Karen has decided what she wants for her birthday, possibly even for desert, though she will need to order something else. Tony, their waiter, is waiting attentively, darkly, handsomely, as her husband studies the desert tray.

The meal was heavenly, and they have delighted together in the sensuality of the food and wine, their love of eating and drinking one of the few purely pleasurable bonds between them. The choice of the next and last step in the meal must be made with great care and anticipation. The dark sinfulness of the chocolate or the suggestiveness of something light and creamy, with the juiciness of ripe fruit?

Karen runs her eyes across the tray, to Tony, up and down, subtle, firm muscles, nicely tanned under the crisp white shirt like crisp white sheets, catches his eye, bites her fingertip, poses in feigned indecision, her bare foot lightly brushing his leg, orders the strawberry and cream concoction, deciding that dark and sinful are already taken care of this evening, smiles as she orders, eyes sparkling, believes she has caught a wink in return.

Karen watches the black pants, black like the night outside, as Tony returns to the kitchen, makes idle birthday chit-chat with her husband, no different really than the idle chit-chat of any meal, though the quality of the food is tonight's primary topic, waits for Tony's hands to whisper over the back of her neck and furtively, but firmly, stroke her leg as the deserts are served. Is not disappointed. Smiles more openly, the ends of her fingertips brushing his cock through his pants. Remembers days past, days with less money, days and nights wearing such pants, the feel of customers' hands on them, the feel of coworkers' cocks through them, the thrill of the stolen glance, the quick squeeze, the storeroom kiss, especially while her husband, back then her boyfriend, is waiting at the bar for her shift to end, waiting to walk her home.

Eating the desert she sighs luxuriously, stares into her husband's eyes, awaits the clearing of the dishes, the final lick of cream and strawberry from her lips, the delivery (and collection) of the check, the subtle flashing of round white breasts, the passing in the hallway on the way out, and the slipping of a phone number into a pocket. For Tony seems like the kind of young man who would be eager, and able, to give a slightly older, slightly lusher, slightly lustier woman the kind of thorough fucking that she knows she deserves.