Clink. A dropped cuff-link.
I kneel down and look up. I see black, lace topped stockings. A silky smooth garter belt and lacy black briefs, or maybe it’s a g? I press the lace with my tongue and then my lips, a long lick that drags the bottom lip up and then a gentle push with the chin. I lean in, kissing deeply and sucking at the wetness from inside. Sucking the lace in, gripping it with my teeth and then letting it snap back. A muffled sigh from above. I divert to the stocking top and nibble and lick my way back to the middle, to the wet lace. Her knees go weak with pleasure for a second, but she catches herself. I lean over and repeat from the other side. Her musky scent under the confines of her skirt are so heady that I can barely breathe, but breathe it in I do.
The automated voice on the train announces the next stop. The train is slowing as it reaches the station, and I find the cuff link I dropped, stand up, straighten my tie, and refit the cufflink as she buttons my sports jacket. She smooths her skirt, leans in close and kisses me deeply. Then she pulls the decorative pocket-handkerchief out my breast pocket, dabs it to my chin, then holds it up to my nose. Then she tucks it neatly back into my pocket. I can smell her scent on it and will be able to, all night.
We walk arm in arm and hip to hip out of the station and down the street, arriving a few minutes early for our dinner reservation. We find a quiet seat at the far end of the bar. Just one seat. I sit on the last barstool, and she slides her way onto my lap, grinding into my erection in a way that makes me draw breath and groan with pleasure. She orders a couple of Gin & Tonics while I quietly trace the line of her garter with one hand and the outline of her nipple with the other, gently chewing her earlobe at the same time. As the drinks arrive, she tilts her hips just slightly, and I bite her earlobe gently with my pleasure. She hands me my glass to keep one hand busy, but I can still trace her garter and panty line with the other where no-one can see.
They call us to our table, as reserved, in a secluded corner of the restaurant. It is a table big enough for four, but we have it to ourselves. Starched linen tablecloth, heavy silver cutlery, a dimly flickering candle. Perfect. I escort her to her seat, with her back to the rest of the restaurant, pull out her chair and wave her to sit with a quiet “Madame”. “Why thank you, sir” she murmurs as she sits. I step around the table and take my seat opposite. Almost as soon as I sit down, a stockinged foot is nudging my crotch, forcing me to catch my breath again. I mostly manage to concentrate on some quiet chit-chat as we finish our drinks and browse the menu. As the waiter approaches, I manage to shift the foot and block it out so I can concentrate long enough to order our dinner and a bottle of wine.
As the waiter leaves, the cufflink comes loose and falls under the table again. I duck under the tablecloth to retrieve it, again finding myself at eye level in the dark with those lovely creamy thighs, peeking above the stockinged legs and coming together at that lace triangle. I smell as much as see my way under the table, and gently nudge myself between her thighs and let my tongue loose again. I continue my ministrations for several minutes, pausing momentarily as she squeezes her thighs together to hold me immobile as the waiter returns with the wine. There is a pop, and a little gasp as he opens the wine. I can picture the scene, the waiter offering her the scent of the cork, assuming I am probably in the bathroom. I hear two glasses being poured, and she relaxes as the footsteps fade away on the soft carpet. I continue licking up one edge of her pussy, flicking at her clit and then back down the other side, as well as I could through the now wet and slightly stretchy lace.
Footsteps approach again and I stop, lick my lips, and wipe my mouth with the pocket-handkerchief again, adding to its fragrance. I grasp the cufflink in my hand, say “found it” and emerge from under the table just as the waiter arrives with dinner. I place the cufflink on the table and take my seat as ‘Tavia straightens herself into her seat and draws a deep breath. If the waiter senses anything unusual, he says nothing, placing our plates with a flourish and leaving with a flamboyant “Enjoy”.
