tagGroup SexOld Flame, New Game Ch. 03

Old Flame, New Game Ch. 03

bysoflabbwlvr©

I returned that evening shortly before 7:00 p.m. I went directly to Sharon's room, where I found her with her hair and make up done, but still not dressed. I immediately took her in my arms and pulled her nearly naked body toward me, giving her a long tight hug just inside the doorway.

"I missed you, lover," I said. "But why aren't you ready?"

"You wouldn't tell me what I need to be ready for. Don't you like me like this?" she said, standing in her bra and panties with her arms held open.

I admired her lovingly, then advised her that we were going out for dinner.

"I was waiting for you to tell me what I should wear, since you did not tell me where we are going tonight," she said.

"This will be fine," I said as I handed her a box.

She opened the box and found a white silk dress with a bright floral pattern. She held it up in front of her, walked to the mirror and took a long look, turning from side to side as she did so.

"This looks like it will fit. It's very pretty," she said.

"Try it on," I replied.

She pulled the dress over her head, then turned to look in the mirror once again.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"I think it looks beautiful on you, but you are going to have to do something about that bra."

She turned and looked at the back, noticing for the first time that the dress was essentially backless, except for the spaghetti straps cris-crossing halfway down her back. She stood at the mirror for several minutes and attempted to make adjustments, but nothing she did could hide the straps. Finally, she unhooked her bra and tossed it on the bed.

"I guess this is the only thing I can do with it," she said, somewhat reluctantly.

"Don't worry, it looks great that way," I said, giving her an approving grin.

"Oh I am sure that you will like this. If it is cold wherever we are going, my nipples will be showing all night."

"Mmmmmm. Remind me again why that's a bad thing," I replied.

She slipped on a pair of open toed sandals with a very low heel, which brought her up to my height. "I'm ready. Let's go," she said.

We left the room and walked out of the hotel, arm in arm. I opened the passenger side door and let her in, then walked around to the driver's side of the car. Once inside I closed the door, and we drove off. I handed her my CD case, and told her to pick something out. She flipped through the CD's for a second, but after noticing that most of them did not clearly state the artist's name, she handed it back to me told me to pick. I quickly found a selection and inserted it into the slot. We talked about nothing in particular during the remaining 45 minute drive to South Beach.

Upon reaching the restaurant, I stopped in front of the valet who first opened the passenger's door and helped Sharon out of the car, and then took my keys, handed me a ticket, and drove off. We entered the restaurant, walking arm in arm once again.

The restaurant was dimly lit, with candles sitting amidst the crystal goblets and glasses and a small arrangement of tropical flowers adorning each table. The tables were spaced comfortably apart from one another, and the low lighting afforded an unexpected modicum of privacy. After we were seated I quickly glanced at the menu and then the wine list, and then asked Sharon what she would like to drink.

"What are you having?" she asked.

"A martini, of course."

"I'll try one also."

"Are you sure? That's a serious drink."

"I'm not a lightweight. I could probably drink you under the table."

"We'll wait for another day to find that out."

"Two Hendricks martinis, please. Not too dry. Three olives," I said to the waiter.

The waiter returned with our drinks, placing one in front of Sharon, and then the second in front of me.

"We're ready to order," I said. "A shrimp cocktail and a ceviche, to start. The lady will have a filet mignon, medium rare. Could she have mashed potatoes instead of baked?"

"We can do that."

"Good, thank you. And I will have the steak au poivre, medium rare, with rice on the side. And two chocolate souffles for dessert, please."

"Very good. And your wine selection?"

"The 2003 Opus One Cabernet, please."

"Excellent. I will be right back with your wine."

After the waiter left, Sharon took her first sip of the martini. The face she made as the liquid reached her tongue was unforgettable.

"How can you drink that?" she asked.

"I told you, it is an acquired taste," I said, as I sipped my drink. "Do you want something else?"

"No, I'll drink this. I told you. I'm not a lightweight."

We sipped our drinks and talked, holding hands across the table in the dimly lit restaurant. We paused only when our appetizers arrived. I asked the waiter to bring us two mojitos, as I did not think that Sharon would enjoy another martini.

