The most unlikely places . . .

The most unlikely places . . . The most unlikely places . . .

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Summary

People watching is one of my favourite pastimes. Sometimes I strike gold in the most unlikely places.

Summary

People watching is one of my favourite pastimes. Sometimes I strike gold in the most unlikely places.

Content

Submitted: November 01, 2015

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Content

Submitted: November 01, 2015

A A A

A A A


The Most Unlikely Places...

I was having dinner in the restaurant at the Premier Inn in Stevenage recently. A couple who I guessed were in their mid fifties, but very fit and smart, came and sat at a window table next to me. They had clearly been out walking and were wearing appropriate clothes. The woman, who was lean and tall and quite muscular in a feminine way, was wearing a white, polo-neck top in what looked like a soft, fine lamb's wool. It was warm in the restaurant and I wondered why she hadn't changed before dinner.

From the corner of my eye, I caught her looking round the restaurant in a 'checking-no-one-is-looking-at-me' kind of way. My sixth sense kicked into action. I watched her without looking at her as she slowly made the tell-tale movements of sliding a bra strap down her arm, past her elbow and hooking it over her wrist. then she sat still and looked carefully around. Her companion kept reading his paper, apparently oblivious.

Having staisfied herself that no one was watching, she made the same, well practiced movements, movements any woman would instantly recognise, with her other arm.

My tummy was fluttering... somewhere deep below my pelvis I felt the warm rush of hormones and I pressed my thighs together. I realised I was stroking the soft swell beneath my own braless breast with one hand, the slight movement making my nipple push against my T shirt.

I swallowed and dragged my attention back to my book as the waiter took the order from the couple in the window. She was so self-assured... chatting to the waiter with aplomb, giving no hint she was anything other than demurely and fully dressed. Her companion seemed as oblivious as ever, asking about a dish, ordering the wine - which Merlot did the waiter recommend? Choosing mineral water - sparkling but not a premium label. And eventually, ordering completed, they returned to their respective books in companionable silence.

I tried not to stare, really I did, but she glanced up too quickly and caught my eye. I looked down sheepishly, hoping I hadn't blown it, expecting her to get up from the table to finish what I had watched her start somewhere more private. But she didn't.

My mouth was watering with anticipation and tingles were spreading across my skin, crackling out from my nipples like fireworks, bursting at a distance into thousands more prickles. But I kept my gaze fixed... not looking at her but past her; seeing her but not staring at her.

Then she looked around her again in that 'checking-out-who's-looking' kinda way... but this time her gaze landed firmly on me, pausing for a while, longer than felt comfortable, before swinging back to her book on the table.

I swear I felt a throb in that place where a woman's pleasure begins as her arms followed that path all women would recognise; arch back, arms to the side, hands upwards to the centre of the back, fingers deftly cmpleting their task, hands back down and round and into her lap... and pause. She sat still for a moment... eyes briefly scanning the room, then, leaning slightly forwards, she slipped her hands under her jumper and turned to face me, the slightest hint of a smile lighting up her face.

I blushed... I know I blushed because I felt it spreading just below the surface of my skin, starting at my cheeks and radiating outwards, washing over my nipples, swirling round my tummy button, pooling between my thighs like water flowing into a plug-hole.

I let her steel grey eyes hold mine as she slid her bra from beneath her jumper, pulling it tight across her small breasts as she did so. Her nipples were hard little bumps in a sea of soft, white lamb's wool and I traced a finger round my own hard little bumps as I watched, mesmerised. And still her companion was oblivious... or was he? Without a word and with barely a movement, she passed her bra under the table to her companion who slipped it into his pocket before winking at me and returning to his book.

I know I gasped and I realised my knees were parted a little too much for modesty. She kept glancing at me now; glancing and tracing the outline of her nipple with a well manicured finger tip. I drew my finger nails across the tops of my thighs as I rubbed my palms up and down, easing my hem a little higher, promising not revealing. Her turn to wonder... her turn to see my nakedness through my clothes, looking through her mind’s eye.

I turned to get up from my table, moving like I was wearing jeans, not a skirt. I paused, one leg in the aisle, one leg still under the table and she was looking... if she had been a man, I’d have been cross, but I wanted her to look and she drank me in, letting her tongue wet her lips. Her eyes slowly swept upwards, pausing fleetingly on my breasts before coming to rest on my eyes. I felt the grin spread across my face as I stood and smoothed down my skirt. She smiled and nodded an empathetic acknowledgement; we didn’t speak and I didn’t look back as I walked to the lift and the doors whooshed closed behind me. I leaned against the back of the lift and let my head fall back with a smile. My hands slid down between my thighs and savoured my heat; my wetness. I knew what I needed to do next...

Some of the simplest occasions can be the most erotic...


© Copyright 2017 ClaudiaNovotny. All rights reserved.

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