Ladies Who Lunch

Ordering lunch is next to impossible when you are seconds away from orgasm. The waiter stared in a condescending manner that made me bristle. Smug asshole. I resisted the urge to punch him in the face or tie him to a chair and shave off his pretentious pencil-thin mustache. The only thing stopping me was the delicious buzzing sensation that flooded my pelvis.

“Should I repeat the specials?” he asked. “We have a nice crab bisque today, or…”

“I'll have the, um…” I white knuckled the menu, barely able to speak, but played it cool to avoid hard consequences. “The Caesar, uh…” I bit my lip.

“The Caesar salad? Can I add grilled chicken to that for you?”

The vibration in my pussy grew stronger. I wanted to kick Jennifer under the table, but didn't dare. Not that she would have stopped anyway, since her finger seemed to be glued to the goddamn remote. The bitch wanted to force a screaming orgasm out of me right in the middle of lunch.

“Yes, um, chicken sounds, uhhhhh, great!” When the vibration stopped, I took a gulp of ice water. “And a glass of white wine, please.”

Jennifer narrowed her eyes as the waiter stomped off. “You did not handle that very well, Celeste. I’m embarrassed for you.”

“Holy crap.” I dabbed my forehead with a napkin. “This new gadget is more powerful than the old one. Wow.”

“That doesn't matter. You broke a rule.” She reached over and twisted one of...