My Four Aces Ch. 04

Then I felt some of that warm coziness between my legs as I noticed all the men's heads turning to look at us. It was a mostly older-than-us, but not older crowd. Prosperous looking people in their twenties and thirties. And the obvious envy of Paul on the men's faces made me really happy. I knew my tanned, bare legs looked good contrasted with the black dress and the plunge in the neckline pointed right where most of them wanted to go. As sexy as Rose was, their glances moved past her and came to rest on me. "The Terminator" was doing its work. And then the women, looking at Paul, made it clear that they envied me too. All of the attention and the repressed sexual energy it implied turned me from simmer to slow boil in the space of the few seconds it took us to follow Rose to our little booth in the back corner.

As we arrived at the booth, Paul whispered something in my ear that threatened to turn my slow boil into steam.

"Don't sit on your skirt. Bare ass on the seat."

The order sent a jolt right through me, taking me back to earlier that afternoon in the theatre, when I was naked and anticipating the humiliation of being seen. He wanted my naked ass and pussy on the seat and Rose was right there, so she'd probably see me flip my skirt up in back as I slid into the booth. Not to mention what the people at the neighboring tables might see. And then there was the next thought: what is he going to make me do after that?

I knew there was no way to avoid obeying, although I considered taking a spanking later—but figured Paul knew I'd enjoy that too much and would devise something even more humiliating than he already had planned if I tried to dodge. As Rose leaned over the table to set our menus down, I took a deep breath, flipped up my skirt and hopped into the booth. Scooting across the seat, the cool leather did some very nice things to my bareness and, by the time Paul met me in the middle of the booth's seat, I was blushing furiously and breathing a little harder. I glanced around at the people nearby, trying to tell if anyone had been looking, and thought I detected a bit of a smirk on the face of a middle-aged gentleman having dinner with some colleagues at the table next to ours. Had he seen anything? Rose looked at me quizzically. Had she seen something too? Or maybe she'd even overheard what Paul had ordered? There was no way to tell from her expression. She might just have been wondering how we'd met.

She looked us both over and said, "Matt tells me we're all doing the Lizard after work. Yana's pretty excited."

I thought I detected a little up-tick of Paul's eyebrow when Rose mentioned her friend, Yana, but I couldn't be sure. Paul glanced at me, then answered for both of us, "Yeah, we're good with that plan. It'll be just like old times." I thought an odd expression crossed Rose's face when Paul said that, but I wasn't really trusting my instincts right then. "Tell Matt to come over when he has a chance."

She said she'd do that, gave Paul a quick kiss on the cheek, saying how good it was to see him, then left us with the menus. I leaned in to Paul and whispered, "I'm scared I'm going to leave a wet spot on the seat!" He smiled that melts-my-heart smile and replied, "Oh you will. But concentrate on the menu first."

We'd barely opened them before Matt sauntered up to the table.

He's the kind of guy I've mentioned to you before, diary, as a "cuddle bear" guy--sweet, sincere, gentle and soooo not my type. Not that I don't appreciate those qualities, but they need to be accompanied by more spine than guys like Matt generally have. And physically, he was some other girl's dream-body. He wasn't fat or anything, but he gave you the feeling that he was . . . well, padded, and fuzzy from head to toe and had a soft, marshmallow center.

Anyway, Paul introduced us. They did the very brief version of catching up, since he was busy with a full station. Turns out he and Rose had moved in together about six months ago and celebrated their one-year anniversary as a couple just last week. He was obviously really into her and I guessed that, if she'd agreed to move in, she'd decided she was into him too.

Just before he went back to work, Matt looked over his shoulder at the floor and gestured to a waitress working her way towards us. He glanced at me, then looked back a Paul. With a hint of humorous warning in his voice, he said, "You know Ileana's got this section tonight."

Paul smiled back and added a bland, "Oh, really?" but I could tell something was up. I gave Paul a look and Matt just grinned again as he walked away. Then Ileana reached our table and greeted Paul and I knew. Call it women's intuition or just admit that I'm a brilliant observer of human nature, but it was clear to me after watching them together for about three seconds that they'd been lovers and it hadn't ended all that well. He wasn't tense or uncomfortable at all, and she didn't seem to be either, but there was just something about the way she looked at him and the way he looked back, plus the tone of their voices that made it seem like they were both kind of waiting to see what the other was going to do.

