The Dinner Party

[SarahGirl]

This thread has been started for a new story - provisional title The Dinner Party

This will be a romance - soft and sweet and slow - assuming I can manage that and contol the plot, rather than allowing it to carry me away!

[SarahGirl]

I look round the room with some satisfaction. The table, set for two, sparkles with china, cutlery and glassware. The napkins add a touch of colour, as does the small setting of flowers. Slow burning, very lightly scented candles, burning for over an hour now, provide a gentle light, along with the wall lights, that is low enough to flatter and quite enough to see food and drink. The settings, on adjacent corners of the table are friendly, non-confrontational, potentially intimate.

The food is prepared, Mozart plays quietly in the background. The house is clean – it sparkles too, as it should after the best cleaning it has had in months, every room is tidy, clean, sweet smelling. Clean towels in the loo, clean sheets on all beds, everything, just everything is ready. Except me. My mouth is dry, my heart is pounding, I feel slightly sick and shivery with anticipation, this for a dinner with a woman friend, well acquaintance, maybe that is it, I so want her to be my friend. This, the grey low necked blouse, over the newly bought red basque and matching Thong, hold up stockings, dark blue velvet skirt to the ground, little pumps to match the blouse and my necklace, nestling between my boobs to draw the eyes into the cleavage, was the fourth one I had tried on, the last, only because I ran out of time. My make-up is understated, as perfect as I can achieve, mostly visible around my eyes, designed to enhance. I am bathed and plucked and shaved and massaged to the nearest to perfection I can approach, more effort than I would put into a typical hot date.

What is about her, I asked myself, that makes me feel like this?

I had first met her, when in the local library, looking for a new book for my mother, a ‘good murder’, as she referred to them. I was vaguely scanning one of the half height shelves, when I heard her voice, low, cultured, perhaps slightly accented, murmuring to the librarian. Looking up, I saw a woman, about my own age or a little younger, heavy dark hair cascading down her back, contrasting with her casual bottle green top, worn with shorts, which displayed slim sun-kissed legs, and open sandals. Her face, a little large for the rest of her, was somewhere between plain and attractive, the mouth a little too large, the nose turned up at the end, eyebrows a little too heavy. Her eyes drew mine in that first glance, dark brown, her glance pellucid, penetrating, I thought, in that first moment, ‘here is a woman who could see deep into my soul’. A shiver ran through me, standing there, looking, staring! Blushing, I make myself look down and away, to concentrate on the books, so didn’t see her cross the room to the shelf where I was standing, didn’t see any more of her at all, until we both reached for the same book. When our hands touched, my skin felt hot, like I had a little fever, just in the hand that had touched hers. We glanced at each other, murmured apologies, turned away. A few moments later, as I moved aside to allow a woman with an oversized push-chair through, she stepped back from a pushy pensioner and our bottoms collided. ‘Oh! I am sorry’, she said with a laugh, ‘My first time in the library and I seem to be making a habit of bumping into you’. Her voice sent shivers through me, my head was spinning, ‘get a grip’, I thought to myself. ‘Are you new here, then?’, I asked, since she had given me the opening. She was new in the area, having moved in the previous week, to a new post, she was missing her family, no she had no friends in the area.

It was natural, then, that we went for coffee together, that coffee led to drinks, to a concert, to talks and Sunday afternoon walks. And, on these occasions, it was natural that she talked to me, less natural was the affect her voice had on my insides, natural that our hands would touch, less so the way my skin burned when they did, natural too, after the first two meetings to kiss, air-kiss from my side at first, but her lips burned my cheeks on the first occasion and after that, we had kissed, really kissed, cheeks on several occasions. So, tremulously, fearing rejection still, I invited her for a meal, just as we were parting after our last concert, music ghastly, company wonderful! Delight lit up her face, her smile transformed it from almost attractive to devastatingly beautiful, I was frozen staring and then, she kissed me, full on the lips, leaving lipstick smears and a delightful taste on my mouth and total confusion in my mind. I could see her now, hips gently swaying, as she walked away, turned and blew me another kiss, sending my, already racing heart, into the danger-zone.

I am still standing, contemplating the meetings, the feelings, my confusion, when the doorbell rings. I glance through the window, it’s her. I feel a flush race over my neck and cheeks, a start of cold sweat on my breasts, my blood pressure must be off the scale. I open the door, step back as she walks in, brushes a kiss of greeting on my lips, leaving me totally stunned and says, ‘Hi’. The sound sends more shivers down my spine, I smile gauchely.

