“Her?” my husband asked, his sexy, manly face smiling roguishly, those gray-rimmed eyes of his piercing my soul while simultaneously sending erotic tingles to my clit. “That’s easy. She was masturbating right before she came here.”
“Really?”
“Yes. It’s obvious. Note the wedding ring,” he observed. “But, she’s alone. Her cheeks are flushed with arousal and see the way she keeps clenching her thighs. Her hand is also squeezing her thigh, pressing against her pussy, and she’s eyeing up every good-looking man in the place. She was pleasuring herself, fantasizing about picking up some strange while her husband’s away.”
“Fingers or toys?” I asked.
“Toys,” he smiled as his eyes shot lusty beams of erotic energy at my nipples. They were sticking up, tall and proud, straining the confines of my top. Just knowing that he was lustily appraising me made my soul ignite, sending lava-hot moisture pouring out of my pussy.
He went on. “She used two. She fucked her ass with a long, thin one, because her husband ignores her backside, and she wants it, and pumped her pussy with a thick, realistic dildo while screaming, ‘fuck my ass,’ and fingering her clit.”
“I call bullshit. If she was so horny, she’d be dressed more provocatively. Sure, she’s dressed nice and a little sexy, but you’re way off base.”
“Not at all,” he took my hand in his, his fingers tracing feather-light lines of lightning on my skin. “Look closely.”
He paused, gazing into my soul. I wondered if he could read my mind. If he could, I’d be so embarrassed. His mind games had me so horny that my inner voices were unanimously screaming, fuck me right here, right now. I don’t care if everyone watches; I need your fucking cock.
He understands exactly how to turn a woman on. I’m not saying that I’m not one of the horniest, sluttiest, nymphos you’ll ever meet, but most guys try to tell you how sexy you are and how hard you make them. Sorry, guys, that doesn’t really turn us on. What does turn us on is a man that knows how to dance our dance of seduction, and loves to play as much as we do. My husband knows this, and he’s devastatingly good at getting into your head. Once you make her mind horny, her body will follow.
Our game for the night was picking random people and having each other describe the last time they masturbated, how, and why. We’d been playing this game for almost an hour, and I was so aroused that I was squirming in my seat. I was flexing my erotica-author muscles, trying to keep up with his perverted, deviant imagination. We were in a very fancy restaurant, playing our mind games, and were on our eighth or tenth person; I’d lost count. I’d picked a forty-ish woman dining alone.
The mental exercise of viewing everyone in a sexual light and making up naughty stories about them had me ready to pounce on him. Once my mind started racing along the track to naughty town, the floodgates opened. The unknown woman wasn’t the only one in the place clenching her thighs together. I had even begun surreptitiously stroking my clit over my dress. Nonetheless, I looked closely. My mouth made a silent, “Aaah,” as I nodded.
“See it?” he inquired. “She has intentionally unbuttoned her top to show off her breasts and a hint of her red bra. It’s obviously new. I’d wager that she’s wearing matching panties under her skirt.”
His facial expression was so funny and endearing that I very gracefully snorted and spewed wine as I tried to sip and laugh at the same time. “I call your bluff. Do me a favor,” I seductively rasped. “Go grab me a dessert menu, so I can watch you walk.”
He nodded, stood, and bowed to me, kissing my hand. Despite being in public, I moaned. Sue me; chivalry makes me wet. Now, I know that, as a woman, I’m not supposed to openly leer at men like they’re my own, personal sex toys, because proper ladies don’t do that, but I sure as fuck certainly did.
His medium blond hair, hanging past his shoulders, swayed as he sauntered away from me. Broad shoulders, bristling with sinewy muscles, tapered down to a petite waist. His dark slacks accented a well-sculpted, tight ass and bulging leg muscles; the foreknowledge that I’ll be digging my heels into his butt as he savagely fucks me, later, heightened my dripping arousal. My fingers stroked my clit over my dress so vigorously that I worried that I might have worn a hole in the fabric. Seeing wetness darkening the front of my dress, I maneuvered myself so the side slit opened enough for me to reach underneath.
