In her long black clinging cotton skirt, I could see every contour of Melissa's ass. I could almost even see those marvelous muscular dimples she had, the dimples that I licked over and over when she was naked, face down on the bed ready to be fucked. She loved it from behind, my hands on her sweaty, meaty hips, pounding away. My mouth salivated watching her now. The ass swayed and moved, with a life of its own, as she gracefully made her way across the softly lit dining room. She was youth and vigor. That was Melissa. What was she wearing underneath, I wondered? Fuck. I could barely see the lines. I followed her excited. Maybe she had on a thong.

I watched as she walked to a dark corner. I knew where she was heading. She was going to get more napkins. Nice. Small chance anyone would see us there, and, after all, the dining room was thinning, only three or four tables left. No harm in assessing her mood after a hard evening of feeding the affected bourgeoisie of the city in the over-priced nightmare of a "French" restaurant we worked at.

I looked around. It was quiet and I took a few careless steps. She stopped. I was right behind her. She didn't know. Oh yes. She bent over to grab the napkins out of the cubby hole. God. I could see her panty lines stretched tightly around her. Not a thong. She had high cuts on, around her hips. I stepped forward quickly. I grabbed her by the hips and pushed myself hard into her. Ummmm.

"What?" she began somewhat alarmed, but saw it was me and stood up.

"What the hell, Peter," she said and tried to turn around, but I held hips her tightly.

"Baby, you looked so good. I couldn't help myself."

She rolled her eyes. "Well--let me go, idiot." I slowly took my hands off her firm hips, too slowly it turned out, and she jerked away. She was facing me and I grabbed her, again, grinning dumbly, and pressed her against me. I could feel her tight abdomen against my hardening cock.

"Peter, come on," she whispered harshly. "Stop it." She slapped my wrist and I reluctantly releases her. She shook her head. "Thank you."

"Let's go the cellar," I leered at her.

"Can't you wait?"

I shook my head. God. It would be wonderful to fuck Melissa in the wine cellar. It was always wonderful. By the mouldy first growth Bordeaux, especially. It added a touch of class to her straddling my thighs as I sat in an old chair and fucked up into her. In that damp cellar. This time, unlike last week, I would bend her over, push her skirt up, pull her panties down and shove it in. Fuck. It wouldn't last long. We'd be back to serve the last table their inevitable cheese cake in plenty of time.

"Besides, my period probably starts tonight," Melissa said.

"All the more reason to get in a little last minute loving, no?" I grinned.

"You're going to get us fired. Do you understand, shithead?" she asked.

I shrugged. "So?" Christ. This was a joke job while we waited to see which school accepted both of us for law school.

She rolled her eyes again and went to get her napkins. Untapped reserves of discipline and a desire not to get slapped in the face kept my hands off her as she bent over. She stood up, turned, arms full, and pushed by me rudely. I grinned. I loved it when she was like this. I watched her walk away, marveling. It wasn't just her ass, and that was more than enough. Christ. She was a former high school swimmer, and she still worked out regularly. She'd been pretty good, too, apparently. Fourth at State. And that back of hers. God damn. Nothing like Melissa, bent over, on her knees naked, muscles rippling, ass jiggling with each harsh unforgiving thrust into her pink blond cunt after another. And baby, took it all always. Both twenty-four, we'd been living together for five months.

Thirty minutes later, right after my last table was cleared, disaster struck. Melissa walked up to me while I was innocently flirting with the new bar stock-girl. I turned away from the kid as soon as I saw my lady. I tried to smile, but she was having none of it.

"Through hitting on the fresh meat?" she snarled.

"I wasn't--"

"Shut up. I saw you."


"Shut up."

I smiled. No use arguing with her. I shrugged and waited for her judgment.

"I just sat a deuce. I was going to give them to Harold, but . . . I guess they're yours now."

I stared dumbly at her.

"Over there," she motioned into the dining room. "I sat a deuce. Take them."

"You're fucking with me?"

She shook her head and started walking away, but stopped. "Not tonight, I'm not," she grinned and then skipped away to where Harold, the only other waiter tonight, was standing, legs crossed, leaning back against the wall studying his fingernails. I watched Melissa speak to him, his face brightened and he almost ran off the floor to do whatever not-so-handsome gay waiters do on a Saturday night. He was gone.

No. No. Fuck no. Real good. Fuck.

