Playing With Brittany Ch. 03

We'd been regulars at Fettuci's ever since, and most of the staff had gotten used to our ordering system. Since Brittany was always indecisive when it came to picking for herself, but was a professional at ordering for other people, we'd decided that we would order for each other whenever we went out for dinner.

It became a regular thing to have Maurice as our server, to the point where we actively requested him when we made reservations.

We thanked him and Maurice scurried off with our orders, dodging the chairs in his path with the agility of a fox.

Our conversation erupted into the usual banter; I'd make fun of her, she'd kick me under the table, leave her foot between my legs and grind her toes into my balls with gentle force. Getting me hard was one of her favourite pastimes, only surpassed by her infatuation with fixing the throbbing problem she'd caused in my pants.

You know, the usual banter.

I knew she was getting me ready for something, teasing me with a small preview of the action to follow.

I asked how her day was, she told me. Back and forth trading stories of our days at work until I noticed my stomach starting to grumble. We sat quietly for a minute before I raised a topic I was afraid could head south rather fast if I didn't handle it properly. "How's your Mom doing?"

"She keeps coming home less and less." She couldn't make eye contact with me. Not out of shame, or guilt, but out of fear that training her eyes on anything other than her cutlery would send her into tears.

Over the past year she'd been growing distant with Brittany and her siblings, pushing the weight of the family on her eldest daughter's shoulders.

"I wouldn't have made it without you." Finally, she looked up at me. There was a soft spark dimming in her eye, but it held on just long enough for me to catch it. "Charlie and Anna love you, and I really don't think I could've handled the pressure if you didn't help me look after them."

"That's what I'm here for." I beamed at her and she returned my ecstatic grin by blowing me a kiss.

"Speaking of being here, I might not be in a while." She started, her voice lowering an octave and telling me she was approaching another sensitive topic. "I got in."

"You're serious?" My reaction was a healthy mix of fear and joy.

A few months ago Brittany had applied for university, but was doubtful she'd get in since the competition for the field she wanted to enter (psychology) was so incredibly intense in the school she'd chosen.

"Yeah, I am." Brittany was blushing a shade reminiscent of her hair, trying desperately to hide her excitement.

"Baby, that's amazing." I held her hand across the table and she tensed up at my touch. "What's wrong?"

"What does that mean for us?"

"What do you mean?"

"Nathan, my campus is four hours away from here. We won't get to see each other." Now the excitement in her voice had fallen away to reveal the uneasiness she was hiding. All the chirping in the background was dialed down, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Of course I didn't want to lose her, but I didn't know if I would be able to go months at a time without seeing her. "We'll make it." I promised her, squeezing her hands gingerly but still getting the same withheld demeanor she was putting up.

"How? Hell, when I go a week without seeing you it crushes me."

"I'll drive out any time I have the chance, I promise."

"Really?"

"Only if you can guarantee me a bed." I winked at her.

"I don't think my roommate is gonna be too happy with us, but you won't even be allowed out of my room to meet her." Finally, a contagious smile etched its way to her lips and gave her no option but to smile.

"And why's that?"

"I'm not gonna let you out of my bed the whole time you visit."

"That sounds like a deal to me."

The perks of dining at the same restaurant so many times were plentiful, but it's fair to say that the best one, by far, has got to be the rush. By rush I mean that the chef, Ronald, would be alerted when we were eating there and would demand his crew prep our meals with lightning speed.

We had met him a couple times, and he had always been so over warmingly welcome, we felt like jerks in comparison.

The rush order must've been put in tonight with extra emphasis, because our meal was already on the way over to us.

"Here you go, guys." Maurice lowered the two plates in front of us and laughed gleefully when our heads started spinning from the incredibly strong smell coming from the dishes. "Ronald says enjoy."

"Tell him we love it already."

"Oh, my friend, he knows." Maurice patted me on the shoulder and waved over to one of her coworkers.

We turned to see a balding man rounding the corner with two tall, bubbly glasses balancing on a silver tray. The server carrying the platter of champagne glasses was named Armano, a man we had only ever seen smile when he laughed at his own jokes. On this occasion, however, he was sporting a wide, toothy grin.

"Oh, Maurice that's so sweet, thank you." Brittany was cooing in a cheerful tone.

"It's our pleasure, ma'am. Complimentary wine for two of our favourite customers." He and Armano bowed and shuffled off, muttering to each other in Italian.

Our table devolved into a level of silence rarely heard by most couples. I knew Brittany had been waiting all day to eat, and wouldn't dare interrupt her during her moment of euphoria. After devouring half her burger, taking time to breathe, and downing a third of her drink, my hungry girl was ready to talk.

"You okay, baby?" I poked fun at her, savouring the explosively powerful flavour of my tilapia.

"Goddamn, I love this place."

"Why insist on coming to an Italian restaurant if you're gonna get a burger?"

"Ronald makes a damn good burger, and he only makes them here. That's reason enough for me to keep coming back here." She was sucking ketchup off her pinky with adorable intensity. Now that she had settled the gurgling in her stomach, I wondered if we were going to restart our game.

