Au Restaurant Ris de Veau

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Big Balls

Chapter 1 – Friday Dinner Date

Friday night is date night and at least twice a month, we go to a nice restaurant on a double-date with our close friends Fred and Barb. Tonight, we had 8:00 dinner reservations at my favorite French restaurant, Ris de Veau, named after their signature sweetbreads dish, my favorite meal.

It had been a hard week, closing out the second quarter at the Bank, followed by preparing the financial presentations, and ending with the monthly Board of Directors’ meeting which finally adjourned about 3:00 this afternoon. The hot water from our oscillating surround shower was melting the tension away and I was beginning to salivate thinking about the sweetbread piccata I would soon be enjoying.

“Jon,” I heard my wife Jenny call out.

I cracked the shower door so I could hear her. “Yeah, Honey, what is it?”

“I just got a call from Barb,” she said. “Fred got called in and is already on his way to the FBO at Hartsfield to catch the company plane to Charleston. Some big generator problem and he’ll be there all weekend. Do you want me to cancel the reservations?”

“No,” I replied, “just call Barb back and tell her we’ll swing by and pick her up about 7:30.”

I finish my shower and step into the closet to get dressed. July, peak of the summer in Atlanta, so no one will be wearing coats and ties. I slip on a pair of summer weight navy slacks, commando to keep everything cool, a cream Tommy Bahama shirt, tails out, and a pair of tassel Cole Haans, sans socks. I check the look in the full length mirror. Not bad for a 40 year old bank executive; the 25 years of regular weight training evident in the 6 foot 210 pound body staring back at me.

“Jenny, are you ready to go?”

“I don’t know baby, am I,” she said in that soft sultry voice.

“Oh, my god,” I gasped, “are you ever!” I was looking at my own wet dream. The little island green sundress was held at the top by a loop around her neck, exposing just enough of her 34c boobs to show they were perfect. Tight to the waist it draped over her firm round ass and the black and yellow print bottom stopped about 2 inches above her knees, revealing a peak at her firm thighs. The matching thong sandal wedges barely covered the beautiful little feet and the red manicured nails.

To complete the package, my wife of 8 years is 33 years old going on 22, is toned from the top of her gorgeous head to the bottom of her highly arched size 6 ½ petite little feet. She is 5′ 4″ tall, 120 pounds of well-conditioned feminine muscle from working out with me 4 days a week in our home gym. Her luscious blond hair is cut shoulder length, thinly parted on the right side with bangs swept to the left, just above her beautiful blue eyes. Gorgeous, erotic, exotic, my heart’s desire and my dream come true. Our sex life is nothing short of fantastic; it’s novel, imaginative, creative, often spontaneous, and always passionate.

The above thoughts passed instantaneously and I couldn’t resist. I wrapped my arms around her and leaned down so our lips met. Her mouth opened and our tongues tried to tie a knot. I reached down and ran my hands under the little sundress, knowing that she would be bare. My right hand moved up the tight crack of her firm ass while the left hand softly felt her naked lazar slick pussy, searching for her clit.

She moved her mouth and gave me a little shove. “Stop it, Big Boy,” she said. “We don’t have time for this now, and I don’t want to be dripping your cum all over my new dress, the car seat, and the dinner chair. I’ll see you get more than you can handle after you ply me with succulent meats and vintage wines. “

“How in the hell are we going to get seated without me embarrassing myself? Looking at you is going to make my pants look like a circus tent.”

“That’s why you’re not tucking your shirt in dummy,” she laughingly said. “Now quit lusting for a few minutes and let’s go pick up Barb.”

We walked through the kitchen and the wet room out to the garage. I pushed the button to raise the door and we got in the Escalade. I watched Jenny climb in with the little dress riding up her thighs. I couldn’t stand it and reached across the console and ran my hand up to her pussy.

She slapped my arm and said: “Quit it, you pervert. Now you’ve got me thinking about it and I’m beginning to get wet.”

“Okay, okay,” I responded; “but if you’re a little wet, give me one little taste and we’ll go.”

She couldn’t help but laugh, “Okay, just one,” and she lifted her dress to her waist and spread those luscious thighs.

“Open your pussy lips for me,” I told her.

She reached down and using her thumb and two fingers on each hand pulled the labia open revealing the pink skin of her pussy, beginning to shine from the building moisture. I leaned over the console and with the middle finger of my left hand, slowly entered her pussy, feeling the juices lubricate as I pushed all the way in. I rotated my finger a little to get more gaziantep bayan escort juices flowing, and then rubbed the finger up to her clit.