End of part 1

[jemma29]

I am intrigued, you write so well, can't wait for part 2

xxx

[SarahGirl]

I am intrigued, you write so well, can't wait for part 2

xxx

It may wel be thrusday before I get to do much more - essays to write, people to flirt with - you know how it is!

[jemma29]

I sure do...

I know it only too well, I have an essay to write too, you any good with Social Exclusion Issues? lol

Oh well, I'll stick to the flirting...

xxx

[libs74]

well actually im slightly better at social exclusion issues lol

[jemma29]

well hellloooo libs...you wanna do my essay for me...lol

xxx

and I'm sure thats not true, i bet you can flirt

[libs74]

Oh I can

but spent a lot of time on social exclusion and inclusion too

[Nicnac]

You have a way with words Sarah The attractions because she has dark brown eyes and you know it woman!

[SarahGirl]

Early exchanges


As she steps into the house, Fransesca offers me a small bunch of mixed flowers, ‘Picked from my roof garden’, she breathes, ‘smell’. I do, but what excites me is her own perfume, not that of the flowers. ‘This is from my mother’s district’, she says, ‘It needs to breath for an hour or three, so don’t open it tonight, its for you to enjoy’. I take the wine, a plain looking Italian red and place it on the sideboard, then go into the kitchen to pop the flowers into water. Fransesca’s head appears in the doorway, ‘Is it all right, if I come in?’, she asks, ‘My mother hates having another woman in the kitchen, but I think that is so silly’. By the end of the sentence, my nod and smile have made it obvious she is welcome. ‘Feel free’, I say, ‘In fact, the house is yours while you are here, no secrets here’.

She walks across to where I have a bottle of Italian Red standing open. ‘That should be nice’, she says looking at the label. ‘Would you like some?’ I ask gesturing to the open shelf with wine glasses. She pours a generous glass, looks at it, sniffs deeply, swirls and sniffs again, then tastes, ‘Hmmm, lovely, can I pour you some?’. ‘Better not, I’d better stick to water for now’, I say, regretfully. Her eyes twinkle and she grins, ‘I see, trying to get me drunk, are you?’, she asks, laughing. I laugh too, a little guiltily, the idea has occurred to me. ‘Done’, I say, as I fluff up the flowers in a little vase. ‘Are you ready to eat? I just have to dress the salads and the starter is ready’. ‘Wonderful’, she replies, ‘I’m ravenous.’ Again she catches my eye with a secretive smile as though some other thought has just passed through her mind, then she asks tentatively, ‘Would it be OK, if I just looked at the flowers, while you do the dressing?’.

While I drizzle the orange and vinegar dressing on the asparagus and cashew salad, her fingers cleverly re-arrange and neaten the vase of flowers, changing it from that to a minor work of art. ‘How’, I ask, with real interest, ‘do you do that. It looks completely different’. ‘Oh! It was one of the seventeen essential skills for young ladies in my finishing school’, she sighs, ‘along with such useful skills as how to curtsey properly and how to address every level of nobility in each country in Europe’, she giggles then. ‘The only useful thing they did try to teach us about was kissing, but their version was so useless, I was the only eighteen year old virgin in the village, when I went home.’

I carry the salads into the dining room, she follows with the flowers and places them on the table. I seat her on the inside, since I will be going into the kitchen quite frequently. We are sitting on either side of a corner, so we are closer together, I can see the candle light dance in her eyes, as she looks at the salads and the fork I provided. ‘Asparagus’, she says with relish, ‘I only know one way to eat this’, saying this, she lifts up the first stalk in her fingers, slips it into her mouth with a slight slurping sound and grins. ‘Not very lady-like, I know’. I laugh and say, ‘but so much more fun!’ and pick up my own. Fingers prove better for the Romaine leaves as well, the cashew nuts and the dressing come up with them. By the end of the starter, we both have messy fingers and faces. To my complete surprise, Fransesca then licks the dressing off her fingers, finger by finger. The sight of her lips, running over her long, elegant fingers causes me to flush again, I can feel the heat in my cheeks, know she can see it too, as she smiles, ‘That dressing is just too good to waste, try yours’, she says and that smile, that slightly wicked, secretive smile, flickers over her face again. I lick, tentatively at my right hand, the one farthest from her. ‘Oh! Not like that’ she says, trilling with laughter and she lifts my right hand to her face, sucking my first finger deep inside it, playing her tongue across it as though frenching my finger. This time, there is no mistaking the feeling that courses through me, my nipples spring erect, my panties are suddenly damp, excitement tingles through me ‘down there’. ‘Fransesca’, I protest, weakly, ‘What’, she says, ‘Its only your fingers’, I can think of no reply at all, so I sit there and submit docilely, licking my right hand as she does my left, getting more and more turned on, as she does.

