From Candace to CandyChapter 7
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All You Can Eat free porn video
All You Can Eat By Cal Y. Pygia
I admit that I enjoy fine dining.
I want my table set with silver silverware, linen napkins,
and long-stemmed roses. I like to eat off china and drink
from crystal. I like champagne, caviar, lobster, shrimp,
and filet mignon. I demand prompt, attentive service. After
all, as far as anyone knows, we go around only once in
life; we may as well live for the moment. We may as well
enjoy the best, including expensive meals in superb
restaurants.
What's wrong with that?
Nothing, unless you happen, as I did, to forget my purse.
Of course, I was more than a little embarrassed, when it
came time to pay the check, to discover that I had neither
cash nor a credit card on me. I had left my purse on the
table in the entrance hall to my forty-room mansion. Since
Malcolm, my chauffeur, drives me everywhere I go, whether
to a restaurant, the set, the plastic surgeon's office, or
a business appointment, I have no need of keys to the
limousine. Consequently, it was only after Malcolm had
dropped me off at La Petite Mademoiselle and I had finished
my excellent repast that I realized that I'd forgotten my
purse. I would have called Malcolm at once, of course, had
my cellular telephone not been in my purse, along with the
several thousand dollars that I always carry in cash and my
platinum American Express card that, alas, I had left home
without.
Others might have asked to use the house telephone, but, of
course, others do not suffer my predicament. It is quite
inconvenient, at times, to be rich and famous. One such
nuisance is that everyone watches me and hangs upon my
every word. To make a telephone call on the house telephone
would have drawn attention, and busybodies would have
eavesdropped, even if doing so meant that they had to leave
their tables and pretend to visit the powder room or to
attend to some other immediate and pressing business. With
my cell, I could have found a private spot, but the house
telephone is hopelessly public.
Fortunately, I hit upon an idea, during dessert--a superb
chocolate mousse. I would simply ask to see the manager.
Louis knew me well. I'd been coming to his restaurant for
over five years now. We'd never been intimate, although,
he's made it clear to me--repeatedly--over the years, that
he'd like nothing better than to make love to me,
frequently and passionately. It isn't that I find him
unattractive. He's married, and I've never been a home
wrecker. I've always found inoffensive ways to sidestep
both his flirtatious invitations and his more salacious
proposals. Nevertheless, we have become close friends--
close enough, indeed, for me to have confided my little
secret to him, a secret such as I've shared with only few
others, male or female. Louis knows that I'm a transsexual,
or a shemale--"a chick with a dick," as it is sometimes
crudely, but plainly put.
Upon finishing my dessert, I asked to speak to Louis.
"Is anything the matter, Mademoiselle?" the waiter asked,
clearly concerned that he had, in some minute way, failed
me.
"Not at all," I assured him. "The food was excellent, as
always, and your service was impeccable. You deserve to be
rewarded handsomely, as you shall be."
He smiled, reassured. "If you will allow me to escort you
to the manager's office, I know that Monsieur Strother will
be delighted, as always, to see you, Mademoiselle." He held
my chair for me as I rose. Then, he offered me his arm, I
accepted, and he escorted me to Louis' office, where he
knocked at the door.
Upon learning the identity of his visitor, Louis dropped
everything, rose from his high-backed, well-upholstered,
leather executive's chair, and rounded his rosewood desk,
hand extended, to greet me.
I shook his hand, and he nodded to the waiter. "Thank you,
Charles," he said, "you may return to your duties now.
Please close the door behind you."
"Yes, sir." The waiter did as he had been bidden.
Louis smiled more broadly as his eyes took in my full,
firm, high breasts, my narrow waist, and my long, shapely
legs. "You're looking lovelier than ever," he complimented
me. "To what do I owe this delightful pleasure?"
I blushed, feeling stupid. However, I knew that, if for no
other reason, Louis would be understanding and
compassionate concerning my embarrassing situation, for he
liked me well enough; we were good, even close, if not
intimate, friends. Besides, he was well aware of my
financial station. As a porno actress, I commanded a good
deal more per year in earnings than he or most other
businessmen did. In fact, at one time, I had believed Louis
to be envious of my fortune, although he had sworn numerous
times since that he was not at all resentful; he was
pleased with my success. I explained my lapse of memory in
having forgotten my purse. "You know I am good for it," I
added, "and will send you a check as soon as I return
home."
His smile faltered. "We don't take checks," he said.
I thought he was joking, of course, but, then, I noticed,
he wasn't smiling. "I'll send Malcolm with cash, then," I
promised.
"We don't extend credit, either," Louis declared.
"You aren't serious."
"Oh, but I am. We accept credit cards, of course, but the
meal must be paid for at the time of its consumption."
I felt a twinge of irritation. Louis was carrying his jest
a little too far. "Surely, you are prepared to make an
exception for me," I said.
