Chapter 1: Introduction
The tinkling piano tunes accompanied by murmurs of polite conversation set the stage for a perfect evening. Each table was fitted with crisp white linen and wrapped in the opulence of dimmed chandeliers. Crystal glasses clinked in celebration, while skilled waiters glided through the polished hardwood floors, their steps unbroken and silent.
I always loved dressing up for these nights that Mr. Smith would organize.
I'd pick out a gown with plunging necklines, accentuating my cleavage, and a slit that reached mid-thigh. The satin fabric clung to my curvy silhouette in all the right places. I wore my long brown hair loose, allowing it to cascade over my bare shoulders.
Across the table sat Mr. Smith, looking dapper as ever in his tailored suit, eyes locked on me with an undeniable hunger.
I flashed him a coquettish smile and leaned back in my chair, crossing and uncrossing my legs provocatively.
"Wine, Mrs. Smith?" inquired the waiter. I nodded, greedily eyeing the ruby-red liquid poured into my goblet. He filled Mr. Smith's as well, who took a sip before his gaze trailed down my body, lingering on my cleavage.
"What has gotten into you tonight, Mrs. Smith?" he said, a corner of his mouth ticking up.
I kept my voice barely above a whisper, "Well, dear, sometimes I like to indulge in something a little naughty."
Mr. Smith's eyes widened, the tension between us thick with anticipation. My nipples hardened as his gaze roamed over my cleavage again, the thin lace of my bra not doing much to conceal my arousal.
"Mrs.
Smith, I never know what to expect when you tell me you're feeling 'naughty,'" he chuckled nervously.
The waiter had stepped away, leaving us in our own intimate bubble, the only sounds our low breathing and the distant melody of the piano.
"Good," I replied, finishing my wine in one swift motion. Then, I leaned forward, letting my breasts press against the fabric of my barely-there dress. I watched as his gaze dropped to the pushed-up mounds, eyes dilated with lust.
I reached out, running my fingers down his arm, his skin prickling with goosebumps.
"So, tell me more about this secret fantasy of yours," Mr. Smith murmured, unable to conceal the desire that laced his voice.
Slowly, so as not to break this spell that had fallen over us, I replied, "Well, when we first got married, I found this little note you had written...
"Well, when we first got married, I found this little note you had written, talking about your fantasy of doing it in public," I whispered huskily, my voice tinged with mischief. Our eyes met, and I could see the heat ignite in his aqua-blue gaze.
"But, Mr. Smith, I didn't just want to do it in public. I desired something a little more upscale, a little more daring," I continued, swirling the dwindling wine in my glass.
His eyes widened, as he realized my intentions.
"Are you saying-"
"Yes," I interjected, stopping his words with a single syllable. "I'm saying that our dinner tonight will not end when the dessert arrives. I've had this restaurant booked for the entire evening, and we're not leaving until I've explored every inch of you, right here."
His mouth opened, about to protest, before snapping shut once more. The thought of getting caught added to the thrill, making it impossible to ignore the growing hardness beneath the fabric of his trousers.
My gaze dropped to his lap, desire taking hold as I imagined what was beneath.
Boldly, I leaned forward, resting my hand on his thigh. Underneath the table, his muscles twitched against my palm. At this point, I could feel the dampness between my legs, the arousal threatening to seep through the thin fabric of my lace panties.
I couldn't stand it any more. I slid up under the table. His crouch inches from my face.
I glanced up at him; the corners of his mouth were turned up in a mischievous smile. I couldn't help it; my insides clenched with anticipation, my nipples hard beneath my lace bra.
As I began to undo his belt buckle, I could feel his body grow tense in anticipation. I tugged down his zipper and pulled it out through the hole in his boxers, his member fully erect, thick, and pulsating with need. I couldn't resist taking him into my mouth, feeling him twitch against my tongue.
