We are going dancing with friends, vanilla friends. You explained the rules before we arrived at the nightclub: I’m yours to touch and tease. I follow your orders. And I act like a good girl, like you aren’t teasing me to the edge.
But now sitting here your dark gaze on me, it’s different, more embarrassing. Your hand on my knee makes me uncross my legs. The skirt of my dress edges up and my bare thigh brushes against the tablecloth. I feel exposed, even knowing I’m hidden by the table. I pull my dress back down, trying to cover myself, as I look at our companions. They are talking casually, not noticing my reaction. I cannot remember the topic so I just smile and try to listen.
Your fingers ease under my skirt, pulling it upward again. Your fingers caress my inner thigh and I giggle. I put my hand on your arm in a plea for you to stop, but your hand touches my back and you glare, a reminder to behave. I straighten my back, still watching you.
You smile, a worrying smile, the smile of a plan. I turn my attention back to the woman on my right, who is talking about a movie she saw last week. Your fingers grab my inner thigh and pinch tight. I tense my thighs to keep from jumping from my seat. My head whips around and I give you a sharp look. I want to growl at you, but resist the urge. When I glance around the table our friends exchange confused glances so I smile brightly.
I am relieved when the music starts and the others leave to dance. You move close enough that I can smell the alcohol on your breath. It is a light scent because you’ve been drinking to be sociable. I can also smell you, and it arouses me. I want to push my lips against yours and taste you.
Your hand pushes my legs further apart. I lean back to watch your face. Your fingers brush against the thin material of my panties. I tilt my hips upward and spread my legs further, letting you have better access to my body.
I take a long drink from my glass. “This is supposed to be a challenge,” you hiss in my ear.
I shiver, staring at the liquid in my glass. “I must behave like a good girl.”
Your answer is to slide a finger under the crotch of my panties. “I love how wet you get in public.”
I close my eyes and let the music guide my body’s movements.
You wet your fingertip just inside of me, then the digit drags across my slit and worms its way inside my hood to press my clit. “Your nipples are showing. You are rocking your hips. I don’t think you are being a good girl.” Your fingers twist against me.
Being a good girl is hard when you tease.
I open my eyes and look at my chest. I shrug a little, reminding myself not to forgo a bra next time.
You slide your free hand across my chest. Your fingers pinch and twist a nipple, making it stand out more. I cry out in pain and pleasure, my arm lifting towards you.
Your finger is rubbing a small tight circle on my clit. “How much more can you take before you lose control?” Your voice is deep in my ear.
I lean over and glance at your growing crotch. My fingers reach for you with a grin. “How much can you take?”
You grab my hand before it can touch you, pushing me away. “That is against the rules.”
I pout and consider my reply. Before I can answer you shove three fingers inside of me. I gasp and grip my glass.
You thrust your fingers until I am left limp and panting against the chair.
As suddenly as you entered me, you exit. Your wet fingers wrap around my upper arm. “What?” I pant, as you stand, pulling me to my feet.
I grab my drink, gulping the rest down. We must be going home to fuck.
We pass our tablemates as they return from the dance floor. “Going for a dance?” the girl asks. I wish I could remember her name. I wish I knew where we were going.
“We’ll be right back,” you say.
I gasp, my fingers grabbing your shoulder. “Where are we going?”
You glance at me, but don’t reply. You half-drag me around the dance floor, your long legs covering more distance than mine. I’m in heels, stumbling after you.
We enter a darkened corner of the bar. My pussy throbs, thinking of the possibilities. I’ve never had sex in such a public place. The threat of being caught imminent. The threat of being watched more likely. There is a mixture of fear and excitement in my belly. I press my free hand to my middle, trying to calm myself.
Will you fuck me against the wall in a dark hallway?
A light looms in front of me and we enter a bathroom. There are men using urinals and washing their hands. They glance at us, and I smile a little. Then you push me into a stall and lock the door behind me.
I am shaking, but my nerves cannot stop my pussy from soaking through my panties.
Your hands cover my breasts, squeezing and pushing them together. Your fingers pinch my nipples through my dress. I decide not wearing a bra was a good idea.
While you work on my breasts, I raise my skirt and remove my panties. I lean my back against the wall, the metal cooling my heated skin.
Your eyes are dark as they meet mine; fear surges against my chest. I distract myself with grappling with your belt, trying to free your cock. My hands shake too much and I bump my knuckles against you. You push my hands away and put a hand on my shoulders. I sink to the ground on my knees, under pressure of your hand. Your other hand swiftly undoes your belt and pants, and they drop to the floor.
I look at you with a smile, having all but forgotten where we are. My desire to please you outweighs my modesty, or what is left. I glance around the stall. I fold my hands in my lap and wait patiently.
Your underwear falls around your ankles and I waste no time moving in. My mouth opens wide and engulfs your hard cock. Your hands grip the sides of my head as I take you deep into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the head of your cock.
You groan and stiffen. I smile at the reaction and bob my head faster.
My pussy is throbbing and I hope you are planning on fucking me, not just getting off in my mouth. The thought is satisfying, but my body would still throb for you. A mixture of frustration and pleasure courses through my body. Stuck in the club, throbbing and unsatisfied. Until we go home and I beg you to fuck me. If I make it home. I might beg you to fuck me in the car, or outside the club.
I sigh and my thoughts return to the erection in my mouth. Your hands wrap into my hair and pull me away. I frown, but it becomes a whimper when you lift me by my hair. I hasten to my feet, breathing heavily as I blink into your eyes.
You lift the skirt around my waist. I breathe with relief, you’re going to fuck me.
You put your hands under my butt and lift me. Once in position, your cock slides inside of me. You kiss me, relaxing me as you fill me.
You thrust into me as my nails bite into my shoulders, moans escaping my lips. I grip your shoulders tightly, a shout announcing my orgasm. I fight to keep my body tense as you pound into me. The stall is shaking and I hope it is sturdy.
Your fingers pinch my butt, your moans hiss in my ear, just for me. My moans are louder, and I know there are people listening. Your mouth presses on my shoulder, a light kiss at first, then I feel teeth. Your body stiffens and the thrusts shorten as you come. You no longer hold me up. I drop to the floor and try to get my feet under me. But you collapse against me, pinning me to the wall. The cold metal makes me squeal and I try to push you away. You stand, pulling your pants back up. I grab my panties and think about getting them on. But you open the stall door. I stare at the pink material in my hands, then I see your back exiting the bathroom. I drop the panties on the floor and stumble to follow you.
A group of men stare at me as I quicken my pace. They gathered to listen to our fucking, to my moans. I blush deep red and hurry toward the darkened club. Your cum dripping down my thighs, as we go back to our table. Our friends are back, laughing over their drinks, and none of them notice my messy hair or the blush on my cheeks. When I sit, your fingers are on my thighs again…