by Unknown
Adria smiled. He could feel that she liked slightly-less-anal John, too. “Let's do it,” she said.
John watched her get out of the car, and caught a nice glimpse of her sexy white underwear as she rose and smoothed her dress. They linked arms to walk bravely into Don's Catfish House of Cajun.
Whatever that meant.
John watched the waiter's eyes as they expertly dove into his wife's dress, lapping up a view of her tits while she wasn't looking and then snapping quickly back into place on her eyes when she looked up from the menu. John felt a shiver of pleasure. The guy was young, good-looking, probably a university student paying his way through school, destined to be something cool, if his hair was any indication.
Adria placed her fingers on her neck and fluttered them into a fan. She drew her fingers over her skin and looked up at the waiter brightly.
Flirting?
John felt his pulse quicken.
“I don't have any idea what to get,” she said, in a throaty voice.
The waiter smiled, and moved to stand behind her, close to her, where he could see her menu.
And, John noted, he could look right over her tits and “at the menu.”
The waiter slid his arm over Adria's to point at something on the menu. He leaned in even closer, and turned his head to smile at her as he explained her best option, a sampler. John stared, his cock getting harder under the table.
Adria touched her neck, and smiled prettily for the waiter. “I'll take it,” she said.
Was it John's imagination, or did she giggle like a schoolgirl when she said this?
She certainly wasn't being herself.
He ordered the same thing, and leaned on the table after the waiter left. “Are you flirting with that guy?”
Adria gave John her “Dumb Look.” It was an expression that did, in fact, make her look a little bit like a bimbo – highly unbelievable if you knew her at all, but very effective, she claimed, for getting out of problems by playing stupid. He hadn't seen it for ages. He snorted with laughter and Adria's “Dumb Look” cracked.
“Whatever do you mean?” she said.
Then he felt it.
Her foot. On his thigh. Her toes, sliding along his thigh. She found what she was looking for: confirmation that his cock was hard, and she smiled victoriously.
“So you really like that?” she said. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and pressed her lips together mischievously.
John wasn't sure what to say. After all, his cock was doing the talking for him. He smiled.
“Is this what you're talking about, 'an arrangement?'” she asked.
John's mouth fell open slightly. Was his wife actually saying this? Was she serious?
“Okay,” she said, looking over at the bar where the waiter was collecting their drinks. John let his imagination go, imagined she was looking at the guy's ass as she fluttered her eyes. She turned back to John. Her face was full of challenge, and with a plummeting pain in his abdomen, John realized it could be one of two kinds of challenge: either she wanted to fulfill his fantasy, or she wanted to prove a point. “Watch this,” she said.
She waited for the waiter to come back, and turned up the heat of her body language as soon as he did. It was slightly obscene, maybe even a little too far: she seemed to be practically lying on the table, stretching her arms out, leaning over the white cloth and playing with the centerpiece with her fingers – all to better show off her breasts in her low-cut dress.
She thanked him as he set a glass of wine in front of her. “Oh,” she said, in mock surprise, the sort that barely fooled strangers and certainly not John. “You don't let me taste it first?”
An innocent question. Except for the way she asked it, except for her bright, fluttering eyes; her coy, sexual grin; the way she coated the whole sentence in a sultry syrup.
The waiter laughed. Cool and confident. John could feel his flirtation burning through the air between the waiter and his wife, and he did it with such audacity. He ignored John completely and gave Adria a sexy smile. “I can let you taste it if you want.”
John felt a wave of humiliation wash over him, listening to the two of them engage in this not-so-innuendoed speech. He knew he should feel worse, or put a stop to it, but the feeling was also incredibly, painfully enjoyable. His cock was hard as stone under the table. He could feel his pulse in his neck; the blood pressure of the angry and the sexually aroused.
Adria smiled back at the waiter, teasing him with her inviting mouth. “Can I send it back if I don't like it?”
