By the time the waitress comes for our orders, John is holding my right leg open with one hand and Dan has her leg hooked over my left. This is the only contact I’m given, but the tension in between my thighs keeps increasing as they ever-so-slowly spread me wider. I feel like they’re going to tear me apart if they don’t stop soon… or touch me.
I’m finding more and more often that when I’m aroused I’m completely incapable of functioning. I wonder how anyone ever survives road head. Reading the dessert menu is just not happening.
Thankfully, John orders me flourless raspberry chocolate torte with mascarpone whipped cream (yum!), but when Arthur tries to order for Dan, she completely blows up at him.
“Who the f**k do you think you are, you misogynist piece of…”
“John did it! And Ana di
