RMN Pt. 03: Cottage Bistrot

RestaurantMeetsNET Pt. 03:- Cottage Bistrot

Through the Looking Glass, View 1

Marion was feeling all of sixty-years-old when she awoke the next morning.

Her mouth and throat felt as if she had sand glued to all the surfaces. Her knees and thighs were stiff, and they ached. Her back ached. Her nipples were tender. Her pussy was outright sore. And her uterus felt as if it had been moved to a location it shouldn't really occupy.

'God!' she thought, 'How the hell much did I drink last night?'

She managed to get moving on her third attempt; and managed to throw back the bed-covers enough that she could struggle off the bed; and then stand groggily beside it.

She groaned as she straightened, legs spread for balance, and her right knee braced against the side of the bed for support.

She breathed deeply as her left hand massaged her lower abdomen, and her right hand cradled her pussy. It was wet? She lifted her right hand towards her face. Her pussy was oozing a sort of white mucus. That smelled, sort of -- of sperm[?] Pussy lubricant-ish?

Then the memory of the whole of the previous evening blossomed into her awareness.

Freddie! Where was he? He'd fucked her then fucked-off! Deserting her! Bastard!

She collapsed back to sit on the side of the bed, head in her hands.

'Oh, God! No fool like an old fool!' she thought.

Then she lurched to her feet, all joints, and organs protesting. But she had just identified an urgent need to urinate, and it could not be denied.

She stumbled to the bathroom and flopped to the toilet pedestal -- squeaked and nearly voided her bladder on the floor at the surprise of her sensitive labia being squashed against the cold toilet lid.

After lifting that, and collapsing back on the seat proper, she relaxed her Kegal muscles, and her bladder did void with a gush; and a groan from her.

Having wiped, she then stood with a groan; and, trying to push her hair off her face, she stumbled to the hand-basin, and leaned against it with straight arms, and lifted her head to gaze at the mirror.

Catching a blurred image of herself, she groaned at the -- at least -- seventy-year-old person that looked back at her.

Hair all rat's-nesty; panda eyes; and vampire-like bloodied mouth.

'Serves me right!' she thought, 'thoughts more on sex than make-up removal!'

She stood trying to get her eyesight clear for a few seconds before she realised that there was writing on the mirror.

But try as she might, she couldn't focus on it enough to decipher it.

"Coffee." she muttered, turned to leave, then turned back and washed her hands, then weaved her way to fetch the kettle, returned and filled it.

It took her three attempts to get the kettle re-seated on its base-stand. Then she emptied two of the coffee sachets into a cup, flopped back onto the bed to await the kettle's boiling.

She then, before it actually got to boil -- very -- carefully, filled the cup with the hot water, then re-sat on the bed nursing the cup as the coffee cooled enough to drink comfortably. Eventually, having drunk as much as she could stomach, she put the cup on the bedside shelf, collapsed back on the bed with a groan, pulled the bedding back over her, and flaked-;out for a while.

When she stirred a little later, she felt at least half human, and only ten years older than her age.

She decided to retry decoding the mirror scrawl. And this is what she found: -

"Sorry to leave you this morning, but I had to get to work and since my phone alarm didn't wake you, thought I'd let you sleep -- even though you looked so Hot with your mussed hair and panda eyes and your very tasty-looking wet puffy pussy."

She shuddered and looked at her crotch in disbelief -- surely -- no... he couldn't have...? Tasty?

She continued reading...

"Wanted to wake you and have a re-run of last night's festivities but thought it would be better to let you rest till tonight.

I'll treat you to dinner tonight if you haven't had enough of me.

If you have, ring or text me on 077xx xxxxxx to let me down easy.

If you do fancy getting together for dinner, give me a ring, and I'll book a table. I'll come to you at 7:30 for an Aperitif before we go out to eat. Remember NORWICH to save time."

* * * * *

By the time she had finished reading, she was feeling a whole lot better. NOT abandoned!

'NORWICH? Aperitif? When he collects me? He surely can't mean what I think he means?'

She staggered back to raid her handbag and returned to the bathroom with her phone. The photo she took of the mirror also captured her condition, including her 'wet puffy pussy'.

