The hotel’s dining room is one of its best features. It has big picture windows overlooking the rugged Devon coastline, and during the brief intervals when Poppy isn’t either taking someone’s order or clearing away the plates, she enjoys watching the sun slowly setting behind the rocky headland. There is a spot just beside one of the pot plants where she can keep an eye on the tables while at the same time enjoying the scenery, as well as not getting in the way of the other waitresses as they bustle past. This particular August evening there is an especially fine sunset, and most of the guests are lingering over their food to enjoy it.

However, one couple, who she’s been serving that evening, seem rather more interested in each other. They’ve been flirting outrageously across the table all evening, and as Poppy brings them their dessert she can’t help thinking she’s interrupted them in the middle of a particularly dirty conversation. She’s sure she hears him say something like “…have you right here on this table”, but then the woman sees Poppy coming and shushes him urgently.

Poppy serves the couple, then goes back to her post. Judging by the way they sheepishly look out of the window as she serves the desserts, they maybe realise that they’ve been getting a little carried away. She wonders exactly what they’ve been saying. She remembers how she noticed them both in the pool earlier that day, and how she hadn’t been able to help admiring the man’s firm muscular body. He looks as if he’s in his fifties, and his hair is just starting to go grey around the temples, but his body is firm and well-toned, with no obvious signs of middle-aged spread. Poppy blushes as she remembers this. She isn’t in the habit of admiring men’s bodies, let alone ones who are (a) obviously attached, and (b) old enough to be her father, and she’s a little bit ashamed of herself for allowing a dirty thought about the contents of his trunks to cross her mind.

Just then, Poppy notices something else. The couple have finished their desserts, and the woman has taken off her shoe and her bare foot is massaging the man’s crotch under the table. He is trying with difficulty to act as if nothing is happening, but the bulge in his trousers shows that he is anything but un-aroused.

“Gosh, that’s a bit rude,” Poppy thinks. Rather against her will, she begins to feel a little bit tingly between her legs as she wonders what it would be like to rub her own hand over his crotch, feeling the outline of the huge hard erection through the cloth. Without thinking, her hand slips down and brushes over her pubic mound. “Behave, Poppy,” she tells herself firmly. “Stop acting like such a slut”.

But, despite herself, she can’t seem to keep her eyes off what is going on under the table. She can see the woman’s toes rubbing harder over the man’s erection. It looks really hard. She begins to wonder what will happen if the woman keeps it up much longer. The man is going a bit red in the face.

“Surely she’ll stop before he makes a mess?” wonders Poppy. She soon gets her answer. The woman is twisting her toes roughly against the man’s erection, concentrating on the sensitive area just at the bottom edge of the helmet. And then the inevitable happens: Poppy sees a dark stain spread across the front of his trousers as he ejaculates. He comes really hard, right against the inside of his thin trousers, forcing his stuff through the material, and the woman’s toes become covered in sticky ejaculate as she continues to rub at the spreading damp patch.

Poppy knows she ought to be disgusted, but instead she feels herself incredibly turned on. “What’s the matter with me?” she thinks. “It’s like watching my mum and dad have sex.”

And there’s another thing that’s starting to worry her. She knows she’s supposed to clear the plates as soon as possible after the guests have finished each course, but up until now she’s been too embarrassed to interrupt what is going on. Then suddenly she sees the manageress out of the corner of her eye, speaking to one of the other waitresses. Poppy knows she has to clear that table right now, or risk a real telling-off. So she takes a deep breath, and walks over to the table as calmly as she can. The man is obviously a bit embarrassed (as well he might be), and pretends to be very interested in his wine-glass. As Poppy bends over to pick up his plate, she can smell the musky scent of his fresh semen rising up from between his legs. Although she tries to remain calm, she knows that she’s flushing bright red with embarrassment – which just makes her feel worse, and blush even more.

As she turns to collect the woman’s plate, Poppy can’t help catching her eye. The woman’s glance conveys so much: just a hint of embarrassment perhaps, but also a stronger sexual thrill. Poppy can tell that the woman knows that she has seen what has happened. The woman smiles at Poppy as she passes her plate across. Then, as the plate is almost in her hand, it tips sideways, just enough to let the spoon slide off, bounce once off the table, and onto the floor.

