0 comments/ 9246 views/ 0 favorites Dinner in the French Quarter By: mysticknyght The French Quarter restaurant is over 100 years old and very popular, but was almost empty, something unheard of on a Friday night in the spring. It wouldn't have mattered to the couple sitting at the small table towards the back of the small dining room off the back hall; they only had eyes for each other, be damned who else was in the place. Even though both were in their late 30s, the sparkle in their eyes when they were together made them feel like teenagers. The wait staff at Tujague's Restaurant was used to couples such as these, and knew exactly how to handle serving them: stay the heck out of their way as much as possible. The sexual energy from the two of them was so strong that it became almost a barrier in any case, an almost visible "keep out" signal that enveloped the table. To the naked eye, however, they appeared to be just another couple out on the town; this lady was no tramp, and her escort knew that. The non-verbal communication between them, on the other hand, was in language that would get a Hollywood film rated NC-17 in a heartbeat. The waiter had just removed the appetizer dishes as the couple nibbled absent-mindedly on the French bread still on the table. She was taller than him by an inch or two, with long, graceful legs that were finally getting dark enough that she felt comfortable going out in a short dress without hose. The long white tablecloth draped her legs completely, much to the disappointment of the busboy, who got an eyeful of her in her fire-engine red sun dress. Her companion was also dressed casually, in the old New Orleans style: chinos, white cotton dress shirt, open at the collar, and navy blazer. Dinner progressed normally, the couple sharing small talk, but their eyes were plotting an evening of carnal exploration that was driving both of them wild. At one point while she was cutting into her steak, he slipped off his shoe and ran his bare foot up her leg, going up her thigh as far as he could without making it obvious what he was up to. The sensation of skin on skin sent a mild electric shock through her spine; she shuddered, reaching for her glass of wine. By the time he had done this three or four times to her, they were ready for their second bottle of California Merlot, and she was ready for a bit of revenge. Sliding her foot out of her shiny black sandal, her toes moving slowly up his leg, she grinned evilly. He was visibly squirming by the third pass, as she moved her foot into his crotch and began to enjoy the feeling of his cock swelling under her toes. Stifling a moan, he was now reaching for the wine to calm his nerves. She smiled angelically at him, as if she was simply a high school girl on her first date. She was the total picture of innocence while she caressed his cock, almost to the point of exploding. She was no fool, this one—she knew just when to stop and run her foot back down to his ankle, leaving him shuddering and wanting more. With a look vowing complete revenge, he smiled as the waiter came to pour more wine for the both of them. The rest of the meal consisted of this back-and-forth play between them, both physically and psychically. He paid the check and left a generous tip for the excellent non-service, and they headed out through the main dining room to the front door. He made her walk first, so he could trace the outline of her small panties through the back of the dress. His preoccupation with her ass was a running joke between them. She swayed her hips a bit, knowing he'd enjoy it, hoping his bulge would embarrass him a bit as he walked out. One male customer at another table also took notice as she walked out, much to the chagrin of his female dinner partner. The hot, humid air hit both of them as the door opened onto Decatur Street. The sounds of the Quarter at night were lost on both of them as he took her hand and led her around the corner from the restaurant, onto one of the dark north-south streets. They walked a slow pace down about half a block, his hand running slowly up and down her back, all the way up to her neck, then down her thigh, brushing her panties under the dress as his hand rode back up on the return trip. She shivered, her usual reaction to his touch. When they first met, he was a bit put off by her reactions, until he discovered that those reactions were just a very tight harness on an extremely passionate soul. It was just a matter of doing little things to loosen her up as they went along. Like stopping in the middle of the block, pushing her up against the wall, and kissing her deeply, tongue exploring her entire mouth…hands running down her back…cupping her ass gently…fingers running down the backs of her thighs, rounding them on the outside, then back up the inner thighs, just fluttering up along the front of her tiny black bikini panties. He slid his tongue back to her ear and applied just a little bit of pressure to her mound, his mouth moving back to hers to quickly stifle