She gave a little jump, but then yelled at me: “Stop it, stop it, stop it! We’re never going to get to dinner.”

Before she could stop me, I moved my finger back into her pussy to collect a little more nectar. I took my finger out and sucked it loudly. “Delicious, just the appetizer I wanted.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Jenny said; but the glow on her cheeks indicated she’d loved it. “Now let’s go get Barb, before we miss our reservations,” she added as she rearranged her dress.

Barb and Fred lived about 10 minutes away and the restaurant wasn’t that far so we had enough time. As I pulled out onto the street Jenny said: “You know Barb thinks you’re sexy.”

“Well that’s news to me,” I replied. “Why do you say she thinks that?”

“We are best friends,” Jenny continued, “and we talk about those things. You’ve got to notice how she looks at you when we’re out by the pool. She told me she loves to watch your muscles and how much stronger and more virile you look than Fred.”

“What the hell kind of conversations do you women have,” I exclaimed? “And by the way, in case you haven’t noticed, Fred likes to observe your muscles and other accouterments, also. I thought I was going to have to use the Heimlich on him the day your bikini top fell off getting out of the pool.”

The memory of that episode got her laughing. “And I guess I’ve never caught you examining Barb’s finer points during our weekend pool outings,” Jenny added. “She does have a delightful little body, doesn’t she?”

“If I were looking, which I don’t admit, I might say scrumptious, more cute compared to your stunning,” I added, trying to avoid getting into trouble. Barb was a delicious little piece, a little over 5 feet tall with black hair that fell in ringlets, olive complexion and dark alluring eyes. At 125 pounds (I’m estimating, they never tell), one might think she was pudgy, but wide hips and broad shoulders make her one sexy little Italian package. As much as I like Fred, I often thought she might be a little more than he could handle. Best I keep my description to myself.

“And what else have you and the scrumptious Barb discussed,” I asked?

“Well,” Jenny continued, “when she was talking about how strong you are, I did tell her about the time when we were finishing our workout and you jerked off my workout shorts and picked me up and turned me upside down in a stand-up 69; and how you ate my pussy so good that when I came, it was so hard I about gave you cauliflower ears from jerking my legs locked around your head.”

“I can’t believe you told her that,” I was incredulous. “I don’t guess you added the part about my cumming in your mouth so much that some of it ran out your nose because you were upside down?”

“Oh yeah. I told her that part, too, and by the time I got through, she was squirming around so much I thought she was going to orgasm right in front of me. Ok, we’re here, no more Barb discussions.”

I pulled in the drive and Jenny got out of the Escalade. “I’ll go get her,” she said.

Fred and Barb have a beautiful two story Southern Colonial brick with abundant tasteful landscaping. We spent many hours in the back, relaxing by the pool, soaking in the hot tub, and cooking on the built-in grill. Barb must have been waiting as the cut glass front door opened as Jenny stepped onto the porch. Jenny hugged her and Barb locked the door. I really couldn’t see her until they started walking down the sidewalk toward the drive.

Holy shit! I’m going to have diners falling out of their chairs when I walk into the restaurant with this pair. Barb had on a white sundress lightly outlined in gray with gray spaghetti straps, perfect contrast to her deep tan and black hair. The lacy outline of the dress fell about mid-thigh on her sturdy shapely legs. The matching gray high heeled backless fuck-me shoes finished off the look. She was giving Jenny a run for her money. I guess I don’t have to worry about walking in with a hard-on, no one’s going to pay any attention to me.

I got out of the Escalade to give Barb a hug and kiss and to open the passenger doors for both ladies. I handed Jenny up into the front seat and then helped Barb into the second aisle captain’s chair. I noticed that she made no attempt to keep her dress from riding up, exposing her thighs all the way to her white silk thongs. She gave me a mischievous little grin when my eyes took it all in. Fortunately, Jenny was still getting situated and didn’t turn around.

Chapter 2 – Dinner at Ris de Veau

We chatted about the week, Fred’s surprise trip, and the weather. It only took about 15 minutes to get to the restaurant and I pulled the Escalade up to the valet stand. Two valets met us, one on my side and one for the passengers. I walked around to assist with the passengers and enjoyed watching the young man helping my ladies out of the SUV. No way could he keep his eyes off the two pairs of legs stepping out on the running board and the sidewalk.

