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Cynthia Shows All (05 September 2010)

I excused myself from the table and my insufferably boring date and went to the restroom to clear my head.

I wove my way through tightly packed tables full of the beautiful people, all dining on tiny portions of tasteless but chic food that costs more per plate than the gross national product of several third world countries.

Escaping the crush of delicately eating humanity, I strode quickly to the restroom and sat on the luxuriously appointed couch. I leaned back, closed my eyes, and did my best to gain some serenity.

It was one of those awkward, silent dates with a friend of a friend. Therese, our mis-matchmaker, had probably suggested Geoffrey-with-a-G because she thought he would ground me. He had no sense of humor, no personality! He was attractive enough, but that just didn't do it for me.

I slid my heels off and curled my legs next to me on the couch, trying to bolster myself for the next few hours of stilted pleasantries. There had to be some way for me to salvage this evening. My hose were riding up my ass, and the crowd in the dining area made the room uncomfortably warm.

Inspiration!

I stood, grabbing my shoes, and walked through the empty restroom into the last stall. I slid my hose off my legs, put my green heels back on my feet, and stuffed my hose in the trashcan on the wall of the stall.

At the mirror, I examined my face. Everything was still where I expected it to be - blue-gray eyes, pale skin, short brown hair. I pursed my lips and applied a fresh coat of gloss to the bottom, then rubbed my top lip against it to evenly distribute the pale color. My green dress hugged my breasts, tightly embracing my torso, and flared out above the knee.

I tried my most fascinated expression in the mirror. Not bad. I could pay attention to everyone else while appearing immersed in Geoffrey-with-a-G's opinion of Neil Diamond. (A real legend!)

One last deep breath and I was back to pushing through the mass of tables. No one seemed to notice the missing hose. A waiter breezed past me, his tray full of mostly empty plates. I couldn't tell whether or not the plates had made the obligatory stop at a table or not.

Glancing at the table, I noticed that my own entree had arrived in my absence. A sliver of chicken, drizzled with a frisson of white sauce, and two slices of an unidentifiable (though surely exotic) vegetable took up residence on a dinner plate larger than my head.

Geoffrey-with-a-G pointedly looked at his Rolex as I seated myself.

"Why women must spend ages, simply ages, in the ladies room is utterly beyond me," he intoned. I think he was trying to be witty. I also think the reason he was used to women spending eons in the restroom is because he was duller than dishwater.

I smiled apologetically and set to work dismantling my meal. Geoffrey went on and on about something else and I looked around to see if anyone was watching me.

There was! Diagonal from my own seat, a fairly attractive man sat alone. He didn't appear to be enjoying his meal at all, either. I nodded my head at an appropriate time in my date's litany of his favorite brands of toilet paper, smiled and ate tiny bites of my meal.

I purposely dropped my napkin to the floor, and leaned over to pick it up, displaying my cleavage to the gentleman who was watching me. My napkin returned to my lap, I sipped my overpriced Chilean wine and nodded again at Geoffrey-with-a-G. Thankfully, he hadn't asked a direct question all night, so I got by with nods and smiles.

I kicked my shoes off under the table, and used my toes on my left foot to scratch the back of my right calf. My movements made the skirt of my dress ride up to the middle of my thighs. Was my fellow diner still watching? I glanced to him, and his eyes seemed glued to my lap. My lips curled up in satisfaction for a moment, and then I returned to my fascinated look for Geoffrey-with-a-G's pretentious ramblings (on the future of fossil fuels).

My right hand moved into my lap, and I stroked my own thigh, feeling tight muscle, tensed from the stress of the evening. I pressed at my thigh, relieving some tension, and pulled my skirt up a little more. My pale ivory panties were clearly visible to the man diagonal from me - I could tell he was watching since a flush started at his neck and moved up to his ears.

My fingers crept up my thigh, almost touching my panties, and stopped. I glanced at the man, and saw him looking in my eyes. He'd caught on to my game!

I don't mind admitting it - I have no shame. My fingers moved up to my panties and pressed against my pussy. My own excitement seeped through my panties and made my fingers moist. I casually removed my fingers from my lap and up to my mouth, lightly sucking my own juices, filtered by my panties, from my index and middle fingers.

