The Dinner Date

The Dinner Date
by Don Jetman

A short account of our night out with L's first lover, years ago at his favorite restaurant.

Early in our relationship with Dave, L's first lover, he took us to dinner one evening. The invitation came via email, on a Friday. We met him at the restaurant of his choice the following night.

I was more than a little curious about how L would react. Honestly, I doubted if she would go. It was one thing to have sex with him in our bedroom, but I think we were both concerned that the role playing may spill over into a public place. After all, we had reputations and careers to think about. To my surprise, she agreed to go, as though it was as innocent as the two of us dining alone together. When I asked whether she was concerned that Dave might go too far in public, she told me it was wishful thinking on my part, that he would never do such a thing to us. He was a classy guy. He just wanted to be nice, to show his appreciation. Well, I wasn't as sure as she was, but he did seem to be the kind of guy who would never intentionally embarrass us in public.

Now, in my fantasies, L would spend an extraordinary amount of time getting ready, fussing over her hair, makeup and clothes more than usual, showing obvious signs she was excited to see him again. But, as far as I could tell, she showered and did her hair in her usual routine, cool as she could be. Although a little disappointed, I told myself this was a reality check, that real life most often didn't mimic my fantasy world. A good thing to remember.

My wife wore her little black dress, the one she saved for nicer occasions like our anniversary dinners, evenings out with her clients, and the more formal parties we attended infrequently. It wasn't extremely short, but fit her well, modestly hugging the curves of her body. The v-neck was just deep enough to show some cleavage, but the row of buttons below it that ran from neckline to waist showed promise, I thought. Maybe she'd leave just one open. But my fantasy was foiled again. She did look spectacular as we walked from the car to the restaurant. She got more than one look from a few men outside as we waited for Dave, which made me smile. If they only knew.

Dave arrived promptly, approached us with a big smile, and shook my hand. He turned to L, put a hand on each of her shoulders, and looked into her eyes. "You're gorgeous, as usual," he told her. She blushed, he kissed her on the cheek, and we went inside.

Once at our table, he seated her, then took the chair beside her. By process of elimination, I sat across from them. To anyone else in the room, she appeared to be with him, not me. Although a bit surprised, I was now anxious to see where this evening was headed.

We ordered drinks, then our meal, after a smattering of small talk. When the waiter left us, he whispered something to L. She looked startled for a second, then nodded, and excused herself to visit the ladies room.

"I hope you don't mind that L is my date tonight," he told me quietly. Now I understood. I was to watch them together as though they were a couple. A sly way to cuckold me in public, without anyone the wiser. I assured him I didn't mind, although inside I was a bit more concerned this would get out of hand. He proceeded with his fictional story, telling me how sexy she was, that they had met the week before, and how they had been attracted to each other immediately. I just kept nodding. Anyone listening would have instantly believed he was telling me about his new girlfriend. The more he raved about her, the more he insinuated how great she was in bed, the more convincing he became. And what could I do? Smile and nod, pretend that I was happy for him, and congratulate him for such a lucky find?

Now I'll have to admit, I was excited, but also somewhat jealous. I never knew whether he was acting or not, and hearing him talk about my wife as though he had already taken her for himself was a bit unnerving. Was this "girlfriend" talk leading to a place I didn't want to think about?

"I've asked L to make herself a bit more comfortable," he said quietly, looking from side to side to make sure no one was close enough to hear. I didn't get it, and it obviously showed. "I've asked her to remove her bra and panties," he said, almost in a whisper. Damn. My hands were shaking as I took a long gulp of my scotch. "It's one of the things I like most about her," he said in a normal voice. "She'll do anything to make me happy."

When she returned, we both stared as she walked toward us. A casual observer might not have noticed, but I could see her breasts moving freely under the dress, and the lines of her waist, ass, and legs were molded more smoothly by the black material. Actually, she did look even more beautiful, without looking cheap or slutty. The dress seemed to be custom made for her body. As she came closer, I could see the top button was undone.

When she sat down, Dave reached over and kissed her again, on the cheek. She blushed again, and looked a little uncomfortable. Our eyes met, and I could tell she was looking for help, an answer from me, some clue as to what she should do, or maybe if I was okay with this. I smiled at her with all the conviction I could muster, and told her Dave had been telling me how beautiful he thought she was, and that I agreed. It seemed to relax her a little, but she still looked a little confused. Dave finally spoke to relieve the tension. "I've been telling my friend Don how we met, and how lucky I am to have found you. I asked him along on our date so he could see for himself." With a flash of recognition, she smiled, looked across the table at me with sparkling eyes, and said, "He really flatters me too much - but I have to admit, I like it!" We all laughed, now more sure of where we were going with the evening.

Our food arrived, and as we ate, Dave never stopped flattering her. He'd reach over, place his hand along her neck, then gently pull her hair back slightly, and ask me, "Just look at her - have you ever seen a more beautiful woman? She's just so fresh, and yet so sexy. Don't you agree, Don?" Of course, I agreed, and she beamed at me, smiling warmly, as though I had said it myself.

