Dinner Date

You knew that you were supposed to be meeting him here, at the restaurant he picked, precisely at 9PM. Strange that he is not waiting for you at the door as you expected. He’s always on time, or rather, he’s normally early to make sure that he is always on time, and you, as usual, are running ten minutes late.

You check with the maitre de and find that there is already a table reserved for you. Perhaps he is waiting for you there?

No. As you are led through the room, you can see in a corner the lone empty table. It’s stark white tablecloth shining in the candlelight. It’s top relatively bare, compared to the food and dish laden tables occupied by other diners that you are passing.

You slide into the U shaped padded seat that is the standard for a corner table at many restaurants, even one as elegant as this. Not having been here before you glance around at the decor, taking in the fine furnishings, the real lit-taper candles at every table, the sterling silver cutlery laid out by your hand, even the soft leather covering the well padded bench you are sitting on. This is a fantastic place, no wonder he wanted to take you here.

Your waiter approaches and, properly trained, hands you a menu already opened to the inside pages. In the pocket for ‘Daily Specials’ you find a handwritten note saying:

Darling,
I need you to be brave and trust me. Tell the waiter that you will have the Lovers Special and then let us take care of you.
---Love--

You look up to see the waiter grinning at you with a raised eyebrow. You flush slightly but say in a firm voice “I’ll have the Lovers Special.”

As the words leave your mouth, you have to quickly clamp your lips shut to trap the slight shriek that almost escapes. A hand has started rubbing against your ankle where it rests under the table. Another hand starts doing the same to your opposite ankle while the first hand starts climbing your leg under your skirt.

Your attention is briefly diverted by the waiter. He is obviously amused by the expression on your face and trying to not laugh. “Very good Ma’am. I’ll be right back with your first course.”

You barely notice him leaving as you think through your current situation. Obviously the waiter is in on it, but from the activity at the other tables, you don’t think that anyone else knows that your lover is hiding under your table. At least, you hope that is your lover who is now caressing your calves. Recalling the strange directions you were given earlier in the day, you now understand why you were instructed to wear a loose, free-flowing skirt and panties, but no pantyhose.

Lost in the sensations of hands rubbing, stroking higher and higher up your calves and over your knees, you barely notice the waiter returning with a plate of hors doeuvres. You pick at the finger food on the plate, more interested in those unseen fingers that continually stroke up to your knees only to return to your ankles again. Never going any higher. Oh, that is so frustrating! You wiggle around on the bench, moving your knees further apart to give him more room, trying to will those feathery touches to continue their journey upward to where your excitement is already building. Again they retreat to your ankles. On their next pass upward, you try clapping your legs together, hoping to trap his hands, but they are elusive, slipping away easily, and in punishment, for the first time since you felt their touch, the contact ends and the hands leave you.

You whimper slightly as you realize there is nothing you can do and open your knees again in surrender. … An eternity passes … Finally the delicate touch returns, first only at your ankles but then slowly moving to cover the same territory as before, stroking up to your knees before retreating.

“Ma’am, is the food satisfactory?”

Startled, you realize that you have been staring off into space, the hors doeuvres barely touched. You glance at the waiter hovering nearby, the same one that had given you the secret note and taken your order. With that expression of a barely concealed smile, he adds…

“You should know that ordering the Lovers Special means that we won’t deliver the next course until you are finished with the current one.”

His eyes dip toward the plate in front of you and then back up to look in your eyes. Suddenly you get the connection and, not trusting your voice, merely nod back in mingled agreement and acceptance. You start taking more interest in the hors doeuvres and begin eating in earnest. Quickly the plate is emptied in your haste to get the hands to move higher on your legs.

As good as his word, the waiter takes your empty plate and replaces it with a steaming bowl of soup.

“Your second course Ma’am.”

‘Second course? How many courses were there?’ This thought is quickly lost as the hands now stroke higher, over the knees and across your upper thighs for the first time. Light fingers make you shiver as they slide up your inner thigh just to the edge of where your panties cover before retreating again. Determined to not make the same mistake twice, you reach for the soup spoon and intend to empty the bowl as fast as possible so that you can get to the main course, whatever that may be.

