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   BetweenHerLegs says -

   This story, like all BetweenHerLegs stories, is a literary exploration
of sexual fantasy.  It it not intended to describe actual persons or
events, nor to condone or encourage any of these activities.  Likewise,
this and every other piece of erotica on this site should not be read by or
to minors, nor by or to anyone for whom these materials are illegal,
immoral, or ill-advised.

   Otherwise...  enjoy!

   Love and kisses,

   Jenny (ManyJennies@yahoo.com)

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   "Katie's Restaurant Quickie"

   by BetweenHerLegs

   (C) Jenny Clark, 2008

   My name's Emily, and this the story of how I got my box juiced under the
table at a local restaurant.

   It was a small, low-price restaurant.  Somewhere between a family dining
place and a diner.  It wasn't that popular, and I knew the food wasn't that
good for me, but it tasted so good this place couldn't help but be one of
my favorites.  Plus, I had to admit, as a young black woman in Fairbanks,
Alaska, there were a lot of affordable places to eat that I wouldn't feel
very welcome in.  A lot of the whites in town are rednecks, and a lot of
the natives blame African Americans for the criminal behavior of their own
teenagers.  This place, though, was pretty laid back.

   That night, though, I was on edge.  There was a strange vibe in the air.
It felt like someone was watching me intensely.  I couldn't figure it out
for the longest time.  Then I saw that it was one of the waitresses.  A
girl I hadn't seen before.  Sort of plain, and thin without much flair in
her figure.  She had long, pretty hair, but a face that was un-noteworthy
at best, a little creepy at worst.  It was her eyes.  The way she looked at
me was spooky.  I've never felt anything so overwhelming, never seen
someone look both dispassionate and intense at the same time.

   At first I thought it was racial animosity, but then I started to pick
up something else in the way she looked at me.  Something that seemed
familiar but out of place.

   "Good god," I thought suddenly, squirming in my seat.  "She's attracted
to me."

   I shivered inside.  I was all about men, had never looked twice at a
woman, and until tonight had never been aware of a woman looking twice at
me.  I knew I was in good shape, and I knew I was pretty.  But this was way
outside my experience.  I had nothing against the girl if she wanted to
munch rugs on her time off, but I sure had no desire to be part of it, and
I didn't really know how I would handle it if she eventually got up the
nerve to hit on me.

   To my surprise, though, I realized as I ate pie and drank coffee after
my dinner that I had begun watching the girl work.  She kept glancing at me
-- not in my direction but straight at me -- and I found myself glancing
away with embarrassment.  She was so strange.  Her skin was pale, her eyes
almost colorless.  Her hair was shiny, brown with copper tones.  She had no
muscle on her that I could see.  Her white skin was very smooth, though,
and appeared soft.  I wondered briefly what it would feel like to hold her
hand.

   And then I caught myself.  "Emily, you're straight," I muttered
reproachfully.  "And if you were gonna go crooked, it would be for
something a lot better than that." Pretty hair and soft skin or not, the
girl's face was haunting in its plainness and her figure was basically
formless.

   Well, not quite.  I reappraised that with more observation.  When she
twisted or bent over, her brown waitress outfit clung neatly to her hip,
showing a subtle but attractive sense of feminine curve at her waist and
backside that hinted at a form which might be pleasant to look at, after
all.

   "But not for you," I scolded myself under my breath.

   I didn't even really understand what real lesbians did with each other.
I knew that in pornos they would eat pussies (which I could not imagine)
and use strap-on dildos (which I wasn't sure actually existed in the real
world) and that sort of thing.  But I've never known any lesbians.  Did
they kiss?  I tried to imagine kissing the girl, and at first that sounded
frightening, but when I looked up and saw her looking at me, my eyes rolled
down to her lips and I wondered how they would feel, compared to a man's
lips.

   I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, crossing my legs, and trying to look
down at my almost empty pie plate.  Did lesbians kiss each other's breasts?
I had to admit that a woman's softer lips and tongue would probably feel
fantastic on the tender flesh of a breast.  I looked up at the girl, and
could not see her lips, but caught site of her breast in profile under her
apron.  Not quite as formless as I had first thought, and I shocked myself
by wondering what exactly a breast did feel like under one's mouth.

   "Fuck," I whispered.  I shoved my plate away and then my coffee.  "I've
gotta get some air."

   And then, as I stood up, the girl slide over to my table.  "Your
waitress is on break," she said.  "I'm Katie.  Can I help?"

   I sat down.  I have no idea what I was thinking.  But I sat down.  And
then she sat down right next to me in the booth.  She didn't smile. 
"Actually, I'm on break too," she said.

   And I found my eyes searching her face.  Her plain face.  Her creepy
face.  Her compelling face.  Her intriguing face.  Her face with hidden
prettiness.

   "My name's Emily," I told her.

   Her intense eyes were searching my face as my own were examining hers.
"Put your feet flat on the floor," she told me.

   I did as she said without even thinking about it.  And then I thought
about it as I felt a soft hand come to rest on my thigh.  I was wearing a
belted navy blue dress which only came down to my knees when I was standing
and rode up obscenely higher than that was I was seated.  I swallowed
nervously.

   "Do you want to pay here rather than at the register?" the girl asked,
her creepiness highlighted now more than ever.  She didn't look at me, even
as her hand crept into my lap.  Her fingers were long and spread out so
that most of them were in my lap but she still managed to embrace my thigh.

   "What do you mean?" I asked, my voice shaking.

