I was on my way back to the hotel when I noticed a small cozy restaurant,
the lighting was dim and the booths seemed comfortable and inviting. I
hadn’t noticed it on the way to my appointment, but I was grateful for the
chance to relax in the dimly lit privacy of my booth.
Due to the puzzling lack of custom, the service was swift and the food
equally satisfying, a pretty young waitress, who hurried back and forth
through the swing doors to the kitchen after each course, brought out the
dishes. I was particularly impressed with the Caesar Salad I had ordered as
entrée and savored the delicious dressing that accompanied it.
The main meal arrived and once again I was left alone in the empty
restaurant, the swing doors slightly ajar, so that the stainless steel food
preparation table was visible from where I sat. I picked at my meal while
reading through the information I had received at my appointment earlier
that afternoon.
For some time I was absorbed in my paperwork, not heeding the occasional
noises emanating from the kitchen. That is until I heard the unmistakable
noises of sexual pleasure instead of the usual clanging of pots and pans.
Raising my eyes I stared with surprise into the brightly lit kitchen, the
preparation table had a totally different type of dish laid out upon it.
I shut my gaping mouth and lowered my eyes to the paperwork strewn across my
table; I could feel my face burning with the rosy hue of embarrassment.
Against every ounce of will power I possessed, I slowly raised my eyes again
to the brightly lit kitchen.
The waitress who had served me was totally naked, her lithe body stretched
out upon the preparation table, her back arched and her breasts thrust
upwards towards the tongue that masterfully lapped at their pointed peaks.
The chef was fully dressed and leaning over the luscious waitress from
between her long slender legs; he still had his white cap perched
precariously upon the side of his head.
His hands were sliding up and down those exquisite thighs, every now and
then moving up to cup her breasts together as he slid his tongue back and
forth over her tightly pursed nipples. I swallowed hard as my own nipples
throbbed in an echo of pleasure and once again I lowered my eyes. I battled
through my meal, glancing up now and then only to be captured by the erotic
display.
The next time I glanced up chef’s face was between the waitress’s thighs,
devoid of his cap and the waitress’s fingers were running through his thick
black curls. My own panties were damp with excitement and my breathing had
become shallow, I couldn’t leave without paying so I just stayed put,
pretending to read and eating very, very slowly.
The chef raised his head and grinned at the panting waitress below him,
sliding his tongue up her flat stomach he sucked the tip of her breast right
into his mouth and then kissed its pointed tip. I realized a little too
late that he was releasing himself from the constraints of his pants and I
gasped as his huge dark purple appendage sprang into sight.
Flushing a deep burning red I quickly pretended to read again, hoping he
hadn’t heard my little outburst. A few seconds later I glanced at them out
of the corner of my eye, he was between her legs now, his naked bottom
tensing and thrusting. I watched in awe as he buried himself deep inside
the petite waitress, her body arching and her legs gripping him while they
slammed against each other in their hurried excitement.
His head was tilted back and his eyes were tightly shut, as were the
waitress’s eyes but her mouth was open and her breasts heaving. I watched
her hips thrust and buck as she climaxed, crossing my own legs as the
tingling sensation between them became all too much like the sensation of
orgasm.
I glanced at my watch and realized that although it seemed as if they had
been making love for hours, only fifteen minutes had passed. I peered at
them from beneath lowered lashes again, the chef was pulling up his pants
and the waitress was now lying limp upon the table. She rolled away and
disappeared from sight and I returned my attention to my plate.
With a jolt I realized I had eaten every scrap of food off my plate, even
the garnish, I panicked a little then quickly grabbing a bunch of papers,
began flipping through them and placing them in some semblance of order.
Moments later the waitress cleared my plate, she was still flushed, but
there was not a hair out of place.
As the desert was placed before me, she smiled and gave me a wink, before
sashaying off to the kitchen again. I wondered for a moment if she realized
I had been able to see everything, but I dismissed the thought and focused
on finishing my meal.
I paid and left the restaurant, looking back to see the closed sign swinging
in the window and I had to smile as I walked the last couple of blocks to my
hotel. Later lying in my bed I had vivid images of the smooth skinned
waitress writhing beneath the chef’s masterful tongue. The meal had been
one of the most enjoyable and definitely the most memorable, but I just
couldn’t get that Caesar Salad out of my head, it was the tastiest dressing
I had ever come across.