The Book of Song Ch. 03

William grabbed two glasses of wine from what looked like a dedicated shelf in the kitchen and placed them on the counter.

"Red or white?" He asked me.

I wasn't a big wine fan, but from what I remembered, white wines were typically less bitter. "White," I replied.

Then he opened something that looked like a small refrigerator, containing rows of wine bottles, took one out, and quickly uncorked it.

As he was poring the wine to our glasses, he said the name and the year, a combination that sounded expensive and was probably meant to impress me. But I didn't care for wine. "To us," he said and raised his glass. I raised mine and sipped. It tasted like any other wine I had ever tasted before. Like a bitter grape juice.

"You have a great view here," I said, looking at the balcony.

"Come on," he said. "I'll show you."

He opened the glass door and we went outside, carrying our wine-glasses. The view was amazing. From his balcony you could see downtown Pittsburgh in all its glory, with the Allegheny river running at its side.

"Wow," I said. "That's amazing!"

William placed his glass on the parapet and stood behind me, placing his hands on my shoulders, his mouth and nose touching the back of my head. "No," he said, and sniffed my hair. "You're amazing."

William moved my hair aside and started kissing the side of my neck. My heart was beating fast. I wanted him. Not because of his luxury car, his designer condo or his expensive taste in wine. I wanted him because he made me feel desired, in the most primitive, carnal way. And he wasn't shy about it.

His hands wondered down my body and landed on the buckle of my jeans. Without waiting for permission or any sort of response he undid the buckle and unzipped my jeans. Then he tucked his right hand under the waistband of my panties.

"You are a hairy one," he said as he felt my pubic hair, which I had trimmed that day, for that very date.

"I did shave for you," I protested.

"Well, not everything," he replied.

His fingers went further down. "I see you like me," he noted as he felt my wetness.

"It's probably the wine," I replied. "Or the view..."

He found my clit and started turning his index finger around it. Unlike some other men I'd been with, William knew exactly what he was doing. I wasn't surprised. As a surgeon he had to know his anatomy. And physiology. He had to know how by stimulating that little button inside my panties, he was causing an increase in my heart-rate, which increased the blood flow through my body, requiring more oxygen to be absorbed, which resulted in an increase in my rate or respiration which in turn caused me sigh as I exhaled. The excess of oxygen-rich blood would then be directed to different organs in my body, such as my lips, nostrils, nipples and clit. My vagina would produce thick fluids to lubricate it for a prospective penetration.

"Do you like it?" He asked me.

"Oh," I sighed. "The view up here is lovely..."

As response to me mocking him, William pulled his finger out of my panties, and smelled his finger. "I sure like the smell of your cunt," he said.

I needed a minute to get over his used of the C-word. At this point I should have known to expect the unexpected from him. I was the farthest thing you could imaginer from a prude, and I had my fair share of using dirty words, especially when talking to sex partners, especially as foreplay. But somehow, the C-word always seemed more demeaning than other words. Using it seemed to me like crossing a line. And William had just crossed it.

So after taking a breath, I crossed that line too. I turned around to face him, grabbed his finger and licked it. "Me too," I said. "The advantage of having a cunt is that I can smell it whenever I feel like it."

William seemed to like my response. He smiled at me, almost laughing at my joke.

I wrapped my hands around he neck and brought him closer to me, for a soft kiss on the lips. "So, are we going to just stand here, or are you going to fuck me?" I asked.

===========================

William took my hand and lead me back to the living room. He closed the glass sliding door behind us and started to undress. He kicked his shoes off, undid his belt and removed his pants along with his boxers. His dick was fully erect. Its size wasn't very impressive, but it wasn't the smallest I'd seen either.

I kicked off my sneakers and unbuttoned my jeans. Then I looked through the glass door, worried we could be seen from neighboring buildings. "Aren't we going to be more comfortable in the bedroom?" I asked.

"I like fucking on the sofa," he said.

"Can't people see us here?" I asked.

"Let them," he said. "I've got nothing to hide..."

I looked outside once more. I could see many windows on neighboring buildings from which neighbors could potentially see us, but all of them were relatively far away. Hopefully, too far away to understand what they were looking at.