“Oh, I’m so sorry - how very clumsy of me,” the woman stammers, and leans over as if to pick it up.

“Don’t worry, madam, I’ll get it,” Poppy says, just wanting to get away as quickly as possible. She dips down to where she can see the spoon under the table. But as she does so, she finds herself staring directly at the man’s crotch. All she can see is the enormous stain on his trousers, with a big creamy patch of semen that has been smeared around by the woman’s foot. Poppy breathes in deeply, and more scent of fresh semen fills her nostrils. The spoon lies on the floor right next to the woman’s foot, and as Poppy reaches to pick it up she can see the sticky goo on the woman’s toes where she has rubbed them into the man’s groin. For one giddy moment, Poppy wonders what would happen if she bent down to lick it off her foot, tasting the salty flavour on her tongue. The woman rotates her foot, as if to show off her trophy. “Oh crikey,” thinks Poppy, “she’s doing this on purpose.”

To her shame, she feels a little tremor run through her body, a tremor not of shame, but of excitement. Down there, under the table, staring at the woman’s semen-coated toes, she almost feels herself come. Not quite an orgasm, but an unmistakable thrill of arousal, unlike anything she’s ever felt before.

Trying to get her breathing under control, she picks up the spoon, and stands up, trembling slightly. The woman is still apologising, and Poppy throws her a quick smile as she hurries off, hoping to grab a quick minute or two to compose herself. As she pauses to catch her breath, the couple pass her on their way out of the dining room.

“I think we’ll have our coffee in the lounge tonight,” the man says; he has removed his jacket, and is trying to hold it in a casual fashion over his sticky crotch.

“I’ll be with you right away,” Poppy says; but she looks round to see if her friend Louise is free to take over. Unfortunately, Louise is busy taking the orders from another table, and the other waitresses are all either in the kitchen or gliding around between the tables.

Fortunately, the man is nowhere to be seen, so Poppy goes over to her.

“I’ll have a black coffee, please,” the woman says as Poppy comes across, “and my husband will have the same. He’s just popped upstairs to change. He had a slight accident in the dining room – as I think you may have noticed.”

Poppy blushes bright crimson. She’s expected the woman to act as if nothing had happened, and is taken aback to be put on the spot like this.

“I…I…did notice something, madam,” she stammers, backing away, “I’ll just get your coffee”.

At which she turns and flees back to the kitchen. Preparing the coffee, her thoughts are confused and jumbled. She hates the thought that these people have used her as part of their dirty little sex game, but she’s so thrilled to have seen it. She wonders if she should say anything to the woman, but somehow she senses that it’s not really up to her.

When Poppy returns, the woman stands up to take the coffee from her. “I’m awfully sorry,” she says. “It was wrong of me to embarrass you like that. In fact, it was wrong of me to do what I did in the dining room anyway, but I’m afraid I just got a bit carried away. Please do forgive me.”

She smiles so nicely that Poppy forgets to be cross, and smiles back.

“That’s all right” she says. “I should probably apologise to you too. You see, I was watching you in the dining room: I hadn’t meant to spy, I was just making sure I was ready to clear your plates away as soon as you were ready - and I…I…well, I could see what you were doing, and I saw what happened…I saw your husband…” and she tails off, suddenly embarrassed again.

“You saw him ejaculate,” says the woman. “I thought you had, but I couldn’t be sure. And you looked so sweet and demure in your white blouse and black tights, I just couldn’t resist. I’m sorry again.”

Poppy is still a bit embarrassed at the way the conversation is going, and as usual when she’s unsure of herself, she says the first thing that comes into her head. “Actually, I just had to keep watching,” she babbles. “And it was a bit exciting…”

As soon as she’s said it, she wishes she hadn’t. What will the woman think of her? She isn’t some sort of voyeur: or is she? She can’t bring herself to admit just how much of a turn-on it had been to see the man’s semen on the woman’s foot. Is she a foot fetishist as well?