"The mojito has become a kind of a trendy drink all over the country in the past couple of years. But it has been popular in Miami for more than 50 years. It is considered the national drink of Cuba, kind of how France is regarded for red wine, Russia for Vodka, Mexico for Tequila, and America for bad beer. I think that you will find it much more enjoyable than that martini you are somehow forcing yourself to swallow."

"I'm doing ok with this."

"I see that, but I think that you would prefer something else."

A short time later the waiter brought us our second round of drinks. Sharon gulped down the last of her martini, while I popped the olives into my mouth.

"To a perfect evening," she said, raising her glass.

"To a perfect evening with my perfect lover," I added.

We touched glasses, then raised the glasses to our lips for a taste.

"Oooooo, that's much better," she said, just before taking a second sip. "I could drink this all night."

"I know, that's what makes them so dangerous."

A few more minutes passed before the waiter returned with our bottle of wine. He opened the bottle, poured us each a glass, then took our appetizer plates away. We continued talking and holding hands, while exchanging long loving looks in between sips of our drinks. I noticed her nipples showing clearly through the thin white material of the dress.

By the time dinner arrived we were already starting to get a little buzz going. We slowly ate, continued talking, and started drinking the excellent bottle of red wine. By the time we had finished the first glass of wine, both of us had reached the point of feeling no pain. Sharon's nipples continued to stand out in the cool evening air.

The waiter quickly came over and poured us each a second glass of wine. While pouring, I noticed his gaze lingering over her nipples straining against the fabric of her dress. After he departed, I leaned over the table and very softly told Sharon that I wanted her to do something for me.

"What is it? Anything, baby."

"I want you to take off your panties."

"You want me to what?"

"I want you to take off your panties."

"Why?"

"It would be sexy if you were sitting here almost naked, with nothing on under your sheer, sexy dress."

"I think I am almost naked enough."

"No one will know. You will still have your dress on."

"No."

"Please baby"

"No."

"I'll beg. Please baby, please do it for me."

"No. I said 'no'."

"Baby, you are on vacation. Let yourself go. Do something out of the ordinary."

"No. I told you already, I'm a good girl."

"Is what I'm asking you to do really so bad? You will never see anyone in this room ever again. Have a little fun with me."

"Alright. But I am not taking my dress off," she said, jokingly admonishing me. She started to stand up, but I stopped her.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"To the ladies room. I thought you wanted me to take off my panties."

"I do, but you don't have to go anywhere for that."

"I don't understand," she said, giving me a quizzical look.

"Sit down, and take them off right here."

"Are you crazy? I can't do that here."

"Why not?"

"Someone will see me."

"Who? Look around. No one is paying attention to us. Even if they were, the lighting in here is too dim. No one can see us. Can you see what anyone else is doing beneath the table?"

She looked around, finding that in her alcohol impaired condition, she really could not see what anyone else was doing in the dimly lit restaurant.

"How do I do this?" she asked, giving in. "You are a real pervert, you know?"

"Guilty as charged," I replied, holding my hands in the air as if confessing. "Just lift your butt slightly off your chair, reach under your dress with one hand, and pull them quickly off. The trick is to do it with as little movement as possible, I would guess. Then drop them on the floor near your ankles, and kick them over to my side of the table. I will bend down and pick them up."

She quickly downed her second glass of wine, and then executed the panty extraction flawlessly. I was more than a little surprised, considering her level of inebriation, but all that alcohol was necessary to break down her defenses. I reached to the floor and picked up her tiny little panties, and then tucked them under my napkin. "Are you happy now? First you undressed me in public at the beach, and now you are undressing me in a restaurant. I am going to get arrested for indecent exposure if I continue listening to you."

"Baby, you undressed yourself at the beach. And there is nothing indecent at all about exposing you. Your beautiful sexiness should be on display for the whole world."

"I will display myself to you, but no one else."

We'll see, I thought to myself.

We finished our steaks, drained the bottle of wine, and then waited for our dessert and coffee. When the waiter brought our final course, I ordered two glasses of ice wine.

"It's the perfect way to finish a meal," I explained to Sharon.

Finally, I paid our bill and we left the restaurant. But instead of giving the ticket to the valet, I suggested we take a short walk.

"Where are we going?"