So I removed my jeans and panties, not before taking the condom I'd prepared for this occasion out of my pocket. I lay on the couch and handed the condom to William.

"A condom?" He asked in disgust, and threw it on the floor. "I'm not using condoms! When I fuck you I want to feel your cunt, not some piece of rubber!"

I crossed my legs. "No condom, no sex," I told him. "The last thing I need right now is a pregnancy in the middle of my internship."

"Don't worry," he said. "I don't want any babies either. I'll pull out on time."

I didn't need to go through medical school to know that the withdrawal method, or in its scientific name, coitus interruptus, was one of the least effective contraception methods out there, if not the single least effective one. But I was horny. So horny. So I opened my legs and said, "OK, just be sure to pull out on time."

"Don't worry," he said with a naughty smile. "I'm gonna fuck you right, and then I'm gonna cum all over you."

He got on the sofa, lay on top of me, and guided his dick inside me. He felt good. I don't know if it was the long time I'd been craving for sex or the gift he had in making me want him, but although his unimpressive penis, having him inside me, pushing himself in and out of me, felt great.

Looking in his eyes I saw he enjoyed it too. He too had craved this for a long time. I heard him sighing faster and faster as he got closer to a climax. I smiled at him, letting him know, that although I was probably not going to cum before him, I was enjoying it.

Then I felt his dick hardening. His expression became more intense as, I knew, he was holding it in. Then, as promised, he got his dick out of me, held it in his hand on top of my belly, and with a few masturbation-like strokes released his thick, white cum. The sticky fluid dropped on my blouse and I could feel it penetrating the fabric, softly touching my belly.

William sat down on the sofa to catch his breath. He looked at me, smiling, breathing heavily.

"Did you like fucking me?" I asked.

He nodded, still too out-of-breath to speak.

I was still horny, as I didn't get my share yet. I knew I couldn't count on him, so I decided to help myself. I spread my legs again, and placed my right index finger on my clit. From where William was sitting, he had a first-row seat to my show. I looked at his expression as I ran my finger softly on my clit, in small circles. He smiled, letting me know he enjoyed the show.

Then I swapped fingers and let my left index finger run on my clit, and pushed my right middle finger inside my opening. William was watching my two hands as they were working hard on pleasing me. I could tell he had never seen a woman doing this in front of him. And I could tell he liked it. I could tell he was sorry he had used up all his juice, and now all he could do was watch me as I was bringing myself to an orgasm.

This thought, that he was there, watching and enjoying the show, it was all I needed to get over the top. My head went back as all my muscles flexed, and I cried and moaned out loud, getting one of the best orgasms I had ever given myself.

"You have fire in you," he said. "I'll give you that. You know what you want and you take it. I like that!"

As his words sunk in, I realized he was describing me exactly the way I had thought about him. And that thing he said he liked about me... that was the exact thing that made me want him so badly. Could it be that we were such a good match?

"I'm gonna hit the sack," he suddenly said, standing up, collecting his clothes from the floor. "Do you need money for a cab?"

I was confused. Was that it? The date was over? He got sex and a show, and I was now free to go my way? I was half naked, my hands and thighs soaked with my juices, my blouse stained with his semen... I couldn't see myself going down to the street to find a cab. But I guess I knew what I was getting into. He wasn't the cuddling kind. He got what he wanted, and now I was on my own.

"No," I replied, hiding my disappointment. "I have Uber."

"Great," he said. "Just close the door on your way out."

I waited for him to get to his bedroom before getting up from the sofa. The sofa itself was soaked, but that wasn't my concern. I went to the kitchen and found a roll of paper towels. I used two of them to dry my pussy and inner thighs, and with another I tried to soak as much as I could of the semen stain on my blouse. Then I got dressed and ordered an Uber back to my apartment.

===========================

The next day I got a text from William. "Hi Song, I want to make it up to you for not buying you dinner last night. Have you heard of Chez Pierre? They have good traditional Bistro dishes. I got reservations for us for tomorrow at eight o'clock."

