Progressive Dinner

"You obviously love my breasts just the way they are. I want to see them the way you do."

"Do you have any idea how close you are to having them kissed right now?"

She gave a happy little yelp that turned into a giggle, and swatted my arm playfully. "You're hopeless."

"Quite the opposite, I'm very hopeful." She swatted me again, then hugged my arm up against those barely-covered breasts.

The waiter packed up our leftovers, and we left in a little cloud of sexual tension. That's not the right word, there was nothing tense about it, but her afternoon of seduction had me raging to get her back to the hotel.

"After dessert," she said. She was going to draw this out even longer. She hugged my arm to her side as we walked, keeping it against that lovely, shifting breast. When we were two or three blocks from the restaurant, she stopped and rummaged in her purse. When her hand emerged, she held out a silvery egg, almost as wide as two of her slim fingers but not as long, with a cord loop at one end. Next to it, in her hand, lay a small pink case with buttons on it.

"What's this?" I picked up the little box and pressed a button. The egg buzzed in her hand. She gave a startled twitch when it did, followed by an embarrassed grin.

"It's a remote control, obviously." She unscrewed the end of the egg, flicked a switch inside, screwed it closed again, and returned it to her purse.

"But if it's turned off, ..."

"I have another one just like it." She cut short the question I didn't know how to frame. Then she whispered, "Inside."

Like a dolt, I just looked blank for a moment, and her face started to fall. Then I got it and grinned. I pressed another button and she startled again, this time with a flick of her hip. This was too much. I turned her toward me, wrapped her in a huge hug, and kissed her. I touched another button, too, and felt her crumple against me when I did. This could be way too tempting - she had just given me a power that I could overuse much too easily. I always thought of myself as an expressive lover. She practically had my hands tied, knowing that I'd have to contain myself around her near-naked state and avoid pressing buttons a lot more than I pressed.

It had been her game so far, and I had a lot of catching up to do. We walked toward our dessert destination, arm in arm, and I continued murmuring my excitement to her. I told her how my body responded to each of her teases, and she held me closer. At one point, I thought her hand low on my butt was going to reach my balls, and my thighs clenched around her hand. She giggled and leaned up for a kiss, then backed off a bit. At a few particularly vivid moments in my chatter, I punctuated some sentence by giving her a buzz (I still didn't know what all those buttons did). Each time, she clasped me tight; once, she seemed to hang from my shoulder.

When anyone but me looked at Elle, they'd see a neatly dressed, attractive woman with a slightly daring décolletage. Some might even say, "if you don't have it, don't show it." Poo on them. What she has is charming - and she shares. When I looked, I saw her bare, since the jacket and skirt were long lost to my vision of her underneath. I stopped myself from pawing her too crudely, but that restraint just added to the eagerness I had building for her.

We got to our last stop and ordered. I hadn't reached the uncomfortable part of fullness, and didn't want to. I ordered the sorbet triple - mango, raspberry, and key lime - and one each of brandy and espresso to sip on the side. Elle got the tira misu, on the promise that I'd help her with it, and an old port. By this time, every bite of her dessert was a tease. She had drawn me completely into her game, and seemed to take positive pleasure in watching me squirm. I sipped and kept up. I alternated telling her what I felt, and how I imagined my hands feeling her. Both had her wriggling in her seat, even without the button box. She took turns too, mock-bemoaning how damp the back of her skirt had become, reminding me of her shorn state, and imagining how my body responded to hers. Elle is a scientist. She observes for a living. She had me nailed, down to every touch and twitch. I countered, telling her what I could do, once we had a door between us and the world.

Finally, her cat-tongue cleaned the last bit of whipped cream from her lips. It looked like a tie when we put money down for the check, so we agreed on halvesies.

We started out the door, arm in arm, still telling our stories. By then, our fantasies were so enmeshed that I'd interrupt her or she'd interrupt me and there was no surprise, only new direction for our shared vision. We strolled the cliffside walk, back to the hotel room that I couldn't wait for. We reached a bench that overlooked the bay, and I guided her down to it. This time, she resisted. She might have been as worked up as I was, and that's saying a lot. Still, she followed. We sat and watched the last line of light low down to the horizon.