The blush hadn't dissipated on the fellow watching me. I returned my fingers to my lap again, and lightly licked my upper lip. I looked in his eyes for a moment, and put my fingers into my panties from the top. No holds barred, I flicked my clit with my index finger and shuddered. Geoffrey-with-a-G didn't notice anything, so wrapped up in his story about wood shop in high school.

I flicked my clit again, biting my lip to keep silent, and watched my watcher. Under his own table, I could see a bulge on his thigh. His own hand under the table stroked along his (considerable!) length from his crotch toward his knee.

I stepped it up a notch, pulling my panties over to expose myself completely. Air streamed across my labia and I felt myself get even wetter. A finger slid into my pussy and I clenched around it, hard.

I saw my watcher adjust his cock again. Adding another finger to my clenching pussy, I flicked my thumb against my clit and almost lost the politely interested look I was trying to wear for my date.

An orgasm streamed over me amazingly quickly. Still pulsing, I pulled my fingers out and licked them, my tongue pulling my juices from myself.

"I, personally, have never liked the smell of hay," Geoffrey-with-a-G spoke to my polite look. I gave up.

"Geoffrey, it's been a pleasure speaking with you, but I just remembered that I needed to walk a neighbor's dog tonight. Maybe we can catch up sometime later?"

I dropped three fifty dollar bills on the table to cover my share of the dreadful meal, and slid my feet back into my shoes. "Cynthia! May I have your number?"

I stood, smiled, and shook my head. "Sorry, Geoffrey. I don't think so."

Grabbing my clutch, I looked encouragingly at the gentleman across the table. He finished his wine in a gulp and threw cash on his table. As he stood, I made my way through the throng of people waiting at the door for their chance to enjoy awful food in elegant surroundings. I leaned against the wall outside the restaurant and waited to see if my watcher would join me.

This was insane. I could be killed or raped or something awful. But I didn't think he'd do anything to hurt me, and I liked his smile.

Just a few moments later, he was next to me, leaning against the wall. "Nice show."

I blushed a little. "Thanks."

"Would you like to go out for a drink?"

"I would. I know a place."

I walked confidently down the block, not waiting to see if my watcher was with me. A moment later, his warm hand rested on my lower back as I walked. "What's your name?" I asked, looking at his face.

"Thomas. And yours?"

"Cynthia." We had arrived at the bar, a comfortable hang-out with a good jukebox and good vodka. I settled in an empty semicircular booth with Thomas and ordered a Greyhound from the waitress. He sat closer to me than was strictly necessary, but I didn't mind. He smelled very good. Clean, no obvious cologne.

His thigh pressed to mine, and I sipped at my drink, listening to the Stones' "Satisfaction" on the jukebox. The bar was dimly lit, and in spite of the crush of people that streamed in as the movie theatre across the street let out, we felt like we had plenty of privacy.

Thomas moved an arm behind me, pulling me closer to him in the booth. I leaned against the left half of his chest, letting my head rest on his shoulder. We had an easy intimacy that was unexplained by our short acquaintance.

I felt him kiss the top of my head. "Cynthia," he murmured into my ear, "You should have seen the look on your date's face as you left him. He must have thought he was going to get lucky."

I chuckled softly, tilting my head up to his ear so I wouldn't have to shout over the loud, grinding music. "It wasn't meant to be."

Thomas' arm tightened, pulling me in. His lips at my ear again, I waited for him to say something. All I could hear was his soft breath at my ear and the blood rushing through my body. The music wasn't any softer, I was too focused on Thomas's mouth and arms to notice anything else. My hand rested on his knee.

I traced lazy circles with my index finger, gravitating toward the inside of his thigh, and I felt him tense for a second. I paused. "No. Please don't stop," he whispered urgently in my ear. Goosebumps shimmered down the entire length of my body.

I resumed carefully moving up his leg. I ran into a solid, hard bulge three quarters of the way up his leg. Ignoring it, I moved further up, spiraling my fingertip up.

Thomas' hand stroked my arm. I tilted my head up to whisper something - I don't even remember - and accidentally met his lips with my own. Softly, his mouth touched mine. We were both surprised by the electricity of the connection between our mouths.

