. I could feel her fingertips through my trousers as she applied some pressure.
I nodded.
"Y-es," I stumbled, "I don't know why they even try it."
"Perhaps it's because it seems impossible? There must be great satisfaction if you get it right," she said.
"I guess s..." I stopped completely as her fingers gripped my cock, pinching out the shape as if she was pinching a roll of pastry. A sausage roll, perhaps.
The waiter returned.
"Cheesecake for Madam; and the fondant for Sir. Please enjoy." He retreated once again. She removed her hand from my lap and picked up her dessert-fork and spoon.
I cut the fondant with the edge of my spoon; liquid chocolate oozed out of the chocolate sponge, thick, hot and steaming. It was a perfect fondant.
"Oh, well done," she said, looking at my dessert. I glanced up at her. She had a spoonful of whipped cream poised alongside her mouth. She saw me looking and licked her lips before opening her mouth and putting the spoon inside. When she withdrew the spoon she had whipped cream in the corner of her mouth. Both sides.
I looked back at my plate and cut a small piece of sponge with the spoon. I put it into my mouth and looked over at her. She was licking the sides of her mouth with an exaggerated motion; slowly and sensually. The cream disappeared but she kept her mouth slightly open so that I could see it on her tongue.
"Mmm," she said, "so good."
I concentrated on my own dessert, gulping down the delicious chocolate and savouring the delicate sponge. I scraped around the plate with my spoon, clearing every last bit of chocolate sauce I could. I put the spoon and fork down on the plate and sat back, satisfied.
"Well, someone enjoyed that, didn't they," she said. She finished her dessert with a final spoonful of cream, going through the same regime as before, and called the waiter.
"We'll take coffee and brandy in the bar," she said, pushing back her chair. She led the way from the restaurant to the bar and sat down on a leather sofa.
"Come and sit beside me, Benjamin," she said. I sat down next to her on the sofa as the waiter came over to the low table in front of us.
"Coffee for two and two large Martell XO's, please," she said, smiling at him. He nodded and went away. The bar was quiet; it wasn't yet nine o'clock; and we were in a shadowy corner. She shuffled slightly, so that her leather skirt rubbed on my trouser-leg. The skirt had ridden up when she sat and the hem was now halfway up her thigh.
She put her hand on top of my thigh, squeezing it gently.
"Well, that was a lovely meal, wasn't it?" she said. Her hand moved up my thigh to my groin. She began to rub again, caressing my cock through my trousers. The waiter reappeared with a large tray from which he deposited mats, sugar, cups and saucers, a coffee pot, a plate of chocolates and two brandy balloons. He looked up at her face and asked;
"Will that be all, Madam?" Then he saw her hand. It was stroking, slowly and steadily but there was no mistaking what it was doing. His training took over and, when she said, 'thank you,' he nodded and turned on his heel. I looked at her. She was smiling after him.
She poured the coffees and slid one in front of me before passing me a glass. I sniffed it and then sipped it, carefully. I'd only ever had cheap brandy before but this was thick and intense, with none of that harshness.
