Fiona’s favorite restaurant is an intimate French place two doors down from my office. We courted there and after 20 years of marriage, we still tryst there.
One night a few years ago she suggested that we meet for dinner after work. “Sure,” I answered from my office phone. “Where?”
“Le Jardin,” Fiona answered, naming our favorite spot. “I’ll bring desert.”
That night I claimed our reservation and was perusing the menu when Fiona floated in ten minutes late. One look at her confirmed that her entrance was timed and that the first dinner course was supposed to be my watching her swivel across the bistro in a sheath skirt, elegant heels and a fitted jacket. She was gorgeous and quite obviously on display for me.
I stood, kissed Fiona demurely and held a chair for her. As she sat, I noticed the pattern in her hose and immediately realized that under that underneath her tailored outfit, Fiona was wearing a body stocking I had recently given her: The one with translucent nylon that clung to every curve, not hiding them but framing them for a very appreciative husband. The one with no crotch.
I am sure that we chatted over drinks but I would be lying to say that I can remember most of what we said that night. This was classic Fiona. Cool and blonde. Reserved but subtly flirty, shooting me provocative smiles when no one was looking.
We were seated in a small dining room at the rear of the restaurant, Fiona’s back to the door. After we ordered, Fiona stole a look over her shoulder, confirming that we were alone. Without pausing our conversation, Fiona fingered free the buttons of her jacket and pushed her breasts forward, splitting her jacket lapels aside and confirming my suspicions. Just a peak and then her engorged nipples went back under wraps.
Fiona nonchalantly buttoned her jacket before our waiter was back with our salads.
Fiona smiled suggestively as color suddenly rising in my face. Slipping a heel, she traced my leg with a stocking clad foot unseen beneath the table. I started involuntarily at her touch. Fiona laughed and tossed her hair, riveting me with her eyes.
Dinner crawled by in exquisite pain, my penis straining my trousers. As the waiter was clearing our table, Fiona excused herself. Returning from the ladies’ room minutes later, she took my chin in her hand and kissed me passionately. Breaking away, Fiona curled her finger under my nose, filling my nostrils with the unmistakable scent of her pussy. I raised an eyebrow and Fiona responded with a smile: “Easy access.”
The bill settled, we hurried into the cool night with Fiona clutching my arm. She turned her lips to my ear and whispered, “Take me to your office. I am going to fuck you until you can’t walk tonight.”
We poured into the elevator and were instantly on each other. I smothered Fiona with deep probing kisses and thrust my hand between her legs. “Fuck me here,” I said, pinning her against the wall of the elevator car.
“No. Not here,” Fiona croaked. “On your conference room table.”
I fumbled for my keys, pulled my wife through the lobby and pushed her down on the long mahogany table where I had conducted a business meeting just hours before. Fiona’s skirt bunched at her waist. She ripped open her jacket. City lights pouring through the conference room windows illuminating Fiona’s stockinged legs and her nipples straining the lace of her bodice.
I ripped off my trousers and entered her immediately through the open crotch of her body stocking. “Fuck, yes!” she screamed. “Give it to me now. Just fuck me!”
Fiona leaned back onto her hands, pushing her pussy toward me across the table’s polished wood. I pistoned into her again, again and again, each of us grunting. Fiona rushed to her first orgasm quickly. “Harder,” she yelled. “Fuck me harder.”
I responded with a savage set of thrusts, pushing Fiona into gasping screams. “Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. Ohhhh!”
Without waiting for her orgasm to subside, I pulled out of Fiona and spun her onto her feet, bending her over the table. Fiona’s hands clawed at a leather blotter on the table as I entered her again and pumped harder than before.
We startled a bit when an office telephone rang but we never slowed. I should say: I never slowed. Fiona was helpless now, whimpering as I pounded into her, bracing my hands on her lace-covered ass. Fiona still balanced on her high heels, lifting her pussy up to me.
“Do you like this?” I grunted to Fiona. “Tell me! Is this what you want.”
“Yes!” Fiona gasped. “Fuck me hard! Fuck me where you’ll have a meeting tomorrow!” I was now slamming into my wife, beyond slowing, beyond turning back.
Sperm boiled up my cock. I pounded more. “Give me your pussy!” I shouted. “Give it to me now! Ohhhh!” Semen surged through my cock, pumping deeply and longingly into my wife. We each screamed. I collapsed onto Fiona’s back where I panted, clawing for breath.
In a moment I pulled Fiona into my arms. We kissed tenderly as I wrapped her in my arms. I squeezed Fiona and whispered to her, “Come on, baby. Let’s go home. I don’t want to be late for my meeting tomorrow.”