I checked to make sure they would still be on duty when we came out as I remembered from my college days how important it was to get good tips.

I offered a bent elbow to each of the ladies, Jennifer hooked my left and Barb the right. The Maître De held the door and offered: “Good evening, Mr. & Mrs. Logan. And good to see you again, Mrs. D’Angelo.”

“Thank you, Jeanne,” I responded. “It’s nice to be back. We always enjoy a great meal with you.”

“Your usual table is ready and Jacque will head your wait staff,” Jeanne added.

As Jeanne leads us to our table, I could see the men’s’ heads turning. I also saw a couple of ladies look sternly at the men. One guy actually dropped his soup spoon, splashing a little dark onion broth on his tie. I had trouble keeping a straight face.

Let me set the scene. Ris de Veau is a private little French restaurant in Buckhead, just one block off of Pharr Road. It’s one of those rare stand-alone buildings left over from the 60’s before the building boom. It only has about 12 tables, each of which can be adjusted to seat 4 to 6 guests. There are 6 booths which are private on 3 sides and set so that visibility from other diners is limited. It rates 5 spoons on the expense chart and it’s worth every spoon. We eat there at least one Friday a month and I often use it to entertain important bank clients. Service is impeccable and on the Friday’s when Jenny and I are there, usually with Fred and Barb, they reserve us the back and most private booth.

Jeanne held the floor length white linen table cloth to the side as we slide into the booth. Barb remained on my right and Jenny on the left. The table settings were exquisite: Antique ornate silverware, Noritake china carrier and bread plates, and Waterford Lismore stemware with matching water glasses which were filled the second we were seated.

Jacque arrived about a minute later with 3 drinks on a tray. “I hope I wasn’t too presumptuous, Mr. Logan,” he said. “I have a McAllen 18 on the rocks for you and Ketel One Cosmos for the ladies.”

Did I mention the service was impeccable? “That’s perfect Jacque,” I told him. “And we’ll have a bottle of the Poully Fuisse with soup and salad and the Bourgogne Pinot noir with dinner.”

“Excellent choices, sir. I’ll let you relax a few minutes with your drinks and bring you the menus and some hot bread.” Jacque backed away from our table.

We talked a little about Jenny’s latest interior design project, a major renovation near the East Lake Golf Club. I asked Barb about Fred’s latest promotion and she said it was a great career move, but required frequent travel to supervise major projects. I mentioned that our bank was one of the few in the Atlanta area to survive with high regulatory ratings; Jenny and Barb both knew I was the one that managed through that period.

Arrival of menus, hot bread, and white wine ended the small talk. We listened to the specials and Barb and I ordered the French Onion soup and Jenny the lobster bisque. We decided on Caesars salad for all. I had prearranged my sweetbreads (the namesake Ris de Veau), and Jenny and Barb decided on the Chateau Briand, served only for two.

The hot bread and soft sweet butter was passed and Jacque poured the first of the wine, I suggested Jenny do the tasting. It passed her muster and he proceeded to parcel the first three glasses. As Jacque finished pouring the wine, one of his helpers arrived with our soup.

As we were finishing our soup, I felt this warm little naked foot on top of my left foot, with busy little toes trying to work their way under the tongue of my slipper. I slipped the loafer off and our naked feet began to caress the other, our toes grabbing and releasing. Neither Jenny nor I missed a beat and Barb didn’t suspect a thing.

The salad came next and while the Maitre De mixed the Caesar at table-side, I worked my left hand under the table cloth and found the bottom of Jenny’s sundress. She slid a little closer and moved her legs apart. Her left hand dropped under the table cloth and helped me roll the front of her dress up to her waist.

Jeanne used his tongs to serve our salad from the big wooden mixer bowl. Each of us picked up a salad fork with our right hand and tasted the seasoned Caesar. “Perfect,” I told Jeanne and he and his staff rolled the cart away, leaving us to quietly enjoy the salad.

As I worked my left hand up Jenny’s thigh, I maintained a normal demeanor and continued eating my salad. Barb and I shared how much we loved the Caesars salad here. Jenny also tried to maintain normality, but as I worked first one and then two fingers in her increasingly wet pussy, her salad fork began to slow. When I moved to her clit, she audibly took in a deep breath and dropped her fork.

Barb looked over at her with a concerned expression. “What’s wrong, Jenny,” she asked? “Are you sick?”