Alas, your first hurried mouthful makes you painfully aware that you should not have ignored the warning of steam rising from the surface of the soup. Only a quick gulp of ice water from your glass keeps your tongue and the roof of your mouth from burning. As it is, you know they will be slightly tender for the next day or so. Thwarted in your design to finish the soup quickly, you are forced to sit and wait for it to cool. Of course, given the sensations you experience below the table, perhaps having to wait is not such a terrible thing after all.

Both hands work together, first on one leg, then the other. Alternating between strong, firm strokes and light, feathery, barely felt touches, they now move from ankle to panty line with free abandon. Then you feel something that is not a hand, nor a finger. It takes a moment and then it becomes clear that your lover is laying a line of kisses up your leg. The gentle, warm, moist sensation of his lips moving higher and higher… It stops for a moment and you almost scream in frustration. Then you realize that the hands are tugging at your thighs, pulling you closer to the edge of the bench and at the same time pulling the bottom of your skirt up, in an attempt to gain more access. It dawns on you that your lover must be curled under the table, cramped and twisted in his attempts to reach your body.

Smiling to yourself at the thought of what he must be going through on your behalf, you decide to help him out, the fact that it is also helping yourself has nothing to do with it of course. You press downward with your feet and legs, as if about to rise from your seat, and use that moment to hike your skirt up from under your bottom. When you sit back down, you can feel the cool leather seat directly under your panty clad derriere. Then you slide forward so that most of your thighs are off the seat. Given the U shaped bench seat and the table covering you from the stomach downward, none of the other diners notice anything unusual. To them it looked as if you were just stretching or adjusting your position.

Now that you have given your lover complete access, you feel the kisses return. Again starting at your ankles they range higher and higher until they finally stop at the border of your panties. With the warmth of his breath and the incredible sensation of his teeth nibbling on your inner thighs, you become aware that you are soaking wet and trembling in anticipation. You ache for him to touch you, to penetrate you, but he never crosses that line. It’s maddening!

Focusing on the table in front of you, you notice that your soup is no longer steaming. Grabbing your spoon again, you take a tentative sip, then another and another. Before long your spoon is scraping the bottom of the bowl. For a moment you aren’t even aware of the incredible sensations still occurring below the table as you think about how good that soup was, perfectly blended and spiced. That sparks memory of the hors doeuvres and you realize after the fact that they too had been delicious. The food here really is some of the best you have ever had. You can’t wait for the main course which should be served soon, now that you have finished your soup. You spot the waiter moving in your direction with something on his tray and you smile to yourself in anticipation.

That smile turns to a frown at the sight of the salad the waiter smoothly replaces the empty soup bowl with.

“Third course Ma’am.”

Your growl of irritation is caused in equal measure by the sight of the salad and the sudden loss of warm lips nuzzling your thighs. Even the hands have retreated from your upper legs and are now engaged in removing your shoes. This irritation doesn’t last long however as your now bare feet are enveloped in warm, moist washcloths, washed carefully, dried with a soft towel, and then, Oh Heaven!, you feel the delicious sensation of your feet being rubbed. The massage is firm without being too hard, soothing without being ticklish. Lost in relaxation, you dimly notice that your fork kept moving and your plate is empty once again.

Appearing as efficiently as ever, the waiter makes your plate vanish and a small crystal goblet filled with what looks like purplish-pink ice cream. It can’t be dessert already?!?

“Sorbet Ma’am. To cleanse the palate.”

The icy cold, mildly sweet sorbet is a treat matched under the table by the feel of cold metal against your crotch. Not really cold but against your hot skin it certainly seems so, what can only be the dull edge of a pair of scissors presses against your inner thigh. It moves up and carefully slips under the fabric of your panties and *snip* you’re crotch is bare to the world, or at least to your lovers gaze under the table. Moving with deliberate slowness, the cool metal touch slides up to the waistband and *snip* your panties are now nothing more than a scrap of fabric and elastic.