the gasp leaving her lips. His hands slowly made their way to her breasts, just flicking her nipples, then her neck, then holding her face in-between them. Breaking the kiss, but not the eye contact, his hands slowly sliding down the front of her dress, open palms lightly brushing her nipples, feeling them stiffen under his touch. He allowed her to gasp this time, then pulled her to him in a hug. Taking her hand in his, he led her further down the block, then around the corner, stopping in front of a wrought-iron gate on Royal Street. Reaching into his pocket for a set of keys, he unlocked the gate and led her down the access way, into the central courtyard of the Spanish-style house. The house, typical for the Vieux Carre', belonged to a friend of theirs, who was out of the country for several months, and he was house-sitting. The courtyard was not very large, and the combination of the humid night air and the leaves of the tree and hanging plants compressed the space even more. He led her over to the fountain in the corner, the slow rhythm of the dripping water relaxing her. Sitting her down on the edge of the fountain, he stood behind her, lightly rubbing her shoulders and kissing her neck. Softly responding, she turned and kissed him, stretching out her arms to pull him to her. Sitting down next to her, he immediately ran his hand up under her dress, once again finding her black panties. Kissing her deeply, he slid her panties aside…tightly-harnessed her emotions may be, her body was giving the lie to that control as his fingers felt her dampness. Lightly probing her slit at first, but she crossed her legs, forcing him to withdraw his hand. Her legs gleamed in the moonlight, the short red dress a stimulating complement to her silky thighs. Not one for shoes, she flicked the sandal on her outstretched leg out into the courtyard and kissed him again, wrapping her arms around his neck. It was his turn to gasp, because she rarely initiated this kind of contact so early in the evening. Keeping her emotions in check was an art form, and the opera had not progressed into the part where hers were to come to center stage. Startled, he kissed her again, pulling her close, hands running up and down her bare arms, then to the back of her dress, tugging down the zipper all the way. Slipping the dress off of her, letting it slide to her waist, she shivered as her breasts greeted the night air, her nipples erect and begging for attention. Pulling her bottom lip into his mouth, his hand found first the left, then her right nipple, gently…then a bit more firmly…but no pain…just ecstasy. Looking each other in the eyes until she broke the contact and buried her head in his shoulder, biting him gently…reaching to unbutton his shirt and run her fingernails down his chest. He sighed audibly and sucked hard on her neck as his hands cupped her breasts, then ran around to hold her to him tightly. The fire springing from her nipples moved lower and she slowly uncrossed her legs, sliding off the other sandal and swinging her leg around to dangle it into the cool water of the fountain. Smiling softly at him, she dampened her foot and ran her wet toes over his bare chest, gently, then turned around so her bare back rested against his chest. He began twirling her hair gently, then his hands instinctively went back to her nipples, then lower. Slipping his hands down her thighs, they came back up under the dress and went straight to her crotch. No crossed legs this time; on the contrary, she gracefully parted her legs as he slipped his fingers under her panties and began to softly stroke her clit. Gently at first, his movement stirred her and she arched her back away from him just a bit. Adjusting to the sensation, she relaxed against him again and drew her leg up, giving him a little better access. That shift in position enabled him to slide two fingers down the slit, rubbing her lips gently, then softly sliding a finger into her damp pussy. His finger went in easily and an inaudible moan left her lips, visible, yet silent. Thrusting her hips against his fingers in counterpoint to his movement, she worked into a rhythm with him. Reaching up to lightly stroke her own nipples, she turned and kissed his chest, never stopping the rhythm of her hips. He always knew when she was ready, even though barely a sound came from either of them. A shudder went through her entire body as the orgasm rippled from her ears down to her toes and she melted against him. Suddenly gasping for air, she pulled herself upright and turned for a hug and kiss. Standing, her red dress fell down to her bare feet as they went arm in arm up the outside stairs to the bedroom on the second floor. Dinner in the French Quarter This story is not entirely true and not entirely fiction. The description of events involving the shopping trip and the waiter in the restaurant are true with only slight artistic embellishment. The three men, however, represent plans for the future, rather than characters from the past. As soon as we