Don Jetman
Member
Posts: 3130
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The Dinner Date
by Don Jetman
Early in our relationship with Dave, L.'s first lover, he took us to dinner one
evening. The invitation came via email, on a Friday. We met him at the
restaurant of his choice the following night.
I was more than a little curious about how L. would react. She had been with him
only once, and was still hesitant to talk about it much. Honestly, I doubted if
she would go. It was one thing to have sex with him in our bedroom, but I think
we were both concerned that the role playing may spill over into a public place.
After all, we have reputations and careers to think about. To my surprise, she
agreed to go, as though it was as innocent as the two of us dining alone
together. When I asked whether she was concerned that Dave might go too far in
public, she told me it was wishful thinking on my part, that he would never do
such a thing to us. He was a classy guy. He just wanted to be nice, to show his
appreciation. Well, I wasn't as sure as she was, but he did seem to be the kind
of guy who would never intentionally embarrass us in public.
Now, in my fantasies, L. would spend an extraordinary amount of time getting
ready, fussing over her hair, makeup and clothes more than usual, showing
obvious signs she was excited to see him again. But, as far as I could tell, she
showered and did her hair in her usual routine, cool as she could be. Although a
little disappointed, I told myself this was a reality check, that real life most
often didn't mimic my fantasy world. A good thing to remember.
My wife wore her little black dress, the one she saved for nicer occasions like
our anniversary dinners, evenings out with her clients, and the more formal
parties we attended infrequently. It wasn't extremely short, but fit her well,
modestly hugging the curves of her body. The v-neck was just deep enough to show
some cleavage, but the row of buttons below it that ran from neckline to waist
showed promise, I thought. Maybe she'd leave just one open. But my fantasy was
foiled again. She did look spectacular as we walked from the car to the
restaurant. She got more than one look from a few men outside as we waited for
Dave, which made me smile. If they only knew.
Dave arrived promptly, approached us confidently with a big smile, and shook my
hand. He turned to L. put a hand on each of her shoulders, and looked into her
eyes. "You're gorgeous, as usual," he told her. She blushed, he kissed her on
the cheek, and we went inside.
Once at our table, he seated her, then took the chair beside her. By process of
elimination, I sat across from them. To anyone else in the room, she appeared to
be with him, not me. Although a bit surprised, I was now anxious to see where
this evening was headed.
We ordered takes, then our meal, after a smattering of small talk. When the
waiter left us, he whispered something to L. She looked startled for a second,
then nodded, and excused herself to visit the ladies room.
"I hope you don't mind that L. is my date tonight," he told me quietly. Now I
understood. I was to watch them together as though they were a couple. A sly way
to cuckold me in public, without anyone the wiser. I assured him I didn't mind,
although inside I was a bit more concerned this would get out of hand. He
proceeded to tell me how sexy she was, that they had met the week before, and
how they had been attracted to each other immediately. I just kept nodding.
Anyone listening would have instantly believed he was telling me about his new
girlfriend. The more he raved about her, the more he insinuated how great she
was in bed, the more convincing he became. And what could I do? Smile and nod,
pretend that I was happy for him, and congratulate him for such a lucky find.
Now I'll have to admit, I was excited, but also somewhat jealous. I never knew
whether he was acting or not, and hearing him talk about my wife as though he
had already taken her for himself was a bit unnerving. Was this "girlfriend"
talk leading to a place I didn't want to think about?
"I've asked L. to make herself a bit more comfortable," he said quietly, looking
from side to side to make sure no one was close enough to hear. I didn't get it,
and it obviously showed. "I've asked her to remove her bra and panties," he
said, almost in a whisper. Damn. My hands were shaking as I took a long gulp of
my scotch. "It's one of the things I like most about her," he said in a normal
voice. "She'll do anything to make me happy."
When she returned, we both stared as she walked toward us. A casual observer
might not have noticed, but I could see her breasts moving freely under the
dress, and the lines of her waist, ass, and legs were molded more smoothly by
the black material. Actually, she did look even more beautiful, without looking
cheap or slutty. The dress seemed to be custom made for her body. As she came
closer, I could see the top button was undone.
When she sat down, Dave reached over and kissed her again, on the cheek. She
blushed again, and looked a little uncomfortable. Our eyes met, and I could tell
she was looking for help, an answer from me, some clue as to what she should do,
or maybe if I was ok with this. I smiled at her with all the conviction I could
muster, and told her Dave had been telling me how beautiful he thought she was,
and that I agreed. It seemed to relax her a little, but she still looked a
little confused. Dave finally spoke to relieve the tension. "I've been telling
my friend Don how we met last week, and how lucky I am to have found you. I
asked him along on our date so he could see for himself." With a flash of
recognition, she smiled, looked across the table at me with sparkling eyes, and
said, "He really flatters me too much - but I have to admit, I like it!" We all
laughed, now more sure of where we were going with the evening.
