Lunch with Rachel

Invitation

Thursday lunch time, and as is our norm we sit in the coffee shop chatting. The conversation is rarely linear. Subjects are knocked back and forward as if we were playing volleyball, but where some might strive to be competitive we both delight in the imagination and ideas of the other. Laughter is frequent, as are hands touching the other - simply an enhanced, more intimate form of communication.

Eventually I lean across the table and my fingers rest on the back of his hand. Softly, I ask if he thinks that Rachel might like to accompany me to dinner tomorrow evening. A slight intake of breath and after a moment he says that Rachel had enjoyed our last outing although the evening hadn't developed quite as she had expected. True, I respond, but she did appear to enjoy herself; or was I mistaken?

He blushes slightly. No, you were not mistaken, he whispers. And, looking directly at me, he says that, yes, Rachel had found the evening both exhilarating and challenging. Afterwards there had been some lingering sense of shame and humiliation but on reflection this had been far outweighed by the excitement of the evening. Rachel would be happy to accompany me, placing her complete trust in my hands.

Invitation offered, invitation accepted.

He moves on to practical matters. What should she wear? A moment’s thought and I suggest something stylish, 1950’s and flowing, perhaps a long dress that Ava Gardner or Kim Novak would love to have been seen wearing. He smiles - Rachel would like that. And underneath the dress? My turn to smile. Rachel knows my preferences - I will leave that to her. He nods, his mind already reeling with possibilities.

The Entrance

The restaurant is busy and, as is her nature, Rachel is late. I sip my drink and glance at my watch. Slight irritation gives way to worry but this is brushed aside as she makes her entrance. Heads turn as she sweeps across the room.

Ours is a quiet town, very much set in its ways. Even allowing for the all-pervasive influence of the Internet, the fashions and fads of our more cosmopolitan and bohemian neighbours can take years to be seen on our streets. But when they do it comes like a massive jolt of electricity challenging and destroying our conventions. So it is with Rachel.

All eyes are on her. Luxuriant auburn hair tumbles over a green latex mask. A long flowing dress in olive silk, worthy of Dior or Chanel, both reveals and conceals her perfect body. In that moment she feels that she is the centre of the universe.

I stand and a waiter moves quickly to draw back her chair. Both seated she looks directly at me, seeking my approval. I smile. They used to say that Ava Garner was the most beautiful woman in the world. I’d say that here, tonight, she would have met her match. Rachel’s eyes gleam and her perfect breasts rise as she gasps softly in pleasure at the compliment. I wonder what other physical response my words might have had. Stupid me; I know.

She sips her drink and looks around the restaurant, meeting the gaze of lustful admirers. She talks and I say just enough to let the conversation flow. I allow myself a moment’s introspection. What is it that drives me to help create this fabulous creature, with the sole intention of bringing her down? What is this madness that seizes me and which I can only shake off by seeing her used sexually by others and publicly degraded? And only then will I permit myself to use her.

The Waiter

The waiter approaches and waits to take our order. What would you suggest, I ask him. He drags his eyes away from Rachel’s breasts. They betray his inner thoughts; I would suggest that I slide my fat cock into the young lady’s mouth, see her lipstick smeared along the length of its shaft and then hold her head tight as I fuck her and empty the contents of my tight, impatient balls into her throat.

Perhaps the scallops to start? They’re incredibly fresh. With the lamb to follow?

I nod my agreement and the waiter asks if there will be anything else. Rachel smiles and shakes her head. I lean forward and whisper, I think the young man requires your attention.

With only a moment’s hesitation, she moves her hand to his groin and begins to massage his cock through his tight black pants. Visibly swelling, I’m tempted to tell her to unzip him and do what comes naturally to her - how I would love to see this young man’s cum trickling from her mouth - but it’s too soon. He will have to wait.

He was, however, correct; the scallops were excellent. And the accompanying wine helped relax Rachel, after her brief caressing of the young man’s groin.

Pillars of the Establishment

At the adjacent table, a middle-aged couple (middle-aged? perhaps I’m being generous) had sat stony-faced since Rachel’s entrance, all the time staring at her with contempt etched across their faces.

I knew them vaguely. Both pillars of the establishment, serving on the school board, guardians of the morals of society. Every Sunday they are there in the front row of the church where everyone can see them. Sitting ram-rod straight, they nod their approval of the pastor’s threats of hell and damnation for the sexual deviants afflicting our society today.

Front row hypocrites. At Rachel’s first appearance, the woman had touched the man’s hand and guided it under the table. I turn to look at them. They meet my gaze; to look away would be to confess that they have something to hide. But their slight movements and the rising colour of the woman’s face give them away. Under the table his hand has slid between her legs, pushed up her very sensible skirt and slipped a finger into her wet cunt. Meanwhile her hand rubs his cock, feeling it swell and strain to be free to fuck.

No doubt they are muttering a prayer, begging Satan to be gone but at the same time believing that only their sexual subjugation of Rachel can save her.

Salvation. Salvation for Rachel would involve her being spreadeagled on the table while the woman lowers her desperate cunt onto Rachel’s face. She would grind back and forward, leaving Rachel’s latex hood glistening and all the time whisper a prayer begging forgiveness for this poor sinner. Her husband would push Rachel’s long dress up to her waist, revealing a latex corset. As if he were conducting an exorcism he would hold Rachel’s legs apart and call on God to drive the demons out of this girl. Only his seed can free her and with that he would pull his thick erect cock from his trousers and pull Rachel’s briefs aside.