I was burning with curiosity, but had to hold it in while Paul introduced us. Then they talked, mostly about people and places I didn't know. The good thing about moments when people are talking with each other and kind of ignoring you is it gives you a chance to analyze the relationship. Here was another woman that I knew Paul found attractive. I wanted to figure out what it was about her that had worked for him, and see if it still did work by watching him interact with her.

No question, Yana, as he called her, was a hottie. She was my height, so obviously he had a thing for small women. The men's white dress shirt and the stupid pop art tie she had to wear, both part of the waitron uniform, made it hard to gauge her boobies accurately, but they were clearly bigger than mine, which wouldn't be hard, since most tangerines are bigger than mine!

But the black uniform slacks she wore were tight around her butt and thighs. I found myself staring at her really great ass and speculating on what looked to be some very well-toned legs! In fact, I thought, she looked like she was probably a gymnast or had been at some point in the recent past. I pulled my eyes off her butt and noticed that her face was stunning. She had this toast-brown skin that looked like it might taste really sweet and these very dark brown eyes framed by a pile of curly, black hair. When she smiled—even the tight, hesitant smile she gave Paul—her eyes got into the game. They-- and she--simply sparkled.

And for the second time that night, I realized I was checking out another woman!

Now, diary, I've told you that I sometimes notice other women, but except for that one little incident with Tina Nichols at the pool party, I'd never really been, y'know, into girls. But tonight, with Paul right there to make it safe, even as I was a flutter of fabric away from complete humiliation, I couldn't take my eyes off this girl who stood there, talking about the specials and the wine list with my boyfriend and giving me sidelong glances that made me think maybe she was checking me out too.

After a couple of minutes of verbal parry-and-thrust with Paul, she started to relax a bit. I guess she realized he was going to be a gentleman about whatever it was that they had in their history. She asked me where we met, I told her. Then she asked about my major. Wow! Suddenly, it was like we were long lost sisters or something. She wanted to talk about the theatre department and the shows I'd done and the shows she'd done. Turns out, she'd been an actress in high school and was taking off a couple of years before starting college. Before she left the table, she reached out and touched my hand very softly, then said, "We're going to be great friends, I can just tell."

As soon as Paul ordered us some wine and an appetizer, Yana left and I pounced. "So, what's the story with her?"

He smiled, sighed, and told me.

"Ileana and I dated for a few months last year. I never thought she thought it was anything serious, so I broke up with her after she threw a drink in my face in a club one night."

He just sat there, pretending he thought that was going to be enough to satisfy me. When I finally jabbed him with my elbow, he continued, grinning.

Then he told me that, although Yana was really cool in a lot of ways, she was very manipulative with her sexuality. Well, okay, that's not how he put it. What he said was, "She uses sex like a deadly weapon." He gave me a couple of other stories he'd heard about her before their break-up which helped him to make the decision. One of them involved Yana breaking up a marriage by seducing the wife AND the couple's son (on different occasions) and the other was about her starting a fight in a lesbian bar by promising to go home with two different women in the same night.

"So," I said, "she's dangerous and that makes her even more attractive, right?"

And he looked me right in the eye, slipped his hand onto my thigh and caressed me from my knee right up to my shaved, very damp slit, and said, "Well, what do YOU think?"

I turned a few shades of red and my breath caught in my throat, even as his wiggling finger pulled a confession out of me.

"She's hot. You can tell by that little glint in her eye that she's good in bed. I can see why you wanted to date her."

"I didn't really want to date her, but I did want to fuck her and dating was the socially approved way to get into her pants."

I grinned at him, which I think surprised him a little. I'm sure he expected me to say something like, "Is that what you did with me?" So I know what I said next surprised him: "Do you want to fuck her again?"

I'll give him this: he recovers fast. His surprise turned to a slow smile. "Again," he replied, "And again and again and again."

