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Conversation (07 August 2005)

"You didn't really have to leave right that second to run errands, did you?"
Across the diner table she started to turn red. Bit her lip. Looked into her glass. Looked up again shyly. "No," she said softly, giggling nervously, "you caught me." It was hard to reconcile her shyness, her sudden vulnerability, with the boldness of her naked foot resting on the padded bench between my thighs. But it's those contrasts that make her so fucking outrageously beautiful.
"That's why I said 'have fun' as you were hanging up" I replied, smiling at her. "I know you better than that."
She looked furtively around the diner. Took my hand. Kissed my thumb. Nibbled on it for a second, her wayward toes pressing lightly through my pants against my straining cock. "I know you do. That was part of what turned me on so much. Having you there with me. Hearing your voice. It was so fucking powerful. I couldn't help it."
I stroked her foot gently with my other hand while staring at her hard, holding her gaze through sheer willpower. "It was a pretty powerful phone call. Knowing you were intentionally including me. Knowing where you were, who you were with, what you'd just done. And also knowing how into the moment you were, knowing the lust would overpower you, and that you would have to shut me out again."
She stared back. I could tell she was fighting the urge to look down. "How do you feel?" she whispered, her toes stroking my erection.

"Angry" I answered. She looked nervous, but it was an excited nervous. "Angry and turned on and out of control, wanting to punish you and fuck you and spank you and kiss you and love you all at the same time."
She smiled at that. "Right here?" she asked, looking around again. "Right now?"
I shot her a glance. She was getting way too cocky. "No, right now you're going to tell me all the parts you left out of the phone call, and you're going to touch yourself while you tell me," I answered, pulling our still-clasped hands over to my side of the table and licking her fingers for her. She smiled, let go, and her wet hand snaked under the table. She bit her lip again, gave a little shudder, and I knew her hand was under her skirt, on her clit, before I signaled the waitress for the check. She glared at me for that. "Go on" I smiled.
Hesitantly, very conscious of the possible appearance of the waitress, she began. "Well, when I told you we were sitting on the couch and what we'd just done, I meant 'just done.'...
"And...?" I could tell her fingers were moving under the table in spite of herself, that her mind was taking her back.
"All I was wearing was my open blouse. My hand was still on Mark's cock, and his come was glistening on my breasts..."
I tried to maintain my composure, couldn't, not with that image and her toes. My head was swimming. My next "and..." was labored, breathless.
"We started kissing while you were talking, little flicking tongue kisses just like I've kissed you while talking to my husband on the phone. I couldn't take it."
"So you hung up on me," I forced out, trying not to come from the pressure of her foot, watching her eyes glaze over from the memory and her hand, watching the waitress start toward us with the check.
"Yes, yes," she breathed. "I said 'I have to go now. I have errands to run. Bye.' I hung up. I turned, my blouse open, his come all over my breasts, the sound of your voice still echoing in my head. I turned. I grabbed his head. I opened my mouth. I kissed him. I kissed him so fucking deeply."

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