I turned back to the bar. The new kid was trying to lift a case of Absolut, while Dave, the old bar- keep, stood by pointing where he wanted it. Lazy ass Dave, of course, wouldn't lift a finger to help. The new kid saw me and smiled pathetically. Cute kid and it was hilarious watching her try to lug around all the cases. . . . But. Oh man. . . . Fuck. What a nightmare. I'd be here at least another hour or two with the last table of the night.

Melissa, I could see was checking out, counting receipts and tabs, and would be gone in less than twenty minutes. Fuck. By the time I'd get to the apartment, she'd either be in bed sleeping or out for a couple of drinks with her friends. Disaster. All because . . . I turned to the new kid.

A junior in high school, bright black bob, she smiled, wide-eyed.

"You're a lot of trouble, you know that, kid?"

She froze, looking panicked.

I shook my head. "No. No. No. Forget about it. Just kidding."

She tried to smile and I turned around. I'd exact my revenge. The kid was a little young, but what the hell. A couple of drinks and she'd probably suck me. . . . I stopped myself. You're a sick fuck, you know that Martin. A real sick fuck. I buttoned my jacket, straightened my black tie. Fuck. On to the deuce.

They were laughing, giggling like old school friends when I approached their table and I couldn't help but wonder how God works His mysterious ways. It was obvious why Melissa had wanted Harold to take the table and not me in the first place and it wasn't because she was anxious to hit the sack or anything. Well, she may have been, but. . . . What I'm trying to say is that Melissa's the real jealous type and seated together were two astonishing young ladies--radiant in the soft light, their jet black hair shining. They looked Indian or perhaps Persian. I didn't know, but they were amazingly beautiful. Melissa rarely gave me attractive women to wait on-usually grandmother types or a tired couple falling asleep after their first miserable martini. I must have really pissed her off with my innocent flirtations with the new bar-stock girl. This would be bearable. Very nice.

The two ladies smiled up at me, stopping their exchange in mid-giggle. Close-up, I could see a strong resemblance and guessed they were sisters or somehow related, though one, the younger one, had a sweet round face and pudgy baby ruby lips, while the older one looked a little less voluptuous.

"Good evening, ladies. My name's--"

"Peter," the older, thinner one, interrupted, pointing at my name-tag, and the other one laughed, blushing deeply. Perfect English. Certainly not off the boat last week or anything.

I smiled. "Yes, Peter's the name. Peter--"

"No," the older one grinned. "No last names. Tonight there are no last names."

I was warming to them. My kind of chicks.

"A special occasion?" I asked.

They looked at each other and laughed.

I waited, enjoying openly their tight, elegant dresses and pushed up tits. The younger one, a luscious full-figured girl whose tits were jiggling with delight in a steady rhythm with her laughter, hadn't said a word yet, but her dark, round eyes mesmerized me and I couldn't help staring at her. The older one turned to me again.

"Guess where," she smiled. "Guess where Manisha's fiancé is tonight?"

I groaned inside. Fiancé. Shit. Well, I could still fantasize. Maybe I'd fuck Melissa tonight pretending it was this silky creature under me. Fuck. Saturday night. Soon-to-be married. Two gorgeous babes alone.

"Bachelor party," I said, after a moment. "Your fiancé is at a bachelor party."

"Smart boy," she smiled. I smiled back. The older one's eyes were a lot less innocent. They were a lot more active and I was sure she'd seen me staring at the younger one. "So guess what I want to do tonight?" she asked.

I had several alternatives available to offer, but kept my mouth shut. I smiled and shrugged innocently.

"I want to keep Manisha from thinking about it."

I grinned and then leaned forward and they looked up, unconsciously leaning back, a bit surprised. "How many bottles of champagne shall I bring?"

They loved it, almost squealing with joy. I let them finish.

"Let's start with one and see how things go, okay? I mean, he's at some filthy topless place with some skanky wench or having God know what done to him in some rat-infested alley and we're at the best restaurant in town. We want everything nice and easy and," she smiled, "in moderation. We want to be his antithesis tonight."

I nodded. Antithesis. I loved women who used big words. These two showed no hint of an accent. They were obviously educated, sophisticated. This would be fun. I thought for a second. One bottle. No way these two would be satisfied with one bottle, not the way they were primped up. I knew two bottles would be polished off before the night was through. And I liked them. I didn't want to embarrass them, but I certainly didn't want to gauge them with two bottles of Dom or Crystal. They were too cool for that.

