Under the Table

As I hold your chair so you can be seated, I cannot help but see down your dress top to the cleavage that is so distracting to me. Of course, you wore the dress intentionally, knowing that it offers me a wondrous view from where I stand high over your shoulders. My six foot three inch height, when combined with your medium stature, often gives me an exciting perspective on your outfits. But I feel at least a little less intrusive when I remind myself of your teasing nature. They are often humorous, the verbal exchanges we have over your teasing of me.

The restaurant we are about to enjoy is warm and comfortable in atmosphere, with small tables and white tablecloths draped halfway to the floor. In fact, I chose this restaurant for its tablecloths. I smiled as I seated you, confirming that your lap was totally shielded from the view of the tables nearby. I planned to use that concealment soon, if things go the way I hoped they would go.

I leaned down and softly kissed your cheek before taking my own seat to your right. We both moved our large white cloth napkins to our laps before picking up our menus. The pretty young hostess took our drink orders and quietly walked away. You studied the menu carefully, but I merely glanced at it. This was one of my favorite restaurants and I already knew what I wanted.

"If you feel like seafood, I recommend the grilled salmon. It comes with a white sauce that is just wonderful," I suggested to you. You politely thanked me and went back to your study of the menu. We both knew you were totally capable of making your own decisions, and that those decisions were usually right. But I just couldn't help myself from offering stereotypical male suggestions.

The drinks arrived, but you scarcely seemed to notice. I had ordered a bottle of Honig Sauvignon Blanc, one of my favorite white wines, and the only place I have found it is this restaurant. You looked up from the menu as the server poured a sample of the Honig in my glass. Without tasting it, I slid the glass over to you. Both she and I politely waited until you tasted the wine. Your smile betrayed your appreciation of the light and fruity wine before you could comment.

"This is wonderful! It is fruity more than it is sweet. I have never tasted anything like it!" Your eyes had lit up like they do when you are pleased with something. It is always a joy to see those eyes when they flash like that.

"I am so glad you like it. I was hoping I wouldn't have to drink the entire bottle by myself." My grin couldn't match your smile, but it was evidence of just as much happiness as the light in your eyes.

You took another sip of the wine from what was now a full glass and studied the menu a few minutes more. When you finally ordered, you asked for the grilled salmon. I tried to not roll my eyes, then ordered the pork loin dinner.

As we chatted about our respective days, you quietly and subtly fussed with and picked at your dress. You had purchased it that afternoon just for tonight. You had wanted a new dress and we went together to pick it out. As you modeled it outside the store dressing room, I had stared and stammered enough to make us both uncomfortable.

"I take it you like it. You haven't said anything for quite some seconds. Quite unusual for you..." Your words broke through my confusion of thoughts.

"Honey, the dress is both elegant and sexy at the same time. It is beautiful!" I almost stammered my response.

And it was truly beautiful. It was a layered skirt with some sort of filmy, see-through material cascading down your hips to just slightly above your knees. Each layer seemed transparent, but because there were multiple layers the result was complete coverage with a hint of what might be. The bodice was the same, with a slightly daring but not improper amount of cleavage showing through the several translucent layers. I could see the color of your bra showing through by a hint of black. You noticed me staring at your chest. I was thinking about what was under the bra, but you thought I was noticing the black shadow.

"Don't worry; with the proper bra, you will never be able to see if I was wearing one or not. Nothing will show through, leaving you with your fantasies." You smiled, almost giggling as you mentioned my fantasies.

"It will turn many heads tonight, only some of them will rest on shoulders." I tried to show an evil gleam in my eyes as I said this, and only partially succeeded.

As I had predicted earlier, there were a number of heads turning as both men and women took notice of your beautiful dress. But you didn't seem to notice because you were busy fussing with your dress.

"Is something wrong, honey? You don't like the dress after all?" I was a little surprised because you had seemed to like the dress earlier today.

"No," you replied. "No, I like the dress just fine. But it is a little more daring than I am used to wearing in public. Depending on how these layers fit across my chest, I can vary the coverage from showing a small amount of cleavage to almost nothing blocking the view."

Before you could finish what you were trying to say, I interrupted. "My vote is on the latter!"

"Men! Always interested on one thing!" You sounded exasperated but your smile said other things.

I grinned back. "I am interested in everything about you. But you are right - I am always interested in that!" You tried to hide your smile, suggesting to me that I had said something right.

When you finally finished fidgeting a few minutes later, the result was almost confusing while wonderfully distracting. It appeared that you were wearing no bra at all, and just the barest hint of the darkness of your nipples was peeking through the translucent material. The effect, at least on me, was a polite cough, as I almost choked on my wine.

"Honey, whatever you have done with it has produced an awesome combination of classy and sexy. You look incredible!" Your smile was my reward, and I subtly reached over with my left hand and gently patted your thigh. That was when I discovered that somehow in all your fussing with the dress, you had hiked your hemline way above your knees. For just a moment, I could hear the blood roar in my ears as my heart skipped a beat and yet my blood pressure soared, both at the same time.

