Dinner with Tess

The night was going really well. It was a formal dinner, that my very dear friend had invited me to; a bunch of her workmates had invited us to a black-tie dinner at a very fancy restaurant, for the benefit of some-charity-or-other. Forgive me if I can't remember all the details, for I had spent too long memorising only the particulars that mattered to me.

Tess looked divine that night. She had dressed in a long, flowing black number, tightly fitting to flatter and accentuate her best assets: a gorgeous and fulsome bosom, beautiful womanly curves, and a damn fine rump to boot. The dress was nicely cut in front to allow the person sitting beside her (that would be me!) to peek quite deeply down her cleavage, and though it flowed nearly to her ankles, it had a split running quite high up the front of her left leg – a split which I had been taking free advantage.

Happily, the table at which we sat with half-a-dozen of Tess' colleagues had a long, thick table cloth that spilled generously over the edges of the table; employing this as cover, I had been laying my hands quite cheekily all over Tess throughout the evening, slipping my fingers into the split in the dress to tease and toy with the top and inner-side of her thigh.

I could tell, even through our discretion, that Tess was greatly enjoying my teasing. She wore an enormous smile through the night, a smile that spoke of the hidden joke that she shared with me. And even as her colleagues laughed and talked amongst themselves and talked to us, I kept teasing Tess, and she kept shooting quick little looks at me: looks that said "Mark, you are wicked. Absolutely wicked... but please, don't stop."

Suddenly and unexpectedly, Tess excused herself and rose from her seat. I assumed that she had merely gone to 'powder her nose', and during her absence I made conversation with her rowdy, merry workmates. They all seemed to like me, their approval transmitted in the usual, loud, boisterous and brash American way – I must have been a novelty to them, with my Aussie twang and gentle humour.

Tess returned, and as she took her seat again I saw her slip her hand into my lap, and I felt her quickly drop something there. I was about to dive back into the split in her dress, but I paused, and reached instead for my present; something told me not to pull it out from the cover afforded by the tablecloth, so I instead grasped it with both hands, feeling it out with my fingers in an attempt to divine what it was.

It was a small scrap of material, cool and silken. The body of it was shaped like a sort of triangle, and it tapered down into straps at each corner; and, I noticed with increasing interest, the lower half towards one corner was damp. Not just 'damp', but DAMP – that unmistakable, warm, slightly slick, heady, sweet-smelling kind of damp that I simply adore.

This was a thong. Tess's thong. She had been wearing it... it had gathered some moisture, Tess' moisture as provoked by my cheeky teasings... and now, she was not wearing it anymore.

My eyes shot to hers, and we shared the naughtiest of naughty little grins.

I knew what I was going to do next – what Tess wanted me, was daring me, provoking me to do. Switching the thong to my left hand, my right hand returned to Tess's leg, to the split in her dress. I ran my fingers in, nice and deep, cupping about the glorious warmth and softness of her thigh; and I ran my hand back, further along her leg, further, further...

...until my fingers found that which they sought, that wonderful, delicious, burning hot softness and moisture.

As my fingers found their mark with unerring accuracy, Tess' whole frame stiffened and straightened, only slightly but still noticeably. We both looked around the table, at her colleagues, to see if the game was up; but they were all oblivious to our wantonness, our wickedness.

And so I pressed deeper. My fingers parted her outer lips, finding her juices hotter, running more freely, her gorgeous little clit ready and waiting. Her one hand up on the table grasped at a napkin, bunching it and squeezing it into a tight little ball, while her other hand below the table fell to my lap, landing directly upon my growing, bulging cock.

Things moved slowly, wonderfully and deliciously. With my hand placed and angled perfectly, yet hidden by the tablecloth bunched in our laps, I was able to build Tess up long, marvellous and slow. Tess tried but was unable to unzip my pants, so she had to content herself with stroking me through my trousers – again, slowly, teasingly.

I made a show of listening to Tess' colleagues and their tall tales of grandeur, though in reality I heard not a word; I was lost in the moment, the moment that she and I were sharing, in the forbidden wickedness of what we were doing in such close proximity to our fellow dinner-guests.

Every now and again, I would quickly sneak a peek at Tess's face. She held a very convincing mask of simple, happy blankness, but beneath it I could see her mounting enjoyment. I could see the pleasure building, a quiet tremor betraying some of her composure, and when her eyes caught mine she would flash a brilliant, beautiful smile of cheeky, glowing contentment.