"May I offer a modest suggestion?" I asked them.

The older one nodded.

"My suggestion assumes neither of you is pretentious for the sake of pretension."

They smiled.

"Rather than spending the evening with Dom Perignon or Crystal, I would recommend our 96 Bollinger."

The older one picked up the wine list, studied it for a few seconds, put it down and smiled up.

"You're reading us perfectly, Peter. My name's Mughdha."

I smiled, nodding, heard them giggling as I walked away and headed for the bar. Mughdha and Manisha. The double M's. I loved it.

My innocent smile evaporated when I saw what awaited me at the bar. Melissa was there, purse in hand. She was not happy. I walked by her pretending she wasn't there.

"Why do you have to hit on every women that walks in this place? I saw you with those two ladies," she whispered violently in my ear as I handed Dave my order.

Dave smiled at me and went to get the bottle.

I rolled my eyes, tiring of her. "I'm a waiter, right?"


"So I make money providing people a certain experience, something special. I make people happy. That's what I'm doing, okay? Making people happy."

She stared at me, shaking her head, putting her purse on the bar.

"I'm going home," she said finally. "And I'm going to go out. And do you know what I'm going to do? I'm going to find someone to make me happy."

I grinned. Melissa wasn't being entirely fair. I mean, sure, I'd fooled around here and there, but nothing ridiculous and certainly nothing while we'd been living together. I wasn't that lecherous. Well . . . sometimes I was, but usually. . . . And besides where was she going to get good fucking like I gave her? Well, pretty much anywhere, but. . . . Christ. Who besides me would put up with her constant whining and silliness? I shook my head. "Nobody, sweetheart. Nobody can make you as happy as I."

She stared at me for a few seconds and grabbed her purse. I flinched, in mock terror, giving her the impression that I thought she was going to slap me.

She couldn't help smiling and I grinned back.

"What am I going to do with you Peter?" she sighed sadly. "You're like an overgrown . . . forget it. I'm going home."

She was about to step away, but I held her arm.

"I'll tell you what you're going to do with me, cutey: anything you want in another hour or so. Anything you want."

She shook her head and turned and walked out the front door. I watched her walk away, wondering whether she would really do anything stupid, quickly concluded she was too tired and with a certain amount of reassurance took the cold bottle of champagne Dave handed to me and headed back to delightful company awaiting me.

I'd guessed right, of course. They polished off the first bottle of the Bollinger quickly and they were well into the second one. The two of them were a pleasure. Happy. Funny. Flirty. I wanted to surprise them. I convinced one of the remaining chefs to clean some oysters and I thought Mughdha, the older one, was going to kiss me when I brought the silver, sparkling tray to them.

"Oysters!" Mughdha laughed. "We didn't--"

"On me," I smiled. "Early wedding present."

"Thank you," Manisha blushed. "That's very nice."

I placed the tray in front of them and walked away. I would return as quickly as appropriate. I had to see them sucking those babies down. It would make the entire night worth it. Very few things are more erotic than a woman having a fresh oyster sliding down her throat and since I had nothing else to do, I counted slowly in my head to five hundred (it was torture) and then carefully stepped around the corner and walked back to their table.

The sight was incredible. Both of them, drunk with champagne and looking flush, smiled up at me with glistening, almost dripping buttery lips.

"All is well?" I grinned.

"Very," Mughdha smiled and took a nice wash down gulp from her fluted glass. Manisha raised her half-shell, opened her mouth and I couldn't help swallowing with her as it slivered down into her mouth. I could see it passing down her narrow throat, gently, effortlessly. She blinked once or twice and then looked up and turned away quickly when she saw me staring at her, but I could still see her lick her full lips clean.

I took the cold, wet bottle from the ice bucket and filled their glasses with the bubbly. I put the bottle back with a dramatic splash and they were both grinning at me.

I smiled back.

"We want to thank you," Manisha began, "for a wonderful evening."

"I'm glad."

The three of us smiled at each other in silence.

"We should get going," Manisha said to Mughdha. "I think we're the last table here."

"Peter doesn't mind. Do you Peter?" Mughdha asked, turning to me.

"Not in the slightest. It's been my pleasure and the two of you should not feel rushed at all."

"Well, take a seat, then," Mughdha continued. "We won't tell."

