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“No!” She cries out in a hurry. “Of course not.”
“But,” I say, sipping at the top-shelf Scotch. It burned all the way down as only good Scotch can. “It sounds like my cock would make a nice piece of exercise equipment.”
She turned seven shades of red, which is just about the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen. I’m used to women who throw themselves at me, who have no qualms about talking dirty to me. Apparently, Christine can talk a big talk but isn’t as good at walking that walk. At least, not with me.
“Well,” she squeaks and then takes a big gulp of her margarita. “I just thought…I was just ruminating on…I was thinking that it’d be nice and bi—”
She stops herself and takes another big drink of her margarita. At that rate, she’s going to finish it in just minutes, and will be tipsy as hell when she’s done.
What’s a gentleman like me to do? Flag down another passing waitress, of course. “Another margarita for the lady,” I say, jerking my head towards Christine.
Christine’s mouth turns into a rounded circle. “Oh, I don’t know,” she says, her cheeks a scarlet color. I imagine that mouth enclosing my dick, sucking it in, and feel my dick twitch, despite my recent spank-the-monkey marathon. Around Christine, I just can’t seem to help myself.
Despite her half-hearted protests, she greedily sucks down the last of her margarita in front of her to make room for the drink on its way. I move a little closer, watching her every move – a grain of salt in the corner of her mouth that she catches with the tip of her pink tongue.
Never have I been so jealous of salt in all my life.
“We should talk about the UN Program,” she says, her voice unnaturally high.
“Good.” I look into her eyes again, but then my gazes shifts to her slender neck and then further down. She’s wearing a low cut dress, and I can see the curve of her breasts starting. Inside my pants, my cock is twitching once more. Fuck, this girl is going to be my damnation.
I make the effort to shift my gaze from her breasts to her face, and I notice that she’s staring at me with an entranced expression, her breathing growing irregular. After hearing what she just told her friends, there’s no doubt in my mind: Christine wants me as much as I want her.
“So, uh, about the application…”
“Yeah, the application,” I respond, changing gears. “As I told you, the main criteria is moral fiber. Why do you feel you’re qualified for this program?”
“I…” She mutters, and then stops and takes a deep breath. I can tell that she’s trying to fish a rehearsed speech from the depths of her mind. “I believe that I’m qualified for this position at UN because I have always been a hard worker, and I pride myself on my strong ethical sense and --”
I hate to admit it, but I’m no longer listening to whatever she’s saying. I’m looking at her, sure, but I’m more focused on the way her full cherry lips move than in what she’s saying. Before I can think it through, I place one hand on her knee, and she stops speaking.
“Professor…” She whispers, that tomato red color returning to her cheeks. Her voice thickens and her chest starts to rise and fall at an hurried pace.
“Christine…” I say, and then we are leaning into each other, our eyelids drooping as our lips succumb to that invisible pull between us. When our mouths touch, the sweet strawberry flavor of her lips hits me like a brick. My cock stops twitching and, in just a few seconds, goes from limp to hard as a flag pole.
Thank god for bench seats. We’re on the backside of the half-circle couch, with the table in front of us as we look out into the restaurant itself. No one will be able to see what we’re doing underneath the table…
I place my hand just above her knee, on the exposed flesh courtesy of the slit in her skirt, and begin stroking my hand upwards. She takes another big gulp of her margarita and I can see her pulse at the base of her throat, beating frantically. I want to suck on that spot and feel the pulse beneath my mouth, feel it speed up even further.
“My…moral fiber is just fine,” she says. “Although, I…uhhh…”
I am inching ever closer to her pussy, my fingers lightly stroking her flesh as I go. I’m watching how this is just destroying her – how it’s just making her fall to pieces in front of me as she tries to figure out how to keep it together and she just fucking can’t…
My dick could probably benchpress weights right now, it’s so fucking hard and throbbing.
My fingers are at the apex of her thighs now, sliding underneath her skirt, and she swallows hard.
“Idon’twantyoutopickmebecauseyouwantofuckme,” she says in a rush then breathes a sigh of relief.
But that relief is cut short when I reach her pussy itself. Oh god yes, she has some lacy piece of fabric covering her mound and I am dying to know what color it is. Will it match the red of her bra that I saw the other day?
She closes her eyes with a soft groan and begins to rotate her hips ever so lightly against my fingers. “Oh, yes,” she breathes. “Right there…”
“So you want me to pick you because of your moral fiber, not because I want to rip those panties off and fuck you right here on this table?” I breathe into her ear, my fingers pushing harder against her pussy and she’s almost bucking against me now, desperate for release.
“Yes, yes, please,” she groans and I don't know what she’s asking me for, and I don’t think she knows either. She’s lost in her own world of pleasure and alcohol and lust.
I slide my right hand behind her head while pressing ever harder with my left hand, rotating, and even through the lace of her panties, I can feel her clit