[Janice2]

Excelent Sarah!
Now we are waithing for the 3rd part of the story..
Hugs
Janice

[Justagirl24]

Finally caught up with the my sites. Boy oh boy has it been a long week. But I really like this so far, Sarah!

[SarahGirl]

Finally caught up with the my sites. Boy oh boy has it been a long week. But I really like this so far, Sarah!

Thanks manda, next part is in progress - just slow

What have you been up to then, nothing new on your site in the last few days, so I guess its not writing for pleasure.

[SarahGirl]

Fingers ‘cleaned’ I clear the plates into the kitchen and start to complete the next course. With the chicken already cooked, stripped off the bones and cubed, keeping hot, and the scallion and ginger dressing ready for use, all that was needed was for the rice to be ready, and everything set out. I check the time, then move across to pick up the pak choi. ‘Could I have some more wine, please’, Fransesca asks, ‘Of course, would you pour me one now, this is almost done’. She does and comes to stand very close behind me as I put it down. I can feel the heat from her body on my back, more intense it seems than that from the stove. The pak choi added to the rice, all that is left to do was drizzle the meat with the soy sauce and oil mixture. I always do this by hand, so I dangle my freshly washed fingers under the tap again, then covere the hot chicken with the mixture, revelling in the oily feel on my fingers, wash again, drain the rice and within three minutes it is all on the table.

There are forks and spoons on the table, as well as chop sticks, but I am delighted to see Fransesca take the first piece of chicken from her bowl with her fingers, dip it in the ginger and scallion dressing and hold it up to her mouth. I use my own fingers, for mine, then pick the rice bowl up and shovel the rice mixture, again using my fingers. ‘Yummy’, Fransesca says, as she swallows the first of her chicken, ‘That is just wonderful’.’Thank you’, I reply, ‘but to get the best effect, you need scallions as well as dressing, like this’. I pick up another piece of chicken, dip it in my own bowl and swipe it around, so that the chicken is coated with little bits of the sharp tasing little salad onion as well as the ginger, then pop it into my mouth. She tries again, getting only oil and ginger, so I repeat the action with mine and this time pop the mixture into her mouth. She swallows and manages to do this and to lick my fingers at the same time, sending more shivers down my spine. ‘Your fingers taste amazing’, she says throatily, ‘Oil and soy sauce as well as the dressing, give me your other hand.’ I hold it out palm down and she licks me like a cat, like a cat, I just want to purr, as she does. Then she tries the dip and swipe and says, ‘Taste, see if I can got it right’. I let her put the food right into my mouth, swallow, catching her wrist as I do, then suck the fingers softly into my mouth, letting them out after a few seconds then licking her wrist, the palm of her hand as I look deeply into those georgeous brown eyes. The rest of the course, we feed each other, drips of soy sauce and oil are all over my exposed boobs, with spatters on the grey material as well, a good job the top is reasonably low, or it would be covered, as it is, it will be the devil to get out. Glancing across at Fransesca’s ivory blouse, I realise that I have dribbled juices on her neck and the top of her exposed boobs too, although, as her blouse is considerably lower cut than mine, and her breasts appear to be supported by a push-up bra of some kind, there is nothing actually on her clothing.

‘You ought to get that into soak’, she says, ‘or it just won’t come out at all’, so I nip into the kitchen and strip the blouse off, as Fransesca comes in behind me, saying ‘Nice’ as she looks at the Basque, ‘No need to risk anything else, you might as well stay like that’. Since the basque shows off considerably more of me than I am usually comfortable with, I feel a little embarrassed by this comment, then notice that Fransesca is a little flushed, I think the wine is having some affect. Now I feel I cannot really go upstairs for a new blouse, without seeming a prude.
She walks up to me, with a wicked little grin on her face, ‘That sauce was so good, it seems such a pity to waste it’. She licks a finger, then wipes a little of the juice off me, the touch of her finger on my neck sends shivers through me, flares of heat and wetness in my groin, but what she does next, roots me to the spot, leaves me dripping. ‘Too slow’, she breathes, bends towards me and licks, my neck and then the spattered top of my boobs, ‘Heavenly’ she says, ‘Your turn now, or is that too insanitary for you’. I hear a little bleat emerge from my mouth, how can I answer that? I do the only thing I can, beiding to lick at her neck, her skin so soft, delicate tasting, slightly lemony, where it is not splattered with sauce. When I bend to lick lower, I can see right down her cleavage, feel the heat coming from her skin, smell her, not scent or powder, the clean scent of her skin, with just the slightest hint of female excitement. I have no doubt, now, she is as turned on by this as I am. Panicked I reach for the sweets.

