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private lives... and public places...

2:44 pm Wednesday, 2nd July, 2014

Despite the fact that I had never seen her before in my life I recognised her instantly. I knew her by her posture, and by the arrangement of her legs under the table. She was a stranger to me (I could not, for example, even have guessed what her name was, or where she might live) and yet, looking at her, even from a distance, I found that I knew her intimately, and possibly better than she knew herself.

Outwardly she looked no different from all the other ‘ladies at lunch’ in the little Bistro. The fact that she was alone made her a little more conspicuous than the rest, but not much more. She had taken the single woman’s precaution of furnishing herself with a book – perhaps even a good one, though it was impossible to tell from where I was sitting. What I could see, however, was how flushed her cheeks were, and how, from time to time, she would shuffle her hips as she crossed her legs. Almost absently her index finger would linger to stroke the long stem of her wine glass, and she would tug at her lower lip with her teeth in a manner that was unmistakably sensual. There was nothing absent about the way she tenses her hips and thighs as her uppermost limb twitched – almost rhythmically. The gestures of her legs are so subtle that they would pass unnoticed by most. And yet, to me, if she had splayed herself out on the tabletop and fucked herself with her own fist, her act of masturbation could not have been more explicit. Though terribly discreet, and executed with the utmost subtlety, I had no doubt of the indelicate act she was performing on herself.

When I was a young man I might have dismissed such a woman at a glance. Outwardly she offered few clues of her powerful sexual appetites. She was not dressed in a manner that would invite the attentions of men: an almost forbiddingly dark conservative suit, a puritan-style blouse – black with white collar and buttoned all the way up. Her expression – other than those moments when she seems almost on the verge of orgasm – was rather stern and unwelcoming. Twenty years ago I would have thought her attractive enough, but would not have taken the time to really look at her, much less recognise her for what she was – and what she might have the potential to offer a man like myself.

Older, and even a little wiser these days, I watched as this somehow familiar stranger brought herself (and by nothing more than the slight pressure of her thighs) closer to orgasm than she has previously dared. Her eyes almost glaze as she slipped her hand under the table to press on down on her groin… if only for a moment. Though several tables away I could almost smell her arousal… almost taste it as it intensified - rising to spill over. Almost…!

She stopped then.

I could not tell from her expression whether it was self-discipline, or fear of betraying herself, that kept her from toppling over into that ecstasy. But - and almost too late – she, somehow steadied her breath, bit down hard on her lower lip and withdrew her unsteady hand from her lap. She closed her eyes then, and the trace of a shudder passed along her spine, like a sigh perhaps. In the aftermath of this near-quake she glanced (rather guiltily I thought) around the Bistro. Her body stiffened, almost comically, when she realised that I had been watching her all along. If she had been expecting me to look away, and pretend not to have seen, then I must have proved something of a disappointment.

She tells me later that she had performed this little ritual every lunchtime for two whole months, and had not once attracted any attention whatsoever.

“As far as you were aware,” I felt obliged to point out.

“As far as I was aware….”

“But you always hoped that somebody would notice… yes?”

“No,” she said, and much too quickly.

“Well… yes…!” she conceded, not sounding entirely convinced.

“Actually… if I’m honest… part of it was being invisible. That was part of what made it so… intense. Though, obviously, there was always the risk that I would be… discovered… of course… so that must have been part of it…”

Her cunt was wet then, and slippery to the touch.

“I almost passed out when I looked up and saw you watching me,” she whispered, tilting her hips to meet the slight pressure of my fingers.

“That’s not some figure of speech,” she added, rocking onto the tips of my fingers, and trying to firm her clit between my thumb and forefinger.

“I would have run… dropped my book and run from that place, if my legs had allowed me to. I felt so… exposed… embarrassed… even… ashamed…. What sort of woman… I thought to myself…? What sort of woman would do something like that in public?”

I slipped my fingers inside her and massaged around her anus with my thumb.

“What sort of woman would allow a complete stranger do something like this to her… even in private?”

She only groaned as I brought my wetted fingers to her neck and smeared her fragrant juices up over her chin and across her lips. Her legs weaken, or it is a new hunger that makes her almost squat onto the pressure of my thumb.

“I don’t need a man,” she gasps.

Men, still later, have never seemed to meet her expectations.

“Always so vain,” she says. “Weak and… needy. Selfish and… so… unnecessary.”

But at that moment, driving herself down onto my thumb, and firming my cock between her fingers, she did not seem mind the presence of a man so much. On her knees and darting her tongue along the pulsing stem of me, she did not express the same doubts about the opposite sex. She was a self-reliant woman no doubt, but on all fours and my tip teasing at the neck of her cunt the tangible presence of a man did not seem quite so… redundant as she had somehow convinced herself to believe.

“When we are done here,” I tell her, as I press her thighs apart and chase the streams of her cunt-juice with the firm tip of my tongue. “You will go back to that bistro, and you will cum for me. You will slip your fingers inside and you will cum for me… and no matter who is watching.”

“Yes,” she promises (she would have promised anything then) as my tongue winds around the rim of her now soaked anus.
“Yes!” she promises again as I almost crush her nipples between my fingers.

“And yes,” she says. “And yes…!”

And she does.

That evening we take a table beside the window. Both of us reeking with the scents of cum, and almost too spent to speak, my now very familiar stranger slips her fingers inside her cunt, and abandons herself to one last orgasm. Too exhausted to explode as she had done earlier (and often) there is still an enough intensity to the sounds that she makes as the spasms lift her almost out of her seat to attract the attention of all the other diners.

“They are all watching you now,” I tell her, as she arches against the back the chair, and whines loudly.

And they do watch. The whole room turns as she almost at last abandons all discretion.

“Fuck…!” she almost screams.

And when it was over I calmly pay for a meal we would not now be staying to enjoy. I leave a generous tip, and take my time to help my companion into her coat. I make sure that she is steady on her feet by placing my hand on her the small of her back. It might seem peculiar that no-0ne approaches us to complain, but the fact is, that almost no-one ever does when it comes to public displays of… sexual activity. In this country a mother quietly feeding her baby at her breast is more likely to cause loud vocal protest than the sight of a woman fucking herself with her fingers.

In part to test that theory I slowly lick my new friends fingers clean before leading her out into the cool evening air.

“I may have to find somewhere else to have lunch now,” she giggles as we head towards our cars.

“That might be wise,” I concede, smiling.

We kiss and her lips are still stained with my cum.

“It’s a funny thing,” she says, almost wistfully.

“What is?”

“It was like I knew you… the first time I set eyes on you, it was like I’d known you all of my life.”

“My name is K-,” she says, proffering her hand.

“Pleased to meet you K-,” I tell her.

 20 people like this

1:39 pm Friday, 4th July, 2014

i accept none of the blame for others' behaviour... but i am willing to accept the credit now and again....

 6 people like this

10:18 pm Tuesday, 22nd July, 2014

perfect for a 'lady' with a punishing schedule....!

 3 people like this

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