“Your attention please. We’re sorry to announce that flight 1418 will be further delayed by 4 hours due to rain and heavy fog. We apologize for the inconvenience.”
You mutter “Shit”, and look at around for the nearest concession where you can get a stiff drink, ” ‘Landing Lounge’ it is…”, striding and pulling your carry on.
You settle in at the bar, catching the bartender’s eye, “Sapphire martini, three olives.” A rustle at your elbow, and a male voice, “Same here, and both on my tab.”
You turn, about to assert your independence, and are stopped by my wry crooked smile. “Please let me get this; because I’m going to trust you to watch my bag and coat for 5 minutes while I find a bathroom!” Smiling, you nod.
I head out and you wait. In a surprisingly short time until two large martinis materialize. You take a long pull, eyes half closed, feeling the cocktail slide down your throat, ice cold and soothing. You glance at the jacket tossed over my seat and can’t resist a peek at the label, eyebrows going up as you recognize a Savile Row tailor.
“Jesus, I’m glad the gent’s was close! How are the drinks in this place?” I settle in beside you, draining my glass half dry in one practiced sip.
“Good. And thanks for the drink.” You sit straight in your seat, wishing you had something to do with your hands.
“You’re the one doing me a favor. You hungry? I’m half starved. Miss? Can we get some pretzels?” The bowl arrives and you gratefully grab some to nibble.
I crunch a handful, washing them down with the remains of my drink. “Another over here please. I heard there’s a decent restaurant on the next concourse, let’s have dinner.
“That’s very nice, but I don’t think… I mean we only just met and it wouldn’t be…”
“I saw your reaction to the delay and figure we’re on the same flight. So you have time to kill too. So let’s steal a couple of pleasant hours, and pretend we planned it that way. Tell you what, call me…Edward. and I’ll call you Penny.”
You meet my steady gaze, biting your lip just a bit, glancing down as I touch your knee just where your skirt ends, fingertips barely brushing your silk clad leg. Tiny butterflies in your stomach, you nod.
“Great. Finish your drink.” Mine disappears in one long swallow. I pay the tab and we gather our bags. “I think it’s this way,” you following me as I bulldoze my way out to the concourse, slightly nervous, and excited to have something to fill the wait, glad to have someone else take the lead and make decisions.
We walk into a simple but elegant restaurant with a sign reading “Catch”. Pleasant light classical music pipes through the neutral toned room, smoothly textured upholstery invites you to sit. We choose a banquette with bare lumber walls just inside the door, surprisingly quiet and private. As we settle in, a staff member in a starched jacket glides over. I glance at the proferred menu, “We’d like a nice crisp bottle of white, very cold. And the seafood tower, for two.”
I sit next to you, too close it seems. You put your hands on the seat, in your lap, on the table, trying to get get comfortable. I ease back in the booth, my arm along the back of the seat. You start as I touch your shoulder, “Look, maybe this isn’t…”
“It a perfectly good idea. We’re both stuck here against our wills. Let’s have some good food and wine, and have a good time while we do. You’re perfectly safe, there are people all around us, and you don’t have to do anything except enjoy yourself.” You meet my gaze, finding comfort in my eyes. My warm hand softly strokes the back of your neck, and you half close your eyes as a chill washes over you. The wine arrives and the server pours and leaves, my fingers slowly tracing your neck and shoulders. I sip and my other hand finds your knee again.
“You wearing hose or stockings?”
“Uh, hose. Sometimes it’s cold on a plane.”
“OK. If you want to play a little, go into the ladies’ and take your hose and panties and bra off.” You meet my eyes again and nod.
In the ladies’ room, you stop and look at yourself in the mirror, “It really is safe isn’t it? Like he said?” In the stall, you raise your skirt and slip off your hose and panties, then slip off the silk bra you’re wearing under the businesslike blouse and jacket and stuff them in your purse. Taking a deep breath, you walk back, sit down and look me directly in the eye, “What do we do now?”
“Now? We eat some crab and enjoy our wine.” I lift a claw toward your lips and you commit, staring at me as you suck the sweet flesh from the shell. My fingers lightly touch your bare thigh and a chill runs up your back.
“Is it good?” You nod, “I think so too, but it could be better. Unbutton two more buttons on your blouse, and lean forward for your next bite.” I pluck an oyster from the crushed ice. I plant my elbow on the table, holding it just out of range. You glance around, no one is looking. With practiced fingers, you quickly slip your buttons. Licking your lips, you lean forward hungrily. I tip it into your mouth, its fresh ocean flavor filling your mouth. You close your eyes and swallow, ‘Delicious.’