The guy smiled again. “You'll like it,” he said plainly.
Adria picked up the glass. She kept her eyes on the waiter as she lifted the drink to her mouth. John felt humiliation burning the back of his neck: the two of them were acting like he wasn't even in the room.
“Mmm,” Adria said, her eyes closed. Her lips were stained with the plum-red wine, and she pressed them together. She fluttered her eyes open again and met the waiters'. “I like it,” she said.
He grinned. “Told ya'.”
There was another excruciating, awkward, erotic minute as the three of them just sat there, Adria playfully flirting with the waiter with her eyes. Finally, she set the glass down to break the silence. “I forgot to ask you your name,” she said.
“Pete,” he answered.
“Pete,” she purred. Another smile. “I'm Adria.”
Another burning silence, and John felt his stomach turning in pain.
“Well,” Adria said. “You had better go get our order in.”
Pete winked. And left.
Adria watched him go, and then swept her sultry eyes back at John.
He felt her foot sliding along his leg again. He shuddered when her toes scraped over the crown of his cock. “Like that?” she asked, but she sort of smirked when she felt his hard-on. “I see,” she said, smiling. She took another sip of wine. “Do you think this is the kind of 'arrangement' Lily and her husband have?”
John swallowed. His cock was still throbbing and the flush of excitement that had set his skin on fire just moments before was only just subsiding. Lily? He thought, aimlessly searching his mind for the name. But all was blank: the only thing he could think about, or remember, about the entire world, was how sexy his wife looked while she flirted with another man. On purpose. In front of him.
“I...don't...I don't really know...” he stammered, when Adria lowered her chin and blinked at him, obviously expecting an answer.
“Huh,” she said, and she leaned back in the booth, taking another sip of wine. It was only then that John noted she was having wine, which was unusual, and quite a bit, which was also unusual.
They sat in a silence that was both uncomfortable and not, smiling with their new secret whenever a waiter passed by the table.
Pete appeared and set a glass of wine on the table on Adria's side. “The bartender poured one too many,” he said, leaning down to growl the explanation next to Adria's ear. “So this is on the house.”
Adria stretched out an arm to pinch the stem of the wine glass between her fingers. She looked at John as she purred, “Why thank you. I hope it's not too much.”
Pete cast a quick glance at John, and then smiled. “It isn't.” he gave a quick, exhaled laugh and shook his head slightly at John, before tossing his circular tray with one hand and catching it. He sauntered away.
“Are you attracted to that kind of guy?” John asked Adria.
She looked at him for a moment. Then she leaned forward and looked down at her wine glass as she stroked it with her fingertips. “Hmm,” she said. She let the comment linger in the air, challenging him again with here eyes.
But what kind of challenge? John still couldn't tell. He wasn't thinking straight. His cock was practically bursting through his pants.
Adria stroked the rim of the wine glass with the tip of her pointer finger. One long, languid swirl. Then she brought her finger to her mouth and sucked off the trace amount of wine she
had collected on her finger with a loud pop. “He's kind of cute,” she said.
John quivered. “Oh yeah?” he felt like his voice was shaking and wondered if Adria noticed. “Sort of young.”
She shrugged. “I mean, we're just talking about physical attraction here, right?”
His voice felt small. “Right.”
Adria gave a laugh, breaking her spellbinding vixen act. She pushed her hair from her face and leaned forward. “I don't get it,” she said. “Is this actually...you know, turning you on?”
She had dropped her hands beneath the table and he felt her exploring his thighs, seeking out what she had felt with her foot. She had to lean pretty drastically to get at him, and her tits tumbled onto the table, a perfect view from where he was. When she found his cock her mouth fell open in mock disbelief. She smiled again.
Then she withdrew. Pete appeared with their food.
“This wine is delicious,” Adria said. She looked up at Pete. “If your bartender happens to mis-pour another glass, please drop it off over here.”
Pete smirked. “I told you you'd want more,” he said.
