Warm, Tart and Sweet

Will's chair scrapes loudly on the hardwood floor as he stands up. His lips are pursed in a tight angry line. He gulps the last of his whiskey, and places the glass down with a heavy hand. People at the nearby tables pretend not to be watching as he strides through the restaurant, pushes his way out the door and is swallowed by the hungry night.

He won't be back. I realise this at the same moment that I become aware that I'm holding my breath. I let it out in a deep sigh. There's half a bottle of chardonnay chilling in an ice bucket. I top up my wine glass, taking a long cold sip to steady my nerves.

I knew Will had a temper, but I wasn't prepared for a tantrum on this scale. Of course, in hindsight, I should have been more prepared for this conversation to go badly. Will had never asked about other men, and I had never brought it up. My assumption was that most men who pay for younger female company know they aren't the only one. My Sugar Babies profile clearly states that I'm not offering monogamy. I suppose men as rich as Will only hear what they want to hear.

Will and I have only been dating for a month or so. I never expected him to be so furious when I postponed our next few weekly dates because another client wants to take me overseas. But as soon as the words had left my mouth his eyes had frozen over.

The table is crowded. Will has left his extravagant seafood platter almost untouched. Delicate towers of grilled scallops and buttered lobster glisten invitingly, nestled against green fronds of fennel and watercress. Fragrant steam rises gently from a small gravy-boat filled with creamy sauce, which is surrounded by beautifully charred prawns on steel skewers bearing the insignia of the restaurant. In the centre of the table there sits a wooden board piled with an assortment of cheeses, cherries, slices of ripe fig and crusty slices of sourdough. My confit duck, grapefruit and macadamia salad arrived only seconds before Will's outburst. Now I'm nervous to even try it, although it has the mouth-watering aroma of culinary perfection.

The menu here doesn't have prices on it, so I don't know the exact level of damage this meal would do to my wallet, but I am certain that it would be devastating. The food alone probably costs its weight in gold, plus Will was onto his fourth glass of fifty year old Glenfiddich. He had also insisted on the finest bottle of chardonnay they had, trying as usual to impress me with his generosity. It is a truly delicious wine, and I savour another crisp sip as I make eye contact with a handsome young waiter. He heads my way. May as well get this over with, it's not going to be pleasant.

"Is everything to your liking madam?" He asks politely.

I smile nervously, and smooth my hands over my lap, feeling the soft black velvet of my dress clinging to my thighs.

"It all looks delicious, thank you. Unfortunately there's been a slight hitch."

He raises an eyebrow. I push on.

"The gentleman I was dining with has... He's had to leave in a rush. Something has come up. Unfortunately, in his haste, he may have forgotten to pay."

"I see..." The waiter glances towards the kitchen and back.

"I don't suppose he has an account here perhaps? William Foster? He's a regular."

The smile on the waiters face softens pityingly and I know my long shot has missed the mark.

"Sorry, but we don't do tabs."

"Oh."

For a second I have no idea what to do. But this man seems kind, perhaps he will empathise with my situation. I have nothing to lose. For the second time tonight I make the potentially idiotic decision to just tell the truth.

"Look, this is a little awkward, I'm in a bit of a tricky situation here. I'm an escort, Will is a client. He kind of gets a thrill from taking me to places I could never afford to set foot in without him..."

"Ah. I see," he gives me a sly look which takes me by surprise, "I'll have to discuss your situation with the manager. One moment."

I shakily pour the last drops of the chardonnay into my glass as the waiter slips through the door into the kitchen. I'm trying to keep calm, but I can't seem to sit still. I tap the heels of my stilettos against the ground. I twirl the ends of my long red curls around my fingers. I flick tiny specks of dust from the bust of my dress. I fiddle with my earrings.

The waiter re-appears at my side.

"Ok, I've had a word with the owner, he has some sympathy for your situation. He would like to speak to you in private."

He leads me through the door to the kitchen, down the hallway and into a well-appointed sitting room. A silver haired gentleman in a tailored suit is sitting on one of two green leather couches separated by a dark wooden coffee table. He motions towards the opposite couch and I sit down as the waiter closes the door behind me.

"Please be comfortable," he says softly, "I was sorry to hear about your predicament. What's your name?"

"Amber," I reply.

"A pleasure to meet you Amber, you may call me Mr Dupont."

"I'm so sorry about this. I don't know what to do, this has never happened before and-"

I stop because he has raised a hand. He's smiling and I don't quite know why.

"Actually, Amber, this may be a fortunate coincidence for both of us."

"Oh?"

"One of my staff is unwell tonight. She fills a very particular role here, and it is not easy to replace her. Perhaps you might be willing?"

"I might. I suppose it depends."

