Dessert

Our favourite restaurant was a little Italian in the harbour. It had been family owned for over 60 years. My parents had met there when my mother was waitressing and my father worked on the fishing boats. They were young when they married, weren't they all in those days?

Along I came along exactly 9 months to the day of their wedding.

My wife and I married a lot later in life by comparison, although we met when we were in university. Our three children were doing well. We had the perfect life. Our eldest was about to move to high school, and the other two were enjoying primary school.

Our relationship was perfect. We were less intimate these days, but I really did marry my best friend. She was everything to me. I'd never even looked at another woman in the whole time we had been together.

No matter how busy we were with the boys and work, our anniversary was always a priority, and it was always here without fail, just like my parents had done.

Il Porticciolo knew us well. Every year without asking, our reservation was made, the same table, the same time. The year my wife was so pregnant that we were unable to eat out, they sent our favourite meals, delivered by owner Mr Bianchi himself. Despite his age, he pootled to our house on his scooter in the snow.

Our anniversary fell on a Sunday night this year and we arrived at the restaurant. Guided to our usual table surrounded by local acquaintances, we ordered our favourites and a bottle of sparkling wine, Italian of course.

As my wife gazed into the night, watching the dancing lights of the boats bobbing in the harbour, I glanced around the restaurant.

A sole diner caught my eye. I assumed diner but all I saw was a glass of red wine. She sat alone at a table in far rear corner, her long legs crossed, her red dress rising up her thigh. She swirled the wine in her huge glass and sipped as she smiled at her phone. I realised I had been staring for far too long and quickly returned to my wife. She was still mesmerised by the view; I risked another look.

Her legs had switched, and I could see further up. I slowly followed the line of her dress noticing how low cut it was. Her ample breast spilling over the top. Her long dark hair gently rested atop them. I looked further up and I was caught out. She was looking right back at me.

I quickly looked away and gave my full attention to my wife. She was the polar opposite. Blonde with small breasts. Feeding our three boys had seen to that; I loved them just the same. Waiter Marco saved my awkwardness by delivering our meals.

Fantastic food and sumptuous wine with the very best company. We laughed and reminisced over our previous visits to Il Porticciolo. Marco had been our favourite waiter since the time he had asked my wife in broken English if she enjoyed his sausage. I never forgot the look of confusion as we laughed until we cried. He soon returned to our table profusely apologetic with complimentary desserts after the dishwasher had explained what he had said.

I excused myself for a much needed bathroom visit.

The facilities here were extremely small. Just one urinal with the main sink, and one cubicle further in. As I zipped up the fly to my suit pants, I washed my hands and turned to leave. The door opened inward before I could touch it and I prepared for the awkward shuffle past the next visitor.

That red dress was unmistakable. I momentarily panicked that I was in the wrong bathroom quickly realising that women's bathrooms do not have urinals. Yet, I still smiled awkwardly and apologetically as I attempted to navigate past her.

She didn't move. She gently lay her hands on my chest and guided me back. I still don't know why I let her. Her eyes fixated on mine rendered me stupid and mute. She lead me into the cubicle and locked the door.

When I think back, I have no idea what happened. Like a siren she cast a spell with her eyes and I followed her lead. Her eyes, deep and dark with a sparkle which spoke to me when her lips said nothing.

She held my gaze, my voice incapacitated, my legs frozen in place.

Her fingers lightly glided from my chest down my arms to my hands. She moved them to her bare upper chest. I could see now how full those breasts were. Their mounds rising and falling as she breathed. I kept my hands to her warm soft skin as silently instructed while she reached around and unzipped her dress.

As it cascaded to the floor, my eyes were drawn down, watching it falling into a neat pile at her stiletto enclosed feet. Her long legs drew my eyes upward until I reached her panties. A tiny black, lacy thong. A crotchless thong. I stared. A little ribbon bow closed the crotch leaving a little gap at the front teased a view from the lacy window. Perfect voiceless lips whispered to continue my gaze upwards.

Further up her torso and I reached her breasts. Matching the thong, her bra was lacy and sheer. Two little bows kept the vertical slits together but did not prevent her nipples from poking out from above. Pink. Juicy. Pert. Nipples.

My brain was struggling. I felt like I was having a stroke. A heart attack maybe. Perhaps in reality I was out cold on the bathroom floor, and this was just a coma induced dream.

Her warmth was very real. My hands remained on her heaving breasts which were now inches away from bare enticing nipples.

