Play with herself

"How turned on are you right now?" You ask, pretty much already knowing the answer.

"What do you think?" Emma teases, and squirms in her chair.

"Oh a scale from one to ten." You insist.

"Twenty fucking five." Emma says, her angelic British voice clashing with the curse.

"Well don't let me prevent you from releasing some of that tension." you say, feeling supremely confident with your current situation. After all, you're sitting across from one of the most desired women in the world. She's horny, and she's taking direction.

She bites her lip. She's so fucking adorable. And then slides a hand down off the table, to her lap. "You're suggesting I masturbate in the middle of this restaurant?"

"No." you answer. "I'm not suggesting. I'm demanding."

Her face is immediately flush. She's perhaps more turned on than any girl you've ever seen turned on before. The possibility of getting caught must be such an aphrodisiac for her, she can't control herself.

And you can't see what her hand is doing in her lap from your seat across the table. But somehow you know the moment, that her fingers find her clit.

"What happens if you do get caught?" You ask.

Emma's young breasts heave up and down, clad in that lovely green dress. "What do you... mean?" Her breathing is heavy, but she's trying to cover it up.

"You said you love the suspense of almost getting caught. What happens if you actually get caught?" You're curious. "What becomes of your image?"

"I... don't know." Emma answers as she rubs. "I guess I deny it. Unless... it's impossible to... deny." You have no idea how she's even doing this without people noticing. Clearly she's had lots of practice.

"Then what? You embrace being a bad girl." You're trying to paint a picture, to see if it'll turn her on. Of course, right now, she's in the middle of a restaurant, rubbing at her famous clit. She seems pretty damn turned on.

"I suppose. But... I can't lose the possibility of getting caught. So I guess I just... have to push it farther... and farther... and Oh, fuck!" She loses her composure for a moment. You see a few heads in the restaurant rise, realizing something is going on.

"Okay." you say. "You can stop now."

So Emma does, putting her hand back on the table. Her fingers glisten with her own juices. How badly you want to taste them. But you have another plan. A better plan.

"You'd better get panties back on." You say, much to Emma's chagrin. She frowns. But she doesn't know your plan. But she will. She reaches over to the napkin and grabs her black lace panties to put back on. "Wait a minute." You say.

She stops. She smiles. She seems thrilled that you have no intention of making it that easy. And you don't.

"I forgot to mention one small detail." You smirk too.