Keywords: M&M&M,
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In her long black clinging cotton skirt, I could see every contour of Melissa's ass. I could almost even see those marvelous muscular dimples she had, the dimples that I licked over and over when she was naked, face down on the bed ready to be fucked. She loved it from behind, my hands on her sweaty, meaty hips, pounding away. My mouth salivated watching her now. The ass swayed and moved, with a life of its own, as she gracefully made her way across the softly lit dining room. She was youth and vigor. That was Melissa. What was she wearing underneath, I wondered? Fuck. I could barely see the lines. I followed her excited. Maybe she had on a thong.
I watched as she walked to a dark corner. I knew where she was heading. She was going to get more napkins. Nice. Small chance anyone would see us there, and, after all, the dining room was thinning, only three or four tables left. No harm in assessing her mood after a hard evening of feeding the affected bourgeoisie of the city in the over-priced nightmare of a "French" restaurant we worked at.
I looked around. It was quiet and I took a few careless steps. She stopped. I was right behind her. She didn't know. Oh yes. She bent over to grab the napkins out of the cubby hole. God. I could see her panty lines stretched tightly around her. Not a thong. She had high cuts on, around her hips. I stepped forward quickly. I grabbed her by the hips and pushed myself hard into her. Ummmm.
"What?" she began somewhat alarmed, but saw it was me and stood up.
"What the hell, Peter," she said and tried to turn around, but I held hips her tightly.
"Baby, you looked so good. I couldn't help myself."
She rolled her eyes. "Well--let me go, idiot." I slowly took my hands off her firm hips, too slowly it turned out, and she jerked away. She was facing me and I grabbed her, again, grinning dumbly, and pressed her against me. I could feel her tight abdomen against my hardening cock.
"Peter, come on," she whispered harshly. "Stop it." She slapped my wrist and I reluctantly releases her. She shook her head. "Thank you."
"Let's go the cellar," I leered at her.
"Can't you wait?"
I shook my head. God. It would be wonderful to fuck Melissa in the wine cellar. It was always wonderful. By the mouldy first growth Bordeaux, especially. It added a touch of class to her straddling my thighs as I sat in an old chair and fucked up into her. In that damp cellar. This time, unlike last week, I would bend her over, push her skirt up, pull her panties down and shove it in. Fuck. It wouldn't last long. We'd be back to serve the last table their inevitable cheese cake in plenty of time.
"Besides, my period probably starts tonight," Melissa said.
"All the more reason to get in a little last minute loving, no?" I grinned.
"You're going to get us fired. Do you understand, shithead?" she asked.
I shrugged. "So?" Christ. This was a joke job while we waited to see which school accepted both of us for law school.
She rolled her eyes again and went to get her napkins. Untapped reserves of discipline and a desire not to get slapped in the face kept my hands off her as she bent over. She stood up, turned, arms full, and pushed by me rudely. I grinned. I loved it when she was like this. I watched her walk away, marveling. It wasn't just her ass, and that was more than enough. Christ. She was a former high school swimmer, and she still worked out regularly. She'd been pretty good, too, apparently. Fourth at State. And that back of hers. God damn. Nothing like Melissa, bent over, on her knees naked, muscles rippling, ass jiggling with each harsh unforgiving thrust into her pink blond cunt after another. And baby, took it all always. Both twenty-four, we'd been living together for five months.
Thirty minutes later, right after my last table was cleared, disaster struck. Melissa walked up to me while I was innocently flirting with the new bar stock-girl. I turned away from the kid as soon as I saw my lady. I tried to smile, but she was having none of it.
"Through hitting on the fresh meat?" she snarled.
"I wasn't--"
"Shut up. I saw you."
"But--"
"Shut up."
I smiled. No use arguing with her. I shrugged and waited for her judgment.
"I just sat a deuce. I was going to give them to Harold, but . . . I guess they're yours now."
I stared dumbly at her.
"Over there," she motioned into the dining room. "I sat a deuce. Take them."
"You're fucking with me?"
She shook her head and started walking away, but stopped. "Not tonight, I'm not," she grinned and then skipped away to where Harold, the only other waiter tonight, was standing, legs crossed, leaning back against the wall studying his fingernails. I watched Melissa speak to him, his face brightened and he almost ran off the floor to do whatever not-so-handsome gay waiters do on a Saturday night. He was gone.
No. No. Fuck no. Real good. Fuck.