I watched him with open lust, and I wasn’t alone. The restaurant was packed, although it was a Wednesday night. Every feminine pair of eyes in the place stared at him, including our waitress; she had a severe case of “Glade fever.” Seeing the way women respond to him used to shatter my soul. Very recently, I worked through my insecurity issues about that; now, I worry that I’m not worthy or cannot handle the intensity of his affections. Women elbowed each other, giggling and pointing, as he traversed the restaurant. Roughly two-dozen versions of open body language and “fuck me” facial expressions were adopted. Suck it, bitches; it’s my slutty ass he’s going to fuck tonight, not yours.
The woman he was describing stared at him, shamelessly, not even pretending to not stare with lust-filled eyes. She watched him saunter past her, her mouth opening, tongue flicking out to wet her lips. I knew the look in her eyes; it was the same one I adopt whenever I look at him. He grabbed a dessert menu from the greeting kiosk and turned back toward me. As expected, the woman stopped him as soon as he got close enough.
And now, the pussy drenching begins, I thought to myself.
The woman straightened up to enhance her bust line, reaching towards him. My husband did his “casual head shake” thing, his hair flipping about, gently, as he flashed that crooked, roguish smile of his that turns off your brain and opens your lust-faucets. His head shake ended with his eyes sparkling, slowly roaming over her body, then staring straight into her heart. She exhaled sharply, her entire body heaving.
The fucking bitch plopped down her menu, one of her finely manicured hands touching his bicep. I contemplated breaking every bone in her hand, wondering if she could still fondle my man, then. He leaned into her as she bent back, legs opening, tits jutting out, showing off her new, racy, red, lace bra. I could hear her too-boisterous laugh at whatever witty quip he’d said from across the room. Her eyes grew wide as saucers when she stared at his crotch.
They conversed for a few moments as he pointed to various items on the menu. Then, she said something to him that I couldn’t discern. My husband smiled, said something in return that made her gush, and then pointed in my direction. I smiled demurely as she glared at me.
“So,” I began as he returned with my dessert menu. “Did she try to pick you up?”
“No,” he laughed. “She was just being nice and needed some help deciding what to eat. Poor lady,” he sympathized. “She’s all alone and was just hoping for some company over dinner…”
“Moron!”
“What?”
“Never mind, honey.” He’s so oblivious; it’s actually quite charming. “I concede; you called it perfectly. Your turn. Pick somebody.”
“I have a hard one for you.”
The way he said it and the expression on his face, his inflection, made me instantly think he was talking about his cock. Yes! Make it hard and slam it into me, the chorus in my head chanted.
“Our waitress.”
“That’s not hard,” I guffawed. “She masturbated just a few minutes ago, fingers under her too-short, “look at my ass” skirt, panties pulled aside. She didn’t orgasm yet, but she’ll be coming over to our table in just a moment to flirt with you. When she leaves, she’s going to run into the bathroom and finger herself more, thinking about you.”
“I know that you’re the smartest person I’ve ever met,” he complimented, “and your creativity, especially in all things sexual, is unmatched by even the gods, but I have to call bullshit on that one.”
I spied our waitress approaching. “I’m right. In three…two…one.”
Had she taken off her bra? Her boobs were bouncing with her steps; she must have. Her cheeks were flushed, her nipples obvious, and she had that sensual look, like a woman that had just been fingering herself. Ignoring me, she leaned deeply into my husband, making sure her tits pressed into his muscular arms. Her front teeth gnawed on her lower lip as she twirled a random lock of hair. I must have superpowers; I think I was invisible because she didn’t bother to acknowledge my existence.
“The chef sends his apologies,” she began. She plopped herself down, against my husband, maximizing body contact, her right hand squeezing his flesh—the fucking whore. “The steaks you ordered aren’t quite thawed. I can give you a discount or order you something else if you want… I can give you anything you want, anything at all.”
Diana Fucking Pan, she was blatant about it.