Our food arrived, and as we ate, Dave never stopped flattering her. He'd reach
over, place his hand along her neck, then gently pull her hair back slightly,
and ask me, "Just look at her - have you ever seen a more beautiful woman? She's
just so fresh, and yet so sexy. Don't you agree, Don?" Of course, I agreed, and
she beamed at me, smiling warmly, as though I had said it myself.
He whispered something to her again, and a few seconds later, she casually moved
her hand up the front of her dress and unbuttoned a second button. Now a daring
amount of cleavage was visible from where I sat, but Dave had a much better view
beside her. As she ate, the dress fell open slightly, and Dave made no attempt
to hide the long glances inside. He was cuckolding me again in public, free to
stare at my wife's bare breasts while I could only imagine how enticing the
velvety smooth curves of flesh appeared, nestled beneath the opening of her
dress, just out of my sight. It was maddening. He was a genius.
Later I noticed his hand was under the table, resting on her thigh. Although the
table cloth hid what he was doing, it appeared he was slowly pulling her dress
higher, baring her legs under the table. L. saw me staring and smiled, as if to
say it was ok. I had no doubts about her submissiveness to him in private, but
was amazed she would go this far in a public place. She shifted a little in her
chair. Was she really opening her legs for him?
As the night progressed, his hand slid discreetly under the table again and
again. At times she shuddered slightly, staring at her plate as if in a trance.
Where was his hand as she lapsed into these mini-presentations? Was he merely
stroking the inside of her thigh, or had he gone deeper between her legs,
testing her limits, wetting his fingers with juices that I knew poured from the
hot liquid core of her body?
I began to feel the familiar mix of excitement and angst. L. really was his date
this night - she had as much as told me so by giving in to him so easily, by
playing his game right from the start with wide-eyed enthusiasm. My wife was
only a few feet from me, completely naked under her little black dress,
seemingly enjoying being pawed by another man, a man who had swiftly and
cleverly taken her for his own as I watched. Images of him fucking her in our
bed came rushing back, his confident aggressiveness as he entered her for the
first time, and her resistance that melted away as her little moans told me she
how much she wanted him to take her. I began to realize that everything he had
said that night was true. She didn't love him, but in a way, he truly was her
boyfriend, and certainly her lover. And, for at least that one night, I was only
a friend, a voyeur to their flirting, to her tempting body, and to her desire
for him as she spread her legs under the table. I thought of how easily he might
have taken her for his own, had she met him before me. But then she smiled at me
again, her bright face proof that her lust that night was for him, but her love
was only for me.
They fawned over each other throughout the meal. She caught the waiter staring
down her dress, but didn't care. Dave put his arm around her, her head rested on
his shoulder in a moment of closeness. They kissed, his hand moving under the
table. Her eyes drifted closed. A shuddering sigh escaped from her open lips as
she seemed to forget where she was. But then, in a second, she was smiling at me
again. She was enjoying this. Was she losing control or teasing me? I guessed it
was probably a little of both. But was I sure? Absolutely certain? No.
By the time we finished the meal, she was a little past tipsy from her
strawberry daiquiris, one of only a few kinds of similar fruity takes she
enjoyed. Dave ran his hand slowly up and down her back as the waiter appeared
with the check. L. was leaning toward me with a lascivious smile, allowing her
dress to fall open, teasing me with an outrageous view of her breasts. She
brought her arms together slightly in front of her, squeezing the exposed flesh
into tight, firm mounds that threatened to burst free from the daring V that
plunged halfway to her waist. She was more delicious, more alive than I had ever
seen her. The waiter paused, looking down into the gaping crevice that was once
the front of her dress. Dave motioned for him to wait, presented his credit
card, and finally sent him on his way.
"I'm really glad you could join us tonight, Don," he told me. "I'm sure you can
see why I love to show L. off." I nodded, now speechless from the scotch, and
from watching the two of them together for what seemed like an eternity. He
leaned closer, his hand returning to L.'s lap under the table. "She says I'm the
first man to make her cum." He lowered his voice to a whisper, leaning even
closer. "She loves sex, Don. She can't get enough. She tells me I'm the first
real man she's ever had. Do you have any idea what that's like, Don? To have a
woman this beautiful tell you something like that just after you've emptied
every last drop inside her?"
Astonished and shaken, I glanced to either side to see if anyone had heard him.
He was describing my wife as though she was his whore - a whore that claimed she
had never had a real man. No one seemed to notice his little game, except the
waiter, who had now just returned with Dave's credit card, returning it to the
table on the small plastic tray that he hoped would soon hold a very large tip.
He thanked Dave, and said something about "enjoying the rest of our evening". He
stole one more look down the front of L.'s dress, then turned quickly and left
us.
