Private Table

Years ago there was a restaurant in Paris (Laperousse?) which had private dining booths, curtained off with heavy velvet curtains with velvet banquettes and tables with long table cloths. Very discrete. My memory is of watching a young man, uncomfortable in a grey suit and rather shy but pretty, escorted to a booth by two women, one older than the other. They sat on the banquette, the older woman to his left. As the waiter pulled the curtains shut I saw the older woman reach down below the white table cloth. I have often fantasised about being the older woman and what happened next. Unzipping him and making him hard. Is the younger girl there to watch, to be taught? Is the man her boyfriend? I imagine offering the young girl his cock, seeing the girl take him in her mouth and as she does I ring the bell to call the waiter. Looking the waiter in the eye as I order wine and caress his cock beneath the table cloth. As the waiter closes the drapes, leaning over to kiss the girl, stroking her thigh and touching her wet pants, stroking my fingers against her clitoris and telling the man to put his fingers inside her. As he does so and she gasps the waiter returns with the wine. The tension rising as courses are delivered and waiters come and go, the man desperate to come, the younger girl distracted and dishevelled as she is explored and undone. Do I give them their release in the booth or take them back to my hotel and watch them explode against each other?