Diary Entry

I see you sitting at a table in a restaurant and you know what I imagine doing? You want to know the truth? It sounds crazy, but I think, what if that table had a tablecloth? A long, white tablecloth.

Something that goes from the table, all the way to the ground.

I’d like to see you sitting at that table in broad daylight, in a busy, public restaurant. Lots of people around. There’s a waiter coming to your table to take your order and bring your food. There’s another waiter who brings you a bottle of wine. There’s a couple sitting at the table next to you, having a date. They’re talking to each other but every now and then, the guy looks across at you and checks you out.

It’s a fancy restaurant and you’re dressed to impress. You’ve got on a white blouse. A navy blue blazer. And a very short, very tasteful skirt. You’re sitting at the table, your legs crossed under the tablecloth, and you’re trying to mind your own business and not draw the attention of the other people in the restaurant.

Of course you don’t want to draw their attention. You’re a woman eating alone in a fancy restaurant and it’s awkward for you. You’re shy. You’re not used to being in this situation.

And then something happens that gives you the fright of your life. You feel a movement beneath the table cloth. Something brushes against your bare leg. Something’s down there!

You stifle a cry, still worried about drawing attention, and peer under the tablecloth.

I don’t know what you expected to find down there, but what you see is me!

That’s right. You’re sitting in this fancy, formal restaurant, there are people everywhere, and I’m beneath your table.

You don’t know me. You recognize me, you’ve seen me before, but you don’t know me. You don’t know what I’m doing down there, how I got there, or what it means for you. All you know is that I’m there, dressed in a black suit with a white shirt, and I’ve got my finger in front of my lips, telling you to be quiet.

“What’s going on?” you say.

“Shh,” I say.

I take the tablecloth from your fingers and pull it back down so it covers your legs perfectly, concealing everything beneath the table. I notice you squirm a little but that’s all part of the fun. You’re uncomfortable. You’re shy. You have no idea what I’m doing down there or what’s about to happen.

Slowly, I run my hands along the bare skin of your legs. Your skin is smooth and soft. So perfect. So tempting.

I force you to uncross your legs. You resist at first but I know you’re still afraid of making a scene in the restaurant. You don’t want anyone to know something’s going on. You’re too proper. Too polite to create a stir.

You uncross your legs so that you’re sitting with your feet flat on the floor, your legs going straight down. Just the way I want you.

I recheck to make sure the table cloth is perfectly straight, concealing me. Then I wait. I wait for the waiter to come back.

I know he’s back because your posture changes. You sit up straight, always the good, polite girl, and you talk to him just the way you’re suppose to.

“Is everything all right with your meal, madam?” the waiter says.

“Yes, perfect.”

“Can I bring you anything else.”

There’s a pause and I hear you return your wine glass to the table. You’ve obviously just taken a very big sip.

It’s time for me to take a sip too. I put my face between your legs and inhale your scent. The anticipation is already getting to you because I can see you’re getting wet. You know what I’m going to do to you and you can’t hide your excitement.

You want me. I know it, even though you’re trying to squeeze your legs shut as hard as you can. You put your hand on my head and push me back. I grab your wrist and force you to let me in.

“Is everything okay, madam?” the waiter asks.

Immediately, you stop fighting me, mortified that he might find me. I take advantage of the moment to force my head between your legs and slide my tongue right over the wet lips of your pussy.

“Oh,” you moan.

I slide my tongue into your pussy and make a beckoning motion with it inside you, curling it up and licking the roof of your pussy.

“Madam?” the waiter says.

“I’ll have a bottle of this wine,” you say, probably just to get rid of him.

“Very good, madam,” the waiter says.

I can tell he’s left because you start trying to push my head away again and close your legs. It’s easy for me to keep them open and continue fucking you with my tongue. You’re far too worried someone will notice what’s going on to properly resist me.

You squirm in your seat and I feel your pussy begin to gush with pleasure. I suck on it, fucking it with my tongue and making out with it. I slide my mouth over your clit and suck on your tender folds.

You lean back in the chair and raise your legs off the ground so that you can wrap them around my head. I reach up and slide my hand between your legs, fingering you with first one, and then two fingers as my mouth sucks and toys with your clit.

You’re getting close to orgasm. I can sense it. The muscles in your body are contracting in pleasure and you squeeze my head tighter between your thighs.

“Your wine, madam,” I hear.

The waiter is back.

I pull my fingers out of you and slide my tongue deep inside you, as far as it can reach.

Your climax begins to tear through you in a wave of pleasure.

“Madam, are you all right?”

I can feel your orgasm flowing through every muscle of your body. Your pussy gushes and I swallow every drop of you. When the pleasure finally subsides, you sigh in pleasure and I release you from the torments of my mouth.

“Oh, yes, I’m fine,” you say to the waiter.

“Very good, madam,” he says back.