Her hands fiddled around with my suit trousers, and I felt the cold air hit my behind. It was at this moment I swore to always wear underwear in future on as my cock bounced up when my trousers fell. She guided me to sit on the closed toilet. It was then I noticed my tip glistening, precum shined in the dull light of the cubicle.

A pang of guilt and confusion washed over me. What was I doing!? Wait. I'm not doing anything other than not stopping her. Does that make me complicit in whatever this was? Everything in my body told me to get up and leave before this went any further but my cock, excited and full of blood weighed me down. It involuntarily danced in anticipation. I her watched gently reach down and with one smooth movement pull at the bow across her crotch. The material sprung apart. Her smooth pussy now completely accessible. Her upper inner thigh shined with moisture. I confess, I had never seen a pussy so beautiful and perfectly formed. I involuntarily licked my lips and as I did, she dripped. My cock twitched heavily and precum dribbled down my shaft.

She took my hand, selected my index finger, and guided it to her dribbling pussy. I watched as my finger was slid along her hot soaking slit and back up to my mouth. I gladly tasted her from my finger, so sweet and unknown. As I savoured it I closed my eyes and felt her lick my now dangerously swollen cock. Her hot tongue tried to clean up my mess, but she made it worse. I was sure I was about to explode.

She straddled either side of the toilet, lowering herself towards me. My cock slid between the slit in the fabric of her thong and disappeared effortlessly into her tight yet well lubricated pussy.

She let out a moan as the tip of my cock quickly hit deep inside her. It was the first verbal noise either of us had expressed since she assumed her way into the men's bathroom. She bounced again trying to take more and as she did, threw back her head which raised her peeking nipples into my eye line.

Any claim to not consenting to this liaison expired as soon as I gave in to my impulses. I grabbed her tits in my hands and strongly sucked her nipples one after the other and they protruded further and further from the peep holes. I alternated between swirling my tongue and sucking.

Then I tried biting. Her body shifted on my lap, and she started to grind. Her panties rubbed on my skin, and I felt her juices oozing onto my balls. She was about to cum and so was I.

I pushed her tits together so I could get to both nipples at once, gave them one last lick, one last suck and I held them between my teeth. The harder she gyrated, the harder I bit down.

My release filled her deep inside as she shuddered on top of me. I felt her orgasm as her walls pulsated, gripping and squeezing my cock deep inside her. The first words we breathed to each other were in the moments of ecstasy.

"Ffffuuuuuhhhuuhhccccccckkkkk!!!!"

I felt like I couldn't stop, but when I finally did, I felt physically and mentally drained. My ears rang and my eyes struggled to focus. Before I could catch my breath, she had slid off my still twitching and oozing cock and stepped into her dress turning away from me as she covered back up.

I started to panic. How on earth do I address what just happened with someone I literally do not know. She never faced me again. Before I could speak, she unlocked the cubicle door and left me and our mess there. I heard the main door to the men's room open and close.

I sat there in shock for a moment. What the fuck just happened. Then it hit me. How long had I been gone?! My wife!! I grabbed a wad of tissue and cleaned myself up as best I could and rushed out of the bathroom.

There she was, still gazing out to the harbour sipping her sparkling wine. I raced back to the table.

"I am so sorry honey!" She looked at me slightly concerned.

"I was about to send in a search party, you've been gone for a good 10 minutes - are you OK? You look flustered."

I quickly glanced back to the table at the far rear corner. Only an empty lone wine glass remained. No red dress.

"Yeah, I wasn't feeling too well. I think it was the seafood." I lied.

Her face turned to concern and care. Guilt flooded my face which I hid with my glass, emptying the last of my drink.

"I'll go and settle up." I left the table sheepishly, looking around for the mystery woman in red. Nothing. I settled the bill and took the chance.

"Hey, Marco? The woman who was sat over there? I thought I recognised her. Who was she?" The waiter smiled.

"Ahhhh, vestito rosso? Seno grande?" He motioned big breasts with his hands.

"Si. Si. Quello era il nuovo proprietario!"

The colour drained from my face. How would I even begin explaining to my wife that we could never come back here. My mind raced as I returned to the table.

"OK honey, you good to go?" A look of confusion had spread across her face.

"Umm, yes. But did you say it was the seafood which made you sick?" She asked.

"Yeah, it must have been, can't think what else it was." I lied.

"Oh. OK." She stood up and I helped her with her coat. As she turned back around, she looked me dead in the eye.

"Only... you had steak."