I thought for a moment. No harm in relaxing a little. The owner was downstairs counting his cash, trying to determine how much he could get away with without reporting. I grabbed a chair from a nearby table and sat down.

"Where are you going on your honeymoon?" I asked Manisha after I'd settled in.

"India," she giggled.


"My younger sister is going to have a second ceremony there," Mughdha said, the sudden bitterness in her voice surprising me. "It's kind of an arranged marriage."

"Arranged?" I blurted out without thinking and felt terrible as I saw Manisha blushing deeply, very uncomfortable.

She turned to me and tried to smile. I wanted to tell her I was sorry, that it was none of my business, but she tried to explain. "Our parents know each other, but my fiancé and I have, you know, dated for a while now," she said softly.

"Dated for a while?" Mughdha shook her head. "God. You haven't even slept with the guy."


"It's true. I don't know why you're marrying him. He's creepy. I don't care if he is a doctor. He's an arrogant ass."

The two of them were silent, staring at each other, Manisha in wonderment that her sister was sharing intimate family details with a stranger and Mughdha letting herself become more and more upset.

"Things work a little differently in other cultures," I said stupidly, trying to break the silence.

"Bullshit," Mughdha spat out and took an oyster in her mouth and quickly sucked it down in a loud slurp. "She doesn't even love the guy," she said after it had settled down deep in her throat. She took her glass and took another gulp.

I took a deep breath. Now, how exactly had we gone from silly flirting to this sort of nastiness. I regretted sitting down with them, or with Mughdha, I should say. Manisha seemed absolutely wonderful and I felt sorry for her.

The two sisters stared at each other, again, in a silent furor.

"And who do you love, Mughdha?" Manisha asked sarcastically. I grinned. Nice one. Obviously the older sister wasn't married and was a little jealous or something.

"Myself," Mughdha replied coldly, without hesitation, "I love myself. The grin on my face was wiped off.

"Well, um, I think," I said, and started standing up, but Mughdha clutched my arm and I stopped.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "This has nothing to do with you. My baby sister's an idiot. That's all."

She was an idiot? I wanted to yell. You're here busting her chops in front of a stranger and she's the idiot. And then I saw the baby sister, turn away. I could hear her taking a deep breath, trying not to weep.

"Oh, don't cry," Mughdha snapped. "It's pathetic. It's your choice so don't start with that crap."

"Why are you so upset with her?" I asked, genuinely mad. Of course, it was none of my business, but I felt a lot of sympathy for Manisha and her sister seemed bent on making her miserable. It was ridiculous. They should be enjoying themselves. None of this was necessary.

"Because she's making a huge mistake," Mughdha said to me earnestly. "We were both born in the U.S., each of us have graduate degrees, we make a lot of money and she's going to humiliate herself to make my parents happy."

"And you've not made your parents happy?" I asked.

"I don't give a shit. It's my life. I'm not going to save myself for some asshole. When and if I marry, it's going to be my choice, not anyone else's."

"Have you saved yourself?" I teased Manisha, hoping she would smile at the silly joke. She blushed and then saw I was teasing her and was about to respond with something light, but her sister was ruthless.

"Oh, she's a virgin. Don't you worry about that. I think she's dated four guys in her twenty-six years and I bet not one of them even felt her up."

That shut me up. I'd had enough. Manisha's jaw was open, her eyes unbelieving and watering and . . . I was completely out of my element and what had begun as a pleasant little gathering had deteriorated into something ugly.

"We should be going," Manisha told her sister flatly, finally, after a moment of tense silence.

Mughdha seemed to have regained her composure and looked at her sister sadly. "I'm sorry," she said. "Little too much to drink."

Manisha took a deep breath and nodded and they turned to me apologetically.

I stood up and smiled down at them. "Let me get your check."

"Don't forget the oysters," Manisha said softly.

I shook my head. "Please. They're on me."

I went off to the side and tallied up the bill. I felt bad for Manisha. Arranged marriage. What the hell was that? Christ. These two weren't in some backwoods somewhere. And her older sister's nastiness. I didn't which was worse. Jesus. I yawned. It had been a long night. It would be nice to go to the apartment and unwind with Melissa, if she was there. She would be there. I laughed to myself. Melissa and an arranged marriage. She'd shoot the whole wedding party first. Crazy world.

I walked back to the table and was happy to see that the two were at least talking to each other. They'd been a little drunk. That's all. They'd get over the unpleasantness of the evening and probably remember little of it in the morning.

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