Then, using toilet paper and some of her perfume, she cleaned the felt-tip message off the mirror.

'Shit it's half-past ten!'

An hour later, after another coffee, (and ibuprofen), and after having showered, dressed, and primped, she felt a little closer to her true age ("the wrong side of fortyish").

Aperitif

At exactly 7:30 p.m., Freddie knocked on her door. She whisked it open with almost no delay, and he entered as he presented her with a bunch of flowers already in a vase of water.

As she closed the door, she shivered at the burning look she saw in those pale grey eyes with the very dark limbal ring.

He wrapped her carefully in his arms; and kissed her.

Very thoroughly!

His left hand went to her bum; his right to her nipples (they had announced their interest in Freddie, at his knock, by pushing out her bra and dress material in their eagerness to greet him).

Then he released her, and holding her hand, turned her in a slow-motion 'twirl'.

"Oh, wow, Marion! I am probably repeating my dropped gaffes from yesterday; but you have excelled yourself today. You look super-Hot!"

Marion gave a delighted giggle.

"You do 'like', then?" and 'twirled' herself a couple of times.

"I bought the dress and shoes this afternoon, especially for our tryst this evening!"

"Oh, yes! Most definitely do I 'like'! You put women half your age to shame!"

He kissed her again, then led her to the bed, lowered her to sit on the edge, knelt before her, kissed her again, then: -

"Aperitif time, I'm afraid."

And looking into her eyes, he slowly slid the hem of her dress up her thighs with both hands, as she developed a gentle pink blush on her face.

When his hands had moved the dress nearly to her waist, his hands terminated on the cheeks of her bum -- without encountering panties.

"Oh, my Aphrodite!" he groaned. She was smooth and shiny.

He slowly raised her legs as they continued to gaze in each other's eyes, and she gently allowed herself to lay back on the bed.

She whimpered as she watched him as he gently draped her legs over his shoulders; groaned in anticipation as his mouth descended, via a tongue stroke along her thigh, to her now 'very wet and puffy pussy'.

And screamed as his tongue followed through and lapped slowly through her cleft; then she orgasmed and screamed again as he licked then sucked her clitoris.

Then she orgasmed; and squirted (for the first time in many years), and screamed, as he sucked her clit and stroked her G-spot.

Then he moved up her, and they kissed as she came down from her double high.

When her breathing had returned to (almost) normal, they left for dinner; she, without underwear, but with definite pangs of anxiety -- after all, she wasn't anywhere near... eighteen-ish [?]... anymore -- to be taking such a ridiculous action; and just because a very hot young man only hoped she would.

And, of course, he without washing his face.

Tease

The young man attending the reception desk of the Cottage Bistrot was very professional as he commenced greeting them at their entry.

"Good evening, Madam, Sir; I am Martin. Do you have a book...ing...?"

But because he was still a little young to handle the assault of the strong vaginal lubricant odour that drifted from both customers, he lost the thread of his greeting.

That erotic odour, coming strongly from the very fine-looking woman, dressed extremely attractively, confused him as he gawped, at Marion, a little; and it took him a couple of seconds as he attempted to quash the flush of arousal and hence embarrassment that ripped through him as he tried to locate the table assigned them.

Recognising that the young man was turned-on by her, Marion, being herself already so turned-on, couldn't pass-up the opportunity of 'flirting' with him.

As his summoned waiter turned to lead Freddie and Marion to their table, Marion paused as she passed Martin, and reached up with her left hand to lightly cup his right cheek and gave the left end of his lips a soft kiss, as, while hidden from the rest of the restaurant by his body, her right hand converted his gathering erection into a steel bar by lightly, and surreptitiously, stroking it through his trousers.

"Thank you, my dear. I really appreciate this." she whispered into his ear, thereby causing him to shiver closer to full arousal, as she gave his erection a final couple of squeezes, in support as she said 'this', before she swayed slinkily off, following their guide.

Martin gazed after Marion, and swallowed convulsively, as he watched her gorgeous legs -- with the hot shoes at one end, and the slinky sway of hips at the other -- with no VPL. So, was she going Commando? Sometimes he really hated his job. So many choice women, and so little opportunity.