My wife had been trying her best not to make a scene. Dave's hand was still in
her lap, and started to move more noticeably as the waiter turned his back. She
inhaled sharply and tried to re-focus on her surroundings, then removed his hand
from her lap and placed it gently on the table. "Please, not here," I heard her
tell him. "I think that's our cue to leave," he announced. We made our way
through the restaurant to the exit, his hand on the small of her back, while I
followed behind them. Surprisingly, no one seemed to notice the front of her
dress on the way out. They were the perfect couple, on their way home for the
perfect fuck.
Outside, Dave put his arm around her and pulled her close. "Goodnight, Don," he
said graciously. "We should do this again sometime soon. It was good to see you
again." As he guided her away from me toward the back of the parking lot, she
looked back at me again and again, as if asking me whether she should go with
him. I stood there, frozen to the pavement, waiting for the game to end, for him
to release her and have her run back into my arms. When she no longer looked
back, I began to follow them at a distance, not quite sure what I was about to
do. They reached his car, he opened the passenger door, and she got in. She
didn't hesitate or look back at me this time. I saw the little black dress rise
seductively over L.'s bare thighs as her slim legs disappeared inside the car.
I stood some sixty feet away, in the shadows, wondering if my wife had decided
to change our game on her own. We had agreed we would both be present at all
times with Dave, for her safety. It was to be our game, a fantasy in which she
and I would always both participate, an extension of our relationship. As Dave
circled around the back of the car, he paused and looked directly at me. So,
this was it. He had won the final hand, playing his role so well that I would
doubt L.'s ability to stick to our agreement. He knew I would follow them. He
knew he could make my fantasy a reality - to make me truly believe her total
surrender to him, or to at least seriously question L.'s self control. But his
look was a deeply serious one, for perhaps ten seconds, before he opened the
door to his car and got in.
Again I stood frozen and confused, worried that the car would start and they
would disappear into the night. I had no idea where Dave lived, and doubted I
could get to my car in time to follow them. I saw him pull her close to him,
then the silhouette of their kiss. So was this his plan? To have me watch as he
took her in his car in a public place? L. had fantasies of sex in public. Had
she confessed to him in her passion?
I watched them from the shadows for twenty minutes. From that distance, through
the back window of a darkened car, much of what they did was difficult at best
to make out. Then the passenger door opened, L.'s bare thighs and little black
dress slipped into the light, and she walked to me, her hair in a wild tangle,
her dress now open nearly to the waist. She was still a little takes, but
managed a sultry pace across the parking lot. I took her in my arms and kissed
her. She pressed her body into me, her soft curves so willing and accessible
just beneath the thin dress.
In the car, she asked me, "Do you want to know what we did?"
"Do you want to tell me?"
"Mmmm, yes I do."
"Did you have sex?"
"Do you think we had sex?"
When I didn't answer, she grinned and told me.
"He put his hands on me, everywhere, under my dress. He made me cum while we
kissed. I loved what he did to me. Was I wrong? Did I go too far?"
"You don't..."
"Of course not," she assured me. "I love you. I just love sex with him."
"So, that was it?" I asked.
She smiled at me and moved closer. "Not quite. I put my hands on him too -
inside his shirt, and then in his pants, on his penis. I made him moan when he
came." She sounded proud of herself.
"He said to give this to you, to tell you to..."
She opened her purse, now stuffed full of the bra, nylons, and panties she had
shed earlier that evening. She removed something, extended her closed hand
toward me, then opened it. The wrinkled ball of pink panties unfolded slowly in
her outstretched palm. In the center was a pool of semen, caught there as she
masturbated him in the car.
"...put them on me," she whispered. "Then lets go home."
Well, of course I slipped the panties over her shoes and helped her put them on.
On the way home she really opened up to me, telling me how turned on she was
playing his girlfriend, and watching me squirm when he touched her. That, and
knowing she was carrying his cum in her panties had me half crazy by the time we
pulled into the driveway.
She let me undress her. I opened the front of her dress, put my hand inside,
played with her nipples, and asked her if that's what Dave did. She said with a
smile, "Well, he's my boyfriend, isn't he?" When I peeled the dress off her
body, I saw the wet stain on the front of her panties. Jesus, can you imagine
her standing there naked except for her used panties, the dark spot clinging to
her belly a taunting reminder that they had shared orgasms that night, before he
gave her back to me? She was so damn beautiful.
A spot of her pubic hair was matted with his cum when we made love, a cool,
sticky reminder that part of him remained there between us. She pretended I was
Dave when we fucked, calling his name, begging him to, "Please cum in me..." I
watched her face as she closed her eyes and imagined it was Dave deep inside
her. When she came, it was like she was possessed - the long, uninterrupted moan
eerie proof that in her head, Dave was really there unloading inside her, just
as she wished he had for the second time that night.
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