The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Breakfast at Lenny’s”

It was the second day of our vacation. We were staying at a small hotel off the main drag in Waikiki and therefore had to fend for ourselves for breakfast. We’ll never do that again; the two choices for breakfast there are Denny’s and some small crappy café connected to a Baskin Robbins. Needless to say, we were sick of Denny’s by the end of our two-week vacation.

But then, on our second day, Denny’s was still a fresh experience. And the view’s pretty good, as well. It’s up on the second floor of a corner lot, a park stretching towards Diamond Head on the left and the ocean straight ahead. Good for people-watching if you weren’t a fan of gently-lapping ocean waves.

It’s always crowded, of course, since it’s one of two places to eat (unless you shell out for the overpriced hotel menus along the shoreline) and that morning was no exception. On the other hand, the way they’d designed it, you were never more than one table in from view.

When we were finally seated we’d ended up at an inner table—my husband, my daughter and I—next to a well-dressed gentleman and a “bubble-gum” type girl. You know, the kind of girl who dresses younger than she is. Influenced by Japanese pop-culture, I’d say. A pink skirt so short that the hem had to ride along the chair rather than fit under her bottom, a pair of cork chunky-soled shoes with pink spaghetti straps to hold them against her feet, a white t-shirt cropped above her belly-button, and enough makeup to look made-up but not artificial. I disapproved of most of her outfit but did like her pink glossy lips. It seemed odd to me that her hair was down. It didn’t fit. Her hair should have been up in pigtails or something, but it was a nice honey-blond color.

I made my daughter sit facing inward so she wouldn’t be influenced by the girl’s outfit. It was hard enough to argue with a twelve year-old about earrings, much less short pink skirts. My husband sat across from my daughter so I was the lone one out at the table, no one between me and my view of the ocean. I was looking forward to sunning myself on that bit of sand out there and listening to the waves rather than the traffic.

But instead of sinking into a reverie of sun and sand or even opening the sticky menu to take a look at my options, I found myself staring more than occasionally at the odd couple before me. She looked rapt, attentive, and every time she nodded her breasts jiggled just a bit. The man was smiling, alert, and confident. I liked his smile, his gray eyes, and the way his shirt cuff showed just the right amount from his jacket. I thought he’d be too hot in his suit but he looked as comfortable as the rest of us dressed-down tourists, if not more so.

They finished their meal, their plates had been cleared and the bill had been placed at the edge of the table, but they sat there, relaxed, looking for all the world like they planned on chatting there for hours. The waitress was sending them dirty looks. They just sipped their coffee, oblivious to everything but each other. I couldn’t understand how such a disparate couple could get along. He seemed at least ten years her senior.

The man caught me staring at him and he winked at me. I smiled back and pretended to open my menu. Then I realized that the waitress was standing next to my daughter.

“Mom. Hello, earth to mom? Dad and I already ordered. What do you want?”

I smiled sheepishly at the waitress and turned to my husband.

“What did you order, dear?”

“The omelet special,” he replied, shaking loose another sheet of the newspaper we’d bought at the drugstore on the way.

“I’ll have what he’s having,” I said to the waitress, “And a cup of coffee.” The couple across from me had made the act of drinking coffee seem a decadent thing, the way they caressed the ugly Denny’s mugs and slid them back and forth like they were aching to touch each other. Especially the girl: she was shifting her weight from hip to hip, sliding her feet forward, ankles together, then back to wrap her ankles around the chair legs. I found myself shifting my feet as she did.

The man grabbed hold of her hand from across the table. I was sure he was going to kiss her. Instead he said something that sounded for all the world like “suck my c***.” I blinked, nervous that my daughter would hear it, and curiously turned on that someone would say something so dirty in public. I waited for the girl to slap him. But her reaction was to giggle and nod her head and whisper back at him. I couldn’t hear what she said but his smile showed me that it wasn’t, “Go to heck.”

She slid her chair back and knelt gracefully, then lifted her knees delicately over the table’s splayed supports, reaching a small hand between the man’s thighs to unbutton and unzip him. I was so shocked I couldn’t say anything. And I couldn’t look away. The man gave me another smiling wink before turning his head the other way to look out at the ocean.

I thought it must be particularly nice to get head in public with an ocean view. Then I shook myself. I was about to say something, point them out to the waitress and get them away from my daughter, when the waitress walked up to their table. She asked the man if there was anything else he wanted, then walked away when he shook his head no. Why didn’t she see what I saw? Did anyone else see what I did?

I nudged my husband and pointed out the man. “See anything unusual?”

He peered around our daughter, who turned around to look, as well. I covered my eyes, ashamed that I had just pointed out fellatio to Anna Lee. But when I looked up to see their reactions they both just shrugged at me.

“I know we don’t have this sort of view from our place in Iowa, Becky, but it’s not unusual considering we’re in Waikiki,” my husband teased in his mock-serious tone. I smiled weakly at him and then returned to contemplating the sex scene to which, it seemed, only I was witness.

She had his penis out and in her hand, stroking it to make it hard. I was rather surprised she’d have to work at it. If I were the man in that situation, I thought, I’d already be hard; but maybe they do this all the time and the anticipation just isn’t as exciting as it used to be. I watched his member grow hard in her right hand, her left supporting herself on his knee. She watched the effect she was having with a small smile on her face—a look of satisfaction and concentration, like this was the center of her universe.

