We'd both been working long hours the whole week, so we left the kids at home for a change, and drove a little distance to a nice restaurant, determined to have a nice meal, and some peace and quiet. My husband was a delight to take to dinner, and I was looking forward to a nice evening.

The games started as soon as we had the menus in our hands.

"Not chicken, right Stella?"

"No, not chicken."

"Not chicken," George said, turning to the waiter. "Steak, I'd imagine."

"Steak, Sir?"

"No, not me. My wife."

I smiled innocently at the waiter. "Yes, he means me. He's suggesting I would like some substantial meat."

"That's right, waiter. Meat. She likes meat."

I was still smiling sweetly. "Waiter, is this one of those restaurants where the staff introduce themselves, or is it a snooty place where we never find out your name?"

"My name is Michael, Ma'am."

"Michael. Do you mind if I call you that?"

"Certainly not, Ma'am."

"Michael, how big is your meat?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"She asked you about the steaks, Michael. The steaks."

"Oh, yes, of course. Well, that depends on which steak you would like, Miss."

George didn't give him a chance to breathe. "I think Michael, that my wife would prefer you to tell her what sort of meat you recommend."

To his credit, there was no hesitation. "The mignon, perhaps?"

George stepped back into the breach. "No, no. That's a little girl's steak. Stella is a woman. She needs something with substance. Something a little more solid."

I just grinned, but I could feel the conversation affecting me. I was dressed as I had been at work. A shortish tailored skirt with a nice blouse. The only thing I'd changed before we went out were the lacy bikini panties that were fast becoming damp. I wriggled a little, the tickle more than I could handle. I spoke then, without giving it any thought. "Substance. Not size, so much."

George grinned at me across the table. "Not size?"

"Style, George, is everything."

He turned back. "You heard her, Michael. You have any substantial, sylish, solid meat?"

Michael was a swarthy European looking type. One of those guys who always looks at though he hadn't bothered to shave. I was a little surprised to see his face go bright red, before he ran off toward the kitchen.

"George, now that's quite enough. They don't get paid nearly enough to put up with that."

"Stella, he was enjoying it."

"He was not. He was embarrassed."

"Alright, alright. I'll be good then."

"Good."

"I said!"

"Okay!"

It might have sounded like an argument, but we were both still smiling, and he knew very well the effect the conversation would have had on me. After all, he was the one who had suggested the panties.

Michael returned from his errands with his blush under control, and continued the conversation...

"So Ma'am, did you decide what you'd like to order?"

"You were going to suggest."

"I was?"

"Indeed. George?"

"Substantial meat." He winked at me. "You got that?"

Michael smiled, and waded right on in. "Best quality hereabouts, for sure."

"I would like," George continued, "Some of this Cajun Chicken. Stella likes hot things, but not chicken."

"I like chicken just fine, George. I'm just not in that kind of mood."

"Perhaps," Michael suggested, standing close now, "I thought you might like a New York strip?"

"Oh, fine suggestion," George butted in, unnecessarily. "Big city steak for my girl. Well done."

"Michael," I asked, "Where are you from?"

"As it happens, I am from the Big Apple. How about that?"

His innocent smile was too much for me, and I looked down, hoping to God that I wasn't staining my skirt, or the expensive chair.

George was unrepentant. "Michael, I don't know how things work in your family, especially if you are from the city, but the way it works with us is that Stella is allowed to get her meat any place she pleases. You understand?"

"George!"

"Well, it's true, isn't it?"

"Well, yes, but you don't need to tell everyone."

"I only told Michael."

"He's embarrassed again."

"Michael, you embarrassed?"

"No. Surprised."

I spoke up then. "Yeah? You hush, George. Why is that, Michael?"

His eyes almost closed, and he spoke very quietly. "I'm surprised that... George... would allow you to... make your own decisions on this."

"That's all?"

"Yes. That's all..."

"Call me Stella."

"Stella."

"Thank you."