‘Isn’t it? Your breasts are lovely. I’d love to hold them. Do you like having them played with?’ My gaze is direct and my hand warm on your shoulder.
‘Uh huh.’
‘Rough or gentle?’
‘Um, maybe a little rough? Sometimes?’ You find yourself uptalking, ending your sentences with a question, like a teenager.
‘Good girl. Have a shrimp.’ I offer a large cocktail shrimp and when your lips close around it, pull it back a little, making you lean forward to keep it in your mouth.
‘So hungry…’, you feel the tingle in your stomach move lower, becoming a glow.
You reach for your wine, leaning back, crossing your arm over. Are you really acting this shy? You sip and take a deep breath, then return my gaze, ‘OK, what now?’
My smile crinkles the corners of my eyes, ‘I want you to turn my way a bit. Raise your knee as if you’re trying to get comfortable. When you do, lift your skirt enough to expose your pussy.’ Your inhaled breath, almost a gasp, raises your breasts against the thin fabric of your blouse. I slide back a little, reaching into the ice bucket to refill our wine.
You look up at me through lowered lashes, easing your thigh up, tucking your shoe behind my knee. Your curled fingers slide your hem higher until I grin.
‘Very nice. You’re doing very well Penny. Now touch yourself. Just one finger. Slide it down and stroke a little.’ You nervously glance outwards, but you see I’ve made a wall in front of the table with our bags and no one can see.
You glide your polished nails along your thigh. Your skin is tingling and you feel a shock when you touch your soft smooth skin. You exhale faintly, your lips parted.
My voice is a low growl, ‘Very nice. Are you enjoying yourself? Do you feel safe? I’m watching to make sure you’re very safe.’
‘Uh huh.’
‘Good. Now, slowly, slowly… you can rub yourself. Just the pad of your finger, and don’t let it go inside.’ You swallow and flex your finger, stroking the soft flesh.
‘Um, how long do I…?’
‘Shhhhhh… We’ve got plenty of time. Drink your wine.’ I pick meat from a cracked crab claw.
‘Do you want to put your finger in a bit? If I let you, you have to promise me you won’t touch your clit.’
‘I do. I won’t.’
‘OK. You can put your index finger in just a bit, just to the knuckle. But stay well away from your clit.’ I butter a roll from the bread basket .
You ease your fingertips between your lips, feeling how wet you are. It’s as if you can feel the ridges of your fingerprint rubbing you as it slides in. Almost imperceptibly, you inch your hips forward.
‘Do you like akvavit?’ I raise my voice, ‘Sir? May we have two akvavits? Very cold please.’ To you I murmur, ‘Don’t worry, just don’t move.’ You obey. An agonizing interval and the server brings two frosted glasses of clear liquid on a tray, setting them before you.
‘I love this stuff. And it goes great with seafood.’ I raise my glass and sip. You follow suit. The thick icy liquor spreads and coats your tongue, tasting faintly of rye as it warms. You love gin, and this is similar. ‘It’s very good.’
‘It is. Yes it is. Are you enjoying yourself.’
‘I am.’ Your words have returned.
‘Do you want to keep going? I’d like it very much if you had an orgasm right here. You can touch your clit. Use just one finger. Be very quiet and discreet.’
Licking your lips, you scan the room. The dining room is deserted; only two patrons at the bar, watching some game. Parting your thighs, you dip your finger a tiny bit deeper, then raise it, at first just pressing it into yourself. One, two breaths, then gently you rub your finger along the sensitive skin. You’ve never been so aware of such tiny motions before! It seems magnified, by the wine, by the food, by the room, by the situation, by everything swirling around you. Quickly, like a fire catching, the familiar glow grows, sharp and hot and bright below your belly button until it’s like a star that’s too bright to look at. Slow and controlled, you move your finger back and forth, back and forth.
‘Penny, you look like you’re very close. Are you?’
‘Yes.’
My broad smile warms you like the sun at the beach, ‘I’m so pleased. Make yourself cum now.’ You look into my clear eyes, feeling the roller coaster rush of your orgasm as you fall. It’s soft, sweet and gentle spasms, quick and tight. You feel the pulses against your fingertip. Your cheeks redden and you look around, impossibly no one has noticed.
‘Drain your glass. We’ll blame the flush in your cheeks on Dutch distilling .’ The liquor traces a fire down you throat, meeting the one in your belly. Your glass meets the table with an audible click and you exhale weeks of tension and stress.
‘Holy fuck.’
‘Yeah, that was beautiful.
‘So, now what?’
‘Now we finish this seafood. I’m starving!’
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/6ffr7w/catch_mf_voyeur_exhibitionism_public_tease