"This establishment caters to many expensive tastes. We like to offer our clientele the most pleasurable dining experiences that money can buy."

"Ok. I think I see where this is going. You want me to provide a happy ending to someone's dinner? As long as it's somewhere private, I guess."

"Something of that nature, but perhaps not exactly as you might imagine."

"Look, I can't pay for the meal. If that's what it takes to make this go away..."

He almost looks hurt, and I find myself wondering exactly what I've stumbled into.

"Please Amber," his tone is imploring, "You misunderstand me. I have no intention of taking advantage of your difficulty tonight. If you take us up on this opportunity you will be paid well for your time. What I'm asking is for you to enrich a dining experience for an exclusive gathering we are hosting tonight. The work will involve contact with multiple people at once, and it may get a little... messy. But perhaps you might even enjoy it."

He's picked me right, I'm not in this line of work out of pure necessity. I certainly have a kinky streak, and I enjoy being the pampered plaything of the rich and powerful. He's watching me patiently. I feel myself relax a little. Perhaps this evening can still turn to my advantage.

"Ok," I say, "tell me more."

An hour later Mr Dupont and I are standing in a small dressing room.

"Can I assist you with your dress, Amber?" He asks.

I nod, and turn my back to him. As I undo the clasps on my earrings, he slides the zip down my back, and eases the velvet straps off my shoulders with practised care. The dress slips down, and I step out of it. He folds it and places it on a small bench next to us. I slip off my heels. I feel him unclasp my bra, and pull it away to expose my breasts. My nipples harden immediately. My underwear is the last thing to come off, and I place it with the rest of my clothing. Mr Dupont takes my hand and turns me to face him, his eyes run over my soft pale skin, lingering on my full breasts and the generous curve of my hips.

"Perfect," he declares, "are you ready?"

I smile my assent, although my heart is pounding. Mr Dupont opens a door and I hear the sound of jazz playing low. He leads me into a softly lit dining room. There is a single long table of dark wood, around which six people are seated. Four men and two women, all dressed extremely well. Eyes turn my way as I am led to a subtly placed set of steps at the end of the table. I have been instructed on what to do. Moving with slow grace, I ascend the stairs and sink to my hands and knees on the table top before stretching myself out to lie on my back along its length. I keep my legs slightly parted, and my hands palm up and out from my body.

As soon as I am settled, I hear the footsteps of waiters entering the room. There are at least four of them, one of which I see is the handsome waiter form earlier. He smiles as he uncovers a dish of pumpkin gnocchi in creamy chive sauce. He takes a large serving spoon, and ladles it out in a line which starts between my breasts and runs down to my belly button. The gnocchi slide across the warm sauce on my skin as they settle, and the feeling is delicious. My stomach rumbles slightly, and I remember that I never got to eat my own dinner.

The mingled scents of many flavours fill the room. I begin to feel the placement of mouth-watering morsels all over my body. One waiter is using a small brush to paint my nipples with some kind of sticky glaze, and I feel the warm spread of arousal radiating out from between my legs. He uses a smaller brush to paint my lips with a sticky red substance, which drips into my mouth and tastes of tangy berries. Light pastries are piled up on the flat plane of my collarbone. More food than I can keep track of is placed on my skin. There seems to be every kind of delicacy imaginable, warm, savoury, sweet, tart and fresh. Every inch of my body, except some of my face, is covered. Soon the waiters finish arranging the meal. Their footsteps recede, and I hear the refined voice of Mr Dupont wishing his guests and enjoyable meal. I hear a door close.

"This looks delightful," a woman's voice, but I can't see her face.

In my periphery, I can see the faces of a man and a woman who sit at the table on either side of my head, but I have been instructed not to make eye contact or seek social interaction with the diners unless they initiate it. I stare resolutely at the moulded plaster ceiling. Voices rise to a gentle murmur of conversation.

I feel a finger run along my body, taking a taste of some creamy sauce. Hands begin to reach over me. The woman to my right takes one of the pumpkin gnocchi from my cleavage and pops it in her mouth, emitting a pleased sigh.

"Oh, George this is incredible."

The man to the left laughs softly, and takes one for himself, swirling it around in the sauce on my stomach before eating it.

The heat between my legs is a pleasant glow. I am surprised by the sensation of a warm tongue licking up something which has been drizzled across my thighs. Then the woman beside me leans in, and places her mouth over my nipple, her tongue swirling around, lips suckling at the sticky sauce. She moans deep in her throat, and a raspy moan of my own escapes my mouth.

"Oh, she's enjoying this." Says the man named George.

