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When we'd been together a year, I thought that I should do something special to celebrate the fact that we were more in love and hornier for each other than ever. And by something special I didn't mean a new piece of furniture! I wanted to give him a new sexual adventure, something he'd never forget, something that would gratify our exhibitionist streak. I thought about posting a film of us fucking on the Internet. I could just picture Max's cock getting hard as we broadcast our climaxes for total strangers to watch. To know that other people out there were watching us, dicks in hands, vibrators on clits? God, I got wet just thinking about it. But I didn't dare risk it.

I racked my brain for ideas, and then one day, as I was putting the finishing touches on a new window display, and people on the street outside stopped to watch me at work, it came to me in a flash. I knew just what kind of anniversary gift I was going to give Max.

When the day came, Max took me out to dinner to the very same French bistro he'd wined and dined me at the year before. Over the meal, we talked about our favorite subject: sex.

"I like your tits in that top," he said. "I can't wait to take you home and put them in my mouth."

"I tell you what would be even sexier," I replied, warming to the theme. "If you did that here and now. If I just whipped them out, here in the restaurant. Look at that waiter-imagine how hard he'd get seeing my nipples, how jealous he'd be. And that woman over there dining by herself-we could show her your dick. I could take it in my mouth, and she'd be rubbing her clit under the table."

I kicked off my shoe and slid a stockinged foot up the inside of Max's thigh. I realized I was having the desired effect as my foot encountered a rock-hard erection. I pressed hard with the ball of my foot. He moaned and closed his eyes.

"Don't tease me," he said. "You don't know how much I'd love to fuck you in public tonight, but even I draw the line at nudity at the table. It's very bad etiquette."

I giggled. "Well, you'll just have to make do with whatever else I've got planned for you, won't you?" I said, raising one eyebrow.

"Plans?" said Max, looking excited. "I didn't know there were plans."

"Oh, yes," I said. "But I won't tell you until after you've had your coffee." I've never seen a man down an espresso so quickly.

"Come on then," he said. "What is it?"

"Maybe I'll tell you on the walk home," I said. "I think you'll like it."

As we paid the bill and walked out of the restaurant, I had to laugh; Max was so hard that he couldn't stand up straight, and when the waiter tried to help him on with his jacket Max blustered, saying that he'd rather carry it, thank you very much, and backed out of the restaurant with the garment draped over his cock. It was less obvious to the casual observer, but I was pretty stoked, too-I was totally soaking at the thought of what we were going to do, apprehensive that I would actually pull it off, and wildly turned on by the hard-on that I could see straining against the fly of Max's trousers. When he did come he was going to shoot so much spunk into my hole that his balls would be completely drained.

Instead of turning right at the crossroads, I took a sharp left.

"Where are you taking me?" said Max.

"I've left something at work," I said, trying not to let my voice betray my excitement. Max looked disappointed. Hanging around in my shop obviously wasn't his idea of a sexy surprise.

We got to the store, and I stood outside the window, looking at the bed on display, wondering if Max would figure out what I had planned. The window display I'd lovingly created looked even more impressive than it did by day: dramatic black-and-white bed in a ruby red room, kitsch and 1960s in style, lit by a few retro spotlights.

Max looked at me curiously.

"Want to go to bed?" I said.

"Oh, you beauty," said Max as it finally hit him. "Let me at it."

Using my keys, I let myself into the shop through the side door and punched in the numbers that disabled the main burglar alarm. We tiptoed through the shop toward the window display at the front.

"You clever, dirty little bitch," said Max, slapping me on the ass. We stood for a while, hidden behind the headboard, looking into the street. It was deserted, and there was no guarantee that anyone would see us. It was possible that no one would come by at all, but they might-they might. And it was that possibility, that unknown factor that was the total thrilling thing. Who knew what an audience would do, how they would react? Would they be aroused? Watch open-mouthed? Or call the police? To Max and I, nothing was a greater aphrodisiac than risk.