[SarahGirl]

So, panicked I reach for the sweets. We have been drinking rather more than I am used to with dinner, two large glasses of wine, or three? There is desert wine, sweet, delicate tasting, highly intoxicating, to follow. Surely nothing could go wrong with Fresh fruit salad and sorbet? Oh no? The sorbet is in various flavours, formed into little 1 cm diameter balls, so you can pick a whole one up on a spoon and eat it, the salad in small chunks, likewise. ‘What’s this one?’ Fransesca asks, scraping a section off a green icy ball. ‘Could be mint or kiwi fruit’, ‘No not either of those’, saying this, she picks up another piece, holds it out to me, manages to find my mouth, all but for a large drip that falls directly onto my left boob. I shiver, as much from the anticipation of what she will do, as from the cold. This time she uses a single finger, soft and warm, which sends tingles down my spine straight to my knickers, as she wipes the errant juice up. ‘Guava?’, I murmur, not having a clue, then offer her a spoon dripping with what I guess is plain lemon sorbet, why should she be the one who gets all the fun, I reason with myself. I manage a drip on each breast, enjoying the clean-up as much as the sorbet, the skin on her breasts is silky to the touch, soft on the surface, resilient underneath. I see that my attentions have made her breathe much harder and faster. We have been chatting about the lost art of letter writing and poetry, I catch her talking of ‘pale inconstant orb ..’, its a moment before I think of Romeo and the moon. All I can think of are the orbs we are displaying to each other.

From then on, each spoon of sorbet and fruit is shared, many dripped and wiped, until Fransesca’s blouse is messy too. She shrugs and removes it, I see, for the first time, the true wonder of her boobs, lifted and presented in what looks like an underwired push-up bra, like some heroine from Jane Austen, her flesh so pale, the orbs of her breasts, perfectly rounded, her nipples and aureoles barely concealed. I manage to conceal my gasp of appreciation, I hope, as we continue to flirt wildly. We have been chatting about the lost art of letter writing and poetry, I catch her talking of ‘pale inconstant orb ..’, its a moment before I think of Romeo and the moon. All I can think of are the orbs we are displaying to each other.

I pour coffee, making sure she gets the best possible view of my assets as I pour my own, standing just to the side of her, pouring hers. I have fairtrade chocolates of various flavours to share, feeding each to her, after taking half a bite. Our breathing is so heavy now, I wonder which of us will pop out of our bra first. I take the last chocolate, place it half into my mouth after saying, ‘If you want any of this, you will have to come and claim it’. She giggles, slightly tipsy sounding, bends forward and takes the exposed half of the chocolate in her mouth, her mouth at an angle to mine, lips touching. Then she presses her tongue forward and pushes tongue chocolate and all into my mouth, so we French kiss and taste the chocolate at the same time. Her nearer arm slides around the back of my neck and holds my mouth to hers, my hand slides up the inside of her throat, a soft delicate feathery touch, then slides down to touch chest, then the upper slope of her breast. She flinches at my first touch, then sighs inside my mouth, widens her own mouth presses her tongue firmly home, breathes in so hard that her breasts literally rise up into my hand, as the fingers of her other hand drop softly onto my knee. I slide the strap of her bra aside with a finger, slide my hand inside the cup, rub my palm gently over her nipple, my fingers savouring her skin, as her hand lifts tentatively tugs at the cloth of my long skirt. I spread my legs wider, pull my skirt to knee length, so her hand can slide under it, then slide my own onto her silk covered knee, sliding slowly upwards, until I encounter soft, warm flesh, stockings like me. Our eyes are locked, her hand moves from my neck and makes its way clumsily to undo the clasp of my bra, push strap from shoulder, when my fingers encounter warm, wet cloth in the apex of her thighs, a last thin barrier to her penetration, easily defeated. She sinks back in the chair, spreads herself wider, my fingers find a rough of hair and the warm wet cleft they seek, as she discovers there is nothing between her fingers and their goal, and slides one, two and then three fingers into me, at the same moment as I press one deep into her. I pull back to watch as she groans a little, I watch her eyes close, a shudder run through her, then the real touching begins.


Does this need a final part to finish it off or do I leave the rest to people's imaginations?