"Just a short block or two," I said.

We crossed the street and walked to the front of a building with a neon sign in the window. We stopped and peered through the window. It was a tattoo shop.

"Let's go in," I said. "I have been thinking of having one of my tattoos touched up a little."

We went inside and looked around the shop. Sheets containing hundreds of tattoo designs covered the walls. There was a counter with an old mechanical cash register on it, and about 7 or 8 three ring binders filled with photographs of completed tattoos. We walked around the room, commenting on the unique designs and laughing at the particularly sexual symbols. Finally, someone approached and asked if we needed any help.

I said yes, and explained to the young lady that I was thinking about having the ethnic cross tattoo on my left shoulder enlarged. I like the design, it just needed to be bigger. She had me take off my shirt, then looked at the design.

"That would be no problem," she said. "Do you want to get it done now?"

I thought for a minute, then said "sure."

She introduced herself as Dolores, then said she would need a few minutes to draw up a design. I told her no problem, and that we would be right around the corner. I escorted Sharon to the door, and told her to go ahead and have a cigarette since it might be a while before she gets another chance. I lit her cigarette for her, and then we walked up the block to a liquor store. We walked in just as Sharon stamped her cigarette butt on the sidewalk. I bought a bottle of gin and some Rose's lime juice.

"Just in case we need a drink," I told her.

We returned to the tattoo shop, where we were escorted to Dolores' station. She was all set up and ready for us when we arrived. Dolores was a Cuban woman with kind of shaggy black hair streaked with red, about 5'5" tall, a little on the plump side, bosomy, and very pretty. She wore a short, ragged looking dress that was very low-cut in the front, thigh high stockings, and sneakers. Like most tattoo artists, her arms were covered with ink. She had more ink peeking from under the clothes in various other places, as well. Her eye make-up was kind of heavy, in a retro-70s style, and she wore blood red lipstick.

I removed my shirt again, and she washed and then shaved my shoulder. She applied the drawing transfer to my skin, and asked me if that was the size I wanted.

"Yes, that's perfect," I said.

Once the drawing was in place, she began the process of tracing the outline. I clenched my teeth, enduring the pain and discomfort with some effort. After about 30 minutes of outlining, she stopped to take a break.

"You can get up and stretch your legs," Dolores said.

"Do you have any ice," I asked her.

"Yes."

"And some glasses?"

"I'll see what I can do."

She got up and then returned with three glasses filled with ice.

"Do you have a shot glass?" I asked.

"You should have told me that the first time I was up."

She returned once again, handing me a shot glass. I quickly mixed us three gin gimlets, and then passed out the glasses. I downed my glass and returned to the chair so that Dolores could complete my tattoo. An hour later I got up, looked in the mirror, and told her it was exactly what I wanted. I showed it to Sharon, who rolled her eyes dismissively and said that it looked great. I gave her deep kiss, pulled her toward me, and felt her naked butt with my right hand.

"Can I do anything else for you tonight?" Dolores asked.

"Umm, yes, actually. There is one more thing that you could do. I think the lady here would like something also."

"WHAT?" Sharon practically shrieked.

"Something small and tasteful. To commemorate her first visit to Miami."

"Are you crazy? I am not getting a tattoo. No way. Let's go," she said, making her way toward the door.

"Just one second," I said to Dolores.

"Baby," I said to Sharon. "I think you really want to do this. I want you to have something to remember me by. So you never forget your weekend in Miami, and my love for you."

"No."

"C'mon baby. Just something small and out of the way. I could tell you were interested when we walked in here. And even more when you watched me getting my mine. I'll be here with you the whole time."

"No."

"Just a little one?"

"No, I said."

"Please?"

"Why do you want me to get one?"

I mixed her another drink and handed it to her. She took a long gulp, nearly downing the entire drink in one swallow.

"I want you to do this because I think its what you really want to do. It will commemorate our time together. It will be a secret way of declaring our affection for one another. Every time you see it, you will think of me."

The alcohol and my pleading overcame her resistance. "Alright, but it has to be very small and somewhere out of sight."

"How about a rosebud on the small of your back?" I asked.

"Maybe. That sounds interesting."

"Let's look at some designs."

