tigersaint

the thirty-ninth night:

our irresistible benefactor returned last night, his dark chocolate velvet voice coming through the phone with laughing charm. from the moment i heard his low end growl i knew that an evening previously scheduled for smoking, books and lounging around on my bed watching the wall would instead be a decadent and intellectually stimulating feast of food, wine and words.

did we have the night free? would we like to accompany him to dinner? maybe have a few drinks?

he laughed at how quickly my friend and i said yes and told us to be ready in forty-five minutes.

we got dressed in our shabby best, me in loose,thin navy slacks, a crisp white button down unbottoned far enough down to reveal i wasn't wearing a bra only a wifebeater, my hair pulled up into little buns at the back of my head, with red lipstick and glasses only on my face. i wore bowling shoes with no socks, insisting on slipping them off during dinner so my feet could play in the restaurant's lush carpet.

this restaurant was much different than the last. rather than bright lights and loud bar, it was very dark with warm lighting, big plush chairs, deep round wine glasses, soft linen napkins, heavy silver flatware, ice broken off in chips with an icepick for your water.

they brought the wine in tiny decanters, i watched my friend to make sure i did the right thing while tasting it. soon, though, it flowed easily and we were both glassy eyed, our patron smiling at us over his iced tea, letting us order as we wished but not partaking.

i began chatting up the food runner, a tall boy, broad shoulders and large hands, big round eyes and soft looking curly hair. i caught him looking at me while he set down food at other tables, i winked at him as he refilled my friend's water, the jagged chunks of ice falling heavily into his glass, water splashing over the side.

he stood next to me as our host started asking him questions, trying his best into seducing the boy to sit down with us during his shift. i turned in my seat and slipped my bare foot up the side of his pantleg, watching him snap to stiff attention as my toes slid into his sock and traced slow circles around his ankle. the color came bright and fast to his cheeks as i let my toenail, freshly buffed but unpainted and therefore a bit sharper than usual despite its shortness, scrape hard against his skin, trying to at last mark him and he nearly tripped as he turned to continue his work, my friend calling after him to be sure to join us for desert.

a few minutes later i saw him in the waiting station, which was next to the bathroom. i excused myself from the table and made my way to the ladies', the runner's eyes on me the whole time.

the ladies' room was how it always is in those kinds of restaurants, clean with all manner of accoutrements on the counters, soft linens to dry your hands, stalls that are their own little rooms, like confessional boxes. i entered the last box, undid my pants and sat down, listening intently for the sound of another person entering the room.

the door on the stall was wooden with slats that pointed towards the ceiling, so on my side i could see the world in little strips, but on the other side of the door no one could see anything. there was a large gap of space from the floor to the bottom of the door, easily large enough for me to crawl through, however, and if someone tried hard they could see if someone was in the box or not.

just as i was finishing i heard the bathroom door swing open and momentarily a rush of voices from in the restaurant invaded the quiet of porcelain and water, then nothing as it swung closed.

i heard the fall of heavy footsteps, walking slowly past each box, stopping for a moment and then walking to the next until finally i saw large feet from under the break of the door, black shoes, polished, neat black pants that broke just right at the cuff, clean.

i watched as the left pantleg began to rise and a strong hand appeared to push the sock down past the ankle--a fine dark scratch over the curve of the ankle like, rounded like a smile.

i stood up and let my pants fall to the ground. i could see his hands on the slats and i pressed my face to them, trying to smell him. i slipped my tongue down to feel the heat of his skin and heard him inhale quickly, startled as he felt the flick of it. i sat on the floor, bare-assed, legs open, pants at my ankles.

i slipped my foot under the door. he went to his knees and took it in his hands. he tried to pull my pants off but when he did i pulled my foot away quickly, letting him know what i wanted. he bent over and i felt the warmth of his lips, soft like a girl's mouth, against the top of my foot. i slipped a finger inside myself and began to fuck myself as he kissed my foot over and over, his breath on my skin, pushing the pants up to my knees, under the door, his grip pulling my legs towards him so he could have seen my hands working between my thighs if my pants weren't blocking his view.

he licked my toes, sucked them into his mouth while i moaned, he dragged his tongue along the soles of my feet while he listened to me, watched my legs struggle under the door, my hips rocking, my back arching, my face pressing against the cold porcelain of the toilet.

then, i felt the tip of his cock, hot and wet with precum, between my feet, rubbing long the length of the soles, then my ankles and calves. he pressed my calves together and slipped his cock back and forth between them, moaning to match my moans.

the door began to shake and i could tell he was up on his knees now, leaning over my naked legs, one hand on the door while the other was stroking his cock, choked pleas for me to come out of the box, my little confessional box, being whispered between his sighs.

as i felt his hot cum shoot across my feet and up my calves my orgasm jerked my body uncontrollably, my hips thrusting up as much as i could, the bottom of the door stopping me short, almost breaking the skin right below my knees, right where my pants shielded the rest of me from view.

i sat up shakily, drops of cum still on my calves and ankles as i pulled my pants up, dripping down and making the soles of my feet sticky.

the sounds of our breathing, recovering, was drowned out by the roar of restaurant voices as the door once again swung open. i heard my poor runner, on his knees next to the stall door, hurriedly telling the intruder that he was looking for an earring that a patron had claimed was lost in the restroom.

i was tucking my shirt into my pants when i opened the stall door, the runner still on his knees.

i stepped around him and washed my hands slowly at the sink, feeling the cum still on my legs, hidden by my pants. i took my time and let the hot water run between my fingers and over my wrists, i lathered my skin thoroughly with rose scented soap. i pulled my lipstick from my pocket and reapplied it slowly, seeing in the reflection that both the runner and the woman were watching me.

grabbing one of the linens, i pressed my lips to it quickly, leaving a dark red kiss.

i turned around and winked at the woman while i handed the runner the soiled linen.

i walked back to the table, slightly dizzy and warm from wine and cum. i smiled mutely, unwilling to answer any of the questions that my host asked about why i looked so flushed.

i saw the runner one more time before we left. he set down our creme brulee and blushed as he handed me the spoon, our patron telling him that this, the cracking of the hard shell, was my favorite part of any meal.

i watched the runner walk away, the linen i had handed him hanging out of his back pocket.