“So how do you feel?”
She squirmed. For a second, she listened to the din of the restaurant around them, considering whether nearby tables could overhear. He raised one eyebrow.
“I feel… full.”
“Is that all?”
She opened her mouth to answer, and got as far as “No, I…” when she heard:
“Can I get you two some drinks?”
She jumped. She hadn’t seen the waitress behind her. Her heart pounded, her breath caught in her throat, and she blushed. He waited a beat, picked up the menu, smiled, and turned to the waitress.
“Yes, I’ll have a sazerac. And for her… an old fashioned.”
“No problem, I’ll be back in just a moment.”
Waitress gone, he turned back to her and smiled. “I’m sorry, you were saying?”
“I said I feel full.”
“And what else?”
“I ache. I’m very wet. And I’m embarrassed.”
– – –
She arrived at his apartment an hour before dressed as he had requested: black top, skirt, and stockings, her hair up in a loose bun, and a small pendant tied around her neck with a choker (his subtle replacement for a collar).
A little erotica for your Thanksgiving morning. Unf.