I moaned softly, gripping his thigh as a wave of pleasure coursed through me. The thrill of getting caught in such a public setting was almost as intoxicating as the taste of him.
Mr. Smith's head lolled back, the tendons in his neck straining with tension. He hissed a curse under his breath, gripping the edge of the table tightly. His knuckles were white, the only indication of the effort it took for him to remain silent. Arousal flooded my every pore, dampness seeping through my panties.
I continued to alternate between my lips and hand, making sure to explore every inch of him.
"Fuck, Emily," he gasped lowly, the timbre of his voice making me shiver with desire. He glanced around, desperate, at the other patrons in the upscale restaurant.
I took this as a sign that I should go further. With every stroke and press of my lips, I felt more attuned to his body than ever before. He seemed to swell inside of me, muscles tightening as if in anticipation of his release.
I sit up, sliding my dress up my hips. He could feel that I was not wearing any panties. I lean back and asked him to put it in my ass.
I can feel the tension inside of him, the momentary reluctance before obedience won over. My body shudders as I feel him position himself, taking a deep breath. His head enters my ass, and the sensation is overwhelming.
"Oh, God, Emily, you're so fucking tight," he hisses. His hand reaches under the table, caressing my throbbing heat. I'm soaked through my dress, my body begging for more. He slides himself in, his shaft disappearing, then sliding out, pulling at my sensitive nerves.
We are moving in rhythm, like a well-rehearsed dance; the edge of our seats provides little barrier.
As his thrusts grow deeper, intensifying, I reach down to pleasure myself. I trail my fingers along the slick, swollen lips, parting them to expose the quivering, erect knob. The sensation of his pulsating cock sliding in and out, while I rub my clit, sends waves of pleasure crashing over me. I gasp, trembling as I feel my climax approaching.
"Don't stop," I beg.
My breathing grows ragged, turning shallow as I feel him pound into me with an intensity that threatens to shatter every ounce of control that still clings to my senses. The polished wood beneath me, the chair barely able to contain our impassioned union, begins to creak in protest. The sounds of our pleasure fills the space around us, only to be muffled by the gentle hum of the piano and the low whispers of polite conversation.
all at once I started to cum.
The waves of pleasure-pain washed over my entire being as I forced myself to stay silent for fear we'd be caught. I dug my fingernails into the arms of the chair, my muscles tensing with each spasm.
Mr. Smith didn't ease up, his thrusts becoming more urgent, his hips slamming against mine.
"Fuck, you're so hot," he groaned, his own orgasm fast approaching. I watched as his eyes blazed with lust, his fingers digging into my skin with all the intensity of a desperate man. He whispers I'm about to cum. I slip off him and put his dick in mouth. He put his hand on the back of my head forcing his cock deep into my throat.
I gagged but obeyed his silent command, meeting his urgency with my own. My fingers found their way between my legs, swollen and desperate for relief.
"Fuck, Emily," he choked, holding back a growl. His thrusts became frantic as he fought against the impending climax.
Unable to deny myself any longer, I plunged my fingers inside, roughly rubbing my aching clit with every desperate thrust. I felt that all-too-familiar tightness, followed by euphoria.
My arm trembled from the force of my orgasm. With our shared release, Mr. Smith's thrusts became shuddering stutters, his cock pulsing and throbbing in my mouth, the telltale sign of his climax imminent. Soon, streams of warmth flooded my throat, my tongue dancing around his twitching cock as he cursed under his breath.
We stayed that way for a brief moment, his weight leaning heavily on my body as I swallowed, reveling in the taste of his pleasure.
Slowly, he pulled out, his cock slipping from my mouth, deflating and slick with my saliva.
With a grimace, Mr. Smith straightened his clothing and helped me do the same, pulling down my dress and smoothing out any obvious wrinkles. I couldn't help but notice his hands shook as they worked to repair the damage, a lingering symptom of our impassioned encounter.
"Emily," he whispered my name desperately, pain, and pleasure lacing his voice.