Beginning to breathe heavily, Jenny responded: “I’m actually feeling wonderful.” Jenny then did the unexpected; she lifted enough of the table cloth so Barb could see her naked thighs and my hand moving up and down her bald pussy, alternating wetting the fingers inside, and then massaging her clit. Barb’s mouth fell open and Jenny and I just looked at her and grinned.

“I really would like to finish my Caesars,” Jenny said as she pushed on my arm.

I pushed two fingers in her one more time and said: “OK, don’t want you going hungry.” I pulled my left hand from under the cloth which dropped back to cover Jenny’s naked thighs. Barb was still looking a little stunned when I took my pussy wet fingers and sucked off the juice.

Jacque arrived just as I licked my off my lovers pussy juice. “Looks like you’re enjoying the salad, Mr. Logan.”

“Never had better, Jacque. Jenny’s a little behind, but we should be ready for the entre in about 15 minutes,” I told our waiter.

“I’ll catch up,” Jenny said as she took a big bite of Romaine.

Jacque poured each of us another glass of white wine, finishing the bottle. “I’ll decant the Pinot right now and it should be just right when you’re ready for the main course,” he told us as he moved back toward the kitchen.

When we were alone again, I turned to Barb and asked: “How you doing? You OK with this?”

“Oh my god, Jon; you two . . . , that was the most erotic thing I have ever seen. I’ve soaked through my panties. I’m so turned on I’m shaking.” Barb obviously didn’t know what else to say.

Jenny looked at her best friend. “Jon, I think Barb feels left out and lonely. What are we going to do about that?”

My quizzical look must have asked the question. “Jon, Barb has never been satisfied the way you satisfy me every week, often every day, of our lives. Let’s give my dearest friend the best gift she’s never had.” Jenny’s look told me she was serious and that we were going to give Barb the thrill of her life. I got with the program.

“Barb,” I said, “we’ve got about 7 minutes before our entree is served. That gives you time to go to the restroom, and when you come back, I want you to put your panties in my right front pocket.”

Barb almost jumped out of the booth and headed toward the bathroom. I turned to Jenny and said: “Are you sure you want us to do this. Neither of us has touched another person in this way since the first time we were together.”

“Jon,” she said, “you have given me more pleasure than any woman can dream. Barb told me she has had no more than 3 orgasms in 12 years of marriage. You give me 3 orgasms a night several times a week. I love Barb, not like I love you; but still, I want her to experience the ecstasy of being totally ravished. Do this for Barb, do it for me, I will only love you more.”

Watching Barb’s body move in her little white dress got my cock pushing against my pants. She slid back into the booth and her left hand reached into my right pocket, depositing the little white silk thong. She looked aghast as I pulled it out slowly by the tiny waistband. I felt the damp, almost wet, crotch as I brought it to my nose and inhaled. “Smells wonderful,” I said. And it did, a combination of David Yurman cologne and the sexy musk of an excited pussy.

“What do you think,” I asked Jenny as I passed Barb’s little panties to her?

“I think someone is getting a little excited. Barb,” Jenny continue, “haven’t I told you to quit wearing underwear? You need to let air in to keep you cool. Besides, it’s sexy to know that your lover has open access, the benefits of which you just observed.”

“I’d love to,” Barb said, “but Fred won’t let me go out without wearing them. I tried it one time and he got angry and accused me of wanting to flash guys in the restaurants and bars. You know what a prude he is.”

Jenny playfully poked me in the ribs and asked: “Jon, if you knew Barb didn’t have on any panties, would you want to peek?”

“I’d probably want to do more than just peek,” I replied.

During the little discourse, Jenny and I hadn’t noticed that Barb had raised her corner of the tablecloth and had it weighted on the table by her water glass. She surprised us when she raised up a little, lowered both hands under the table, and pulled the bottom of her sundress up to her waist, exposing her firm naked thighs and bald little pussy. “And what else would you like to do, Jon,” she asked me, rolling her tongue around her pouty lips.

“Maybe this,” I responded as I used my right hand to caress and then squeeze the inside of her left thigh. She spread her legs and my hand moved higher, covering her pubic area. My middle finger moved between her labia and slid into her wet pussy. Using my thumb and fourth finger, I spread her wider, making her clit stand up. As I covered the little button with my pussy moistened middle finger, I heard Barb give a little gasp. I leaned into her and covered her open mouth with mine. She greedily covered my tongue with hers and we both sucked in and out.

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