And then what would you do, I wonder. Confronted by Rachel in all her glory, would you retreat in confusion or engage in your exorcism with greater vigour? The latter, I think. The lust you feel at the moment is nothing compared to what you will feel, my upright Calvinist friend. Rachel can so easily make cock-sucking rubber sluts of us all.

The lamb arrives; the waiter lingers but is swiftly dismissed in abject disappointment.

Reflection

The lamb is cooked to perfection. Rachel approaches her meal with a forensic precision. As I watch her eat I wonder at her resilience. I had had my doubts about whether she would accept my invitation. Our last outing had been testing; it was the first time she had worn latex in public, although with a body like hers that should have held no terrors. But to then find herself in the darkness of a fetish club, with hands first exploring and then delighting in her body would for some have been a step too far.

At times she looked to me for help as a tide of sex swept over her, but I just stood there, watching her and stroking my cock. I watched her on her knees as she took one man’s cock after another. Watched as her ass was stretched by men emptying their cum inside her. Watched as women held her face against their cunts and rode her cock.

Then when they’d all finished with her, and when all her strength was drained, I took her home. And on a vast bed of almost obscene comfort, I tasted the sex of other men and women splashed over her rubber suit and hood, in her ass, on her cock and over her lips. And at last, at long, long last, I pushed her legs back and began to ride inside her.

Resilient indeed. But how would she react if what might be commonplace in a fetish club were played out in a more public setting? And at the end of it all, would my cock again find itself deep inside what I had come to think of as its natural home.

She delicately places a morsel in her mouth and looks at me. You’re a million miles away, she says, and your mind is whirring, I can hear the cogs. I laugh. She’s beginning to know me too well.

The waiter glances nervously towards us, afraid to approach and risk rejection but desperate to again feel her touch.

Fresh Meat

I motion him to come over. I'm sure I know the young couple in the corner - could he invite the young couple to join us? Please tell them that they’d be very welcome to join us for dessert and coffee.

Rachel looks at me. How do you know these people? They don’t look like the sort you normally associate with; they’re very, well, young.

I raise an eyebrow at the unintended slight. I don’t know them, that’s the point. Their attraction is that they are young, very young; and don’t you agree that they look ever so sweet and innocent?

Rachel turns to look at them as they come towards us. She is perhaps not quite the Whore of Babylon as imagined by our religious friends, but I have noticed a desire on her part to lead astray those committed to the path straight and narrow, and to touch those who are yet untouched.

I make my apologies. Stupid of me, I’d completely mistaken them for someone else. So embarrassing, but please stay, it would be a pleasure to enjoy their company.

They prove to be surprisingly entertaining. Perhaps I am getting old and developing a jaundiced view of the young? They seem devoted to each other, have traveled extensively and are recently engaged. Throughout Rachel smiles and nods, offering little in the way of conversation. For their part they steal quizzical glances at her, seemingly nervous at being in her company.

I begin to wonder if she is bored. But when the couple tell us of their wedding plans and, blushing, how they are saving themselves for their honeymoon, Rachel slowly looks from one to the other. In that moment she is like a predator that is already savouring the taste of its prey.

For now she must content herself with dessert but all the time she is totally preoccupied, her mind churning over what she would do, if only she could.

Slowly she slips underneath the table. The young man first. Rachel slides her hands along the insides of his thighs, massaging him. Above the table he continues to chat but increasingly he seems to be more interested in looking down at his plate. His fiancee continues to talk excitedly about their plans and the future. Rachel by now has moved her hands to his groin and, feeling the hardness of his cock, she slips her hands inside his pants and pulls it out. As the poor boy tries to focus on his meal, on the conversation, on anything, Rachel sucks harder on his cock, fondles his tight balls and slips a finger into his ass. No one can resist cock-worship like that and with a muffled cry he unloads his ejaculate into Rachel’s mouth.

The girl turns to ask if he is okay as Rachel emerges from under the table. The deflowering of one has made her impatient to have the other. The girl now has her full attention and Rachel sits uncomfortably close to her, giving her the fixed attention that would normally only be seen between two old lovers. Her hand slips under the table and finds its way between the girl’s legs. The girl looks in alarm to her fiancee for support, but wallowing in guilt he will not meet her eyes; then to me, but I am entranced to see what Rachel will do next.

And what Rachel does next is to slip a finger inside the girl’s tight little cunt, teasing her way inside her and expecting at any moment that her progress will be impeded. But it is not. Rachel’s finger is not the first to have been this way and with a look of delight she leans forward. What was it, she asks, all the time slipping her finger in and out of the girl’s moistening cunt. Your own fingers? A hairbrush handle? A friend in the showers after gym? Or have the other boys been using your tight little cunt for many years without this one ever knowing?

Whatever it was, Rachel’s fingers cannot be resisted and the girl, with tears in her eyes has a shattering orgasm. Rachel leans back and looking at the boy she sucks her fingers, challenging him and knowing that now she owns them both.

But as I said, if only she could.

Apologies and Farewell

The evening meanders to its natural conclusion. Our guests leave and I summon the waiter to ask for the check. And with its arrival comes the embarrassing moment I had planned long before the words “Rachel would be happy to accompany you” were ever uttered.

No credit cards, no cash, other jacket I'm afraid - all plausible but nevertheless incredible. And just as incredible was my suggestion to the waiter that perhaps Rachel’s mouth might cover the cost of the scallops. Turning to the pillars of the community, I suggest that perhaps if they were to pay for our main course, that Rachel might welcome their efforts to save her soul. And to the young couple, that Rachel might be willing to guide them in the ways of the world so as to enhance their future life together.

Again invitations are made and accepted. And after that I watch them, knowing that as always when their lust is spent I will be the one to take Rachel home.

Latexi
5th May, 2019