Your now bare, lightly furred skin is soon covered again. This time by the fingers that have done such a good job tantalizing everything south of their current position. They explore your every fold and contour, running through your curly hair and lightly touching your engorged lips. You feel yourself getting wet again, your lips parting of their own accord. The need to feel filled is growing inside you.

You gulp the last bites of sorbet, ignoring the potential for brain freeze that this might incur. The waiter, as always, is right there with your next course and this time, Thank God Finally!, it is the main course. You dig in with a relish, savoring every flavorful bite, not caring that your flushed face and short gasping breath informs the waiter exactly what is happening out of sight under the long white tablecloth.

The instant the waiter had announced the arrival of the entrée, the fingers dancing on your cleft were replaced with a highly skilled tongue. It darted around for a moment tasting every inch of your exposed skin before homing in on your sweep spot, your clit, enlarged and standing out from its protective hood. Your knife and fork never stopping as you devour the culinary creation laid out before you, the thought of taking your time and slowly savoring it never entering your mind. Likewise below, that talented tongue moves like clockwork, building the fires inside you higher and higher. Then a new sensation as first one finger, then two prod and probe at your entrance. Finding the way slick and lubricated with your juices, they slowly, gently work their way inside. Now they work in unison with that amazing tongue, pumping in and out, in time with the up and down flick of the moist warm tip of the tongue.

On the surface, above the table, your face may be red and flushed and your breath may be coming in short gasps, but no sound, no cry, no scream of ecstasy betrays what is happening below. Your fingers may be white where they grip your fork in a death grip but it never stops transporting food from the plate to your mouth. Your knife may be cutting each bite into very small morsels as you have little time or interest in chewing but steadily, inexorably your plate is emptying, and as the food disappears the fires inside you climb higher and higher.

Finally you hear the distinctive scrape of metal on china and realize that your fork is sliding around on an empty plate, there is nothing left for it to convey to your mouth. With that realization, you can release that part of your mind thinking about food and concentrate on your body and the waves of ecstasy rolling through it. You clamp your mouth shut and choke back a scream as the pleasure of orgasm grips your innards. Fire seems to explode from your core and wash through you. You grip the tablecloth with a white knuckled grip and try to not shake as aftershock following aftershock rocks your body. Only a mild quiver might be visible to the other diners and they, fortunately, are concentrating on their own dinners and notice nothing.

The pumping fingers slow and then keep still, the lips and tongue working your clit stop moving and just rest themselves warmly against you. Your legs finally un-tense and relax. You release your grip on the tablecloth and open your eyes, surprised to learn that you had closed them in the first place. There, not trying to hide his wide smile, is your waiter. He has already cleared your empty plate.

“The Night Special includes dessert, but it is possible to get it to go, if you wish Ma’am.”

You nod weakly in assent and he leaves. Below, the fingers sliding out leave you feeling momentarily empty and abandoned but the gentle kisses covering your thighs and cleft make everything OK again.

The waiter returns with the dessert cart and you spend a minute selecting a delectable confection to take home with you.  When he leaves to wrap it up for travel, you realize that the kisses had stopped and not started back up again. You stretch your legs out under the table expecting to bump them into your lover and are surprised to encounter nothing but the center column supporting the tabletop. Comprehension dawns as you recall seeing a slight motion of the dessert cart as the waiter showed you the selections. You giggle at the thought of how your lover must look folded into such a small space.

The waiter returns with a bag and explains that the a car and driver are waiting for you at the front door. You notice that your shoes were replaced at some point and as you rise on shaky legs you ask about the bill.

“Your account has already been paid in full Ma’am.”

You insist that you must at least give him a tip. He just smiles and tucks something into his pocket.

“I’ve already been well compensated Ma’am.”

As you make your way out of the restaurant, you can see your lover standing in front of his car waiting for you, his grin threatening to split his face ear to ear. Suddenly a thought strikes you and you blush furiously. You just figured out what the waiter was tucking into his pocket, a familiar looking scrap of cloth and elastic. Oh well, he could keep it. The gleam in your eye and tingle between your legs said that you were looking forward to going home and having dessert…