We were nearly there. I had Tess almost all the way, near to the brink. Though little changed on her face, suddenly she couldn't stroke me anymore, she simply took a firm hold of my cock and hung on with grim determination as her hips started moving slightly, as she thrust and ground her glorious sex into my fingers, grinding back against my ministrations.

This was it. She was going to come. She was going to come, for me, in the middle of a crowded restaurant, surrounded by her friends and colleagues. I saw her control breaking down a little, as betrayed by a little flash of teeth, a sudden suppressed heave of the chest as her breathing became a little harsh, a little ragged...

...and that's when Bob, the loudest of our tablemates, decided to address us. "Tess! Mark! You've gone awful quiet there," he observed. "Is everything okay?"

At his initial address, we had both frozen; Tess and I, my fingers still locked deep within her, holding our breath. I relaxed first, on realising that Bob had not actually caught us out, he was merely commenting on our lacking contribution to the conversation.

"I'm sorry, Bob," I told him, smoothly. "I guess... I guess I was just lost in our Tess's eyes."

And even as everyone on the table responded with an automatic "awwwww..." at my apparent cuteness, I gave Tess a good solid rub. Her legs moved and her pelvic muscles squeezed against me in exquisite protest; her eyes met mine, and while on top of everything there was warmth and gratitude at the sweetness of my statement, underneath was a plea: 'no...' she begged of me, using only her eyes. 'Please, no... not now...'

And even as our table-mates commented on 'young love' and 'ain't that grand?', my own smile cranked up a notch, and I responded with another rub.

Tess could barely control herself. I saw her fight down a grunt; her teeth grinned in chagrin, and she bent slightly, trying not to double over on herself with the sheer, forbidden, indescribable pleasure of what I was doing.

"Oh my..." said John, another grey bull at the table. "Tess, you've gone all flushed! Is everything okay?"

I was going hell-for-leather now. I was rubbing her at full and unbearable speed now, with as much pressure as I could administer, determined to make her come, right here and now. She couldn't speak; she could hardly breathe; and her face had indeed started to flush slightly, pink with embarrassment and helplessness, even as I pushed her to the brink...

"Tess?" John asked, with real concern now at her apparent difficulties. "Tess...?"

"She's fine, dear," said Claire – John's matriarchal partner. I quickly looked to Claire, hearing something in her voice, and I knew: she knew. She knew what was going on.

But even as I started thinking 'oh dear...', Tess came. She didn't yell, she didn't scream, and no-one else could really have known she was coming, because all she did was stop resisting me: she opened up like a flower, her muscles unclenched and her legs relaxed and she gave herself to me, and she came. I kept her coming, I worked with a fury, earning a sweet roaring gush of womanly come all over my fingers even as I saw a small smile grow on Claire's face, which I matched for only an instant...

...before I looked to Tess, and spoke for her. "I'm sorry, dear, I must have embarrassed you with my soppy lovey-dovey stuff. Am I right?"

Tess didn't speak an answer – she couldn't, her hand was clenched firmly about her mouth as though to hold back her screams – but she nodded once, with a stinging look for me at the real embarrassment I had caused her. I grinned cheekily, in triumph, and as the conversation restarted without us I let her wind down, let her pleasure abate, let her orgasm come to an end.

She needed thirty seconds or so to regather herself, to start breathing again, to fan away her flush and to take a sip of water. Our friend Bob was apparently still dissatisfied with our silence, so he attempted to drag me into conversation: "So Mark, did you enjoy your dinner? Is our good-ol' Kentucky cooking to your Aussie tastes?"

"Finger-licking good, Bob," I promised him, with a wink, and as though I was proving the point: I smacked greedily at my moistened fingers, licking and tasting Tess' delicious, glorious juices. Of course, exactly what had moistened my fingers was something only Tess and I really knew... and possibly Claire, for I saw her chest rise as she breathed in hard with surprise...

That was it. My finger-licking sassiness was the final straw for Tess, and she suddenly rose to her feet, dragging me with her. "I'm really sorry guys, but we've gotta go," she informed them, a trifle breathlessly. "Perhaps we'll catch up with you later in the evening?"

Without waiting for their reply, Tess had turned and was gone, with me in tow. It didn't take us long to get where we were going – the women's restrooms, which thankfully were empty.

She didn't even wait until we had found a cubicle: she turned and was on me in a flash, her kisses hot and heavy, her hands a steamy blur as she vented her pent-up frustrations upon me. "Damn you..." she hissed between kisses.