I turned back to the bar. The new kid was trying to lift a case of Absolut, while Dave, the old bar- keep, stood by pointing where he wanted it. Lazy ass Dave, of course, wouldn't lift a finger to help. The new kid saw me and smiled pathetically. Cute kid and it was hilarious watching her try to lug around all the cases. . . . But. Oh man. . . . Fuck. What a nightmare. I'd be here at least another hour or two with the last table of the night.
Melissa, I could see was checking out, counting receipts and tabs, and would be gone in less than twenty minutes. Fuck. By the time I'd get to the apartment, she'd either be in bed sleeping or out for a couple of drinks with her friends. Disaster. All because . . . I turned to the new kid.
A junior in high school, bright black bob, she smiled, wide-eyed.
"You're a lot of trouble, you know that, kid?"
She froze, looking panicked.
I shook my head. "No. No. No. Forget about it. Just kidding."
She tried to smile and I turned around. I'd exact my revenge. The kid was a little young, but what the hell. A couple of drinks and she'd probably suck me. . . . I stopped myself. You're a sick fuck, you know that Martin. A real sick fuck. I buttoned my jacket, straightened my black tie. Fuck. On to the deuce.
They were laughing, giggling like old school friends when I approached their table and I couldn't help but wonder how God works His mysterious ways. It was obvious why Melissa had wanted Harold to take the table and not me in the first place and it wasn't because she was anxious to hit the sack or anything. Well, she may have been, but. . . . What I'm trying to say is that Melissa's the real jealous type and seated together were two astonishing young ladies--radiant in the soft light, their jet black hair shining. They looked Indian or perhaps Persian. I didn't know, but they were amazingly beautiful. Melissa rarely gave me attractive women to wait on-usually grandmother types or a tired couple falling asleep after their first miserable martini. I must have really pissed her off with my innocent flirtations with the new bar-stock girl. This would be bearable. Very nice.
The two ladies smiled up at me, stopping their exchange in mid-giggle. Close-up, I could see a strong resemblance and guessed they were sisters or somehow related, though one, the younger one, had a sweet round face and pudgy baby ruby lips, while the older one looked a little less voluptuous.
"Good evening, ladies. My name's--"
"Peter," the older, thinner one, interrupted, pointing at my name-tag, and the other one laughed, blushing deeply. Perfect English. Certainly not off the boat last week or anything.
I smiled. "Yes, Peter's the name. Peter--"
"No," the older one grinned. "No last names. Tonight there are no last names."
I was warming to them. My kind of chicks.
"A special occasion?" I asked.
They looked at each other and laughed.
I waited, enjoying openly their tight, elegant dresses and pushed up tits. The younger one, a luscious full-figured girl whose tits were jiggling with delight in a steady rhythm with her laughter, hadn't said a word yet, but her dark, round eyes mesmerized me and I couldn't help staring at her. The older one turned to me again.
"Guess where," she smiled. "Guess where Manisha's fiancé is tonight?"
I groaned inside. Fiancé. Shit. Well, I could still fantasize. Maybe I'd fuck Melissa tonight pretending it was this silky creature under me. Fuck. Saturday night. Soon-to-be married. Two gorgeous babes alone.
"Bachelor party," I said, after a moment. "Your fiancé is at a bachelor party."
"Smart boy," she smiled. I smiled back. The older one's eyes were a lot less innocent. They were a lot more active and I was sure she'd seen me staring at the younger one. "So guess what I want to do tonight?" she asked.
I had several alternatives available to offer, but kept my mouth shut. I smiled and shrugged innocently.
"I want to keep Manisha from thinking about it."
I grinned and then leaned forward and they looked up, unconsciously leaning back, a bit surprised. "How many bottles of champagne shall I bring?"
They loved it, almost squealing with joy. I let them finish.
"Let's start with one and see how things go, okay? I mean, he's at some filthy topless place with some skanky wench or having God know what done to him in some rat-infested alley and we're at the best restaurant in town. We want everything nice and easy and," she smiled, "in moderation. We want to be his antithesis tonight."
I nodded. Antithesis. I loved women who used big words. These two showed no hint of an accent. They were obviously educated, sophisticated. This would be fun. I thought for a second. One bottle. No way these two would be satisfied with one bottle, not the way they were primped up. I knew two bottles would be polished off before the night was through. And I liked them. I didn't want to embarrass them, but I certainly didn't want to gauge them with two bottles of Dom or Crystal. They were too cool for that.
"May I offer a modest suggestion?" I asked them.
The older one nodded.
"My suggestion assumes neither of you is pretentious for the sake of pretension.
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Keywords: M&M&M,