I’m early at the restaurant, waiting for Judith. Corner table, back to the wall. Perfect view. Serveuse drops menus. Short-haired brunette, tiny white top hugging her flat belly, navel piercing winking. Tight pants sculpt her ass and legs. Fuck, I’d love to sketch her, stretched on tiptoes in my studio.
Her voice snaps me back. ‘What’ll it be, miss?’ Perrier citron. She sways away. Judith’s late, as always. Twenty minutes. Crowd fills in. Heels click. Not Judith. Chic couple: salt-and-pepper guy, tall, sharp suit. Blonde bombshell in gray tailored skirt, sky-high stilettos. Slit up the back flashes stocking tops. Hips roll slow, hypnotic. Like a goddamn movie.
The Awakening
Serveuse seats them. Blonde slides in, skirt hikes, ass pops. Stockings whisper. She catches me staring. Big blue eyes, amused. I blush, smile. She nods back. Heat builds low in my gut.
Judith arrives. Provocative as hell: thigh-high boots, leather mini, braless crop top. Every eye fucks her. We order. Chat. Blonde’s gaze lingers on us. Smiles flicker.
Judith bolts to the john. Blonde tracks her, blushes when caught. I grin. She grins back, fixes her chignon. Tits thrust forward. God, perfect pose. I’d charcoal that shit.
Judith returns. Blonde stands, glides to bathroom. Sensual steps. Turns, checks my eyes. Smiles. Five minutes gone. Rosé buzz hits my bladder. My turn.
Door opens. She’s there, warm seat from her thighs. Heart pounds. Her knock: ‘Forgot my bag?’ Clutch on sink. I peek. Laure Bousquet, 35, looks younger. Crazy urge hits. Scribble note: ‘Valérie Marais. Drawing’s my kink. Model for me?’ Phone number. Shove it in.
Hand it over. ‘Laure Bousquet?’ We stare. Shake hands. Blonde perfection: blue eyes, velvet chignon, silk blouse straining over full tits. Skirt mid-thigh, heels arching her back. Too prim. Fingers itch.
The Act
‘You look too buttoned-up. Show those tits.’ Undo two buttons. Cleavage spills. ‘Fuck, they’d make mouths water.’ She gapes, flushes crimson. Mouth soft, wet.
‘Don’t freak. Artist thing. Caught your grace entering. Call me.’ Cheek kiss. Skin silk, scent intoxicating. Hand slides: back, then ass cheek. Firm, warm. Pulse races. Push her out. ‘Remake my face. See you.’
Door shuts. Breath ragged. Never this bold. Pussy throbs. She’s no model scout bait. Just excuse to touch forbidden fruit.
Mirror check. Brunette, sleek. Out. She sits, blouse open. Plunging view: pearl necklace teasing cleavage. Smile. Strut back, hips swaying.
Judith: ‘You high?’ Laure stares, I lick lips. Eyes dart. Judith notices. ‘Who ya eyeing, slut? That brunette stud? Blonde’s uptight.’ Admit sketching urge.
Judith saunters over. Returns with lighter. ‘Outside smoke.’ Blonde’s rack now to her navel. ‘You unbuttoned her? Wild!’ Couple leaves. Laure purrs ‘Goodnight.’ For me. Grin wide.
Back to normal. Judith yaps. But thrill lingers. Secret note in her bag. Ass grab echo. Tits unveiled. No regrets. Oosed the line. Craved it. That rush—pure, dirty high. No one knows. My hidden kink pulses. Call her? Fuck yes. Transgression tastes sweetest.