Without letting me hold on to that question for more than a couple seconds, Brittany snapped me from my day dream/food coma combination.

"Truth or dare?" She flung a fry into her mouth and bit into it, letting the fried potato straw split between her teeth.

"Truth." I answered.

I don't know if you ever had somebody put you on the spot with eternal commitment when you were 18, but it looks something like this...

"How far do you see our relationship going?" She crunched another crispy fry, acting like she'd asked me what my favourite brand of jam was.

"That's not really a fair question, is it?" My eating had slowed to a near crawl, like I knew my stomach would reject any more food. I felt sick, and didn't know why Brittany was confronting me like this.

"It's just a question, sweetheart. I don't want you actually considering it."

"With that in mind, I guess I'll get rid of you when you have to start taking your teeth out for blowjobs."

"Hmm, I don't have a great dentist."

"You didn't fill out the Dental Care section on the application to date me?"

"They told me not to bother filling it out when there was only one applicant."

I made a face like I'd been seriously hurt, but took all her comments with a grain of salt and a peck on the lips. Most people might not have noticed the dribble of saliva in the corner of their girlfriend's mouth, but over the past 12 months I had become very skilled at telling when she was in the mood to blow me.

"Truth or dare."

"Dare." She jabbed the words at me before I had a chance to finish the bite of fish I took when I closed my sentence.

"Do I really have to tell you what your dare is?" I raised an eyebrow at her and she blushed, shaking her head vigorously.

"Right now?" She squeaked in a high pitched, nervous tone. I nodded my head, indicating it was time for her to swallow her pride, and a whole lot more along with it.

With her meal mostly finished, Brittany had no problem giving up early and skipping right to dessert. She ducked under the long, flowing tablecloth and hid herself from view.

Only I was aware of the seductive dance that was taking place under the white, linen table covering. With my dick already fished out of my pants, Brittany was working tirelessly to stroke the semi hard on I had up to a full-fledged raging erection.

The reward for her efforts, or what some might call "work", was a long, throbbing cock. Bursting at the seams to be inside any of her tight, inviting holes. At this point I didn't care which tunnel I was burrowed in, I just wanted to cum.

Nobody was better at that feat than Brittany. She was an incredible blowjob artist, and she knew it.

Thankfully, she was also a very generous person and was always keen to bruise her throat with the bulbous head of my dick.

Her tiny hands took a grip around the base, smoothing out the skin up to the tip and spitting on the inflated, pink head. The bubbly spit acted like lube as she continually drove her clenched fist over the glistening crown and tightly stuck to the length of my pole, stroking her fist up and down through the slick, sticky saliva she was dripping down onto my cock.

I didn't have to wait long to feel the warmth of her expertly trained mouth wrap around me, gobbling up half of my dong in one greedy head bob. Her jaw opened widen, accommodating for the extra meat she still had to deal with.

Like a soldier she trudged on, sliding one inch after another down her gullet, constricting and squeezing until her chin was digging against my balls. I bit down on my lower lip to stop myself from crying out in ecstasy as I felt her gag around my pulsating member.

Maurice is nothing if not an attentive man, and as so he always knows when we're finished with our food and is prompt to take it away. I would've given anything to have a valid excuse to tell him to just leave me alone, but nothing sprung to mind.

"Are you two all finished here?" He gleamed with a chipper attitude.

"Yes, we are." I choked out the last word, but almost had my voice catch in my throat when Brittany shoved her tongue against the bottom of my dick, flattening the spongy, sensitive head directly against the squishy back of her throat.

"Splendid." Our faithful server bent down to pick up our dishes and I nearly had a heart attack thinking he would hear the sounds of Brittany slurping my cock under the table.

I barely made it through the short conversation without busting my load, but Brittany was such a master of controlling my orgasm that I knew it wouldn't come until she wanted it to.

Maurice shuffled off with our plates, providing Brittany with the only green light she needed to finish off what she'd so bravely started. She maintained her place on the throne of deepthroat stardom by sinking my cock to the root in her gurgling, sticky throat, with one hard push.

The gag reflex I triggered served only to enhance the compression her throat muscles had on my cock, effectively bear hugging my rock hard shaft as she pulled her face away from my crotch. Little gasps and coughs chimed from below the table, but my girl was quick to stifle them with her hand.

All the while she was keeping a firm hold on my cock with her other hand, maintaining the momentum achieved by her extensive throatjob. She was successful in lathering my pole with her gooey throat juices. Long, dripping strands of spit were trailing from her tiny clenched fist down to my balls.

I could hear her whispering "more" to herself over and over again under the tablecloth, quietly begging me to hold on until she could sedate the itch in her throat. To be honest, I was at her mercy. She'd learned that if she wanted to make me cum, there was nothing I could ever do to stop her.

And, come on, why the hell would I?