"My pleasure, Ma'am."

George spoke up again then. To me. Ignoring the waiter. "He's horny, Stella. That's what he is."

"George, stop it."

"Well, he is. Aren't you, Michael?"

The waiter stood motionless for a while, and then spoke quietly, staring into my eyes. "Yes Stella. I am. Now let me leave while I can still walk."

"Oh, sorry Michael. Go, go."

"Thank you Stella. George, your wife is a very nice woman. Please look after her while I do some work."

"Thank you Michael. I'll do my best."

"Oh, one more thing. Stella, how would you like your meat?"

"Oh, you are good, Michael. I'd like it soon!"

"Rare then?"

"You bet."

"Deal. Chicken, George, wasn't it?"

"Chicken. Yes. Cajun."

"Okay. Thanks folks. Back soon."

He walked briskly off to the kitchen then, pretending the other orders and customers were on his mind. The bulge in his pants made a liar of him. Nonetheless, I felt the need to remonstrate with George. "You didn't need to tell him."

"You weren't about to."

"Why does he need to know?"

"Because, my lovely wife, you want him."

"What nonsense."

"I bet those pretty little panties are struggling to cope."

"They gave up already."

"Told you so."

"That could be you George. You do turn me on, you know."

"Not like that. Not just sitting here."

"Perhaps." I paused. "I'm not going to, you know that."

"Why not?"

"Well, how can I?"

"Is this a moral or logistics question, Stella?"

"Oh, you are impossible!"

"Stella, you know you love me anyway."

"I do. I should be able to at least get angry with you though."

"I'm pleased you can't."

"No doubt. Drink your beer, George."

We fell silent then, for a while, both enjoying people-watching, catching glimpses of our waiter every now and then. Before long, he came back to see us, large plates in his hands, his professional smile back on his face.

He placed George's chicken on the table first, and winked at me before trotting around the table and placing my steak meal in front of me. Dark eyes, set back. The food looked wonderful, and so did he. I said nothing other than mumbling a thank you, and looked down at the food, trying desperately to remove Michael from my immediate thoughts, and concentrate on the steak. It wasn't easy.

Michael disappeared again then, and we had the table to ourselves for a while, eating and drinking, talking and laughing as we always did when we were together. I honestly forgot the waiter for a while, though my panties didn't.

Some time later I decided that I just couldn't quite finish my meal, and pushed my plate away. Michael appeared magically, as all good waiters do, and looked at my plate. He grinned at me then, but spoke to George.

"It seems the meat was too big, George."

"I'm not touching that one with a ten foot pole, Michael."

"Chicken."

"It was very nice, thanks. Hot. Like Stella."

"I believe you."

"About the chicken?"

"Yes, that too."

"Dessert?"

I spoke up at this point. "I'm not sure I could, Michael. Unless, perhaps you could manage some ice cream?"

"To cool down the hot stuff, Stella?"

"It would take more than that."

"Well, nonetheless, I'm sure we could manage that. George?"

"No, no. I couldn't. I finished my meal."

"Coffee then?"

"Yes please Michael. Latte."

"Stella?"

"Hmmm... no. Thanks, but I'm buzzing quite enough."

"I'm not," Michael grinned again, "going to say another word."

He didn't either. Just walked off with the plates.

George leaned over towards me. "He wants you."

"Nonsense."

"I could see, Stella."

"See what?"

"You know."

"Mind your own business, George."

"Told you."

He was right though. Those tight black trousers were not built for concealment, and his excitement was outlined in the nicest possible way.

While we were waiting for the ice cream and coffee to be delivered to the table, I decided I should go to the ladies. I made it half way across the restaurant before a hand reached out from behind a door, and pulled my arm. Next thing I knew, I was in some kind of cupboard, shelves stacked high with dishes and linen, and a small table in the middle of the floor, with a few bits and pieces sitting on it.

I knew who had dragged me in here, but turned to confirm it. Michael was checking for a lock behind him, but found none, and turned back to me at the same time.