What started as a polite pat on your thigh became a soft squeeze and turned into a gentle caress. And then I left my hand there, enjoying the wonderful feel of your soft and creamy skin. I half expected you to remove my hand, but you did nothing but smile into my eyes. I felt things moving and growing as the blood drained from my big head and traveled south to the little head.

We ordered some appetizers, which was a selection of their famous flatbreads with different toppings. As we waited, I gently stroked your thigh, moving my hand up and down your leg. As I moved up your thigh, I still expected you to remove my hand, and was still thrilled that you did not.

When the appetizers arrived, I left my hand there, feeling the heat emanating from the top of your thighs. I wasn't sure, but it seemed the heat was increasing by the minute. I hadn't touched anything important yet, but you were definitely producing enough heat to indicate I might have.

It was both fun and exciting to have my hand almost in your lap, almost touching your soft parts, almost stroking your pleasure center. Without touching your juices, I could tell you were very wet, and it was causing a reaction in my lap that made me appreciate the concealment of the tablecloth.

As the server came to remove the appetizer dishes, she clearly noticed my arm disappearing under the tablecloth and apparently ending in your lap. She took the time to intentionally smile at you, all but eliminating any embarrassment you might have been feeling. It was at that moment that I moved my hand up the final inch and encountered your wetness. You were so turned on that my fingers were soaked instantly. And I was so turned on because I discovered you weren't wearing any panties. I experienced more heart palpitations as I groaned without intending.

"My dear, is anything wrong?" You asked with an innocent look in your eyes.

"Oh, no, honey. I am just choking on my food, that's all." I was amazed that I was capable of intelligent thought at this point, much less capable of gasping it out. I was so turned on by all this that I felt my head was spinning. I had heard and read about people's heads spinning and never experienced it. I experienced it tonight.

I kept surreptitiously looking down to make sure that no one could really see anything. Even the server couldn't see anything, although she might guess what is going on. And this was what I wanted. We had discussed several times my fantasy about sex in public, and had also discussed my refusal to engage in public sex. Sexual activities where others could not quite see and not quite know, coupled with the possibility of discovery by those same people, is very exciting to me. But engaging in sexual activities in view of others where they can see and comment is not part of my fantasy. Sex is and always will be a private affair between you and me.

And touching you under the table qualified as one of the most intimate and exciting activities I had ever experienced. My hand was visibly shaking as I raised my glass for another sip of wine. You noticed and almost giggled.

"Is anything wrong, Dave? Are you okay? You seem to be shaking." Your entire face was lit up in your enjoyment of my discomfort.

"No, sweetie, nothing is wrong. In fact, everything is about as good as I could ever have hoped." It was my turn to smile back.

I left my hand in place as the server and the food runner brought our main meal. The excitement of having my fingers just barely touching your pussy, yet still concealed under the tablecloth, had me sweating. The food runner didn't seem to notice. But the server once again smiled her obvious approval.

"Please let me know if there is anything more I can do to increase your dining pleasure," she smiled in subtle but also clear innuendo.

"I wonder if she is offering something that is not on the menu?" Your question after she had left echoed what was in my mind. "She is quite attractive, don't you think?"

"Obviously," I responded. "But if it is all the same to you, we will stick to ordering things off the menu from her." As I had explained to you before, my appreciation of beauty is universal, but my sexual attention is totally monogamous.

The pork loin that I had ordered came, as I expected, tender enough to cut with a fork. That, coupled with the mashed potatoes and grilled asparagus, allowed me to eat with just one hand. Since I didn't need to use my knife, that left my other hand with nothing to do but explore the area where it found itself. And explore it did. I gently stroked your outer lips with my finger tips, releasing what seemed like buckets of your juices. I could feel it run down your lips to pool on the chair under your bottom. I reminded myself to slip a napkin there before you got up to leave so I could remove any embarrassing puddles.

You, for your part, did a great job of eating and conversing as if nothing was going on under the table. Not a perfect job, by any stretch of the imagination, but a very credible attempt. You managed to groan out loud only a few times, and even they were soft groans. I could feel that you were getting more and more turned on, but since you were stifling your verbal cues, I was not sure how close to cumming you really were. I didn't really want to force you to go through that in public, knowing it would be so hard for you to keep quiet. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I knew you couldn't keep quiet. Or for that matter, keep still. Still, I could not deny the excitement involved in making you cum in public. I decided I could always use the excuse that I couldn't tell how close you were to orgasm, and I smiled devilishly.

I brushed your clit and you jumped so hard it seemed you almost left your seat. You covered it beautifully by dropping your napkin and leaning over to pick it off the floor. The server appeared almost immediately and asked if you needed a fresh napkin. I wondered for just a moment if she really wanted any "used" napkin for her own enjoyment, but I didn't say anything to you. You, on the other hand, weren't so gentile.

