The tasting menu

I ordered for both of us. That is the point of taking him out on his card. He gets to sit there in the suit and be the man who can pay, and I get to be the one who knows what the kitchen is actually doing.

His hand found my thigh at the second course. I moved it back to the table, onto the cloth, where the room could almost see it, and I left it there. Not yet, I said, pleasant. You can want my cunt through the duck. He went red in the way I like, the adult way, a man who has already agreed and is being made to feel it. I drank the wine I had picked for him. I did not rush.

At his place I did not take the dress off. I sat him in the chair by the window and took his cock into my cunt with the silk bunched at my waist, slow, one hand on his shoulder so he could not chase it. You wait, I said. I come first. That is the arrangement, not a game. He nodded like I had corrected a vintage. I fucked him at my pace until I came, quiet, forehead against his, and then I told him he could cum. He came in my cunt, hard, grateful, still in the suit jacket. I stayed down on his cock until his breathing evened out.

I fixed my mouth in the hall mirror and I talked about the bill on the way down, the way I talk about a pairing. He kissed my wrist in the car. I let him. The girlfriend experience is real for the length of the booking. I am not confused about the length. Neither is he. That is why the fuck stays good.