I was surprised. Based on how he treated me at the end of our date, I thought he wanted nothing to do with me anymore. In fact, after he had made me find my way home by myself, I wasn't sure I wanted anything to do with him either. As for Chez Pirerre, I did know the place, but only by reputation. I knew it was a relatively new upscale restaurant in which people would spend half a salary for a couple's dinner without the wine. I knew that William was the kind of guy who would try to impress women by spending money, but in this case, I really wanted to check it out for myself, regardless of how I felt about him. And if he was buying, who was I to say no?

"Sure," I replied.

"Great," he wrote. "I'll see you there."

But then I realized I didn't have anything to wear for such a restaurant. I thought for a short while and then decided to approach Donna, who was always dressed nicely when she wasn't wearing her scrubs, and ask her if she was willing to go shopping with me.

"Sure," she said with a smile. "I would never say no to shopping!"

I told Donna I had a date at an upscale restaurant, and she suggested this store at a nearby shopping mall, with a large collection of elegant dresses. She asked me what my budget was, and after I had told her, she laughed. "Let's see what we can do," she said, letting me know I would probably need to reconsider it.

She went through the racks, and picked a few dresses which were more or less my size and not too far above my budget. I went through them quickly and rejected most of them without even trying them on. Some had low necklines, which required a larger bosom than I could offer. Others were just not my taste. I tried one that looked reasonable, but it was too wide for my figure.

Donna didn't give up and went through all the racks of dresses in the store, asking me about all kinds of dresses. For all of them I found something that wasn't right for me. Finally she showed me a dress that seemed perfect. It was a simple, elegant black dress, with a narrow cut, closed at its front but with a V-shaped opening at the back, and had a generous slit on one side.

"This dress is perfect for you," Donna said. "It shows what you want to show and hides what you are more comfortable hiding. Try it on!"

I did, without looking at the price-tag. Donna was right. It was perfect. I looked amazing in it. And I usually don't like the way I look.

"You look perfect!" Donna said as I walked out of the fitting room to show her the dress on me.

I thanked her and went back to take the dress off. Then I noticed the price tag. The dress was almost three times my budget. "I can't afford it," I thought to myself. And then I thought again. "I deserve to be pretty for ones. Just this once."

As I was standing in line for the cashier to pay for the dress, Donna asked, "Do you have shoes to match?"

I pointed at my sneakers. "These are my shoes, I said."

Donna laughed. "Are you telling me you only own one pair of shoes?"

Of-course I had heard about the obsession some women had with shoes, and the fact that many had tens of pairs. But shoes, like fancy clothes, were never my thing. Sneakers were comfortable. And I worked a physical job that required me to be up on my feet for most of the day, and sometimes most of the night. Sneakers were the best and I never thought about replacing them with these uncomfortable things women often wore on their feet to impress men or each other.

"Don't worry," Donna said. "I know a store with nice, elegant shoes that are not expensive. We'll find you a pair in no time."

We went to that shop and with Donna's help I bought a pair of elegant, black low-heel shoes. They weren't comfortable by any standard, but they were not expensive and matched the dress perfectly.

I wanted to show Donna my appreciation by buying her dinner, but she took a rain-check, saying she had to go home. I thanked her and we went our separate ways.

===========================

I arrived at Chez Pierre at 8PM the following night. I gave William's name to the host and she lead me to a table, where William was already seated. He was wearing a blue three-part suit with a white shirt underneath, and a striped blue tie. When he saw me, he got up and kissed my hand, like an English gentleman from the movies.

"Did you have trouble finding the place?" He asked.

"No," I said. "The Uber driver had no such trouble."

"Great," he said, and handed me the menu. The names of the dishes were in French, but there was an English explanation for each of them. As a first course we ordered a collection of Bistro starters, which we shared. For the main course William ordered the Coq et Vin, and I, following William's recommendation, ordered the Fillet Mignon. The food was heavenly. It was amazingly beautiful and incredibly delicious. I was so happy I had this opportunity to dine there. Our conversation revolved around the food, and William's apparent understanding and knowledge of French Cuisine.

Although this restaurant tried its best to mimic the French tradition, it had one that made it evident that it was an American restaurant. Being a waiter in a French bistro is a life-long career, held by mostly middle-aged men. In this restaurant, like most American restaurants, the waiters were your people, mostly women, who held this job while paving their way for some other career.