Nonplussed, Glade smiled at her, giving her a mischievous, sexy wink. “This place is famous for its glazed sirloin. If it’s not a bother, we’ll wait. I like to take things nice and slow, anyway. You know, really enjoy them, savor each and every second. Perfection is always worth the wait.”
The brain-dead bimbo just stared at him with doe-eyes and longing. Finally, she rediscovered the miracle of speech. “Anything you want. Can I get you more drinks? How does twenty percent off your bill sound? Um, for your trouble.”
“Oh, no,” he admonished. “I wouldn’t dream of asking for a discount on something that’s so succulent, hot, and juicy.” My mind immediately made me fantasize about him licking between my legs as I writhed in glorious agony; her expression showed me that her mind was also in the gutter.
“However,” he continued. “My divine goddess, here, was wondering about some dessert. What’s the sweetest, most delightful thing you have to offer.”
Ann, the waitress, blushed and giggled, too loudly, play-slapping his arm. I swore to myself that if she said, “me,” I was going to throw her down right there and mutilate her sweet, sexy face with my fork.
“I love all our chocolate stuff,” she laughed as she stared deeply into his hypnotic eyes. Unbeknownst to her, her comment had just spared her life. “The triple-chocolate brownies, covered in chocolate sauce, are orgasmic.”
He turned to me, his eyes glinting. “My moon and stars, would like an orgasm in your mouth?”
Time to out-slut the bitch. “Yes, but we’ll start with the brownie and finish up when we get home.”
“I so love you.” He turned to Ann. “We’d like one of your recommended brownies after dinner, please. Thank you for your help, I’m forever in your debt.”
“Now watch,” I said as she stopped hovering. “She’s heading directly to the bathroom; you know why.”
“I bow before your greatness,” he mused. “Your turn.”
“The bartender.”
“Also easy. He jerked himself to porn last night, getting high and drinking whiskey. He spent hours in front of his computer, stroking his cock.”
“What kind of porn is he into?”
“Redheads, obviously, from the way he’s been staring at you since we got here.”
“He’s just staring at me because I’ve been flashing him my pussy all night.”
He laughed. “And here I thought it was just because you know how much your showing off excites me.”
Our dinner eventually arrived, and we continued our game. It was excellent. While enjoying brazed vegetables, I concocted a tale about a burly, manly man lubing up his cock, imagining himself being used at a glory hole. My husband wove a steamy story about the two women off to my right. They hadn’t masturbated; they fingered each other to orgasm while passionately kissing each other, moaning into each other’s mouths.
The bartender was definitely watching me. At one point, I approached the bar, even though Ann, the whore-waitress, popped by every twenty-three-point-five seconds to see if we needed anything. The bartender ignored everyone else and immediately served me a free drink. I reward him by making sure my tits were on display, dropping innuendo, and wiggling my ass for him as I walked away. I thought about asking him to take a break, so I could suck his cock, but returned to our table, instead.
My body was on fire with lust, my mind reeling with arousal. Everyone I saw was suddenly open to sexual conjecture. They weren’t random strangers, anymore; they were sexual entities, aroused and horny, fingering, fucking, and stroking themselves. After spending a couple of hours concentrating on everyone’s masturbatory habits, I was worried that my pussy was leaving puddles.
Our game continued through dinner; the steaks were definitely worth the wait. By the time I was close to finished with my meal, my free hand had snuck itself through the slit in my skirt and was stroking my soaked cunt. I had just finished moaning out an extremely tawdry description of a young, blond woman, relating how vocal she was and all the nasty, dirty things she screamed as she fucked all of her holes with multiple toys, dreaming about being gang-banged.
“Excellent, and quite horny. Who is my next target.”
My fingers circled my clit. “Me!”
He smiled and stared through my soul, noting the volcano erupting inside me. Glancing around quickly, noting nobody was paying me any attention at that moment, I spread my legs some more to allow my fingers better access. I was so wet that my thighs were soaked, my fluids warming my fingers.
“Does the fact that you’ve been secretly masturbating for the past hour count?”
“Ummm. You knew?”