We went to the wall and looked at the sheets with designs, finally finding one that depicted two rosebuds facing each other, with their stems extending to the left and the right.

"How about that?" I asked.

"That's cool," she said.

We showed Dolores the design, and I pointed to the spot on Sharon's lower back where it was to go. She told us to give her about 15 minutes and she would be ready. We walked outside and Sharon had another cigarette. Then we ducked into a small space between the buildings and shared a long, deep, passionate kiss. After a minute or so I broke it off, and told her it was time to go back inside.

We reentered the shop, and were escorted to a room in the back. This room had a chair similar to a massage chair, which allowed the customer to sit comfortably while leaning forward, with the upper body fully supported. It had a lever that allowed the tattoo artist to raise or lower the height of the chair, thereby providing the optimal work angle for the artist.

"We designed this room for working on lower backs and butts. Normal chair and tables used in other shops are too hard on the artist or the customer. This set up is comfortable for both. Are you ready, Sharon?"

"I guess so?" she responded, meekly.

"Then step over her and sit down on the chair. I am going to need for you to raise your dress to the middle of your back."

Sharon pulled her dress up over her waist and then sat in the chair with her back to Dolores. I think she must have forgotten that her panties were gone, as she did not appear self-conscious at all, despite being naked from the waist down. Dolores adjusted the chair so that Sharon was leaning forward at a 45 degree angle. Her naked ass was sticking out and up. Dolores washed her lower back area, then shaved the light downy hair covering the area. She applied the drawing transfer, then asked me if the positioning was ok. I told her it was perfect. I then walked around toward Sharon's head, and told her that to relax and enjoy the experience. She looked up at me, trying to stay brave, but I could sense the fear in her eyes.

Then the vibrating hum of the electric needle started. Sharon gasped quickly, then reached out with both hands to grab me. I held both of her hands as Dolores touched the needle to Sharon's delicate skin. Sharon drew a sharp breath and squeezed my hands tighter as the Dolores traced the needle over the outline of the design.

I freed one hand and stroked the hair from Sharon's face as the needle continued to stab her skin. She looked up at me, with tears beginning to pool in the corners of her eyes.

"I love you baby," I told her.

"I love you too."

"Forever?"

"Yes."

My heart beat louder in my chest as the woman who was but a vague memory to me a few weeks ago was now looking into my eyes and telling me the sweetest words I had ever heard. She did it despite the pain she was undergoing, at my instigation. I kissed her forehead and continued stroking the thick hair from her face.

Just then I looked up and saw that there was a window on the far side of this room, and despite the curtains covering it, there was a small gap through which I noticed a pair of eyes peeking into the room. What the peeper saw was Sharon, bent over in the tattoo chair, naked from the waist down; Dolores, leaning over Sharon, the tattoo needle in one hand and her face inches from Sharon's naked butt; and me, seated by Sharon's head, caressing and calming her. After a few minutes the eyes disappeared.

For the next half hour or so I stayed by Sharon, holding her hands and talking to her as she endured the pain of the needle going back and forth over the skin of her lower back. Every few minutes a pair of eyes would appear at the slit between the curtains, and then disappear moments later. I had no idea who was watching us. I kept silent so that Sharon would not be concerned over who was taking peeks at her naked ass. I was not sure if she could handle any more stress than she was already enduring.

After a while I noticed that Sharon's breathing became less of a struggle, and that she was starting to moan slightly. Her breathing picked up a rhythmic cadence, with shorter, sharper intakes and longer exhalations. It was then that I noticed the very subtle aroma of arousal emanating from Sharon's exposed pussy. I realized, to my surprise, that my baby was getting turned on. Apparently, the combination of Sharon's exposure, the pain from the needle, and the proximity of Dolores' face to Sharon's naked ass was causing dear sweet Sharon to become quite turned on. (Dolores later confided that as soon as she began to smell the sweet aroma of Sharon's nectar, she began to lightly blow on Sharon's pussy, which glistened with moisture almost immediately). I held her tightly, then leaned over and kissed her forehead. Just then the low moan became a long unsuppressed groan. Sharon's fingers dug into my forearms, her body stiffened, and she let out wail as she climaxed on the chair.

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