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Besides, she never could resist that little "naughty girl" voice in her head that, especially since her separation, seemed to say, "go ahead, girl, push your luck." That voice had usually got her into plenty of trouble. Wriggling the skirt down over her hips, she bent forward, exposing her ass to the mirror, checking just how far she'd have to go to "push her luck".
Not very far. Her ass cheeks and labia were only a few inches above the hem.
She dripped on the drive to the restaurant like an overflowing roof drain. "It's a good thing both my skirt and the upholstery are black," she thought pulling into the parking lot of the fancy Italian restaurant while checking her make-up in the rear view mirror for the umpteenth time. "My honey pot feels like a rain forest."
The college-aged boy who was serving as the valet captain was the first to see her glistening pussy tonight as Kathy swung her long legs from the car, smiling coquettishly at the young man who was perhaps thirty years her junior. He wouldn't be the last.
"Mmmm, yummy," she mused to herself, winking at the boy while taking a second lingering glance at the bulge in his black trousers. "Mommy would take YOU for a long drive, baby," she thought. Damn, she was horny. She was literally salivating to suck a cock as soon as possible.
The handsome maitre'd, a slim Mediterranean man in his sixties , similarly hadn't been able to keep his eyes off her and for a moment, she wondered if perhaps she should have worn a coat. It was too hot and too late for that now as Kathy stood waiting in the foyer, taking a deep breath and nervously smoothing her skirt down for the twentieth time.
"Ah, yes, Kathryn, we've been expecting you. You look radiant. Your gentleman friend is waiting at the bar for you." The older man's eyes were knowing, and they bore into her twinkling green eyes, the color of a Caribbean ocean in sunlight.
He was classy enough not to ogle her as he graciously waved his hand in the direction of the plush bar, bowing dramatically as she walked past. Which strategically gave him an eye-level view of her scrumptious backside as she passed just a few feet away. He emitted a low wolf whistle to himself. "Sex on a stick," he mumbled to himself. "What a piece of ass. I love my job."
When she saw John at the almost deserted bar, another trickle of moisture eased down her inner thighs. He looked dashing, though unshaven, a five-o-clock shadow which accentuated his classic jaw line. He wore a blue sports jacket and an open-collared white shirt. Understated, but delicious, like one of those L.L. Bean middle-aged-men catalog models that Kathy regularly masturbated to, one of her dark little secrets. Those catalog models could make her cum more than any hung porn star.
John spent, what felt to Kathy, several long minutes inspecting her. Blatantly and openly looking her up and down. His eyes wandering from her face, pausing for a moment at her full breasts, the tantalizing cleavage, down lower, taking in the trim waist, the short skirt and the long, long legs to where the thin black straps of her high heels wrapped around her slim ankles. She stood a little defiantly, one hand on her hip, almost as if challenging him to find fault with her.
"You look lovely, Kathryn, just lovely," he said smiling, nodding his approval. His eyes traveled lower, to her feet, "Great shoes," he grinned at her, like an upperclassman frat boy with a naive freshman coed.
Lovely and sophisticatedly slutty, or sluttily sophisticated...but, oh, so, completely edible, was what he really wanted to tell her. It would be a pleasure to have her ass for dessert.
And he would go back for seconds. John was ravenous for her ass. Kathy was as of yet unaware that she had finally met a man whose sexual appetite and erotic imagination for all things anal matched her own.
Struggling to not betray his waning composure, he said, "This is my favorite Valpolicella. I've taken the liberty of ordering a bottle for us." He handed her a glass.
Kathy felt torn between being flattered at his