A pang of confusion swept through her for a moment, similar to the feeling that she had when briefly agonizing over her decision to follow her new friend into the club rather than head home, but now further down the path. Sandra didn’t have to make a decision yet, but every moment that she stayed involved, she knew from past experience would make stopping that much more difficult. As her brain churned she felt his hand return to its intended spot between her legs.
Sandra pushed her decision off, which she knew deep down was the same as making the decision.
She felt his prying fingers return to her now-exposed mound. What’s the harm, she thought, the dangerous mantra spreading through her. Might as well enjoy myself. Her Friday night was already off the rails, and Sandra felt old, buried instincts coming to the surface, like a friend that she had forgotten existed.
She knew her predicament, had lived it many times, and strangely felt comfortable in this uncomfortable situation. The dark confines of the booth that she was in had its own rules, and though it had been awhile, she knew the game and was more than happy to play it, at least a bit.
Sandra lifted herself up, and, surprising herself with her own boldness, reached behind her and grabbed the cock pushing against her backside.
It was hot in her hands, thick, stout. Oh my God, this thing is NOT small.
Her benefactor groaned in appreciation. “You like it?” She responded by squeezing it, acknowledging its presence but no more.
Sandra pushed it down, and lowered herself back down. She felt her outer folds rest against the shaft, and shuddered, just a bit. This is insane, she thought. She was now openly taunting this man, to do whatever he wanted with her.
Sandra realized that this strange new cock could be inside of her, so very easily. Or perhaps not so easily, she thought, noting the girth of the thing that she now sat on.
Her friend’s fingers returned, now tracing small slow circles around the hood of her clit, and she felt her wetness growing as he teased her hidden pearl.
So close… a moment away from orgasm, both from the touch and the danger. But he removed his fingers. Sandra let out an audible moan of frustration. “Please…I need to cum…” her voice trailed off. Had she just said that, out loud?
“You will,” he whispered in reply, “you will. But not yet.” She shivered at his words.
She felt his hands slide underneath her thighs, running from under her knees until he was cupping her rear.
Sandra knew what was coming next. She had lived it, it excited her to no end, just the fantasy. But now it was reality. “No…” she whispered, “Not that, I can’t…” Deep down she heard her lie and knew that she most certainly COULD do that. But decorum insisted that it not be so simple, didn’t it?
“Shhhh…” he responded and began to lift her off of the thick shaft that rubbed against her mound. Sandra closed her eyes as she felt his thick tip brush against her lips.
“No!” She whispered again more loudly, born of not wanting to make a scene or draw attention to her situation. A familiar feeling grew in her, like a long lost friend – the intoxicating mixture of doing exactly the wrong thing and the most natural thing…Sandra knew deep down what was going to happen.
She felt her arousal growing. Sandra could fuck this man, this stranger. She knew it. And in the moment, she had never wanted something more.
This can’t be happening, her adult brain cautioned her. I can’t just have SEX with this man.
Another thought crossed her mind. Yes, I CAN.
Just relax,” he reassured her. “It’s going to feel so good…”
She felt his hands release her rear, and she found her outer lips pressed against his thick head, her wetness rubbing against it. One hand wrapped around the bottom of her waist, holding her in place, while the other returned to the soft folds between her legs.
His fingers found their mark right away, and Sandra found her hips swaying as he gently stroked her tiny nub back and forth, and with each movement back and forth she could feel the tip of his glans rubbing against her folds. It was a quiet, intimate dance that she had taken part in many times, though this time felt deliciously different.
She felt an orgasm approaching, a dull roar inside of her ears that drowned out the cacophony of noises in the club. She felt her breathing quicken. And then, suddenly, he pulled his fingers away.
Sandra groaned in frustration, and rocked her hips, urging him to continue, but at least getting some mild relief from the tip now nestled within her folds.
“Please,” she whispered, “C’mon, I need to cum…”
In response his hands again reached under her lap, and lifted her up, slightly, his cock tip sliding further into place. Sandra knew she should stop him but also knew that she would not. The drinks rushing through her bloodstream and the frustrations of a monotonous life made the decision easy, obvious.
The simplest thought crossed her mind: I want this.
Then the next thought: I need this.
His hands returned to where they had been, one wrapped tightly around her waist, the other, to the aching burn between her legs.
She felt his cock head trying to widen her out, knowing its intended destination, and encouraging it mentally, coaxing it to its destination.
He softly stroked her again, up and down the length of her exposed slit. Up and down, up and down. She felt her climax building, and she could feel her lips were parting, preparing to accept him inside of her.