As we sat in the restaurant, he slipped his foot from his shoe and dragged his big toe across my damp knickers.
“Take them off.” The whispered command.
I blushed.
“Now!”
I opened my mouth to protest, then nodded, acquiescing.
“On the plate,” he ordered as I scrunched them up in my hand.
I nodded again. My face scarlet.
The waiter approached to clear the table.
He looked from my face to my knickers and back again.
“Are you finished with this?” he asked, grinning as he touched the edge of the plate.
All I could do was nod.