He whispered something to her again, and a few seconds later she casually moved her hand up the front of her dress and unbuttoned a second button. Now a daring amount of cleavage was visible from where I sat, but Dave had a much better view beside her. As she ate, the dress fell open slightly, and Dave made no attempt to hide the long glances inside. He was cuckolding me again in public, free to stare at my wife's bare breasts while I could only imagine how enticing the velvety smooth curves of flesh appeared, nestled beneath the opening of her dress, just out of my sight. It was maddening. He was a genius.

Later I noticed his hand was under the table, resting on her thigh. Although the table cloth hid what he was doing, it appeared he was slowly pulling her dress higher, baring her legs under the table. L saw me staring and smiled, as if to say it was okay. I had no doubts about her submissiveness to him in private, but was amazed she would go this far in a public place. She shifted a little in her chair. Was she really opening her legs for him?

As the night progressed, his hand slid discreetly under the table again and again. At times she shuddered slightly, staring at her plate as if in a trance. Where was his hand as she lapsed into these mini-submissions? Was he merely stroking the inside of her thigh, or had he gone deeper between her legs, testing her limits, wetting his fingers with juices that I knew poured from the hot liquid core of her body?

I began to feel the familiar mix of excitement and angst. L really was his date this night - she had as much as told me so by giving in to him so easily, by playing his game right from the start with wide-eyed enthusiasm. My wife was only a few feet from me, completely naked under her little black dress, seemingly enjoying being pawed by another man, a man who had swiftly and cleverly taken her for his own as I watched. Images of him fucking her in our bed came rushing back, his confident aggressiveness as he entered her for the first time, and her resistance that melted away as her little moans told me she how much she wanted him to take her. I began to realize that everything he had said that night was true. She didn't love him, but in a way, he truly was her boyfriend, and certainly her lover. And, for at least that one night, I was only a friend, a voyeur to their flirting, to her tempting body, and to her desire for him as she spread her legs under the table. I thought of how easily he might have taken her for his own had she met him before me. But then she smiled at me again, her bright face proof that her lust that night was for him, but her love was only for me.

They fawned over each other throughout the meal. She caught the waiter staring down her dress, but didn't care. Dave put his arm around her, her head rested on his shoulder in a moment of closeness. They kissed, his hand moving under the table. Her eyes drifted closed. A shuddering sigh escaped from her open lips as she seemed to forget where she was. But then, in a second, she was smiling at me again. She was enjoying this. Was she losing control or teasing me? I guessed it was probably a little of both. But was I sure? Absolutely certain? No.

By the time we finished the meal, she was tipsy from her two strawberry daiquiris, one of only a few kinds of similar fruity drinks she enjoyed. Dave ran his hand slowly up and down her back as the waiter appeared with the check. L was leaning toward me with a lascivious smile, allowing her dress to fall open, teasing me with an outrageous view of her breasts. She brought her arms together slightly in front of her, squeezing the ******* flesh into tight, firm mounds that threatened to burst free from the daring V that plunged halfway to her waist. She was more delicious, more alive than I had ever seen her. The waiter paused, looking down into the gaping crevice that was once the front of her dress. Dave motioned for him to wait, presented his credit card, and finally sent him on his way.

"I'm really glad you could join us tonight, Don," he told me. "I'm sure you can see why I love to show L off." I nodded, now speechless from the scotch, and from watching the two of them together for what seemed like an eternity. He leaned closer, his hand returning to L's lap under the table. "She says I'm the first man to make her cum. Can you believe that? From this gorgeous woman?" He lowered his voice to a whisper, leaning even closer. "She loves sex, Don. She can't get enough. She tells me I'm the first real man she's ever had. Do you have any idea what that's like, Don? To have a woman this beautiful tell you something like that just after you've emptied every last drop inside her?"

He leaned toward L and asked her quietly, "It's true, isn't it? What you told me? That you've never cum with another man before I had you?"

She was fully in the game now, and smiled slyly at him as she answered. "Almost, darling. What I told you was that I've never cum as hard as I do with you. The men I've had before have really tried their best, but couldn't begin to make me cum like you so. But I guess that's almost the same thing, right?"

Astonished and shaken, I glanced to either side to see if anyone had heard them. He was describing my wife as though she was his ***** - a ***** that claimed she had never had a real man. No one seemed to notice his little game, except the waiter, who had now just returned with Dave's credit card, returning it to the table on the small plastic tray that he hoped would soon hold a very large tip. He thanked Dave, and said something about "enjoying the rest of our evening". He stole one more look down the front of L's dress, then turned quickly and left us.