The spot was ideal. It had enough traffic to be safe. Still, we had hit the moment between the moms'n'kids and the night people. We had the overlook to ourselves, and I had Elle to myself. As soon as we sat, I cupped her breast from the side, the way she had stopped before. She just snuggled into me, knowing that I'd respect her sense of privacy - whatever the hell that meant today. I reached down between us, to the button at the side of her waistband, and popped it open. My arm around her shoulder felt a moment of tension, then surrender. I pulled that side zipper the six or eight inches down from her waist to hip, where no one could see it between us, and she was open to me. Clothed and in public, but open to me.

Once she understood, she melted. I made sure we'd just look like some couple kissing, but reached down the front of her skirt. Opening the waistband released lush scent of Elle, but my hand went further. My other arm hugged her slender shoulder, low, and I cupped the side of her breast awkwardly. A jacket tailored for a "perky" figure didn't fit her precisely - lord, there must be a tailor somewhere who knows how real women like Elle are shaped. As a result, her lapels tended to flop open when she wasn't absolutely upright. Seeing a shadowy nipple inside, I tickled it through the jacket and she shivered against me.

I reached down the loose front of her skirt to her new-smooth pubis. Parted legs invited me to do any I wanted - anything she wanted. I don't think she'll ever understand all that went through my mind at that point. Her clean feel and her response made me want to give the best I gave ever, and the public setting gave a "bad girl" edge. Man, she had me going.

But, with my lover so close at hand and so close to her own culmination, my happy sense of duty actually won out over my own impatience. Getting her excited gets me excited, and she was plenty excited.

So, I reached under her loose waistband and felt smooth Elle, with her folds unfolding and her black skirt hiding what had soaked down into it. I reached up from the side, where my arm hugged around under her shoulder, and hugged a jacketed breast. The hand on her breast still held the remote control, and I pressed buttons at the moments when I thought they would help most.

I just petted her vulva, with wide warm circles around her vagina and tiny touches over her clitoris. I tugged on the little loop of cord,just like the one she had showed me but only enough to tease, and felt the silent buzz deep inside her when I pressed a button. I cupped her breast, kissed her wide-open face, and moved my fingers between her crossed legs. When she started to come, I let my kiss tug on hers with teeth. I touched all the things she liked best, and I buzzed as each peak crested.

The moment passed. Then she sat up and tensed. She looked all around, and started to ask "Who ..."

"No one," I answered. "At most, someone saw a couple hugging. No one saw anything, except me. And you."

She slumped against my chest at that point, half sobbing and half laughing. "That's not what I imagined," she giggled. "My fantasy was that you'd come first, once we got to the hotel." I disengaged my hand gently from her folded legs. I raised damp fingers to my nose and tongue.

"You almost won - and the hotel had nothing to do with it." Just a few strokes at the right moment would have had me coming in my pants. I pulled that swatch of cotton out of my pocket and showed it to her. "I think this is drying out. May I?"

"Of course." She lay back with her legs away from each other. I reach past her waistband again and swabbed her carefully with the bit of cloth as I nuzzled her neck. Then I lifted it and inhaled the rich scent of Elle. I gave it a leisurely kiss and put it in my shirt pocket, where its aroma wasn't far from my nose. She smiled and shook her head indulgently at this little bit of worship, as if seeing something she'd never quite understand.

Elle put herself back together. She closed the skirt, found the shoe that had flipped off, and batted my hands away as she tried to act demure. She wanted to get behind closed doors almost as much as I did at that point, maybe more.

"Our room is already paid for, and it's not being used. Shall we?" In truth, I could almost have dragged her under the next hedge, and she might have pulled harder than I pushed. Despite her breathy weakness, she agreed, and set out. She walked with a lovely, post-coital languidity, fluid and graceful. And, as she walked, she told me about the trickle she felt running down one thigh, and the wet spot that she hoped her black skirt would hide. I told her about the seam in my underwear scraping the bottom of my balls. We had each other talked into a sweating frenzy.

Then, in a few minutes, the hotel's bright facade welcomed us. We got our bags from the car, found our room, and started our evening in earnest.