Adria smiled provocatively.
When he left she took a huge gulp of her wine. “This is sort of fun,” she said.
“Are you having a little too much?” John asked her.
She cocked her head. “You're the one who wanted me to flirt with the waiter,” she said. Then she winked. “If he brings me another glass, I'll share with you,” she said. Then she turned her attention to her Udon Catfish. “This is fucking crazy,” she said.
Then she shrugged.
Then she dug in.
“I'm headed to the loo,” Adria announced suddenly. She tossed her napkin to the side and stood up. “Whoo,” she exclaimed. She was definitely tipsy. The wine had given her a nice flush on the cheeks, and she had the glassy-eyed look of a perfectly buzzed woman, having a nice time...open to suggestions, lacking in inhibitions...John shifted uncomfortably in his seat and considered going with her.
But she was already walking that way.
And on her way to the bathroom, Pete the waiter appeared like smoke from one of the rows of booths. They collided. John heard Adria's throaty laugh from across the restaurant. He watched with burning resentment and throbbing lust as Pete placed his waiter paws on Adria's arms. They paused there, with Adria tossing her hair and Pete's hand on her arm. Talking. Adria's mouth was open and smiling.
She stole a quick glance back at the table, where John was watching her, hot on the back of his neck again. He didn't bother changing his expression, and he didn't care what it was. He couldn’t look away. Pete looked at him too, and smiled.
Adria leaned in and said something to Pete, and Pete's eyes were driven over to John again.
And then they parted.
Had they made some kind of plan? John wondered. Fear and delicious envy, hope and anger, jealousy and confusion writhed inside of him. Adria disappeared to the bathrooms.
And then she was gone a very long time.
Another thing about Adria was that she was an ultra-quick pee-er. She was in and out of a bathroom before most men. She prided herself on it.
The minutes ticked by. John stared at the hall where the doors disappeared until he though the image might burn a hole in brain.
Maybe there was another entrance to the hallway. An entrance leading from the kitchen. Maybe Adria had whispered to Pete, her lips right net to his ear: meet me in the ladies'.
Maybe she was back there right now, smiling with her head tilted back against the metal dividers of the stalls, her tits bouncing in her dress as Pete the athletic, smug little shit of a waiter bounced her up and down on his hard cock. Maybe the hot insides of her pretty cunt were wrapped around his meat, and he was enjoying the tight, soft feel of her. Of his wife.
John's cock throbbed again. He was so hard he could barely stand it. It was almost making him sick. Trembling, and without taking his eyes off the hallway, he took a sip of ice water. The water was so cold in contrast to how he felt that it nearly shocked him as it slid down his throat.
Meanwhile his mind went on and on. Maybe she was on her knees, her hand wrapped around Pete's cock, guiding it to her mouth...
He swept his eyes around the restaurant. No Pete anywhere.
He tossed his napkin down. He wasn't even sure what he was doing as he stood up and crossed the room, headed for the hallway. He could feel that his walk was fevered, angry, purposeful. It felt strange to him, like he was in another body.
When he turned the corner into the hallway, he saw there was no other way in. He scanned the dimly lit area, wondering what on earth he thought he was doing.
The womens' bathroom door opened. It was Adria, who looked surprised to see him there for a brief second. Then her eyes brightened. She gave him a coy smile, and paused in the door, propping it open with one hand. “You look a little wild,” she said.
This expression on her face. It gutted him, as much as it ignited him.
She dropped her hand and let the door swing behind her as she stepped into the hallway. She was still giving him this wicked smile, and his mind was quickly filling up with all of the images he'd created sitting in the restaurant waiting for her. Maybe she had found a way to smuggle Pete in there. Maybe he was in there now. Maybe her mouth was salty with his cum. Maybe her pussy was full of it, and it was dripping down her leg...
His eyes dropped to her thighs, seeking out his imagined proof of her sin.
