by Vixen ©
Whoopee -- a real date. I mean a REAL plan-ahead, "I'll pick you up at 7:30, we're going to this new, elegant, make-reservations-three-weeks-in-advance-restaurant" DATE. Women know exactly what I'm talking about. Gentlemen, you just have to trust me on this one, and read on, because I'll tell you one way that we (the female of the species) can show our appreciation for you putting on a suit and tie on a Saturday night.
And for giving us a bona fide reason to buy a new dress, and shoes, and, um, other things for a special occasion. I found the perfect dress -- black silk velvet, with a high neck and long sleeves. It's fairly short, stops just above my kneecap. Sheer black stockings -- the kind you like with the lace around the top. And the shoes: Yes, dear, in some circles I suppose they would be called "fuck me" shoes. Black velvet, with a rhinestone T-strap up the front and around my ankle, and very high heels. With a little help, I can even walk!
I found the most amazing bra -- in black, of course. It's like a shelf, with straps. Lots of support, which I need, but nothing on top -- where I usually overflow a bit -- and no bra lines. Truly an engineering marvel. No, I didn't go whole hog and get my hair done. I know you hate the "stiffening agents" they put on it as much as I do. But I did spend quite a bit of time making sure that it's clean, soft and shiny, and bounces nicely around my shoulders.
Am I ready when you ring the doorbell! You look the tiniest bit startled when you see the dress -- it does look demure, at first glance, doesn't it? And then you flash that great smile, and give me a big hug.
"My GOD, that's soft! I can feel your skin through the dress." Your hands start roaming. "Mmmmmm, no panties. Good girl. And are we going bra-less tonight?"
"Looks like it. Feels like it."
"Definitely not it. Let's go, before you trash the dress with your exploration."
I know you're a little startled when I won't let you play the usual car game. Each time you start to reach under the hem of my dress, I gently remove your hand and raise it to my mouth. I kiss it, or take a quick suck on a finger, so you know I'm not mad, just not playing now. It's a quick trip from my place to the restaurant, so you don't have too much time to wonder what's up with me. The restaurant is exquisite. They have private curtained banquettes. The maitre d' shows us to the farthest one. We sit across from each other. You are so handsome, in anything or nothing at all, but I do love that suit. And you're wearing one of the ties I brought back for you from 57th Street. Nice, honey, and very elegant. We begin with drinks and, before you get too engrossed in the menu, I reach into my bag and hand you a small package.
"What's this?" You ask, quizzically.
"A present," I reply.
[Rip, tear.] "Looks like a remote control."
"It is. I found a new toy."
"And this new toy would be. . . . . ?"
"It's the cutest little thing. I have it on right now. It's a vibrator cup that fits over my, shall we say, intimate region, and has a little probe up inside me. That's why I couldn't let you play 'wet check' in the car. I didn't want to spoil the surprise."
Silence, while you picture this.
"It's stuck on with super glue? ouch ouch ouch"
"Nooooo. It has ribbons on the front and back that run up to a little elastic strap around my waist. You now hold the control. You can make it vibrate at the speed you choose, whenever you choose. Ready to order, dear?"
"Um, not quite."
Nice waiter. Given his impeccable timing, I suspect that he pauses outside the curtain to catch the conversational ebb and flow, rather than simply flinging back the curtain and interrupting.
I do my usual and order two appetizers, and two salads.
"I don't care in what order you bring them, just surprise me with one when you deliver whatever the normal eater is having."
I prefer to save room for dessert. I'm relieved when the waiter doesn't try to argue me out of that by nattering on about the simply fabulous entrees. I don't want that much food tonight.
First course: bzzzzzzzzz. "Uh, honey, you might want to give me a little warning, or check to make sure that I've swallowed, before you turn that on. Creating a medical emergency is not quite what I had in mind."
"Sorry, babe, point taken. Just so you know, though, I've decided that I want you to cum with each course."
What a quick study you are. I watch you, watching me, while you play with your new toy under the table. I can't see your hand, so there's no warning. I have no idea what I ate. All I see is your smile and your eyes. Watching me.
Second course: Watching my nipples tighten under the velvet. Watching my eyes. Watching me very deliberately put down the silver, and grab the edge of the table. Watching me squirm. Watching me inhale sharply and then chew my lower lip, so that I won't cry out.
I want to know what this is doing for you. I carefully draw one foot up onto the bench next to me, and undo the ankle strap of the first shoe, then the other. I slip my shoes off under the table and slide these soft, sexy feet between your legs. Mmmmmm... this is having the desired effect. You're so hard. Think I'll just tuck my stockinged feet on either side of your cock and wiggle my toes a little -- right there, beside your cockhead.
"Are you cumming all over your new dress?"
"No, actually. Thanks for asking. I skootched it up and I'm sitting with my bare bottom on the leather seat. It was cold at first, but it warmed up nicely, although it's quite damp now. Thank goodness for long tablecloths."
"Good. It's time for you to cum again. This time, I will tell you exactly what I'm going to do, and when I'm going to do it. I want to watch you being the perfect lady on the outside, always using the right fork, while I drive you up and over the top."
When I start to cum, my left foot drops away from your cock to the floor, to brace myself as I press forward onto the probe. You feel my right foot go stiff against your cock and then vibrate as the wave rushes through me. And another. This time, I can't hold it in and moan softly.
Fourth course: You didn't know, and I wasn't sure, that I could undo the zipper on your slacks with my toes. Such clever little toes. Now we've leveled the playing field somewhat, although the score is still 3-0.
Holding you between my feet, "walking" against you -- pressing one foot, then the other, rubbing them up and down along your length. I never thought to check -- your cock is about the same length as my feet. Who knew? Watching you inhale sharply now. Watching your white knuckles around the fnork (sorry, fork). I come even closer to the edge, watching you. You take in the sight of the velvet on my chest rising and falling with my breathing, glowing in the soft light. My breasts are outlined in the shimmering fabric, my tight nipples showing clearly.
"Best gift ever, angel. You come up with great ones, but this is beyond belief. The ultimate remote control."
This time, you turn it on low, a very gentle vibration. And leave it on. I think I'm eating salad, but who knows? The waiter knows, but I'm not going to call him back to ask. Gradually you increase the speed. I give up. I can't eat and experience this, too. Just let it go and ride those waves. I love watching your face while I cum -- seeing the pleasure it gives you -- seeing how much you love making me so happy.
"No dessert, thanks. Just coffee. Regular for me, decaf for the lady."
How nice, the waiter brings the coffee in silver pots. And leaves.
"Babe, we've got a problem."
"I can't possibly walk out of the restaurant like this."
I check with my toes. You're right. This could be awkward. "Wait one. I have an idea. Carefully, I reach under my dress, and slide the elastic strap down over my hips. "I'm going to take my dinner napkin -- add something on the bill for that, will you?"
Wrapping the sopping toy in the napkin, I place it in my bag.
"Slide over into the end, honey. I'm going to take care of that problem."
The table will shift just enough to give me the space I need. To slip onto your lap and guide you inside me. Mmmmmm... You're much bigger than the probe -- much more satisfying. Riding you gently, holding you tight inside, feeling your hands on the soft velvet.
"Oh, dear, please excuse me. I neglected to ask whether you would like cream for your coffee. It appears you have that handled. Enjoy."
The waiter got an exorbitant tip.
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