entered the restaurant, I knew immediately that it was the right place for what we had in mind. The lights were low with candles on each table, creating a romantic mood and affording ample opportunity for some sexy fun. It was early so only a few others had drifted in for supper. We picked a table against the back wall and sat on adjacent sides facing outward. Dina, my wife of ten years, was on my left. There were three or four other couples that were waiting to order or had started eating, plus one table with three well-dressed men – probably in New Orleans for a convention. The three men were to our left about twenty feet away and the others were mostly seated in front of us near the opposite wall or in the center of the restaurant. It seemed perfect for a little mischief. We talked for a while, almost as if it was going to be just an ordinary dinner out. We both knew different, but we also knew we had to pace the evening to savor every exciting moment. We had gone shopping for a special bra and a new short skirt the night before, as a prelude for our Saturday night of fun. She had tried on several bras in Frederick's of Hollywood, and each time opened the door to the dressing room to get my opinion. All of the bras exposed her nipples in one way or another. Some were shelf bras that left the entire top half of the breast exposed and some were full bras but with holes or slits that exposed the nipples. I certainly enjoyed the view as she modeled each bra, as perhaps did a few lucky guys who were browsing with their girlfriends. The skirt we bought was no less interesting – a simple straight black skirt made of thin stretchy material. And short – it was very short. It hugged her legs and tended to ride up if she spread them a little. When she was seated, it afforded a tantalizing view to anyone in front of her. I could tell from the night of shopping that Dina was in a mood for adventure and I could think of nothing else all day Saturday. As we waited to order our food, I couldn't take my eyes off of Dina's breasts. The bra she bought the night before was black with transparent mesh material that was mostly covered with small black embroidered flowers. However, each cup had a vertical slit that exposed her nipples and much of the surrounding skin. Even in the dim light of the restaurant, her white skin and pink nipples were visible through her sheer black blouse. The contrast of the light skin against the black bra captured the eye like a steel trap. I couldn't believe my normally shy wife was so eager to show her breasts to anyone who might come close enough to see. "Wow," I said, "Can I just fuck you here on the table right now?" only half joking. "Calm down boy," she replied, "The night is young and I have a few surprises I think you'll like." When the waiter came to take our order, I could tell immediately that he noticed her breasts. His eyes paused to absorb the view and the sly smile on his face was a dead giveaway. Dina acted as if nothing was out of the ordinary and made no effort to block his view. In fact, she seemed to sit up just a little straighter and push her breasts out, as if she was presenting them for inspection. As I sat there enjoying both the view and the drama, I wondered what sort of mischief she had in mind for the rest of the night. As we waited for our food, I couldn't resist a little fun. I reached over and put my hand high on her leg. She just smiled. Slowly I adjusted her already short skirt until her shaved pussy was peeking out from under the hem of the skirt. The tablecloth hung down about eight inches on all sides and prevented others from seeing, but I had a great view of desert even before the main course had been served. "Now move your chair back just a little and spread your legs just a little more," I instructed. She eagerly complied, knowing that the tablecloth still protected her modesty. This was not something we hadn't done many times before, but whenever anyone would come close, she would always close her legs or put a napkin on her lap. This time would be different. "I have something special to request," I said. "I want you to stay exactly like that until after the waiter has served our food. Don't move the chair or the skirt or your legs even a little bit" "You must be crazy," she replied, but she didn't move and I could tell from the look in her eyes that she found the idea exciting. As the minutes went by, I occasionally put my hand on her thigh and slowly stroked her silky smooth skin. Some of the strokes went all the way up and I gently caressed her pussy with my fingers. She closed her eyes and smiled as I traced little circles around her clit with my index finger, then ran it down between the lips to feel how wet she was. These little forays didn't last long and were interspersed with periods of just holding hands and an occasional brief kiss. Still, I hoped that she was becoming so excited that she would resist her instinct to cover up when the waiter returned. Eventually, it became apparent that the three