My lips parted slightly, and I traced the inside edge of his lips with the tip of my tongue. I felt his own tongue - warm, soft, patient, touching mine. Without ever breaking the kiss, Thomas' tongue entered my own mouth. He lightly stroked the roof of my mouth with his tongue and I shivered as a tingling raced through my body.

My hand in his lap moved two inches to the left, stroking his cock through his pants. He was hot and hard. He exhaled noisily. I reached up, unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, and slid my hand right into his boxers.

My fingertips touched his cock, and stroked up and down, without grasping him at all. The skin was smooth and hot and silky. He moaned softly again, and I looked around to see if we had anyone watching us. The coast appeared to be clear, so I pulled softly on his cock, and it sprung out of his pants.

A drop of precum glistened on the tip, and my thumb traced it around and around, moistening him with his own lubricant. I could feel his pulse in his cock, speeding toward release. Another check for watchers turned up no one. The patrons of the bar were looking for their own release, not anyone else's.

Still holding Thomas' hard cock, I slid under the table and kneeled between his legs, my knees uncomfortable on the hardwood floor. With one long lick from the base of his cock to the tip, I tasted him - a little salty, but still that clean scent.

My lips encircled his cock, lightly sucking him into my mouth. With one hand, I guided him in and out of my mouth. With the other, I lightly stroked his balls. His hand rested on my head, encouraging me to suck him deeper.

I felt him against the back of my throat. I sucked harder, feeling him play with my hair. He groaned, and I hummed with him in my throat. I felt him grow thicker in my mouth, and I increased the vibrations. I felt both of his hands clasp my head and hold it still.

A voice behind and above me said "And will you be needing anything else?"

Thomas said "No, just the tab."

I heard the waitress leave, and Thomas pulled me up on the booth next to him. He smoothed my hair and put his cock back in his pants, zipping and buttoning his pants.

"Cynthia, I'd really like to fuck you. I can't do you justice here."

I smiled, and the waitress returned with our tab. Thomas paid for our drinks, slid out of the booth, and reached out a hand to help me out. My legs were a little unsteady because of kneeling on the hard floor.

His hand at my elbow made me feel secure and comfortable. We walked to his car, a Rolls Royce Silver Cloud. I decided to leave my own car where it was, figuring I could grab a cab back to pick it up later.

He opened the door, helped me into the car, and slid behind the wheel on his side. The engine purred as he deftly maneuvered through traffic downtown. He pulled into an alley, parked the car in a garage, and ran around to my side of the car to let me out.

We entered through the kitchen, sparkling stainless steel gleaming. A long, marble island in the center of the kitchen had copper pots hanging from a rack above it. Thomas leaned against the island, pulling me from my waist close to him. The bulge in his slacks undiminished, I felt him grind into my leg.

He kissed me again, then lifted me to sit on the island. He hurriedly unzipped his pants, dropping the trousers and his boxers to the floor. He lifted my hips and slid my panties off. His cock pointed straight at my pussy, and I wrapped my legs around his hips to facilitate entry.

Apparently Thomas wasn't one for teasing. He guided his cock straight into my soaking cunt. I clenched it tightly around him, and he moaned. I pulled him closer to me, feeling full and stretched by his thick cock.

He started sliding in and out, slowly, holding me around the waist as he pumped in a simple rhythm. Each time he slid out, I unconsciously tightened my pussy around him, trying to keep him in me. Thomas pulled my dress up over my head, leaving me naked before him. His tongue swirled around my nipples, biting and sucking.

I groaned, pulling him deeper into me with each stroke. I was building fast, and I wanted him to cum with me. "Thomas. Fuck me. I need to feel you cum in me. Please!" I breathed faster as his pumping increased.

Thomas's face, intense and concentrating, tensed and I felt him expand in my cunt. I squeezed tight around him, milking him. He moaned my name, and I felt him explode in me. It triggered my own orgasm, and we came together in his kitchen.

I felt a puddle of cum leak from my pussy and I clenched again. He slid out of me, looking tired, but happy. "Would you spend the night?" he asked, looking nervous.

Who could say no to a face like that? I followed him upstairs through his large home, and smiled as we closed the bedroom door.

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