The Unexpected Tease

I suppose it was the unexpectedness that got to me, in both a good way and a bad way. 

Saturday night, we were on vacation, had seen a show, were at a restaurant with a good half hour to forty five minute wait for our table, reservations notwithstanding. I was wearing a suit, lingerie underneath. Emily a black dress, black lingerie.

Yes, yes, I'll describe. My suit was charcoal, a lavender shirt, an ode to femininity as it may be. The lingerie? Black panties to hold things in place, a black open bottom girdle, black stockings with a grey welt, a black bra (to be filled later), and a lavender (very close to my shirt) pair of tap panties and a camisole. No socks, a dare, really, leaving stocking covered ankles to show if one looked close, though the stockings were dark black, could be socks on the sheer side.  

Masculine, in a way, to the casual observer giving me a glance, feminine in another, to that same casual observer, really. 

Emily?

A black halter top black dress with black suede pumps, covering her own black lingerie-a bra and panty set, a matching garter belt, black stockings.

Feminine, completely and totally and absolutely.

So we got to the restaurant and checked in with the server and found out about our long wait and were directed to the bar with an apology, but it did not matter for we were not in a hurry and were happy to have a cocktail or two before dinner.

I took Emily's coat, gentleman, even soft and feminine, or submissive, regardless, serving her as I do, as I always do and love to to, and headed the opposite way from the bar to check our coats while she went to find a seat or two.

It was the surprise, really, nothing that should surprise me, but still did, still does. I did not expect it, then, there, at all. 

I walked back to the bar; Emily was seated, facing me, an empty seat next to her. She was looking my way, to that side, away from the empty seat, looking towards me, but not at me. 

She was looking at, talking to, the gentleman, the man, the guy sitting next to her. Talking, she laughed, uncrossed her legs, showed a lot of leg, to me, to him, to anyone walking by.

She caught my eye, looked at me for the briefest of seconds, then looked back to the guy sitting next to her and laughed at something he said.

Laughed raised her arm and touched him lightly and gently on the forearm while she laughed.

What was she doing, I thought to myself, the bar area too loud to call out to her from even several steps away. I closed in on them, intending to put my own hand on my woman, to touch her, to possess her, to mark her as mine, a moment, an instant, from reaching for her bare shoulder, when I heard her say, to him, not to me, heard her speak, "Yes, I'd love a drink."

I don't know how I continued walking, how I diverted the six inches, from her, from reaching for her, to the seat next to her, the empty bar stool, how I managed, or why I managed, to allow her be.

She looked at me as I passed, our eyes met and held for the briefest of moments yet again, and she looked away, back to him, speaking, without speaking, saying, without saying, that I was right to walk by, that I was right to do nothing, to sit down, but to leave her be.

So I did, I sat, on the stool next to my woman, sat, her back to me, turned just enough so I could see her legs, her beautiful legs, my woman's beautiful legs, next to the man next to her, the man buying her a drink.

I sat and ordered after he did, my own solitary drink, to all at the bar, there by myself, to all unaware that I was not alone, that the beautiful woman sitting next to me was mine, not his.

I sat there and stewed, angry at first, angry at the intrusion into my evening, angry, not at all amused, that Emily was chatting with, no, flirting, with the man sitting next to her, ignoring me, except from time to time, glancing around, casually, glancing and catching my eye and saying with her eyes, teasing, taunting, playing.

I listened as she flirted, laughed at his stupid jokes, his annoying small talk, the prater of a stupid, overconfident jock, thinking he was a gift to every woman that passed him by. 

I'd glance their way, there was a television in the corner, in line of sight to a glance their way. I'd glance, pretending to watch the television when in reality I was stewing.

I'd glance and think angry thoughts about him, worse, her.

And then in one glance his hand was on her thigh.

His fucking hand was on my Emily's thigh. He was looking her in the eye, but his hand was on her thigh.

She knew it, she felt it, she looked him in the eye, too, let him do it, let it sit there on her, his hand, only sheer nylon between his skin and hers.

It was slow at first. 

His had on her thigh.

The pressure.

It was slow, almost not there, but it was.

His hand.

The pressure, the familiar swelling, the growing.

His hand moved, casually, caressed her.

And the pressure increased.

Anger now mixed with the butterflies dancing in my stomach, the subtle, building pressure, the excitement, my panties, tighter, tighter, struggling to contain this new thing.

No one could see. The panties and the girdle held everything where they were.

No one could see. The bar kept his hand hidden from all but me.

No one knew but I.

His hand on her thigh.

The swelling in my loins.

I was angry and irritated and tempted to break in but all I could do was to pretend to watch the television and see his hand on her thigh and think about...about...

About him touching her and fingering her...

I was angry and irritate and I could think only...about...

About him touching her and fucking her...

His cock in her hand and in her mouth and in her body.

I was angry and surprised and sexually excited and could think only about a man fucking my woman.

"Johnson, party of two," the server called, walking by and I got up and met her, the young woman, followed her to a table and when she looked around and saw only me, I shrugged my shoulders and sat down.

Several minutes later, Emily walked slowly to the back of the restaurant and elegantly took her seat next to me and raised her eyebrow, saying not a word until she was seated with her napkin adjusted properly on her lap.

She leaned towards me, motioned me towards her with a nod of her head and whispered in my ear, "I want you to think about that later when your down on your knees."

"What," I managed to say with my mouth all dry.

"How wet I got and how hard you got just imagining him fucking me."

"Ohhhh," I managed to gasp without falling over at the moment our server came to take our drink orders.

And later on, after dinner and two bottles of wine, later on, back at our hotel, I lay on the bed, clad now only in my lingerie, including my girdle and my panties, told nothing in there would be needed that night. 

She stood in front of the bed and slowly took off her dress. "This is what got me so wet at the bar, sissy, thinking about leaving with him and letting him fuck me silly and coming back to the hotel where I know you'd be waiting just like this, my little sissy waiting for me to take off my dress," she dropped it to the floor, "and climb up onto the bed," she said as she did, "and climb onto your face so you could lick me and taste me smell me and..."

She lowered herself to my mouth which was open and gasping and shaking with the rest of my body.

"Lick up the mess he left inside me...."

And I did and I licked her for over an hour, enjoying her taste and her pleasure and her orgasms more than ever and ever.

I thought I was going to have Emily to myself for a special evening and I did in a way I never thought or imagined.