The open bar is a large circular wood hut with a thatched roof, arrayed all about with stools. The place is mostly full, and two harried bartenders struggle to keep up with business.
You almost don't recognize Ms. Carte as you approach. She sits with her back to you, straight-spined and ladylike, wearing a long and elegant black dress complete with lei. The transformation is hard to believe.
She keeps a place reserved for you with an expensive looking leather purse on the stool beside her. You sidle up and sit, handing the purse back.
"Well hello there," she purrs. "Come here often, stranger?"
"You look amazing," you can't help saying. And it's true. Her breasts appear to defy gravity, pushed up and together by the sheer black fabric. She almost seems to glow under the soft relief of candlelight all around her. Her face is youthful-looking and rosy, belying her true age.
She also might be a bit drunk, if the empty glasses surrounding her are any indication.
"Where did you get that dress?" you ask.
"I bought it," she says. "Just a few minutes ago. The purse, too. I could never have afforded this kind of thing before, but Rose has been awfully generous with her credit card. It's basically free money."
You laugh, rubbing the crown of your head. "Yeah..." you murmur, trailing off.
"Here," she says, pushing a bowl toward you. "They serve soup here. I looked all over for a booth that serves sandwiches but these uncivilized savages aren't into that kind of thing. So this'll have to do."
You pick up your spoon and poke at the noodles. "Is this ramen?" you ask.
"I believe so. Never much liked it... too many memories of grad school."
You start eating. Ms. Carte does, too. "I already had a bowl, while waiting for you," she says between mouthfuls. "The kind they serve here has a sort of curry in it, very spicy. And you'll find chunks of beef, too... this stuff could make me rethink my anti-ramen stance..."
"It's fine," you say noncommittally, slurping up spoonful. To be honest, you're more focused on Ms. Carte than the food. The slit of her dress reveals a glimpse of her child-bearing hips and thighs fills you with lust. You stare at her unashamedly.
"Contain yourself, young man."
You raise your eyes to meet her.
"We're in public," she chides. But she spreads her legs wider so the hem of her dress bunches up a little further. She winks.
"Ever hear a song called Hot for Teacher?" you ask.
"Of course. Unlike you, I was alive when it came out."
"It came out in 1984. You were a baby. That hardly counts."
She narrows her eyes. "It SO counts, you little shit." She reaches out, putting a hand on your knee and swiveling around to face you. "Don't make me beat you."
"You couldn't even if you tried. You made me into Superman, remember?"
"Maybe. But *I* know where your off switch is."
"...I have an off switch?" you ask.
Ms. Carte swivels back around and brings her bowl to her lips, sipping at the dark broth. "Hmm, maybe..." she says. "That would be a hell of a design flaw, though, wouldn't it?"
"Be serious," you say. "You've got me a little scared now."
Ms. Carte sets her bowl down. She puts her hand on your leg again, this time much higher. She gives your thigh a squeeze.
"I know where your on switch is, too," she says, her voice like silk.
"We're in public," you say, turning her words against her. The truth is, you don't want her to stop. But you can't resist getting one over on her, anyway.
Ms. Carte glances from side to side. All around, people converse and drink, laugh and shout. No one is paying any attention to two quiet lovers sitting at a bar together. You can see these conclusions clicking together in her mind just as they click together in yours.
"What these people don't see won't hurt them," Ms. Carte says. She runs her hand further still, her fingers twiddling with the drawstring on your swim trunks.
The bar has an overhang that casts the ground beneath it quite nicely in shadow. In combination with the descending dusk and the festival's dim mood lighting, it makes for a nice space to have some fun.
[ ] I want Ms. Carte to service me.
[X] I want to service Ms. Carte.
Ms. Carte's forwardness is adorable, but you want to keep her on her toes -- the subtle gamesmanship of your relationship practically demands it. And you know if you turn the tables on her, she won't know what to do with herself.
You take your spoon in hand and drop it on the ground between your stools.
"Whoops," you say, voice flat. "I better get that."
Ms. Carte's face is shadowed with uncertainty. You slide off the stool and slink to the ground, concealing yourself in the shadows. You hold Ms. Carte by the knees and guide her around so she faces forward. She doesn't fight you as you push her thighs apart. The supple skin gives like a pillow to your curious hands.
"Alabaster," Ms. Carte whines, trying to keep her voice low, "what are you doing down there?"
"You're not wearing panties," you say, tsking. "Bad girl." You hike her dress up almost to her butt, baring her soft pussy. The lips throb visibly with arousal.
Ms. Carte alternates between shooting paranoid glances all around to make sure no one is noticing, and staring longingly down at your ministrations. She bites the nail of her pinky, her eyes glimmering, as you breathe hot breaths against her wet cunt.
"Stop teasing me," she begs.
You purse your lips and release a steady stream of air against the pink pearl of her clit, like blowing out birthday candles. "Unfff--" Ms. Carte grunts, hunching forward. You hear the thump of her elbows against the bartop and the clatter of glassware being pushed aside. There's a lull in nearby conversation and you can feel people turning to look, but no one seems to notice you underneath the stool.
"Please, please, please," Ms. Carte whispers. "Please..."
You lean in and inhale her scent. The deep headiness of it makes your mouth water. With no pubic hair to trap her juices, they pool lewdly underneath her.
Sensually rubbing her thighs with your fingertips, you push out your tongue and lay it flat against her cunt.
Ms. Carte gasps breathily, once, twice, her entire body shivering. It sounds animal and primal, like a rutting dog finally finding its relief. "More," she heaves. "Fuck, I need more..."
You swirl your tongue around, focusing on the outer lips and hood. Sometimes the tip of your tongue pushes past her opening and explores the velvety insides of her drooling pussy as you lap her up and down. Better than a package of ramen, that's for sure.
You run a hand underneath her, stroking the milky globes of her ass and toying with her anus. Ms. Carte pants with lust and bucks her hips. "Inside," she says, "go ahead, put it inside. Finger me-- stir me up--"
You wet two fingers with her juices and push them past her rosebud. Her ass clenches around you as you force your the digits in and out. Ms. Carte's cream pours like warm honey, slightly viscous and sweet against the back of your throat.
The stool creaks as she starts to hump you. Neither of you care. She pushes her mound and clit against your nose. Your tongue goes rigid and penetrates her deeply with each thrust of her hips. You scissor your fingers back and forth, violating her cute ass and eliciting new mewls.
She grabs your hair and mashes herself against your face with abandon. Soon she cums all over you. "Fuck!" she half sighs and half screams. "I'm cumming! Drink it! Drink my cum!"
You obey, though you don't have much of a choice. Ms. Carte's ass spasms rhythmically and she squirts a virtual geyser of girlcum all over your mouth, lips, face, and chest. The surrounding din grinds to a halt and you know everyone in the vicinity must be watching this older woman using your teenage mouth as a cum receptacle. Well, let them watch. You never minded giving people a show.
"I love you!" Ms. Carte wails, her voice clear but trembling. "Eat me! Fucking eat me!! I love you!"
You drink her love, every drop.