   "Simple," she said, her voice as calm as if she were talking to me about
my order.  I felt her hand pressing against my mound through the fabric of
my dress, and I gasped.  "I've never touched a black girl's pussy before,
so you let me get you off with my fingers under the table, and all you have
to do is whisper dirty words to me."

   I was trembling.  "Right here?  I mean, I've never..."

   She pressed her hand into my mound as best she could and slid her
fingers lightly up to the hem of my dress.  They touched the naked flesh of
my leg and then curled up, touching my leg under my dress.  That alone
seemed so dirty that my body was overcome by a spasm.  "Just whisper dirty
words to me, baby," she said, her eyes scanning the restaurant, her face
totally impassive.

   It was like I was helpless.  I didn't want this to happen, but I didn't
want to stop it.  I had never thought about anything like this before. 
Never thought about being a lesbian.  Never thought about sexual activity
in public.  Both thoughts filled me with fear.  But also with anticipation.
This might be my only opportunity for either.  Should I pass up on them? 
Dare I?

   And so, when creepy Katie's fingers gripped the bottom of my dress and
slowly started dragging it higher up my thigh, I didn't fight her.  In
fact, I found myself actually spreading my legs ever so slightly.  When she
had most of my legs exposed, she lay her palm gently on my thigh and
wrapped her fingers around it.

   "You're not talking dirty," she said.  Her voice was calm but her hand
tensed and I felt her fingernails bite into the soft, tender flesh of my
thigh.

   "Bitch," I spat in a tense whisper, looking at her plain, simply face.

   "Much better," she cooed, and I saw the ghost of smile on her lips.

   The subtlety of her expression combined with the intensity of her eyes
to have a powerful affect on me, and when she slid her hand around to
caress my ultra-sensitive inner thigh, I was overcome.  "Come on, you white
slut, let me feel what you can do," I demanded quietly, leaning in closer
to her face.  She still didn't face me, but that only turned me on more. 
As her hand stroked my inner thigh up and down, I got more demanding. 
"Don't dawdle, you skinny cunt, just do me.  Teach me what a scary-looking,
plain-faced white girl is worth to a black woman like me."

   And then her hand was between my legs.  I squeezed it with my thighs.  I
felt her moving it up up up up up -- ever closer to my panties.  This was
the moment.  I tensed with anticipation.  Would I like this?  Would I hate
this?  Could I go through with this?  She reached a finger out, and I felt
it pressing, hard, on my slit, pushing the cotton fabric of my panties into
my pussy.

   I couldn't help myself.  I leaned over and kissed her cheek.  "Yes,
baby, do me so good with your fingers, baby, make me your restaurant slut,
you creepy bitch." And I licked the side of her face.

   And that was the end of my public display, because shortly thereafter,
her finger had snaked its way inside my panties, and I was immobilized by
the feeling of her finger tips pulling my underwear to the side and then
caressing the outer lips of my surprisingly moist pussy.

   "We don't have much time left," Katie admitted, "so I apologize in
advance that your first time won't be very sweet and romantic."

   "Just get me off, cunt," I snapped.

   She purred.  "Anything for you, you dirty black whore." Her fingers were
inside me.  It was all I could do not to scream out or knock the table
over. It was incredible.  Her fingers were so long, delicate...  It was the
best of all worlds.  It was just like being touched by anyone else but with
pretty, elegant, knowing fingers, rather than a man's forceful and
bumbling, even if well-intended, touch.  All the benefits of a man and of
masturbation, rolled into one.  I looked at her as she started to pump her
fingers in and out inside my panties.  She had three fingers inside me,
width-wise, and she moved them not straight up and down as a man might, but
in a wave like motion, so she could hit my clit on both the up and down
stroke and still get deep.

   I started to recognize a certain elegance in her simple, unadorned
features.  Too, there was an attraction in the unattainable depths of her
eyes.  I couldn't believe I was feeling this girl moving inside of me.  So
perfect.  So right.

   "God, you're a pretty little slut," I grunted.

   "You don't think I'm plain?"

   "No, you're beautiful."

   "I'm not ugly?"

   "No...  very attractive..."

   "You want me don't you?"

   "Yes, baby."

   She started to focus on my clit.  She tweaked it between thumb and
forefinger while her ring finger still danced around inside my deep, wet
cleft.  "You didn't know you were a lesbian did you?"

   "No...."

   "But you are, aren't you?"

   "Yes."

   "A gorgeous, black, whoring lesbian."

   "Yes, yes, yes."

   "You're going to explode under this restaurant table, aren't you?"

   "Oh, god, yes."

   "You've never come so quick, have you?"

   "Never."

   Suddenly I felt her ball her hand up into a little fist which she slid
inside me.  I gasped out loud and lunged forward against the table.  "Oh,
god, Katie," I ground out as quietly as I could.  I rolled my lap towards
her and slid my right hand under her ass and grasped at her own lap with my
left.

   "Naught, naughty, whore," she chided me.  "We're in a restaurant."

   And with that she twisted her fist rapidly one direction and then the
other, and I came hard, banging into the table and fighting so hard against
my body's urge to thrash that I remained almost paralyzed even after my
climax had subsided.

   "Consider your bill paid, Emily," Katie said, rising, just like that,
and walking away from the booth.

   I watched after her, uncertain what I felt inside, but knowing that I
liked the feeling, whatever it was.

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   Read more from Jenny about this story at:
   /~BetweenHerLegs/spoilers.html