My wife had been trying her best not to make a scene. Dave's hand was still in her lap, and started to move more noticeably as the waiter turned his back. She inhaled sharply and tried to re-focus on her surroundings, then removed his hand from her lap and placed it gently on the table. "Please, not here," I heard her tell him. "I think that's our cue to leave," he announced. We made our way through the restaurant to the exit, his hand on the small of her back while I followed behind them. Surprisingly, no one seemed to notice the front of her dress on the way out. They were the perfect couple on their way home, now hungry for the perfect fuck.

Outside, Dave put his arm around her and pulled her close. "Goodnight, Don," he said graciously. "We should do this again sometime soon. It was good to see you again." As he guided her away from me toward the back of the parking lot, she looked back at me again and again, as if asking me whether she should go with him. I stood there, frozen to the pavement, waiting for the game to end, for him to release her and have her run back into my arms. When she no longer looked back, I began to follow them at a distance, not quite sure what I was about to do. They reached his car, he opened the passenger door, and she got in. She didn't hesitate or look back at me this time. I saw the little black dress rise seductively over L's bare thighs as her legs disappeared inside the car.

I stood some sixty feet away, in the shadows, wondering if my wife had decided to change our game on her own. It was to be our game, a fantasy in which she and I would always both participate, an extension of our relationship. As Dave circled around the back of the car, he paused and looked directly at me. So, this was it. He had won the final hand, playing his role so well that I would doubt L's ability to stick to our agreement. He knew I would follow them. He knew he could make my fantasy a reality - to make me truly believe her total surrender to him, or to at least seriously question L's self control. But his look was a deeply serious one, for perhaps ten seconds, before he opened the door to his car and got in.

Again I stood frozen and confused, worried that the car would start and they would disappear into the night. I had no idea where Dave lived, and doubted I could get to my car in time to follow them. I saw him pull her close to him, then the silhouette of their kiss. So was this his plan? To have me watch as he took her in his car in a public place? L had often confessed her fantasy of having sex in a public place. Had she confessed to him as well in her passion for submission to him?

I watched them from the shadows for thirty minutes. From that distance, through the back window of a darkened car, much of what they did was difficult at best to make out. Then the passenger door opened, L's bare thighs and little black dress slipped into the light, and she walked to me, her hair in a wild tangle, her dress now open nearly to the waist. She appeared to still be a little tipsy, but managed a sultry pace across the parking lot. I took her in my arms and kissed her. She pressed her body into me, her soft curves so willing and accessible just beneath the thin dress.

In the car, she asked me, "Do you want to know what we did?"

"Do you want to tell me?"

"Mmmm, yes I do."

"Did you have sex?"

"Do you think we had sex?"

When I didn't answer, she grinned and told me.

"He put his hands on me, everywhere, under my dress. He made me cum while we kissed. I loved what he did to me. Was I wrong? Did I go too far?"

"You don't..."

"Of course not," she assured me. "I love you. I just love sex with him."

"So, that was it?" I asked.

She smiled at me and moved closer. "Not quite. I put my hands on him too - inside his shirt, and then in his pants, on his penis. I made him moan when he came." She sounded so proud of herself.

She opened her purse, now stuffed full of the bra, nylons, and panties she had shed earlier that evening. She removed something, extended her closed hand toward me, then opened it. The wrinkled ball of pink panties unfolded slowly in her outstretched palm. In the center was a pool of semen, caught there as she masturbated him in the car.

"He said to give this to you. He wants you to put them on me," she whispered. "Then lets go home."

I slipped the panties over her shoes and helped her put them on. On the way home she opened up to me, telling me how excited she was while playing his girlfriend, and that she loved watching me squirm when he touched her. That, and knowing she was carrying his cum in her panties had me half crazy by the time we pulled into the driveway.

She let me undress her. I opened the front of her dress, put my hand inside, played with her nipples, and asked her if that's what Dave did. She said with a smile, "Well, he's my boyfriend, isn't he?" When I peeled the dress off her body, I saw the wet stain on the front of her panties. Jesus, she was standing there, naked except for her used panties. The dark spot clinging to her belly was a taunting reminder that they had shared orgasms that night before he gave her back to me. She was so damn beautiful.

A spot of her pubic hair was matted with his cum when we made love, a cool, sticky reminder that part of him remained there between us. She pretended I was Dave when we fucked, calling his name, begging him to, "Please cum in me..." I watched her face as she closed her eyes and imagined it was Dave deep inside her. When she came, it was like she was possessed - the long, uninterrupted moan eerie proof that in her head, Dave was really there unloading inside her, just as she wished he had earlier that night.
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About author
We're a couple that loves role play, both hotwife and cuckold themed, for over 10 years now. We still spend time with L's very first lover, an accomplished Dom with an active imagination who has orchestrated some exciting and challenging scenarios for us. We do mostly hotwifing, but venture into the cuck theme when our needs lead us there.


Love this. Had a similar relationship as a very young cuck although nowhere near as full on. Really hot and well told.
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Don Jetman
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