With a deep breath and a reassuring head nod, Brittany fit her lips around the shiny, purple knob and proceeded to dip and raise her head until she'd worked into a steady rhythm. Her eyes closed and it became second nature for her, repeating the same pattern continually bringing herself close to gagging depth.

The mucky, bubbly spit collecting in her mouth had already completely lathered itself over my cock. Even my balls, currently being pulled on by her agile fingers, had been coated in the slippery lubrication. The pounding she was giving her throat was unforgiving; it felt like she was using my cock to punish her larynx with as much force as she could muster.

The bulging of her throat walls was kneading my cock like expertly skilled tools. I couldn't last much longer in the air tight sealed oven I was trapped in. Dripping, tight suction was massaging my throbbing erection. Her fingers still kept up their pattern of spiraling around my balls and tugging on them like juicy, round fruit.

With wicked efficiency, Brittany brought the honey in my nuts to a boiling point from which there was no returning.

She waited patiently for me to check around for anybody approaching our table, and didn't push me over the edge until I patted her on the head to let her know the coast was clear. Like I had just released a tigress in heat, Brittany wrapped both hands around my cock and jerked it with her mouth sealed around the gleaming bulb at the end of her toy.

Her tongue swirled around the engorged helmet like a blender, slurping up all the saliva she had drooled over my rod. The signs of my orgasm are easy for Brittany to spot, and she knows just how to manipulate me when she does.

Like a mosquito, she made sure her lips were vacuum tight around my cock before diving down and engulfing half of it like it was effortless. With her extremely tight grip around my shaft, she bobbed her head in perfect succession until she felt the first dribbles of cum dancing on her tongue.

Sometimes Brittany loves to swallow, says that she really enjoys the taste and the warmth of it sliding down her throat. But sometimes, even rarer times, she wants to have her face painted white.

This was one of those times.

By the time the first stream of cum rocketed from the tip of my cock, Brittany had already moved back, ready and waiting to accept her pearly gift. That first blast stretched up from her chin, where it was collecting and forming a small pool, over her mouth and up to her nose. The second was just as strong, splattering her cheek with one focused stream and spraying little specks into her eyes, forcing her to shut them.

With her eyes now closed, she was blind to see where she was aiming the spouting hose. A fourth, then a fifth rope, were fired in two broken up bursts down her cheek. Reaching from just under her eye, down over her nose and finally dumping whatever dribbled remained into her mouth.

Gargling and swallowing all the sticky, warm cum that was collected in her mouth, along with anything she could reach with her tongue or scoop of with her finger, Brittany happily let out a deep sigh.

I passed her a napkin under the table. After cleaning up, she rose from below on my signal and took her seat again. A little dab of cum was stuck on her finger, and she teased me by slowly sucking it off.

"Are you full yet?" I questioned her, stealthily zipping up my pants and redoing my belt.

"If you're asking if I want more cum, the answer is always yes." She batted her eyelashes playfully. "But in terms of food, I think we need to get the bill, get the fuck out of here, and get you in my ass."

I didn't get my hopes up; she jokes about anal a lot but that didn't mean I would get it.

Like clockwork, Maurice appeared at our table with our cheque. "I heard somebody say cheque." Brittany was red in the face.

"What else did you hear?" She whimpered.

"Nothing more, ma'am." He winked at me. "You two have a great night."

Brittany sighed loudly. "He heard, god dammit."

Letting her pout to herself, I paid the bill in cash like I always do. Maurice has gotten used to our cash preference, and had started just dropping off the bill and leaving so we wouldn't hold him up if it was busy.

"He hears stuff like that all the time." I kissed her hand and she rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, but it's never been about MY ass before." She grumbled as she rose from her seat.

We strolled from the restaurant like we weren't chomping at the bit to fuck each other's brains out. Her hand in mine helped quell the anxiousness I had, but I knew either way I had to get her home to bed. Nobody was home at my house, so we had the home all to ourselves.

"I wish we'd gotten dessert." She remarked.

"Sweetheart, you have a creampie waiting for you at home, remember?" I teased her, grabbing her by the waist, pulling her into a hug and kissing her neck.

"That's so corny." She slapped me and skipped away from me. We reached the car and climbed inside, not making it out of the parking lot before she piped up from the passenger seat. "I was serious about earlier."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, my kitten is awfully sore from earlier, you pounded the stuffing out of me."

"No, I pounded the stuffing into you." Sex jokes; my favourite.

"That's true, and I can still feel it sloshing around in there." She patted her panties and rubbed her fingers against her clit over the clothes. "But I meant about anal. My bum is primed and ready for you."

"Brittany, are you sure?"

"It's been too long, I need you to loosen me up like I used to be."

She was right, she'd gone through a phase about six months ago where she wanted to see if she could do nothing but anal for three weeks, calling it her "buttslut phase". Don't get me wrong, it was heaven for me. Though I think by the end she was starting to feel the effects of having her ass rammed every day, occasionally multiple times a day.

"Okay, baby, I'll loosen you." I kissed her hand and she rolled her eyes again.

"My butt-fucking hero." She smiled.

True love, people. It's just the grandest.