Third Date

He was leaned over his craft beer yucking it up with some of his buddies at a table just across the aisle from where us girls were kibitzing. They were probably trading stories about how much of a dolt their boss was. He had a good sense of humor, was a good listener, and laughed sincerely at other people's jokes, even when they weren't' that good. This guy was good at working a crowd even though he had a dignified reserve about him. Confident but not flashy, perceptive and smart. That means he'd probably be a good fuck. And tonight, I was going to fuck him.

He was just slightly behind my curve sexually. A little shy, but willing. I like that. It means I can drive. I'm in control.

As the office social banter continued on the patio and dusk settled over Detroit down Woodward Avenue I sensed the timing to start was right. Good sex starts a long time before you get to the bedroom. It starts in your head hours before. In the teasing. The innuendo. The flirtation. The game.

I broke from the girls' conversation and pulled up my phone to text.

"I'm wet."

Send.

I didn't look over there right away. That would be way too obvious. Instead I shoved my phone back under my purse and leaned forward on the table with one elbow, feigning renewed interest in whatever the girls were talking about.

I actually was wet, and I thought about my little, lacy, black G-string under my business suit skirt. Freshly waxed, beautifully smooth, my little panty just covering me but permitting a filtered view of my moistening sex. Wait 'til he saw this. Tasted it. Fucked it. Came in it. Tasted his creampie from it afterward. Yeah, I was going to try to get him worked up enough to eat me again after he came in me. That took a lot of work, but it was worth it to straddle a new guy's face when he just emptied his load deep in you. That's hot. Especially if he's never eaten his own cum out of a girl's cunt before, especially during their first fuck.

Yeah, now I was really wet.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw him reach for his phone when the text went through. Since we had only been dating since Saturday, I doubt he had created a contact for me in his phone, so I figured only my number would come up, and no one actually knows a person's phone number anymore. At first, it might seem like a random text or misdial. I peeked to see him pulling his reading glasses up to read the text.

He studied the screen for a second. Way longer than it takes to read two words. He was taking it in. Rereading it. Analyzing it. What if was from me, he was certainly thinking. Hoping. But what if it wasn't. He took the bait. I saw him swipe away from the text to look at his contacts. He verified the number was mine. This is a smart guy. He thinks before he acts. Trust, but verify.

He set his phone down on the table in front of him, leaned back. I barely caught sight of his head turning toward me, away from his conversation with the boys across the aisle.

Showtime.

I turned my head slightly in his direction and his body language showed he was trying to get my eye. I finally looked over, raising my glass and sucking my straw with glossy red lips. I winked. Set the glass down. Smiled. He looked like he still wasn't sure the text had come from me. Had a look of interest, but also a bit of confusion and even... fear maybe. He picked his phone up again, signaling me. Now I kicked into slow motion.

Seated in the garden aisle on the porch of the Whitney there was an aisle between where he was sitting with his work buddies and I was sitting with the girls. Customers and wait staff walked between us. Everyone on his side, all the guys, had a view of me where I was sitting on the aisle. I purposely sat in this seat with the girls when we first got here, waiting for our dinner reservation to be called. All his buddies could see me sitting here, from head to toe.

The Whitney. He was going all out on the third date. This is a good place to take a girl before you try to fuck her on the third date. He really didn't need to try this hard, but the setting was perfect, a perfect stage for my plan to get him this revved up. By the time we left here, he'd do anything to get inside me.

When he looked over at me after setting his phone back down, I smiled a kind of innocent, unknowing, bubbleheaded smile at him. It did not confirm I had sent the text. It didn't deny it either. He raised his phone, made sure the text came from me again, set it back down, ignoring his work buddies' banter now. I did nothing with my phone. Maybe it was me. Maybe not.

But I did sit up straighter, arched my back away from the table, stuck my tits out. I had on a smooth, black, shiny add-two-cup-size push-up bra that I changed into before we left the office. My white suit blouse fit well with a normal bra. With this thing on, the buttons were heaving to keep my tits in. You could never actually wear this thing in the office, no one could work around you. Everyone would just stare at your tits. I looked fucking hot in it.