She moved close to him, and brushed by him. “Come on,” she said. “Let's get dessert.”
She made him turn, as though she were a magnet and he was metal. He felt hypnotized, but only for a moment. He walked behind her, and then his mind (and his cock) got the better of him. He pushed her into a bathroom marked for families.
A single bathroom with a lock.
She went willingly inside, and headed for the wall, as though she knew all along that he was going to push her in there. He was still wondering, and they moved into the cool, tiled room, is if he would find her panties as wet as before.
And wet with what, exactly?
Was she disappointed when she opened the door and found John?
Why had she waited so long in the bathroom? She peed and then she stood up, waiting. She washed her hands over and over. A woman came and went. She pretended to be fluffing her hair. She leaned against the counter.
What was she waiting for? She knew, as she waited, that she wanted something to happen. Someone to appear, come into the bathroom, claim her as his.
She hadn't felt like this for such a long time. Waiting for men to come after her. Hoping they would. Not knowing which guy she was really hoping for. Not really thinking things through, like what would happen, and what she would do, if Pete really did appear in the bathroom.
Would she smile at him? How far would she take it?
But neither of them appeared, and so she started to leave. Maybe she was even relieved. Relieved that she didn't have to misbehave, or feel disappointed, or make a decision.
And then there he was.
John was looking crazy. He was acting crazy. His hungry, twisted appearance sent a flutter of lust through her. She was glad when he placed his fingertips on her spine and they entered the bathroom.
What she wanted was for him to push her up against the wall, but John just wasn't that kind of guy, and he needed some coaxing. She placed her hands on the wall, her ass to him. She hoped he would reach above her, take her wrists in his hand, and then use his free hand to jerk her panties away and force his cock inside of her.
He started to slide the skirt of her dress up over her thighs, making circles on her skin.
Adria pushed against him, and reached behind her to grab his hand and hook his thumb on her panties. She had a sudden, better idea, and slid her own hand under the fabric of her panties, so that it was sort of bound by her underwear.
She knew what she wanted: she wanted him to pull on the fabric and twist it
around her wrist, immobilizing her hand against her ass, and pulling the fabric taut against her pelvic bone, maybe against her clit. She wanted him to tell her to stay put like that while he fucked her. Tell her not to move, not an inch, while he had his way with her.
But John just wasn't that kind of guy, she knew.
The waiter might be that kind of guy.
She felt a gush of her excitement at the thought of the waiter. The waiter doing this exact same thing to her, but doing it a little more...forcefully than John.
“Is this what you'd do with your waiter?” John breathed, almost as if he was reading her mind. The shock of it send a cold shudder through her, and she had to rationalize with herself to reassure herself he could not, in fact, read her thoughts.
She remembered that he had his own agenda, his own fantasy.
“I'd have him fuck me harder,” she breathed. “I know he's the kind of guy who would do it, too. Tie me up, take me from behind.”
She felt John's cock flop against her thighs after the sound of his zipper. His breathing was heavy now.
“Keep talking,” he whispered.
“He'd get both of my hands tied up in my panties,” she said.
He took her other hand, and slid it with her eager help beneath the strip of fabric at the crest of her underwear. “He'd pull on it,” she breathed, “and wrap it around me.”
Her head was against the wall now, the only thing holding her up besides John's grip on her hands. It was wildly uncomfortable and so erotic she could feel her juices slick between her legs, as wet as she had been in a long, long time.
She felt John tug on her panties, and twist them around her wrist.
Her waiter would have done it more violently, she thought. He would have used her a little more, bound her a little tighter, until the lace of her panties dug into her flesh. The flesh of her wrists and the flesh of her cunt.
She could only hold herself up now by pressing her head against the wall. She felt John's breath on her back, and the tip of his cock shimmying into the flesh of her pussy. She urged him silently to fuck her, but he slid into her slowly. She urged him silently to pull her hair back, so that she could only look at the ceiling while he pummeled his seed into her.