Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
He’s slender against my curves, but he’s strong. He hands me his beer, then reaches down to tear the crotch of my fishnets open like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He hooks his fingers inside my lacy thong, and damn, he’s good… he knows where my clit is, sliding a nice path up and down my slit through my slick, puffy pussy lips.
“I had you down as a hairy girl,” he shouts in my ear, and I laugh.
“Nah. Clean shaven. Always.” I hand him back his beer.
“Nice and smooth. And wet.”
“Sure am.” I give him a cheeky grin. “Check it out.”
I squat a touch on my stilettos, swinging my hips in disguise, because I want his fingers inside me on the dancefloor. I want him to fuck me to the knuckles, so my teasing means something. I wrap my arms around his neck, being careful with my prosecco, since I wouldn’t want to waste any.
“I want filthy, remember?” I say, my mouth on his ear.
His fingers slide to my pussy, scissoring my clit. “Is this not filthy enough?”
“Nah, not even close.”
“Fine, let’s ramp it up.”
He kisses a path from my lips to my throat, and pushes three fingers inside me, hard.
It’s easy to use his hand for my pleasure since his rhythm matches the thump of the bass. Good work on his part.
I think about the guy watching from the sidelines somewhere. Through the throng of bodies I can sense him. Watching. Waiting. Viewing me as a slut getting fingered while people dance around me. My scarlet hair must be an obvious spot, no matter where he is in the club. The way I moan like a whore against a random guy’s mouth speaks wordlessly above the bass.
But still, amongst it all, I’ve got my clutch bag held tight to my side, barely anything in there besides my phone – set to vibrate at maximum when my notification comes through. The one that will instruct me to leave this place and head outside.
I wonder if I can come before then. To be fresh from a climax when I get assaulted in the darkness would really make my day.
“More fingers,” I say. “Fuck me like you mean it.”
I groan as he pushes in a fourth, loving the stretch, even though I’m still sore as fuck from last night’s action.
“I’m gonna do you so hard when we get out of here,” he says, and I’d get a pang of guilt if it meant anything, but it doesn’t. There will be plenty of horny bitches looking for a hookup before home time. He’ll strike lucky.
“Show me how hard you can play,” I tell him, working myself deeper onto his fingers. “Give me a filthy taster.”
I’ve always loved public playtime, especially when other people are blind to the filthy bitch I’m being, right in front of them. I ride his fingers as I dance, and if the music wasn’t so loud, the squelches from my sopping wet pussy would be clear from a mile off. He feels my excitement rising, twisting his fucking fingers as I groan, and then he searches out my clit with his thumb, digging between my pussy lips for the target.
I can come like this, and I know it. I’m on my way quicker than I’d expect, all thoughts of prosecco and beer forgotten as we groove and moan. His pace picks up so it’s faster than the bass, and I’m so turned on I’m hardly dancing anymore, just squatting on my stilettos as he gets me off. Fuck, I’m almost there. My breaths are heaving, and my mind is turning blank, and I’m over the fucking moon at the achievement of coming on a packed dancefloor as my client stares on.
I’m sure he can see me. I’m sure he can see I’m serious. This orgasm isn’t going to be some bullshit fakery – it never is – and I’m ready, I’m so fucking ready.
Until I feel the buzz of my phone in my clutch.
I could fucking scream. So close. So fucking close. But I know the rules. I know how this story goes.
I stop grinding, stop humping, stop moving. I take hold of my finger fucker’s wrist and push him away.
“I need to get this, sorry.”
He knocks back the rest of his beer as I grope inside my clutch, ready to resume the action, but there isn’t going to be any further action. The notification on my phone speaks loud and clear.
User 2906. Leave the club right now.
I could give the man in the shadows a middle finger.
I shove my phone back in my clutch and down the rest of my prosecco. Hell only knows how there’s still any left in the glass after being finger screwed to the crest. My finger fucker looks mortified as I shove my empty glass into the hand that’s still wet from doing me.