A fictional story by petproject.
The winery restaurant was set in the thankfully still undeveloped foothills that lay barely a mile from the urban sprawl of the valley.
I remember, as we ascended the steps, whispering that you looked so refined in that summer dress. That no-one had the least idea you were a cock-hungry fuckwhore. The risk of the words was worth it to witness the studied absence of reaction on your face, your refusal to engage me, even with your eyes. I laughed and murmured, “Such a deepthroating cumslut too.”
The hostess asked us if we wanted to eat inside or out on the terrace and you stared right through her, unspeaking.
My enjoyment of stretching out the silence was finally making the hostess awkward so I said, “Outside”. We’d noticed on the way in that there seemed to be a gathering starting for a wedding at the adjacent chapel and had agreed it would make a fine backdrop to this, our ninth anniversary meal.
I glanced to the side as the hostess mentioned that our table would ready in just a minute or two and noticed you were biting your lower lip. The effect I’d had was more profound than I’d anticipated.
“Are you okay?” You nodded, yet still you would not meet my gaze.
At that you suddenly looked up at me and leant close.
”I am a fuckwhore aren’t I? I mean really. I’m not a hot role-playing fantasy whore. I’m a real whore.”
Truthfully I was a little taken aback by the intensity of your manner, but I was intrigued by the idea of playing along.
“Yes, yes you are unfortunately. Look if it’ll make you feel any better why don’t you nip off to the ladies room while they’re getting our table set, and take off your underwear. That way everyone will see those huge pornstar tits I bought you with their nasty erect nipples through the thin material and probably start to suspect you’re a nasty little slut, and really shouldn’t be allowed in here. How’s that?”
I think I heard you whisper, so quiet was it, “Yesss…”.
As you walked away I noted the slightly more prominent sway and tilt of your hips. I saw you hoisting your handbag up and start to unclasp it. Getting ready to deposit your panties and bra already. Good girl. Dirty girl. Sigh. You would be stripping in the restroom. Good girl coming back dirty. Dirty girl coming back dirty. I shook my head. What was I thinking? I had wanted this to stay a sweet and romantic night and there I had gone again, me and my tortured sex-on-the-brain. This romantic evening was turning nasty already. Like so many other things lately.
And there I was stranded with the hostess. Slender. Soccer girl? Eighteen? Unlikely but one could always hope. Very fuckable. I made a mental note to ask the owner if he could have her tied up and delivered to the trunk of our car while we were eating desert.
I realized the hostess had actually said something and calmly hazarded a response. “Oh our table is ready?”. She didn’t give me any form of bizarre look so I congratulated myself and continued, “Well excellent. You’ll tell my wife when she comes out where to find me? Wonderful. And by the way are you eighteen? No? Oh, too bad. Well do you have an older sister I could fuck senseless by any chance? Oh no offence, just until you are old enough. No, no, the pleasure is all mine.”
I needed to calm down. I took some long slow breaths at the table as I waited trying to take in the ambience instead of thinking about -
And there you were, walking to the table. Definitely the most gorgeously filthy thing in the restaurant. Tits in motion. Not flying and bouncing around, but a gentle jigglle. But far more of a jiggle than any self respecting bra would allow. Everyone who looked, and so many did, knew you were braless, knew you had large hard nipples, knew you had to be fucked at least daily to feed your shameless lust and most importantly needed to be fucked, fucked right now.
“You look nice”, I said with a smile and you sat and a score of sharp stilettos thunked into shins and a score of men coughed and said “oh really, that’s fascinating, do go on” to their wives, their girlfriends, their mothers.
You sat. We ordered. We waited
You seemed nervous. The conversation was unfathomably awkward, forced.
I was about to ask you again if you were asolutely sure you were okay, was there something difficult that you needed to say when your cell phone rang.
I reminded you that it was supposed to be off and to your credit you at least looked a little guilty. But it didn’t stop you fishing it out of your handbag. I figured you were going to mute it, and I think I strongly suggested it. I think I did.
I watched you open the fliptop and press it to your head and turn a little to the side.. I could hear that tinny voice on the other end. I couldn’t make out the words. But I knew that tinny voice.
You listened, not saying a word. Then you swallowed and closed your eyes, breathed in and turned and finally looked at me directly. And your eyes had none of the “sorry” that was in your voice. They were molten yet still, as you said “I’m really sorry but I have to go.”
I looked at you in silence. It seemed redundant to point out that this was our anniversary that tonight of all nights was our night, ours alone. That this was completely outrageous, unacceptable.
My heart was pounding as you rose and walked around the table. Your movement had caught the eyes of all the men that had bookmarked your location in their imagination when you first sat down, alert for any further exhibition. But you didn’t kiss me, as you stooped down, and the hand that touched briefly on my thigh just above my knee slid upwards and inwards and pushed against my crotch.
And softly, very softly, in my ear, you laughed.
I tried to keep the edge out of my voice trying to force back into it the matter of fact emotional distance that is my center. “This is a bit of a disappointment”. But then I cracked, and hopefully quietly I almost spat “What about the hotel. It’s booked, we can’t cancel, and you know how much it cost.”
And your eyes widened, and your smile broadened. “Yes I do. It was a lot, wasn’t it?”
I stared back into those eyes, feeling her hand glide up and down in time with the pulsing in my head.
“Don’t worry darling, it won’t be wasted”.
And then I watched you leave. As did all the others.
The only contact we had had on your leaving was your small hand on my hard treacherous cock.
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