A soft finger wipes some of the sticky sweetness from my lips. He tastes it, and then leans in to take more with his mouth. His tongue flicks across my lips, followed by a deep kiss which has my breath catching in my throat. A soft wet mouth starts to work on one of my feet, tongue flicking between my toes to catch the delicacies hidden there. A spoon is brought to my lips. Eyes closed, I open my mouth to let it in. Silky smooth passionfruit sorbet slides over my tongue, cold and delicious. Then something warm drips on my cheek. I open my eyes to see a churro dripping white chocolate above me. The woman holding it uses a finger to gather some of the dripping chocolate and offer it to my lips. I suck the gooey sweetness of her finger, making intense eye contact. Her smile is devious as the churro disappears down towards my thighs. The feeling of warm chocolate dripping on my clit makes my back arch a little, and some cherries tumble off my stomach. The woman gently rubs my chocolatey clit with a finger, then brings it back to her tongue to taste. Another man leans over to kiss my mouth with slow sensuality. His hand plays over my breasts, pinching my sauce slickened nipples. As he pulls his mouth away I see him take a handful of the pumpkin gnocchi.

Fingers gently part the lips of my pussy. A silky soft gnocchi is rubbed up and down my slit for a few seconds before I feel it inserted inside me. It feels hot and squishy, and is quickly followed by three or four more. I'm full of warmth, the soft lumps rub against my g-spot. A man mounts the table and kneels between my legs. He licks his lips at the sight of me for a moment, and then his mouth falls hungrily to devour me. His tongue laps at the chocolate on my clit, and then slips inside me. Strong hands take hold of my calves, pushing my knees into the air and spreading my legs wider. Food tumbles off me and rolls across the table. His tongue swirls deep inside me, seeking the gnocchi. My pleasure mounts as each individual piece is retrieved from within me, his tongue lapping up the combination of creamy sauce and my wet arousal.

My moans are unrestrained now. Fingers dip in and out of my mouth, bringing new flavours each time.

A woman lifts her shirt and smears some chocolate across a gorgeously full breast, leaning over me to bring a soft chocolatey nipple to my mouth to suckle. I hear a belt buckle hit the floor, and then feel the way her body begins to move with the pace of someone fucking her from behind. The man behind her eases her back towards him with a gentle hand to her throat. He begins to feed her cherries with one hand, while the other works her clit. I am watching his muscular hips thrusting into her round ass and almost don't notice the woman climbing up onto the table beside me. She has stripped down to a lacy lingerie set, and kneels over me, looking down into my face with a calm expression.

Some playful streak in me emerges and I take a three fingered scoop of sorbet from a silver bowl. I push my cold handful into her crotch, probably ruining some very expensive panties. Her eyes widen with momentary surprise, before a wicked look takes hold of her face. She swiftly straddles my face, and begins to slowly grind on my mouth, which I gladly open to lick up the mess I've made. She pulls aside the material between my tongue and her pink flesh, and I taste her salty wetness.

Something soft, warm and fluffy like cake or pudding is placed in one of my hands. I feel my fingers guided to close around an incredibly hard cock. Hands guide me to stroke the soft cake along the throbbing length. I squeeze his hardness through my handful of crumbs and feel him begin to thrust excitedly into my hand.

I'm being swallowed by their feeding frenzy. Teeth nibble at my toes, my fingers, sending delicious shivers through me. I feel that any second someone might actually tear into my flesh to taste me, but I'm too enveloped in sensation to care.

The man between my thighs is sucking my clit with exquisite gentleness. An orgasm is building inside me like a thunderhead ready to strike. It's the shock of a saucy finger determinedly thrusting into the tight little bud of my asshole which flings me into the electrical midst of a tumbling climax. My moans vibrate through the pussy pressed against my mouth, I increase the fervour of my tongue and feel the woman's hips shudder as she releases into orgasm with me. The room seems to be falling apart into a shared ocean of pleasure, bodies writhe and taste and exclaim all around me.

I lose track of time, and the different ways I am entered, tasted and plied with all kinds of sweet and savoury delights. I eventually find myself alone on the table with the scarce leftovers of the meal.

Mr Dupont reappears and assists me into a discretely hidden shower both adjoined to the dressing room. It feels good to let the debauchery wash away in a warm torrent of water. I dress again, and as I am towelling my hair dry Mr Dupont re-enters with a smile.

"Amber, I think it's safe to say our customers were beyond satisfied. The sum I have deposited in your account includes many generous tips, which I hope will help you feel that this has been worth your while."

"I believe it has, thank you."

"We would be glad to have you back for another gathering soon," he says, handing me a card.

Then I am sitting in the black leather interior of a car, cruising through the darkened city towards my apartment. I realise with a delirious giggle that I may never have to put up with a possessive sugar daddy's sulking ever again.