I grinned with utmost cheek, before picking her up and – for the sake of discretion – carrying her into a stall, pushing the door shut behind me. She clawed, impatient and greedy, at my trousers, simply reefing the fly down and pulling my cock out, rough and without sympathy. I gathered her up in my arms, pushing her dress up high about her waist, reefing her shoulder straps down and allowing one of her glorious breasts to spill.

Supported in my arms, she braced her feet against the walls of the stall, her sex exposed before me: lips thick and engorged, the moisture still flowing freely, filling the stall with her sweet heady scent. I dearly wanted to taste of it, and tried to fall to my knees, but she would not have a bar of it – she almost snarled as she stopped my descent, grabbing me by my shaft and pulling me roughly into position, parking the fat gorging head of my cock right at her entrance, right where she wanted me.

Who was I to deny her? Looking into her eyes, I searched deeply for that resonant vibration, that familiar spark which she and I shared – that wanton, lusting, overwhelming yearning for each other – and I found it: I found that which we shared, that which drew us together, that which fired us and kept us burning bright for the other.

It was that look, which simply said, 'Please.'

And I was in her. I plunged quickly within her and was met with no resistance. She was as hot, soft and slick as ever I had felt her, and I was buried to the hilt in the wink of an eye. Our mouths both opened noiselessly, gasping without breath at the mutual sensation; I was in her, deep within her, as deep as I had ever gone, and we were together. We were one.

It didn't take long. We were so hot for each other, so far along the path already. I pumped, I pushed and I pounded, and she took me, she held me and she grasped me.

I felt the veins and ridges of my rock-hard cock bulging against her walls, ribbing her and tickling her deeply, striking her spot, and I felt her grasp me, clench me and release me, bringing the velvety slick softness of her glorious little cunt into hard squeezing contact with my cock, her juices squirting gloriously and wetly over our bellies and down our legs as we worked to rid ourselves of our remaining clothes even as we fucked.

We worked together, worked against and with the other, pushing and holding and squeezing the other as tight as could be; all control was lost, I moaned and groaned as she gasped and sang and nearly screamed. There was no way to tell if anyone else had come into the bathroom after us, we were simply too lost to the moment, as she tore the buttons from my shirt and I freed another of her breasts and she wrapped her legs about and over my butt, she raked her fingers down my back and I held one breast in my hand, kneading and pinching and caressing it as I ran the fingers of my other hand through her hair and down her neck, all the while pumping, pumping, plunging, pushing and fucking, fucking, fucking...

...I felt my come building and mounting within me, surging and flowing like a burst watermain buried deep within me, and I felt Tess's climax approaching in the rhythm and pulses of her glorious grasping cunt...

...and we came, we came hard, we came together without even warning the other, her orgasm came with a tremendous squeeze and a glorious, high-pitched feminine cry, it tipped me over the edge and I came too, a thick hot white streamer jetting out of me and painting her deep within, my hot essence coursing out of me in glorious pumping throbs in time with my final thrusts, each of my thrusts provoking a new mini-episode in her, our moans and sighs dying down slightly with each one until we were done, we were spent, we each had given our all.

We quickly gathered our senses, and our clothes. As we did, I realised we were not alone; there were the sounds of someone straightening themselves up in the stall next to us, and tellingly, they left without flushing. Tess had heard it too, and we looked at each other, rushing to redress ourselves so we could go and see.

We checked out the next stall, and Tess gasped; I reached in, and picked up two objects that had been left there.

The first: Tess's black silken thong. I realised that I had forgot to bring it in with me, I must have dumped it on the chair in our haste, mistaking it for my napkin; and 'somebody' must have brought it in for us, brought it in with them. We both grinned as we felt the material in our hands, realising it was still moistened by Tess's juices, and knowing that our silent neighbour would have discovered the moisture too.

The second item we found: a simple scrap of paper, on which had been scrawled two words: 'Thank you', in an elegant, womanly script.

"I guess there's more to that lady Claire than meets the eye..." I mused. We grinned, and decided to make our leave before anyone else caught us there; as we quickly snuck out of the restaurant, I snuck a look back at our table, and saw that no one had noticed our departure.

No one but Claire, who caught my eye, warmly and knowingly and with gratitude.

"Yep," I said, as Tess giggled and held me tighter while we left the building. "Definitely more to Claire than meets the eye."