Our waitress was a young woman, a few years younger than I was. She was very attentive to our needs and knew exactly when to show up so that dinner would flow perfectly. The moment I set my fork down after having finished my main course, she ran over and asked me if I wanted her to take my plate away. Then she asked William and I if we wanted any desert.

"The brulee here is godly," William said.

"OK," I turned to the waitress. "I'll have the brulee."

"What about you, sir?" The waitress asked. "What will you be having?"

"Well," William said, looking at the menu, "for desert I'll have her cunt." He pointed at me as he said that.

"I beg your pardon?" The waitress said, hoping she hadn't heard him correctly.

William looked right at the waitress and spoke loudly and slowly. "For desert I will eat my date's cunt."

I could see the waitress was offended by what she had heard, but didn't lose her cool. "One brulee coming up," she said, and went away.

"Why did you say that to her?" I asked him. "She didn't do anything to you!"

"Well," he said, "I talked about your cunt, not hers, so I bet this wasn't the rudest thing she'd heard today."

I wasn't satisfied by this answer, but decided that arguing with him about it was futile. It was either a reason to get up and never return, or not, in which case I would continue sitting there, taking whatever he was still going to throw my way. I chose the latter, and as I expected, he wasn't done.

"Give me your panties," he said.

"What??" I asked in surprise.

"Your panties," he explained. "Give them to me."

"I'm kinda using them," I said, not sure exactly what he wanted me to do.

"You see, it's unfair. You are going to have your desert here and now. But I have to wait until we're at my place to have mine. So at least give me your panties so I can have a little sniff of what's waiting for me later."

Hesitantly, I got up.

"Where are you going?" He asked.

"To the restrooms," I explained. "To give you what you wanted."

"You can give it to me right here, right now," he said.

"People will see me here," I argued.

"Do it under the tablecloth. No one will see," he assured me.

I could hear my heart beating. I looked around the room, trying to assess my chances of getting away with it without getting caught. Other people were busy with their food or with their partners. So I decided to go for it.

The slit on the side of my dress became handy. Under the tablecloth, I sent my left hand to grip my panties through the slit. I tilted my body left and right to release them from under me. The, slowly, trying not to draw attention to my movements, I slid my panties all the way to my knees. There, I stopped to remove the liner and threw it to the floor near me, hoping he wouldn't notice. Finally, I dropped my panties to the floor, and picked them up with my napkin. I handed the napkin to William and said, "There it is. Satisfied?"

William opened the napkin and sniffed its content. "Oh yeah, baby," he said. "I sure am."

The waitress came back with my brulee.

"I apologize for my date's behavior earlier," I told her, knowing he could hear me. "He was way out of line."

"It's OK," she said with a polite, though fake smile. "Don't worry about it."

The brulee was as advertised. Probably the best desert I had ever had. William watched me enjoying it, while occasionally sniffing my panties inside the napkin.

"It's like having an orgasm in your mouth, isn't it?" He asked.

I was too busy enjoying it to even respond. Not that this comment deserved one.

"Don't worry," he said after seeing I wasn't responding. "Within the next half hour you'll have an orgasm in MY mouth."

I actually liked that last comment. I never took William to be the witty kind. It actually made me wet. Not that I needed any topping off. But now, without my panties, my juices would flow directly to my dress, staining it. I was afraid people would notice, but couldn't do anything about it.

After I was done with desert William asked for the check and payed it, leaving a generous tip. In addition to the tip, he left the napkin containing my panties on the table next to the check. He made sure to open the napkin so that the panties would show.

"I kinda need them," I said.

"Don't worry," he replied. "I'll get you new ones. I'm leaving them for the waitress. I think she's the same size you are."

I was appalled by the idea of leaving a used pair of panties for the waitress, but again, what could I do? I knew what I was getting into the first time I agreed to go out with William. If not then, than at least the moment I agreed to go home with him for the first time. I knew he was a misogynistic pig since that time he sexually-harassed me during Donna's presentation. Right from the start I knew that Dr. Jekyll comes with Mr. Hyde, and although I liked Dr. Jekyll much better, It was Mr. Hyde that made me want him like I had never wanted a man before.