Finally I approach the woman at the end of the restaurant. The lights flicker as I get closer, and something about her dark visage draws me in. I can’t quite make out any part of her distinctly; the cloak she’s wearing makes it hard. Who wears a cloak?

The air as I approach tastes funny in my mouth, like something is burning—but something that I want to burn. Like charbroiled meat, maybe; something that tasted much better when it had those grill marks.

The closer I get, the more I see I was wrong—she’s not wearing a cloak at all—but a large blood-red hat. The kind that femme fatales would wear in movies. The kind that—and I’m not proud—I’ve thought about femme fatale-prototype Rose wearing in late-night, need-to-cum-fast-and-hard jerk-off fantasies.

And she’s not in the darkness, not even remotely—if anything, there’s a spotlight on her, and god, what a her there is to spotlight.

She’s stunning. Long, disastrously long, sensually long, painfully long legs tied up in a tiny red sleeveless dress that fits so tight and skimpy it’s like lingerie. Enormous, perky, heaving breasts, shoved together and up by the tight red fabric of her dress, exposing her delectable collarbones. Her face is pure sin, seemingly designed to provoke hard, unstoppable desires to hold her down and kiss her until she’s moaning in my mouth. She looks up at me with open eagerness at my arrival, plush lips parting in surprise and delight.

“I’m sorry you had to wait so long,” I say by way of apology. “Our hostess doesn’t always have the best manners.”

“It’s quite all right.” Her eyes smolder from under her hat. “I don’t mind at all. I’ve waited such a long time for you anyway, a few extra minutes here or there don’t matter much.”

Her eyes almost seem green one moment, then yellow, then orange. Flickering like flames. She looks almost like Brie, but that’s an insult to the beauty before me. Brie is cute and sexy, this woman is sex incarnate.

They share deeply similar facial features, but everything about her is exaggerated and refined, like she had spent three hours in a glam studio getting ready for this exact meeting—but still looking effortless enough to let me know that very much did not happen. It was all just easy for her.

“Won’t you sit down with me?” she asks. “I’ve been waiting so long. It would make me feel so delighted to sit with a man, a real man, like you.”

“Un…unh?”

I have a hard time putting together words, putting together thoughts. Jesus fiery fuck, this woman is gorgeous. I turn, by way of protesting, pointing at the restaurant—but everyone’s gone. Leena’s outside with Balboa, holding her purse and ready to leave. He hands her a small stack of bills and then another when she pouts.

Fuck, she really knows how to work.

“They’re all leaving,” says the woman. “It’s just you and me. I’ll make you so comfortable. Please, won’t you sit?”

I try to think about Brie in the kitchen, how she might come back, but then my eyes wander up and down this beauty’s body again. Her hand out, gloved and elegant, dainty, eager to bring me down with her.

It doesn’t feel like there’s much of a choice.

The second I sit, she wraps herself around me, sliding her leg over my thigh and pushing her heavy tits onto my arm. Pawing and crawling on me like a lovestruck teenager.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, her voice so sultry and small. “I thought I could control myself. I really and truly did. That’s why they sent me—I was the one least in love with you already. B-but…now you’re here, and I can smell you, feel you…oh my god. Can you feel it too?”

Her gloved hand slid across my cock and somehow—as if by magic—I’m already unzipped and my shaft slips into her capable, stroking hands.

“What is this?” I ask. I feel drugged. How long have I been sitting here? It feels like hours somehow. “Who are you?”

“I’m Gabrielle. I’m the scout,” she says, as if that explains everything. “Though I’m also our best at witchcraft. We had to make sure you were the real deal. Mistress was so certain you were; she’s had dreams about you for ages and ages, but the rest of us were so skeptical.”

She starts kissing my neck, my chin, my lips. I get lost in the moment; this is confusing, confused, confounding. I don’t care. She kisses me back hard, kissing me like I’m the only crush she’s ever had and like she’s had it for years, like I’m the rock star she’s been practicing for with pillows for the past six months. I’ve never had a kiss like this. I lose myself in it, sliding my tongue over hers, her red lips pressed hard against mine. I stop and suck at her lips, squeezing her tits roughly, grabbing her this way and that as she continues to stroke my hard, straining, precum-streaming cock.

“Please be real?” she whimpers.

My hand slides up to her ass, squeezing tight. It’s even tighter than Leena’s somehow. How is someone this gorgeous and stacked this tiny? Her waist can’t be wider than twenty inches. I think my hands could wrap around it entirely.

“I need you so bad.” Feverish whispers. “We all do. I’ve needed you my whole life. I need to be yours, oh fuck, oh f-fuck…”

All of a sudden she’s cumming, pushing her greedy lips against my neck and chin and face, whimpering and crying a little, stroking me even more soulfully than before. Somehow, even with her gloves on, the stroking is soft and perfectly frictionless, especially as my juices build up on her glove.

“F-fuck!” she groans, her body convulsing with pleasure. My cock, straining, pulses inside her tight, soft grip. “Please? Please be real. You’re our savior. You’re our god. You don’t understand. Oh god, you must think I’m crazy, but I need you, I need to taste it, please?”

She means my cock—and the cum that I’m about to shoot all over this fucking restaurant. Of course I nod yes—and right away she slides her lips over my turgid cock head, down my brilliantly hard shaft, making out with my cock in a loving display that almost makes me oddly jealous.

I can’t last long. I’ve been without a girlfriend for over a year and even she was never much for sucking cock. In fact, all my girlfriends have been distant and reserved and prudish—I have the worst luck.

Or I did? This girl certainly seems to want everything about me and the kind of attention she’s lavishing on me makes me think I must have paid her millions.

Her lips work up and down my heavy cock, enveloping me withing her warm, soft, wet mouth. She’s sucking me all the way down, my length pushing against the back of her throat. She starts humming, and then she’s clearly cumming, and she swallows—bringing the flesh of her throat to close in beautifully on my ultra-sensitive cockhead.

I explode, and Gabrielle moans, sucking me down with relish. I can’t remember ever cumming so much—and even so she swallows every drop. Not a single bit gets on her elegant outfit; she looks ready to hang on my arm at some gala.

I can’t believe this. I can’t believe—after this day, this week, this fucking decade—this beautiful girl just showed up and begged me to let her suck my cock like this. Who is she? And more importantly, how fucking soon can I marry her?

The pleasurable after-thoughts only last a few moments before we’re interrupted, however, and reality comes crashing back down.

“Robert?”

I whip my head over to see Brie, jaw-dropped.

“What the fuck is happening?” She has her hands on her hips.

“Sorry, I…”

I try to explain. I’m just having the most passionate, intense makeout-blowjob session of my life with this utterly gorgeous woman, and it was very spontaneous, but very consensual, and please let me just go home with her—but Gabrielle is gone. Disappeared.