And every time he said it, his finger slipped a little deeper into me and I panted just a little harder. I imagined him with her and was surprised that the image didn't bother me a bit. Maybe that's because the picture of Yana sitting on Paul's beautiful pole flipped back and forth in my mind with a picture of me, doing to Yana's clitty with my tongue what Paul was doing right then to MY clitty with his finger.

He leaned into me and whispered in my ear again. Have you ever seen one of those couples that look like they're having this very intimate conversation in public? My mom calls it "canoodling." Their heads are close together, they're looking deeply into each other's eyes, maybe she's gently stroking his arm or he's stroking her hair. And if they're sitting in a park in broad daylight, all that's probably going on is some romantic chit chat. But if they're side-by-side in a booth in the back of a dimly lit restaurant where you can't see their hands . . . well. . . the conversation may be a bit more like this:

"We'd been dating for a while," Paul said, "and one night, Yana came over to the house for a drink before we went out. She was wearing these low-rise jeans that were so low and so tight they made me want to unzip them with my tongue. Her top was this gauzy, spaghetti strap number and let me tell you, she has a very flat belly."

Paul's finger slid deeper into me, up to the second knuckle. I bit the inside of my mouth, hard, to keep from moaning out loud. To distract myself, I asked if her stomach was the same lickable brown color as her face and hands. Thinking that way didn't really work as a distraction. I'm sure my eyes glazed over, but then he pulled out and pinched me lightly on the thigh. I almost yipped, first from the sharp shock of his departure, then from the pain of the pinch. But I remembered where we were.

"Don't let it show, baby," he said, his eyes dancing with suppressed laughter. "Just enjoy my story." With that, he again slipped his finger up and grazed my hyper-alert hot button. When he saw me take a deep breath, then smile back at him, he continued.

"I fixed her a drink and we were standing in the kitchen, talking about what clubs we were going to later and who she'd told to meet us where. I said something about how hot she looked and how that was creating kind of a dilemma. She was too hot not to take out, but so hot that I didn't want to let her out of the apartment. She looked at me over the rim of her glass and took a long, slow sip. Then she said—and I'll never forget this, mostly because of the way she said it, all husky and sultry and so kind of 'fuck-me-now'—she said: 'It's still pretty early.' She set the drink on the bar, crossed her arms across her body, grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head."

Paul had me on the edge of my seat in so many ways by this time. I knew where the story was going, but I didn't know if he was going to give me the release I already needed so badly. As if answering my second question, he slowed his finger's motion and eased up on the pressure. Bastard.

"She just stood there, one hand on her hip, the other dangling that top, looking at me like, 'So what are you going to do with THIS, big boy?" I'd noticed her nipples through the shirt earlier, pebble-hard and begging to be sucked. Now they were right there in front of me. She was naked from the waist up and her nips were standing out on top of those smooth, upturned handfuls of tit. Her hips and tight waist framed that gorgeous belly. I knew what was just a couple of inches below her belt buckle. I knew what she wanted me to do about it."

I was panting very quietly, I think. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Yana at another table not far from us and I was combining the mental picture of her Paul was painting for me with the reality of her not ten feet away.

"This just goes to show what a brilliant tease Yana is. We'd only been out a few times, but I was already getting familiar with her power games and was learning how to play with her instead of just giving in. It's probably the reason we lasted as long as we did. If I'd just pounced, I would have been another pushover. Instead, I tried to meet the challenge. Instead of just grabbing her, I knelt down in front of her and very slowly reached for that belt buckle. It probably took me two full minutes to unbuckle that belt, unsnap her jeans and pull the zipper all the way down. Then I leaned in and breathed a warm breath on her, very softly. I had my hands on her hips, so I could feel the shiver and I knew I had her."

Oh, God, diary! I'm writing this story the way Paul told it to me, and I'm reliving the story AND the memory of the telling. He's staring into my eyes and it's like he's in my head, monitoring the rising passion I'm feeling and keeping me right --- on --- the --- edge. One second, he's teasing my clit with what feels like a feather, but I know it's his index finger--then he slides it out and gently caresses my thigh, just firmly enough so that it doesn't tickle, but so gently that it's like a little electric circuit is being completed between his finger and the center of my being. And all the time, he's talking to me, telling me the hottest, nastiest story. To top all of that, the subject of that story is standing right in my line of sight in a crowded restaurant!

