A Creative Challenge Ch. 10byPvidal©
I didn't see Amy come into the coffee shop, but as she slid into the booth beside me I turned to look at her and I could see that she had the devil in her eyes. She was smirking like the cat that had the cream.
"I'll have a latte and a caesar salad, thanks Sam," she said.
"What are you looking so smug about?" I asked her.
"I've just been talking to Greta."
"Greta my art dealer?"
"That's the one."
"Why did you call her?" I asked. I sounded a little suspicious, because I was. I thought that Amy was interfering in something that wasn't her business.
"I didn't call her. I bumped into her when I was buying this skirt and top. Do you like them?"
I definitely did like them. They hid very little, but in a casual rather than a slutty way, and I would have been happy to admire them on her, but now I was even more suspicious.
"I didn't know you knew her. Why didn't you tell me?"
"I've never met her before in my life. Sam, don't get your knickers in a knot, SHE approached me. She thought she recognised me from your drawings and she wanted to make sure I really was your model, that's all. I thought she was very nice."
"OK. Did you tell her I'd been working hard on putting the show together?"
"No, I told her WE'd been working hard. Partners, remember?"
"I remember. Sorry. What else did she say?"
"She asked me to come to the launch. So I said yes. Well, you hadn't invited me, so I thought I might as well accept her invitation."
"She didn't have to do that, of course I want you to be there. I would have invited you myself. Eventually. Probably. Maybe."
"Beast!" said Amy, hitting my arm. "Just for that, I might not come at all."
"Not even if I did this?" I said, putting my hand on her knee under the table and slowly sliding it up her thigh. As my hand went higher, Amy opened her knees, making her pussy more accessible. When my hand reached her groin I lifted my elbow and twisted my arm so that my palm slid across her lower belly, my fingertips resting at the tip of her pussy crease, just above her clit.
"If you do that, I'll definitely come – whether you want me to or not."
"I do want you to come. Can you do it quietly?"
"No guarantees, Sam, but just for you, I'll try really hard not to embarrass you too much."
Slowly, slowly, I inched my finger tips down to the top of her clit, and just pressed on the base of it with the tiniest circling movements. Amy was breathing more quickly now, and her eyelids were drooping slightly but she was keeping her promise to be quiet. The waitress had finally spotted that there was someone else at my table and came towards us to take an order. I tried to take my hand away, but Amy had anticipated what I would do and brought her knees together and put her hand on my wrist, trapping my hand at her pussy. The table hid my hand from view, but from the angle of my arm there could be no mistaking where it was. The waitress looked at us when she got to the table and her eyes widened when she realised what we were doing. She was on the brink of saying something to us, but she stopped and looked around the café first. It was obvious that none of the few other customers were interested in us or had noticed anything, so she turned back to us, shrugged her shoulders and smiled, as if to say it was none of her business what we did.
"Anything I can get you folks, or do you have everything you need for now?" she said, amused by the blissful expression on Amy's face and the big grin on mine.
"A Caesar salad and a latte, please." I said.
"No dressing," Amy murmured.
"OK, I'll get you one latte and a Caesar salad." said the waitress, "And the salad will be undressed as long as you two aren't." Laughing at her own joke she left, shaking her head.
When she was gone, Amy relaxed her knees and let go of my hand, leaning back in her seat. My finger tips slid lower into the wetness of her pussy lips, and gently stroked the opening to her vagina, bringing the wetness up and around her clitoris and back down again. Amy's eyes were now shut and her breathing was shallow and faster. I slid my middle finger down and into her pussy as far as it would go, then brought it out again to circle her clit, applying more pressure and increasing the speed.
Amy was now in a world of her own, oblivious to anything except the nerve endings in her pussy, but I was watching the other customers in the café, hoping that we were not drawing attention to ourselves, grateful for the muzak and general shopping centre clatter that was drowning Amy's quiet little grunts. As she started to orgasm, her legs straightened and her thighs clamped my hand, my fingers still rubbing her clitoris as much as they were able to with their now very limited range of movement. Her foot kicked the chair at the other side of the table and several pairs of eyes swivelled to the source of the sound. One, a middle-aged man stared for a moment, then looked away with an expression of complete disgust. The other, a much younger man, casually dressed like a student, clearly approved of what we were doing, and watched the whole of the rest of Amy's performance, giving me a thumb's up and a big grin, as she reached the height of her orgasm. When the waitress came back with the coffee and salad, Amy was sitting upright again, her cheeks flushed bright red, and looking more beautiful than I had ever seen her.
"You folks enjoying yourselves?" the waitress asked as she put down the food.
"It couldn't get much better," said Amy.
"No, I don't imagine it could", said the waitress. "You lucky girl."
The wistful way she spoke, and the fact that she barely glanced in my direction, suggested that her comment was not a sign that she was envious of Amy being with someone like me, but more that she envied Amy her freedom, her openness, her lack of inhibitions, and her obvious enjoyment of sexual pleasure – a pleasure she felt comfortable enjoying even in a public eatery.
I had to agree with her. Watching Amy come like that in public, completely relaxed and centered and unembarrassed by her exposure, made the rest of the people in the whole shopping center – including me – seem repressed and uptight by comparison. It was Paul McCartney who asked "why don't we d-do it in the road?", and I couldn't help thinking that he had a point. Amy's carefree attitude to displaying her sexuality in public was something to be envied not censured, and I resolved to try to be more like her.