Dinner Party

We’re at a restaurant. Me and my dates. I’m sitting in the middle of a horseshoe shaped booth, two men on either side of me. This is my fourth glass of wine.

The fellow sitting to my right asks me at a whisper if I wouldn’t mind, you know, playing with him a little bit. The tablecloth is long after all, and no one can see. I don’t mind, of course. I’m not very subtle though, and after a few seconds the other guys at the table have caught on. I watch them, grinning, exchanging sly glances across the table. Not only is this a girl who goes out with several men at once, this is a girl who might give a handjob in public. In a well-lit restaurant, no less.

The man to my left: “You’ve dropped your napkin.” Wink.

“Oh, so I have. Thank you.” Glancing around for the waitress, I slide under the table. My, these gentlemen are an excited bunch. Unzipping the pants of the man to my left, I take out his cock and begin stroking it to full hardness with my hand while rubbing his neighbor through his slacks. I can hear their muffled conversation and nervous laughter. I’m smiling as I slide a third cock into my mouth, and wrap my fingers around the fourth.

Oh, here’s the waitress. She wants to know if we want dessert. I tap the thigh of my man who belongs to the cock in my mouth. Yes, I certainly do want dessert. He asks for the menu. Another man passes a menu to me under the table. I read it out of the corner of my eye, running my tongue around the head of another delicious cock. Making my selection, I place the menu in my seat, finger on my choice, the fingers of my other hand on something equally delicious.

Above the table, the tension is building. The men shift uncomfortably in their seats. The waitress returns.

“A cherry clafoutis for the lady.” “Certainly.”

The man I’m currently serving reaches under the table and caresses my breast for a moment, lifting it out of my low cut dress. Another man holds my hand tightly, while I bring him to the edge. This is a calculated enterprise; none of these men will be satisfied until I have had dessert. First things first.

Arranging my hair and my dress, I reappear in my seat, wiping my mouth with my errant napkin. As I reapply my lipstick, my dessert arrives.

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