And enjoy we do. The meal is sumptuous, filling, but not too heavy. Enough to make sure you are no longer hungry, but still wishing for more. After the empty plates are collected, and dessert ordered, Octavia stands, excuses herself, and heads to the ladies. A few minutes later, as I am savouring the last of a glass of wine, I hear a clink on the table off to my left. The cufflink is there resting on the candle holder where it had not been a moment earlier. At the same time, I feel, rather than hear, a disturbance to my right, but when I look, there is nothing there but Octavia’s shoes and the tablecloth falling back into place. That girl can move like a cat. Silent and deadly.
Even though I am expecting it, the hand at my crotch catches me by surprise. She strokes gently up over my balls and along my length, teasing the head through the material of my suit. I settle reflexively into my seat, and she unzips the pants and frees me. But she is deadly. A deadly tease. She licks me up and down, sucking for a moment on the tip before pulling away with a kiss, tucking me back in and leaving me half-zipped as she springs from under the table and takes her seat opposite me again. I reach down to adjust myself and zip back up, but there is something else there, something rough. Something lace. I sort myself out under the table and finish by drawing her lacy g-string from under the table, inhaling it deeply, and tucking it into the pocket of the jacket behind the handkerchief.
As dessert arrives, I collect my cuff-link and place it back into the cuff of my shirt. Delicious, sweet dessert with just enough tartness to make you appreciate the sweet again. As we finish up I notice another diner several tables away looking intently at us. Not quite staring as such, but definitely looking. Not making eye contact, but looking away whenever I stare back at him. Odd. We finish and chat for a few moments while ‘Tavia put her shoes back on, and I pay the bill. As I walk behind her to help her out of her chair I understand. In her rush back to the chair from under the table, the split in her skirt has been caught up in the chair and exposed the stocking top, much of her thigh and her bare derriere to the man across the dining room. He would be the only one in the room who would be able to see it. He would have had an eyeful, and he had clearly enjoyed every minute of it, and I honestly couldn’t blame him. Octavia in her flushed state had clearly not noticed the tangled skirt.
As I help her from her chair, I unhook the skirt to let it flow back into place, and she looks at me quizzically. “Your skirt was caught up, and I think the older fellow down that side has been collecting quite an eyeful.” I grin at her, and she laughs. As I escort her from the restaurant, I notice the man, who had been dining alone, is calling for his bill as well. I hope we don’t cross paths in the lobby.
By the time we walk through the atrium and stop to admire some of the artwork, we are too busy cuddling each other kissing and chatting to remember the man even existed. We walk down the stairs and across the plaza, and it isn’t until we reach the far side that we hear the hurried footsteps behind us and the man coughing a quiet “excuse me?”. I turn to see him off, but Octavia stops me, hand on my chest. She kisses me and says: “Wait.”. She turns and steps several steps away to where the man is standing. He is a few years older than me, 5 maybe 10. Shortish but fairly athletic. I take in as much as I can, but staring at Octavia in that skirt, and imagining the view the man would have had, is rather distracting. She speaks to him for a minute in hushed tones, then stops, scanning the plaza before returning to the discussion. Then she stops again, and beckons me over but with her finger to her lips for silence. There is a smile on those lips though, and a twinkle in her eyes.
As I approach, she reaches into my breast pocket and removes her lace g-string before pushing me back again. I step back a few paces and she turns back to the man. She hands him the g-string with a little bow, at the same time managing to brush her skirt to flash me with a nice show of her arse. Something changes hands and she walks back to me, tucking it into her bra. She takes me by the hand and leads me to a quiet corner of the plaza. It’s a little alcove beside a giant Christmas Tree, waiting for its lights be installed. In a few days, this spot will be bright and festive, but now it’s a dark little corner with a hip-high garden wall. She presses me into the wall, leaning her breasts into my chest, grinding her hips into mine and kissing me like there is no tomorrow. After a minute she pauses and tells me to trust her and lift her skirt up and expose her behind. I do as she asks, keeping my hands roaming over her arse as she grinds herself into me. For a moment I notice the man staring from a park bench a discreet distance away before she kisses me again and I forget about the starer.
When we come up for air some five or so minutes later, he is gone.