"You know that I've always had a thing for waitresses..."
"And now you have one of your very own," she chuckled, lying close, body snuggled tight to mine, head on my shoulder so that the moist warmth of her breath flowed along my neck. She seemed to realize the effect that this had on me because she snugged up even tighter, our bodies overlapping, and kissed where her breath lay dewy on my neck. Then she delicately licked that flesh, her tongue flat, moving up and down my throat slowly, just firmly enough not to tickle.
My attention was consumed by the tonguing, so that I did not notice at first that her hand slid over my hip, across my belly, and was wrapped around my increasingly hard cock.
"Ohhh, somebody really likes this!" she breathed into my ear.
Her fist pumped my erection.
"I love how I can make you so hard so soon after we fucked. I must really turn you on."
All I could do in response was groan as she nibbled my earlobe.
"I can tell that you don't even mind that I'm not one of those barely legal bunnies you lust after when you go in the restaurants - you find me just as sexy; you know that I keep myself in shape; and that my experience has taught me tricks the youngsters would blush over if they even knew they exist; and that I'm not afraid to try anything. Anything," she repeated that last challenge just before biting the point of my shoulder.
I enjoyed the tingle of pain, which was odd because generally I'm a pretty dominant guy, quite capable of being the top in whatever games my mates wanted to play. She was just being playful now, though, I knew - not asserting dominance, more like a kitten asking the alpha for a rumble.
My cock was ready to rumble by then, but she was kissing her way across my chest and down my belly, so I just waited to see what might happen next. I stayed silent, my fingers twisting in her dense curls my only action.
"Of all the gin joints in all the world, you had to go walking into mine..." she did a bad Bogie. She also looked nothing like Ingrid Bergman, other than the dyed blonde hair - Bergman was all icy brittle beauty, this waitress was all intense heat.
"Not exactly a gin joint..." I managed to respond, but then groaned as she bit my left nipple.
While I was focussed on the pain, she shifted abruptly, her head bobbing down, her breath warm against my helmet, but not yet taking me in her mouth.
"While you ate your dinner, were you hard thinking about my wet mouth sucking you off? Did you imagine my tongue slowly running up and down your hard cock? Did you crave a chance to fuck my throat until you cum, great gobs of goo gushing into me, filling me up, until I can't swallow any
more?"
"I wanted to take you into the back and bend you over and fuck you," I replied as she swallowed my cock in one smooth slurp to the root. Only once my tip was bumping into the back of her throat did she tighten her lush full lips around the base of my shaft, her fingers toying with my balls.
We had met in a proper restaurant. I had been there a few times before, as always chatting up the staff to avoid boredom, and perhaps fuel a few fantasies. Restaurants secretly call single diners "losers" and I always tried to counter that feeling by acting right at home. Having spent many evenings in similar situations, I did feel that way, and had become adept at making temporary friends who I over-tipped. In my younger days, that often lead to partying, occasional random sex, and a pool of fun loving beauties handy when I needed a showy date for a wedding or office function. Wait staff always knew how to have a good time.
Perhaps if I had married a waitress, it would have worked out better. Though I had met my ex-wife in a bar, I quickly learned that did not count. The good times with her were short lived, and soon I was single again - eating alone in restaurants alternate nights, so I did not tire of my own good but plain cooking. I continued to admire and chat with the servers, but they stayed the same age as I got older. As I grew into understanding my sexual tastes, I recruited partners on fetish websites, where perversions were expected and did not shock. Though I imagined sex with waitresses as I jerked off on my solo mornings, I had not picked one up.