men at the table to our left were watching. They were perhaps twenty feet away and sitting off to our side, and so they could not see Dina's pussy. However, they could see that her short skirt was hiked up and that I was stroking her leg. It must have been very clear to them that we were having a little fun. They probably thought that she was flashing her panties. Of course, they had no way of knowing yet that Dina wasn't wearing panties. Eventually, the waiter came to serve our food and, as requested, Dina did not move. It was a moment to remember. I felt embarrassment, a need to protect her, and a rush of sexual excitement, all at once. It was a potent emotional cocktail. Although the restaurant was a little dark and the shirt did not reveal more than a portion of Dina's pussy, and that in the shadow, the waiter must have known that he was being included in some sexual play. Thankfully, he didn't drop anything or give any obvious sign of what he saw. However, it was clear from sly smile on his face and the polite way that he asked whether we needed anything else that he was not unhappy. Perhaps he was wondering how the game might unfold as the night progressed. I cut my eyes to the left and to see that all three of the men at the neighboring table were following events with interest. They had apparently figured out that we were having some sort of sexy fun and were waiting for the next scene. Nothing much happened while we ate our dinner. Dina adjusted her skirt and closed her legs. She squirmed in her seat from time to time and flashed me her pussy in the process, but nobody else could see. Eventually, the three men spent more time eating and less time looking our way. The waiter provided excellent service and checked on us frequently, but he was probably disappointed that the view had changed. As we ate, a plan began forming in my mind for one final exciting scene to occur just as we were leaving the restaurant, and I began to worry that the three men would finish their meal and leave before we did. They were an important part of my plan. As we waited for the check, I described the scene to Dina and told her what I wanted her to do. I could tell from the look on her face that she wasn't enthusiastic, so I played my trump card and accused her of cowardice. That always prompted her to do even more than requested, just to prove how adventuresome she was. On queue, she looked down and noticed some imaginary crumbs. She pushed her seat back a little and began brushing the phantom crumbs from her blouse. Of course, this required numerous strokes over her ample breasts. At one point she briefly stopped to gently squeeze her left nipple through the sheer fabric. Then she continued brushing crumbs from her skirt and legs. In the process, she spread her legs and the skirt rode up high. She paused briefly to gently stroke her pussy; then continued to chase away the offending crumbs. When finished with this, the three men were again following her every move. They still couldn't see her pussy, but they could tell what she was doing. Then Dina pushed her chair back a little more, adjusted her skirt, and placed a napkin on her lap. When the waiter returned with the check, her modesty was protected. After a quick look at the check, I put four $20 bills on the table and indicated that I needed change. When he bent over to pick up the bills, Dina casually removed the napkin from her lap, wiped the corner of her mouth with it and then placed it on the table as if she was preparing to leave. This afforded the waiter a close up view of her spread legs and exposed pussy. This time there was no partial exposure or shadows to hide any detail – the shirt was positioned so that her pussy was fully uncovered and clearly visible. Again, she acted as if everything was normal and that she wasn't even aware of the exposure. Perhaps the incident earlier in the evening had prepared the waiter to expect something like this, because he now seemed more relaxed. He paused for a moment, still bent over in the process of picking up the money. After one or two long seconds, he took his gaze off Dina's pussy and looked into her eyes and then mine, then he gave us both a big smile and started to leave. I told him I didn't need any change after all, and he smiled again. We immediately prepared to leave, but Dina had one final step to take. With her shirt still hiked up; she swiveled in her seat until she was facing the three men. They now had an unobstructed view and could see that she wasn't wearing any panties. Of course, they weren't nearly as close as the waiter had been. After a brief but noticeable pause, she stood up and we both headed to the door. The skirt fell down to once again restore her modesty. As we left the restaurant, we both glanced back toward the three men. While they had been quiet and still only minutes before as they watched the unfolding events at our table, they were now very animated and abuzz with conversation. "What got them all stirred up?' Dina queried with a sly smile.