Just then the man comes back, wearing a clean pair of trousers. He pauses and looks sheepish when he sees Poppy, but his wife jumps up and puts her arm through his.

“Don’t worry, darling,” she says. “I was just apologising to this nice young lady for embarrassing her earlier, and she said she didn’t really mind at all, did you my dear?”

“Erm, no, not at all, no,” Poppy stammers, getting all embarrassed again.

The man smiles, “But I don’t suppose she’s even taken the trouble to introduce herself properly. I’m Don, and this naughty lady’s name is Juliet.”

“But everyone just calls me Julie,” she says. “We’ve come away for quiet holiday, just to have some time to ourselves - which is probably why we can’t keep our hands off each other.”

“Have you been working here long?” asks Don, trying to divert the conversation back to more mundane matters.

“No, I only started in July,” Poppy explains. “I’ve just left school, and before I go off to university I’m taking a year out to travel. But I need to make some money first, so I’m working here over the summer. Then in October I’m hoping to go to Australia for a few months.”

Just then another couple come into the lounge, and Poppy has to go and look after them for a while. But she can’t help glancing over to where Don and Julie are whispering together on the sofa; she catches Julie’s eye and smiles at her again. This time it is Julie’s turn to blush: Poppy has a strange feeling that they may have been talking about her, and wonders what they’ve been saying.

That night, Poppy stands in front of the mirror as she undresses, removing first her white blouse, then her plain Marks and Spencer’s bra. She looks at her small but firm breasts, and is surprised to see that her dark pink nipples are more erect than usual. She touches them, and feels an extra tingle fizz through her. She unzips her knee-length skirt and stands there in just her tights and panties, fascinated by the still-damp patch on the crotch where her vaginal juices leaked out as she watched Julie rubbing Don under the table.

Removing the last items of clothing, Poppy sits on the edge of the bed and spreads her legs, allowing her pink pussy lips to peep out from the light fuzz of hair on her mound. She isn’t one of those girls who masturbate a lot, but despite herself she feels very aroused. Nor is she a virgin, but she hasn’t had much sexual experience. She has let her boyfriend fuck her, but more for his pleasure than her own.

But for some reason she finds she is feeling all fizzy inside. She slides a hand down over her plump mound, and her heart jumps when she realises her clitoris is already poking out of its little fold of flesh. She looks down at her vulva, and sees a glistening line of moisture down the line of her slit. With a little shiver of anticipation, she places a hand on each side of her labia and pulls her lips apart. Her pink flesh is coated in liquid, and as she watches a trickle of it gels together and dribbles onto the bed. The folds of flesh around her tight little hole seem to lure her in, and she can’t resist slipping two fingers into her vagina as she imagines what Don and Julie are probably getting up to at that very moment. She tries to imagine what Don’s cock might look like; it had made a pretty substantial bulge in his trousers, and she wonders what its length might feel like nestled inside her own tight little vagina. Her fingers pump in and out of her slit as she imagines being fucked by him, and what it might feel like as he ejaculated inside her, filling her with great squirts of thick, white semen.

She’s not used to having such dirty thoughts, especially about older men, but they are making her so aroused. She rubs at her hard little clitoris with her other hand. Before long, she feels her orgasm welling up, the strongest one she can ever remember having by herself, and she rubs harder and faster, building up a rhythm, until at last she comes, shaking all over and moaning. She flops back onto the bed, breathing heavily, and withdraws her fingers. She looks at them, sticky with her juices. Tentatively, she puts her fingers in her mouth and sucks at the tangy honey. She’s never really enjoyed her own taste before, but tonight it seems exotic and naughty. She rubs some of the juices on her hard pink nipples, the sticky liquid making them shiny and glistening.

“Oh, Poppy,” she thinks, “you bad, bad girl.” What would her boyfriend think if he could see her? Without even bothering to put on her nightie, she slips naked under the covers ands drifts off to sleep, her mind full of unusually dirty dreams.

To be continued...