"You know, I am beginning to wonder about our server. She seemed to be quick about wanting that napkin. Maybe a little too quick."

I laughed at your comment, mumbling, "I don't blame her; I would want your used napkin, too."

After this apparent intermission, it almost seemed like you had cooled down enough to recover your control. So I set about destroying that control with my fingers. I again gently stroked your outer lips, releasing still more juices from your hot love tunnel. Then I circled your clit softly and gently, causing you to moan again. We both looked around to see if anyone heard that and guessed what was going on under the table. But no one seemed to be paying us any particular attention, except our server. I noticed her leaning against the wall near the coffee service with the tip of her tongue protruding just slightly between her lips and her eyes almost glazed over. I found myself hoping that she wouldn't reduce her tips for the evening by ignoring her other customers. On the other hand, she seemed to be enjoying things, so maybe she wouldn't mind reducing her tips while enjoying the show. Either way, it was her decision and none of my business.

I shifted my attention from the people around us and back to you. I smiled into your eyes and you seemed to be projecting such lust and desire that I was motivated, very motivated, to continue. I was so turned on that even with my napkin in my lap my condition was obvious. That is the trouble with dress slacks instead of jeans. My jeans are tight enough to offer at least some control and restraint.

As we finished our entrées, we looked for our server. Again, she was there almost immediately. This restaurant offered desserts in small parfait glasses, allowing for more than one dessert even for those on a diet. So I ordered several different options, knowing that most if not all would be acceptable to you.

Our server's eyes never left your lap and my almost invisible hand as she wrote down our selections. I requested coffee for both of us. I felt a little emboldened so I added, "I use coffee like many people use cigarettes. When I have finally completed a job and done it well, I love to savor it over a great cup of coffee." Your smile included no small amount of embarrassment.

The server returned in kind with, "Oh, you have finished your job?" while maintaining an innocent smile.

I grinned my biggest grin. "Not just yet," I replied, "but I expect to just about the time the coffee arrives." I looked at her and then at you. You still looked embarrassed, but the server seemed to be just the opposite.

"Just about the time I bring the coffee? Oh, that would be wonderful!" And with a knowing look, she walked off toward the dessert bar.

"Do I take my time and make you cum as the coffee arrives? Or should I make my move right now?" I looked at you for your direction. I knew you were so hot that I could make either happen.

"How about neither? I am not sure I could cum after all this without providing a public spectacle." You looked both concerned and turned on. This made me wonder what I should do, knowing that I could probably make you cum without any real protest on your part. This meant it was not a question of "could I?" but "should I?"

As I thought about it, I slipped a finger inside you causing you to moan again. I slipped it in and then out several times, each time taking a few seconds for the entire in-out cycle, drawing out the pleasure for both of us. And as I did so, I realized that my reason for all this tonight, from the dress to the meal to the sexual play, was for our pleasure. I did not want to create discomfort for you, but pleasure. And if I made you cum here, there would be great pleasure and at least some discomfort in you. So I decided that I would not make you cum here in the restaurant, even if it meant pleasure for you and for me and possibly even for our server. Any discomfort for you suggested that now was not the right time.

But I left my finger inside you, gently stroking your G-Spot and enjoying the squirming and fidgeting it was causing you.

Your breathing was ragged and irregular by the time the server brought our desserts. She obviously looked into your lap and paused, then said, "Here is your dessert."

I shook my head in the negative, and smiled, "No, this is merely our final course. We will be having dessert at home."

The server almost looked disappointed, and responded with, "Are you sure I cannot get you to reconsider? Is there nothing I could do to increase your pleasure and make this a memorable dining experience?"

"No, sweetie, you have done everything well and made our evening wonderful," you gently told her with a smile. "We appreciate your encouragement and your attention more than we can say." Your smile told her you were sincere, and her return smile told us she was thrilled yet disappointed.

"If I can do anything more to make your evening a success, please let me know." Her expression told us that she longed to participate in some way.

"We both thank you. You have been an excellent server," I told her as I handed her the credit card slip showing a large tip. She smiled widely, thanking us once again for being the highlight of her evening.

I slipped my napkin into your lap, giving you a moment to clean up, and then stood to hold your chair. You looked at my crotch, almost eye level for you, and you could see that my arousal was only barely noticeable. As you stood, I looked you in the eyes and slowly raised my left hand to my lips. I slid my index finger into my mouth and sucked it for just a second or two. You moaned again with longing in your eyes. I smiled with promise written on my face.

We walked out, waving to our server. As I escorted you to the car, I pressed my hand to the small of your back, and then slid lower. You quickly took hold of my hand and removed it from its grip on your left cheek.

"Later, bud!" you laughed.

"Yes, but not much later," was my retort.