This black, incredibly padded push-up bra, the white blouse, my snug business suit skirt all gave me an hourglass figure. My tits boiled over the top of the bra from the ridiculous padding. They looked huge. It looked like I had gotten a boob job between the time we left the office and got to the Whitney's garden party. I instantly went from a pretty normal 34C to a cartoon-like 34DD. It was fucking hot. Even the other girls at the table were sneaking peaks at my tits in this ridiculous, "fuck-me" push-up bra. You want to get a cock in you, start by wearing one of these bras. But if you're on this page, you probably already know that. I think the Frederick's add-two-cup size Hollywood Knockout bra is the best. It almost doubles the size of your tits.

I had ditched my pantyhose when I took off my normal panties before leaving the office. I put on the lacy, sheer, gossamer black G-string over my smooth mound with a matching black garter belt underneath. It was awkward pulling up stockings and attaching garters in the ladies' restroom, especially good nylon ones that made those little wrinkles over your toes and at the back of your knees that men love but don't even realize it until they see it. Luckily, I was good at putting these on from lots of practice.

You wear a black garter belt, nude stockings, sheer black, lacy, micro G-string over your garter belt (so you can take your panties off while leaving your stockings and garter belt on, framing your pussy nicely when the time comes) and a huge push-up bra on the third date and you are more than half way to whatever you want him to do to you. The rest is mind games, and we were playing those now.

My phone buzzed.

"You called?"

I looked at my phone a little surprised. Acted flushed.

"Oh! Sorry. My girlfriend was checking in on our date. My Bad. LOL"

So now he thought I was texting my girlfriend that I was wet for him and accidentally sent it to his number. About now his dick was stiffening fast.

Right on que, he leaned back from the table, giving his erection room to expand inside his suit pants.

Perfect.

Now it was time for the main event. The peek.

Good nylons are worth it. In a quiet room, if you've practiced crossing your legs at home enough, they make... that sound. Men don't hear the sound of nylon sliding over nylon with their brain. They hear it with their cock. It's a direct message.

The sound of nylons sliding over each other is the sound of lying on your back on the bed, panties wadded up on the floor, cool air hitting wet pussy, clothes flung in the hallway. Skirt gone. Tits out. Nipples hard. Sliding into home base. Cock arched up, aching, throbbing up and down now. Head firm. Veins out. Precum leaking. The sound of nylons sliding over each other is the sound of control. Almost no men understand this, every man is victim to it. Want a guy to eat cum from your pussy? Start with good nylons and a garter belt worn under a slutty little G-string. He'll do whatever you want. Guaranteed.

So now was the main event.

I leaned back in the chair. Set my glass down. Turned my head slowly and looked at him. Just looked at him. I let that hang in the air. There was the normal sound of the restaurant around us, but neither one of us heard it. My right side faced him across the restaurant patio aisle. Every seat was taken at this garden party. His table packed with extra guys who had pulled up chairs.

I slowly began. Crossing my right leg over left, up, up. Heel coming off the ground slowly. This is actually pretty hard to do well. You have to practice it at home beforehand. Practice crossing your legs in a snug business skirt while seated. Make sure the short, little slit in the skirt is in just the right place. Bring that right leg up, slowly, up, over and against your left leg. Slow enough to look right, fast enough so nylon on nylon makes that sound.

Out here the sound really wouldn't matter. It was too loud on the patio to hear it. But across the aisle from a crowded table of guys, it didn't matter. I didn't need the sound.

The other guys noticed he was staring now. Gawking. I was impressed that his mouth wasn't hanging open. That's what usually happens. Their mouths just open involuntarily. Maybe because of all of their the blood is rushing to their cocks. I don't know. But it happens every time.

When the other guys noticed that he was gawking at something under the table across the aisle from them, their heads turned too. He didn't notice the other guys, all of them looking now. The side of my business suit skirt just barely revealing the very top of my right stocking, where the nylon band gets darker on my thigh and the top garter clip pulls the stocking top into an elegant and strained arch of sheer fabric.

Every guy was looking. Probably six guys. Six boners. Six guys instantly wanting to rip my business suit off, tear off my G-string, eat my cunt and fuck me.

But I only looked at him.

He seemed shaky when he lifted his phone and began to type. My phone buzzed.

"Wanna skip dinner?"