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THE PLUMBER RETURNS by Joan Band I didn't have enough nerve to call Chuck Garrison, the plumber who had heard me masturbating in the stall while he worked in the commode next to mine, but I did get up enough nerve to go back to the same restaurant. My table gave a good view of the Chesapeake Bay, but I couldn't keep my eyes on the front door, hoping that somehow -- I could not believe it! As if by some psychic plan, the plumber who was built like a comic-book hero, stepped into the crowded restaurant and looked around. My pussy went instantly wet. I wanted him to see me and too come over and sit with me. Instead, his glanced passed me several times, never focusing. He said something to the hostess, and she lead him to a table directly across the room from mine. Almost unconsciously, I undid the top two buttons of my blouse. I wanted him to see me. I wanted him to admire me. I wanted him to want me. His eyes met mine for just a moment. Then he glanced away smiling to himself as if he were laughing at me. For a moment, the thought made me angry -- and at the same time, my pussy began to gush a new wetness. Thank the inventor of table clothes, I thought as my fingers slid up the inside my thigh, tickling over the elastic of my hose, and slipping to the base of my crotch. The wetness had slipped down from my pussy and saturated my thong, as my finger slipped under the material and went to the soft, wet flesh that lay open. My eyes had rolled back in my head, dreamily, and when I looked across the room, I saw the plumber grinning in my direction. He knew what I was doing and he was re-experiencing the psychological pleasure of what we had done a few days before. While my fingers slid inside the thong, massaging the wetness of my pussy, I shifted my green-eyed gaze directly to him, giving him the slightest of smiles, hoping he could see it across the room. When he smiled back and raised his water glass in a toast, I almost went insane. My fingers had been moving slowly in and around my pussy, massaging the lips, but they suddenly went stiff, and I plunged two of them inside me. My thumb massaged my clit and I gritted my teeth, my gaze never leaving the plumber's. "Are you all right?" said the waitress, coming to my table. "Yes, fine," I said, but never breaking the motion and only for a moment braking eye contact with the plumber. But, when I looked back in his direction, he was reading his menu. Look at me you bastard, I thought. Don't you know I'm doing this because of you? Don't you know I want your cock inside me? Pay attention to me! He looked up and grinned, again as if he had heard my words. Then he raised his eyebrows and nodded. It was not a nod at me, but a nod under my table, as if he knew exactly what I was doing. "Are you ready to order?" said the waitress who had been hovering over me. She too knew what I was doing. "Not yet." "Good," she said, and she hurried in the direction of the ladies' room. My fingers were going wild under my skirt, plunging in and out. I was making noises, but I didn't care. I was going to cum, right here in the restaurant, I was going to cum, and I was going to cum hard! Oh, damn, yes. "I want your cock inside me," I said across the room, using only my lips to tell him. "And I want to fuck you," he said, moving his lips distinctly, but making no sound. "You are fucking me," I mouthed to him. "I know," he said, and only now did I realize he had his cock in his hand the same as I had my fingers in my pussy. The wetness of my pussy juices had flowed through the material of my skirt and was saturating the seat of the chair under me. "Oh," I said, and at the same time I heard a man at another table, grunt. I was plunging my fingers, thumbing my clit, teasing my pussy lips. I suddenly realized that I and the plumber were not the only people in the room who were giving ourselves pleasure, and my own pleasure rippled through my body. "Yes!" I cried. "Oh, God, Yesssss." My eyes rolled and the plumber stared. "Yes," I heard from another table. "Oh!" from another. I slid my ass down the edge of the chair, pushing my fingers deeper inside me, milking the pleasure as if I were being fucked by this magnificent man across the room. I closed my eyes, and pleasure surged from my pussy to my brain, and I cried out. "Oh, yesssss, yesssss, yesssss." "I think it's time we left," said a voice over me. For a moment, I thought it was the manager of the restaurant, telling me to go. But when I opened my eyes, I was staring into the deep of Chuck Garrison's gaze. "Let's go someplace and do some real fucking," he said, grabbing my hand and pulling me from the restaurant.
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