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    This is the second story in the Mr. Morgan’s Magic Mirror Series. If you liked it, you might enjoy the other stories in the series:
     
    Story # 1: Becoming a Beer Wench
    Story # 2: Sharing the Beer Wench
    Story # 3: Punishing the Cheerleader Slut
    Story # 4: Banged by the Football Team
     

Table for Four
     
    My fiancé Mark and I arrive right on time for our 6:45 dinner reservation. I had driven our SUV into Manhattan from our house in Westchester. He had just gotten off work and therefore had less of a commute, having taken the subway.
    “Good evening, and Happy Valentine’s Day,” the hostess greets us. Her name tag says “Tina.” She is young, blonde, thin with big boobs, and looks like a Barbie. The perfect employee for a posh new restaurant , I think. I try to smile nicely at her, even though I want to tell her to order something off of the expensive menu so that she doesn’t look so stick thin.
    Mark’s oxford shirt is still tucked into his dress pants, and he’s wearing a tie which I assume is a nod to the holiday and our dinner date, since his job as a low-level investment banker at Empire State Investments on Wall Street doesn’t require one. His beer belly threatens to spill over the top of his belt, nearly ruining his work- to- dinner- business- romance look, but I guess I can’t complain, because it’s not like I’ve kept myself in the best shape since we’ve gotten engaged.
    The numbers that show up on the bathroom scale when Mark steps on it in the morning might be rising (although I wouldn’t know, because I haven’t seen him step on the scale since we met a few years ago and both hit the gym a lot), as mine are, but I still find him attractive. I just have to wonder if he can say the same about me. I’m still complimented on my looks— which I’m told are “voluptuous” and “curvy”— but I sure wish I could give a couple of my extra pounds to this extra thin hostess who is showing us to our table.
    I take a seat and smooth the pleated skirt edge of my dress down, blushing as I catch my fiancé staring at my cleavage that is now right across the table from him. I guess it’s hard not to, as I wore a revealing shirt on purpose and my breasts are definitely “voluptuous.”
    Rip this dress off of me , I want to shout at him. Strip me naked and make love to me right here on this table. Public sex, for all the world to see. Choke me, pull my hair, spank me, tie me up… just do something !
    I also wore my sexiest pair of black and red lace panties, perfect for the occasion, but I wonder if my fiancé will even get to see them tonight. My eyes plead with him, aiming for a combination of a demanding yet seductive look, but he just smiles sweetly at me.
    “I’m so glad they could get us in on Valentine’s Day,” he says, unraveling his fancy cloth napkin and placing it in his lap.
    I’m sure it’s because he booked the reservation months in advance, but I just smile and nod. My fiancé is such a planner. Except, apparently, when it comes to planning a surprise. Maybe he just doesn’t do surprises at all. But he had promised me...
     
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    Last month I had broken down and finally told Mark that I was dissatisfied with our sex life— which consisted of missionary-style sex once or twice a month— and that I really needed us to work together to give it some spark. At first he had looked embarrassed, but then he thanked me for letting him know and told me that he was going to surprise me with something extraordinary.
    Weeks passed, and I fear he has forgotten all about his “plan” to surprise me. He can definitely make things happen when he wants to— including a dinner reservation at the hottest new restaurant in New York City on Valentine’s Day— but apparently our sex life just isn’t that important to him.
     
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