“Of course. You started slowly stroking your hot clit before we even got our drinks. Except when Ann drops by, you’ve been edging yourself all through dinner.”
“Do you like that? Does it make you horny for me, knowing that your slutty wife is fingering herself right there, in front of everyone?”
“You being turned on is what makes me horny. You’ve got me so worked up that I think I just came in my pants.”
“You and the bartender,” I added. “He caught me a few minutes ago. I made sure to give him a nice view. In fact, he’s looking at me right now.” I spread my legs further, knowing he could see my fiery pubes and my fingers flailing over my treasure box.
“Cum for me,” he suggested. “I want to watch your face as you orgasm, trying not to be noticed.”
My breath was coming in short, gasping heaves. I sped up the assault on my clit, spreading my legs even more. My husband was focused solely on me, the bartender as well.
“Pull out your fingers, you naughty girl, and let me taste you.”
The slurping slosh of my fingers invading my wet hole made me sigh; the risk and naughtiness overwhelmed me, making me moan. I saturated my hand with my nectar, raising my dripping fingers, so he could suck and lick my juices. People stared, momentarily, then went back to their own little worlds.
“So, you like imagining all the filthy, perverted things everyone around does, don’t you?” he asked between licks.
“Mmm,” I moaned in agreement.
“You’re a sex fiend, aren’t you? Do you know how much I love how wild you are? You’re the sexiest, wildest woman in the cosmos.”
“Do you like how hard my nipples are getting while I fuck myself? I’m so close; you have me so fucking horny.”
My other hand dropped my dessert fork. It clanged on the plate as both hands dropped beneath the table. My aching cunt was going to get the attention it deserved. My legs shook slightly as my breathing deepened and quickened. He knew my state. I was at the point of no return. All the talk of sexuality had me needy and greedy. Let them watch if they noticed; I needed to cum. My pace quickened, and I had to stifle my moans, lest I scream out in horny, lusty bliss. Fucking my hole and massaging my clit pushed me over the edge. I was so close to cumming.
“Our waitress is coming over, don’t stop, or you won’t get fucked when we get home.”
“You…aah, umm…fucking…so close, bastard…”
“So, do you need anything else, handsome?” she ignored me.
“Just the check. Our time has,” he looked directly at me, “cum.”
I had to bite my lip, hard, to keep from moaning out loud. He knew exactly what he was doing. She was standing less than a foot away from me, oblivious to the fact that I had two fingers buried in my snatch and two others flicking my clit as hard and fast as I could manage without being obvious.
My husband, never taking his eyes off me, pulled out his wallet and handed her his credit card. “Give yourself a fifty-dollar tip.”
As soon as she turned to go, a powerful but quiet orgasm ripped through me. I fought to control my breathing, to not scream out. I love masturbating in public and can usually keep my composure, but he had me so worked up that I nearly surrendered to the overpowering spasms of pleasurable release consuming me. As I was coming down, I noticed the bartender was staring directly at me. There were at least three people at the bar vying for his attention, but he was ignoring them in lieu of the show I was giving him.
“Fuck, again,” I moaned softly, feeling another orgasm pulsing through my core. I rode that one out, needing to lower my head and bite my tongue. My stomach quivered, my thighs shook, and my nipples jutted out and tingled so much that the feel of them pressing against the silky fabric of my dress almost caused a third orgasm.
“Here’s your card back, sexy,” Ann said. I had no idea she had approached our table.
“Thank you, my mesmerizing, sweet lady,” he said to her.
When I could raise my head, I said, “Do you have to always flirt with everyone?”
“I was just being nice back. Everybody loves to be appreciated, but, I appreciate you more.”
“No good,” I replied, licking my cum from my hands. On a whim, I dipped my fingertips in the remnants of my dessert’s chocolate sauce. The mixture of my juice and the sweet goodness was ambrosia. “I don’t want you to appreciate me, tonight. I’m a slutty whore that you turned on so much I had to finger my cunt in public. I need you to fuck me like the slut I am while you tell me what a bad girl I am.”
He smiled. “As you wish.”