"I just need to check," he said to me, breathlessly. "Do you want to, or were you just playing? Either way, I need to know."

"Playing, Michael?"

"Yes Stella. Teasing me."

"My panties are far too wet for teasing, I can assure you."

"That's a yes?"

"That's a 'fuck me' yes."

He didn't speak any more. He knew he had to be quick, and he turned me around to the table, bent me down, and planted my hands on the desk. His hands ran up my arms then, down my shoulderblades and under my arms to my chest.

Strong fingertips pressed hard against my breasts, squeezing the flesh inside my bra, and carried on down. He wasn't wasting any time though, and his fingers passed my stomach before I could catch my breath. A quick pass down my front, quivering fingers tracing over my mound and down, pressing my labia delightfully through my sopping panties before sliding around my legs, and back up under my short skirt.

The skirt flipped up and over my hips without any trouble, revealing what I was assured was an attractive ass, barely encased in the no longer useful panties, which he quickly hooked in his thumbs, and pulled down my unresisting legs.

As the panties fell to my ankles, I was able to spread my knees, and I did a little, in invitation. I could hear Michael unzipping himself behind me, and stole a look over my shoulder as he removed his cock from his trousers. I gasped a little. All jokes aside, this was a substantial member, and when he heard me, he looked up, cock in hand, and raised his eyebrows. I nodded, and turned my head back, staring at the desk, waiting.

His hands returned to my hips, moving me a little, and as he pulled closer, I could feel his erection between my legs, below my mound, against and then between my labia. I was so wet that he didn't need to hesitate at all, and he could obviously feel it.

I pushed against the tip of his cock, and felt it begin to slide inside me as he thrust, gently but firmly against me. I made sure he knew it was alright, by pushing even harder. As soon as he was comfortably inside me, he started to pull out again, almost all the way, and I could feel the big head of his cock sliding against me, opening me, spreading me wonderfully.

He didn't waste any time then, thrusting faster and faster inside me, rubbing me so very nicely. I knew I couldn't last long, but it felt as though he wouldn't either, and as the pace increased I knew we were both nearly there.

As it happened, we were lucky. Just when I knew I couldn't hold off any longer, there was a horrendous crash next door as someone dropped a substantial quantity of crockery to the floor. I screamed, and came, clamped tight on Michael's cock, and set him off. He pumped inside me, and amidst all the other happenings, I could feel that loss of friction, loss of pressure, loss of urgency, as he filled me.

Michael collapsed on my back for a moment, and then lifted himself up, and carefully removed himself from inside me. He could reach some paper towels from where he was, and he grabbed a couple and carefully wiped me as best he could, before throwing them in the bin. I stood, smiled at him, and grabbed another couple to finish the job off. I straightened my skirt as he tucked himself in.

Looking around the room to make sure everything was in place, he noticed my slinky panties on the floor, and picked them up. When he tried to hand them to me, I tucked them in his pocket instead, and patted his package as a thank you. Still nothing was said, as he peeked through the small window in the door, picking the best time to release me from capture.

He opened the door, and I risked a quick peck on his cheek before leaving, and continuing on to the ladies room, to finish the job I was on my way to do before, and to finish the cleanup properly.

I was still thoroughly aroused when I left the ladies, and I knew that we couldn't stay in the restaurant much longer if I wasn't to give myself away. George was sitting sipping his coffee, thoroughly oblivious. I sat down, looked at him kindly, and suggested it was time to leave. He nodded agreeably, looking a little tired, and we paid the bill and left.

As we cleared the front door of the restaurant, I pulled George close, and told him, directly, using very plain language, what had just happened. He asked me a couple of questions to clear up some details in his mind, and by then we had reached the truck.

He looked around to see if anyone was watching, and then lifted my skirt to check up on the status of the panties.

We made it into the truck, but not out of the carpark. Maybe the coffee had kicked in...