And fuck all this fine-wines bullshit! However heady, once drunk, they were gone! Had he been a violinist -- that one -- would have been his Stradivarius. Aged to perfection, and so ready for repeat performances; but with... oh, so many more than just four strings to pluck and stroke; and whilst having her vibrating body to nestle his chin -- and rub his cheek -- against.

(He had already started to develop a ... 'gay' ... persona -- for work. It generally left a woman's escort more relaxed -- because the escort felt less under threat from Martin's tall, young, handsomeness -- and allowed Martin more leeway with the women themselves.)

Martin dropped his pen as he jumped as the "Harrumph" from the guest standing next to him brought him back to 'work'.

It took nearly ten minutes before his erection dissipated. And as it did, and his foreskin popped back over the head, he winced and fiddled with his groin to extract the pubic hairs that had got trapped under his foreskin. He resolved that he would have to keep his pubes well-trimmed... that sort of thing was now happening far too frequently for comfort.

Dinner

Had the other customers really paid attention to these two of their fellow diners, the discussions going on at Table 14 would not have been remarkable, from a distance; apart from maybe that the couple were extra[?] animated, and their heads were held closer together than usual as they spoke to each other. But the discussion was NOT to be heard by others.

* * * * *

"No, Freddie! As I just said! This is all voluntary; so each client can build a group of contacts that he or she is comfortable with. No-one pays anything, so no-one gets cheated. The system just puts people who are in an area -- where they live, or where they are visiting -- like us, here -- with someone else."

"So ... if this ... Restaurant-Meets-Net is so good, how come you didn't get someone organised?"

"Again, like I said, it allows people who are each other's contacts to get together. None of my contact group were either free or in this area at this time. And I didn't feel up to organising someone new. Even so, we are always on the lookout for 'new blood'.

"And because there is no financial compulsion, most of the clientele are well behaved and sensible. And 'yes' there are the Doms and Subs; and the BDSM lovers. But they are expected to sign up for their 'fetish' groups. And, 'Yes', there are the homosexual and lesbian groups; and the mature men for younger women, and the obvious other way around -- the younger women for older men.

"You apply on-line, with a brief bio, and select an 'Interest Option' or two. Then someone will contact you, and do a phone interview, then you provide a photo.

"After that, at some point you will be contacted, and be presented with the photos and brief bio's of Assessors who are prepared to meet with you. You select the one you prefer, or decline all, and then, later another selection will be offered.

"An organised Meet is referred to as a 'Date'. You and the Assessor will then arrange a mutually acceptable Date, which covers where and when you meet.

"If you both consider the Date has gone well, you are each at liberty to progress that day or evening to a full sexual liaison, or postpone that step, if you so wish.

"But you will not get any 'proper' dates until you have three Assessors' okays.

"Dress code is, at least, smart casual; which for men, is expected to include a tie. Anything less must be mutually agreed."

"And 'yes', many of the female clientele tend to be like me, mature, and often 'professional', and wanting the likes of you -- young, educated, and" here she giggled, "randy! Like you. But as I said there are younger woman on our books who want a mature man.

"Of course, once you have a contact group, you are perfectly at liberty to contact each other directly; but after any Date you are expected to send a report. This just can be a one liner. It ensures 'HQ' can keep each client's bio. and status up-to-date for new contacts."

Through the Looking Glass, View 2

If Marion thought she looked close to seventy when she saw herself on that first morning; on this second morning, she thought she looked closer to how her great-;grandmother would look -- after being disinterred.

But God! Did she feel brilliant! Of course, she was feeling all the physical discomforts that she had felt the first morning, only more so, after the repeat abuse which Freddie had lavished upon her. After all, on this second go-round, she had a better grasp on his capabilities -- but this time, those feelings were all so satisfying for her.

She would make sure she took a minimal dose of a laxative before she got home; it may not work as well as in Frederick Forsyth's book 'The Day of the Jackal' -- where chewing pieces of cordite could make 'The Jackal' a bit off-colour' (at least); but -- it worked well enough for her, as the laxative usually dulled her skin tones and took the glow off her. The last thing she wanted was her husband suspecting anything -- the relationship was already under a bit of strain; and the laxative's effects only lasted a couple of hours.

* * * * *

End of Part 3