When she finally slid her lips over the tip of his penis I felt the small beginning of my own erotic reaction. Heat began building between my legs. I’d seen porn movies before and had never much cared for them. The acts were at once both too revealed, like pinned butterflies, and yet concealed—you could never see enough to feel it.

But my view of her was different. She was using her hand and her mouth, keeping the one tight against the other, and her hand and chin kept disappearing from view as she bobbed down, reappearing as she came up again. I couldn’t see everything but I could feel it. I could feel him in my mouth and I could feel the effect it was having on my crotch. Her butt was up in the air, her back straight like a board. I could see the curve revealed by the skirt as it rode up but not any underwear.

Her wrist was twisting as she moved her hand, spreading the heat of her palm from side to side. Occasionally, when she came up, I could see the head appear and her tongue follow after, as if it couldn’t bear to be parted from such a delicious flavor. I licked my lips and took too fast a swallow of coffee and started choking.

She was doing much better than I, not choking at all as she took him into her mouth. Her eyes were half-closed, dreamy. In pornos the poor girls have to look up at their lovers while they give head. It looks uncomfortable. But she didn’t have to bother trying to live up to that. The table was in the way; she could just relax into the sucking and not worry about making eye contact.

By the time our meals arrived the man had spread his thighs far apart. I could see more and I was wetter than I’d been in a long time. I couldn’t be bothered to eat, I could only watch, transfixed at the sight of his penis disappearing and reappearing. His legs were so far apart that now the waitress couldn’t get by him and the back of my daughter’s chair. But again, she didn’t notice. No one cared. I glanced behind me to confirm that there was still a line of people waiting to be seated. It was as if the man, the girl, and their table no longer existed.

I turned my attention back to the couple. The man had turned from watching the view to looking directly at me. Once he’d caught my eye he smiled and reached down to pet the girl’s hair with soft, long strokes. I could hear her moan in response. He continued to look right at me. I couldn’t look away from his eyes.

Finally he glanced down, shifting his chair back just a bit. I looked down as well and caught the girl hiking her knees forward to follow that delicious flesh. He gathered her hair up slowly, finally collecting it into one handful in his left fist. He said something like, “position,” and she let go of his penis with her hand and moved both arms behind her, crossing her wrists at the small of her back. She was leaning forward, suspended only by her hair, still tonguing the tip of his penis. I could see a string of precum and saliva connected her lips to his member when he raised her head a little.

She kept her back and neck straight. When he lowered her, her whole body from her hips upward kept that straight line, and her mouth fit perfectly, hungrily, over him, descending down his shaft, until her nose was buried in his pubic hair and her chin was up against his testicles.

I could see a slight bulge where his long cock was lodged in her throat. Her eyes were closed in that relaxed way that indicates utter bliss, not pain or distress. I could feel the ghost of him in my own throat and my hips shifted reflexively. Her body was utterly still. She couldn’t possibly have been breathing. I started to worry, finding it difficult to breathe, myself.

He pulled her up by the hair about halfway along his shaft and I heard her take a sharp breath in. Then he forced her head down again—three short bobs during which she had to hold her breath, each bob burying her face in his crotch, then up again for a breath of air. The rhythm was hypnotizing. I found myself matching her breathing, holding it when his penis was deep in her throat.

One… two… three… breathe. One… two… three… breathe.

“Are you alright?” my husband asked.

I tore my eyes away and forced myself to focus on him.

“I’m fine. I’m just doing a… a… a meditation breath. From that yoga DVD I got last month.”

“But you haven’t touched a thing on your plate.”

“I guess all this fresh island air just took my appetite away. I’ll be hungry later, I’m sure.”

He looked at me, disbelieving, then shrugged and went back to his newspaper. I glanced at Anna Lee. She was ignoring us both, listening to something on her CD player. I turned my attention back to the couple.

By this time he was lifting his hips to meet her mouth, his attention focused solely on her and the sensations she was causing. I heard him groan and say,”Yeah, like that, you f***ing w***e. God I love f***ing your face.” I blushed, embarrassed for him. I could never possibly say those words. It was so bizarre to hear him say them in Denny’s.

The girl looked for all the world like a doll, completely under his control, happy to use the muscles in her mouth and tongue but nothing else. It didn’t look like even the strong grip he had on her hair bothered her at all. I wanted to feel that same sort of bliss. I rubbed my thighs together and was surprised by how wet my bikini bottom felt.

When he came he drew her face against him again. I could see her throat working to swallow everything as he arched his back and thrust himself roughly against her. He let go of her hair and gripped her head with both hands. His orgasm seemed to last forever and his gasps were loud and authentic. I couldn’t breath.

A small burst of energy rippled through me when I saw the girl’s body convulse in her own orgasm, her calves drawn up against her thighs and ass wriggling the slightest bit. I could see that she wasn’t wearing any underwear. I regretted that I wasn’t in a better position to see her crotch at least once.

Finally he let her go and I drew in a ragged breath with her, my face hot and flushed. She smiled up at him, the tip of his penis still in her mouth, then made a big show of cleaning him with her tongue, her eyes on his, as she scooted closer so she could kneel comfortably back on her heels, hands still behind her back.

She nosed his partly hard member back into his trousers, zipped them up with her teeth, and laid the right side of her head against his crotch. I watched her parted lips, still with a trace of her lipstick, and her closed, contented eyes. His hand was on her head again, petting her, but he was looking back out at the ocean again.

I excused myself and went to the restroom, thinking I could give myself a quiet orgasm and release the tension that they had built in me with their little public show—public, but somehow private. I couldn’t figure out how they had made everyone ignore them.