We enter the restaurant and are seated under a huge poster of Rosie the Riveter. We order a couple of tropical drinks and put aside the menu for a bit. It’s vacation and we are in no rush.

The tablecloth reaches just to your lap and I take off my sandals and place my feet in your lap. You look around and try to shift the chair to cover my feet, flustered.

I laugh and start stroking you through your shorts with my toes. You harden and blush just as the waiter comes back with the drinks. I order some appetizers for us as you try to look nonchalant. You’re failing miserably. The waiter leaves to put in the order, looking back over his shoulder and grinning.

You continue to shift in the chair, hoping to move my feet. All that happens is there is more friction and I hear you moan softly. I pick up my drink and take a sip, looking over the glass at you.

“You don’t mind if I put my feet up, right? We’ve been walking all morning,” I smirk and continue teasing you with my toes. You glare at me, briefly closing your eyes to control your reaction, and then open them again, giving in.

“Would it matter if I said no? Or would you just find another way to torture me?” I laugh loudly in response and you have your answer. “Of course you would.”

Throughout appetizers, several drinks and our lunch, I continue to drive you crazy under the table. You have given up all pretense of control. The look in your eyes is pure lust. The waiter comes back to ask if we want another drink and you look at me pleading. Please say no….

“No, I think we’re done,” I say and he hands us the bill. I have never seen you quite so ready to pay and bolt. I take my feet out of your lap and put my sandals back on.

“You ready to go back to the room,” you ask hopefully as we leave the restaurant. You nod your head to the poster with a smirk, hoping I’ll get the hint. “We can…do it.”

I smile archly at you, give you a kiss and a squeeze, and reply, “There’s a museum I want to visit first,” and you groan.