"I wish I could, Amanda."
"You can," I insisted.
"Alas, it is not my decision. It is a matter already
determined by the policy of--"
"Don't give me that! You are the manager of this
establishment."
"Yes, but I am bound by--"
"You are bound by nothing! Now, I am losing patience."
"I would like to help you, Mademoiselle."
I was as shocked, almost, at his use of the informal title
as I was by his increasingly rude refusal to accommodate
me. "?Mademoiselle'?" I repeated. "It is I to whom you are
speaking, Louis--Amanda Dee! We've been friends for over
five years, and now you act as if you've never met me. I
must say, I find your little joke tiring in the extreme.
Now, can we--"
At last, Louis smiled as he offered a slight shrug. In a
soft, conspiratorial voice, he said, "Perhaps we can reach
some sort of accord," he ventured.
I rolled my eyes in exasperation. "Finally!"
"The door is locked," he said. "It is designed to lock upon
being closed."
I waited, offering him my most annoyed look.
When he next proposed his solution to my predicament, I
slapped him so hard across the face that his flesh reddened
and his eyes filled with tears. "How dare you!" I screamed
at him.
His eyes narrowed. "Very well," he said coldly, "you leave
me no choice, Mademoiselle, but to telephone the police."
"The police? Over a hundred and fifty dollar luncheon?"
He rubbed his cheek. "That, yes, and the battery that you
have just now committed against my person."
"Battery?" I shrieked. "You insult me with your vile--"
"I offered you a polite way out of your dilemma," he
declared, "and you responded with a violent and unwarranted
attack upon me."
"That's your story?"
"That is the truth."
I laughed. "With one huge exception," I objected.
"That, Mademoiselle, is your version of the story."
I spun on my heel, almost charging toward the door.
"The publicity will be terrible," Louis predicted.
I froze.
"The paparazzi will descend upon you like flies."
I thought, He's wrong. My fans wouldn't care if I were
charged with not paying a luncheon tab because I'd
forgotten my purse. Without turning to face Louis, I said
as much.
"I will tell them that you attacked me, trying to kill me,"
Louis said, his voice calm and soft.
I still hadn't turned toward him. "You'd be lying," I
challenged.
"But of course," he admitted, "but it would be your word
against mine, and, already, my cheek is beginning to bruise
where you struck me."
"Why would I try to kill you over a hundred and fifty
dollar luncheon bill?"
"We had words with one another, Amanda, and I insulted you,
calling you a would-be woman. I questioned your sanity for
wanting to be, as I phrased it, sexually mutilated. You
became hysterical. You began to beat me. Then, you lunged
at me, with this."
I turned. Louis had stepped behind his desk again. He held
a silver letter opener in a tissue he'd yanked from the box
he kept on his desktop.
Recognizing the instrument, I took a step toward him,
demanding, "Where'd you get that?"
He grinned as he held it aloft. "It's yours, all right. You
left it here during your last meal with us. Your waiter
brought it to me, and I told him I'd see to it that it was
returned to you. Instead, I kept it."
"Why?"
"It reminded me of you. Besides, I thought it might come in
handy somehow, someday, and, today, it has. It has your
fingerprints on it," Louis reminded me, "but not mine."
"You bastard!"
"You left it behind, after trying to stab me."
My shoulders sagged. I let out my breath in a long, slow
sigh, Without looking at him, I said, "All right, you win.
I'll do as you suggested."
"You will?"
I nodded.
He locked the letter opener back inside the top drawer of
his desk. "I don't have all day," he declared.
In my mind, I lunged at him, burying the silver letter
opener deep in his black heart. In reality, I took off my
clothes and reclined in his oversize executive's chair, my
legs spread wide, while he knelt before me.
He kneaded my breasts in his hands, squeezing them and
flicking their nipples, before bowing his head over my lap.
He kissed my flaccid penis, caressing my balls through the
loose, wrinkled pouch of my scrotum.
BASTARD! I thought, wishing the silver letter opener were
in my fist, rather than inside the locked desk drawer.
He paused, looking up at me, a sloppy grin on his hated
face. "By the way," he told me, "the terms I offered you
earlier, which you rejected, have gone up--considerably.
For me to overlook your little debt to La Petite
Mademoiselle, I won't be satisfied with just one free meal,
at your expense." He gave my cock a hard squeeze. "It's
going to cost you all I can eat."
Bastard! I thought again, but I said nothing, having no
choice but to acquiesce to his demands.
He kissed my balls while he squeezed my penis rapidly in
his fist. Like a disobedient traitor, my cock began to
stiffen and swell, standing upright. He licked the ripened,
purple glans. "Delicious!" he said, salivating, "Absolutely
scrumptious!
Hortense
- 30.05.2022
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