"Of course, once she gave in that little bit, she had to make her next move and try and get control back. I felt her try and shift away from me, but I had I good grip on her pants at the waist, so I just started pulling them down real slow, but with this firm, steady pressure. I was exposing more and more of her and I was still dressed, which was part of the game. Who's going to be more vulnerable to whom, y'know? She was wearing this tiny, lacy pair of underwear. No obstacle at all. It just came right down with the jeans and, in a minute, I had the pants at mid-thigh and she couldn't have moved if she'd wanted to—but by then, she didn't really want to. I was kissing my way down, now, across her belly and over that sensitive hollow just above the thighs—all around her little black landing strip. I could see the moisture starting to form on her pussy. She took a really deep breath and I glanced up – I just love looking up at a woman from between her legs, especially when she's standing up and looking back at you. There's this charge that runs between us in that moment that I just can't describe. Her boobs looked great from that angle, round and rolling up and down with her breathing, which was getting deeper and faster. I reached up with one hand and tweaked her nipples lightly, but kept my other hand on her ass to hold her to my face. Her stomach jerked with little stabs of pleasure as I dabbed my tongue into her slit over and over. Her eyes were open, but her lids were really heavy and I could tell she just wanted me to get to it – so I stretched it out some more."

Diary, I'm telling you, it was the most incredible seduction I've ever experienced. He was doing to me exactly what he was describing in the story—short, sharp, feather-light stabs into my pussy with his finger. Every time I thought, "This is it. I'm going to cum," he'd slow down or pull his finger out entirely and I knew that, if I moved to get closer to that magic digit, I would draw attention to us that would do nothing but humiliate me.

I thought it couldn't get any hotter than it was already, and then Yana looked up from the table where she was taking orders just as I looked over at her! Suddenly, the image of her looking down at Paul between her legs was superimposed over the real Yana. That "charge" that Paul was talking about in his story took on a life of its own. In that instant, I knew that I was going to be seducing her and I knew it was going to happen soon!

Paul touched my chin and pulled me back under his spell. As I looked deeply into his eyes again, I could feel my acceptance of his control deepen and any lingering resistance to my newly awakened bi-sexuality crumble. As he continued his story of dominating and penetrating Yana on that night months ago, I longed for him to allow me the same privilege. Every breath I took was coupled with a fresh thought, all variations on a theme: control me, dominate me, penetrate me!

He returned to his story.

"I heard her moan. I guess it wasn't really a moan, it was more of a mew, like a cat makes when you stroke them just right. Very high pitched and breathy. I kept licking her, but looked up again as she shifted her weight so she could lean on the kitchen counter and get some leverage. Then she tried grinding her pussy into my tongue, but I just backed off on the pressure a little bit. She bent her knees, frustrated, trying to get me to go deeper or harder, but I just kept pulling back and keeping the pressure and the pace steady. She finally moaned louder, using my name this time, in a kind of petulant little whine – 'Pauuuul!' I knew that was all she wrote."

"I told her to stand still. I unbuckled her sandals and pulled them off, one at a time, maintaining a firm grip on her calf each time so she knew who was in charge, even though I was doing the service. Then I skinned the pants completely down her legs and lifted each leg out. She was leaning against the counter, literally panting for it—kind of like you are, baby—and waiting for my next move. This was a big deal, you understand, her waiting for me to decide how it was going to go. She'd given up trying to manipulate the situation for a few minutes because I'd caught her so completely off guard. This is how I know she WANTS to be controlled too – just like you do."

I would've asked how he knew me so well, diary, but the way I was behaving made it pretty darn clear what a slut I am and what I wanted from him. I also didn't ask because I didn't have the breath for it. It was like my whole universe was three points of contact between us—our eyes, my hand on the back of his neck and his finger in my pussy.