He hoped he would invite me again, I was in my office bored and getting nothing done. This was how most weekends began, on Thursday I would watch my phone anticipating the text I was always afraid wouldn't come. He almost never messaged me during the week, but on Thursdays he would send a short message. It was almost 3pm and I was nervous this was the weekend that I wouldn't get a message. I was sure he had other women after him, how could he not. He was perfect on paper, perfect in person. Even though this had been going on for months I knew almost nothing about his life outside the weekends.
I was just about to give up hope, spinning in my desk chair, about to place my phone back in my desk drawer when the soft chirp pulled me back to the present.
"Busy tomorrow? Want to dance"
I had to resist sending a message back immediately. I didn't want him to know quite how desperate I was. He didn't have to know, for example, how many outings I had declined in anticipation of a weekend with him. For a few months now I had been keeping the weekends reserved for him. I had some friends at work but I saw them during the week, and no party was worth missing out on his hands on me, in me.
I sighed and was again glad my arousal was more hidden than most mens', and that I had my own office. I had worn pants today and it made it oh so easy for a hand to drift between my legs, for a nail to run the length of the seam between my legs. My hand was drifting to the button of my slacks when the reminder of the message chimed. I snapped back into the real world. My own office or not this was not the place.
I took a deep breath and unlocked my phone.
"Dancing sounds fun, see you at 8?"
~*~
He spun me around on the dance floor before pulling me in close to him. My ass pulled tight against his crotch. One of his hands spanning my lower stomach, the other resting gently at my neck. I let the music flow through me, the deep base inspiring the movement of my hips against his, with his. His hands began to hold me more tightly. The hand on my belly drifting lower, and lower still. The hand resting at my neck holding tighter, just threatening to begin to choke me. I couldn't hold in the quiet moan that slipped through my lips, I was thankful that the music was loud enough to cover it, though I'm sure my expression gave me away. I was unable to keep my eyes open as his hand drifted lower, and lower still before slipping gently into the slit of my skirt. I expected him to stop there but his hand began a slow steady climb between my legs. I was frozen, unable to continue my dance while anticipation and fear buzzed through my body. It was electric when his fingers first reached me where the most heat had gathered. I could feel my own slickness as his fingers slipped between my lips.
"No panties?" his words were quiet against my ear, but I could hear him clearly. I shook my head slowly unable to speak as he stroked me gently with just one finger.
"That's so sexy, I wish I could fuck you right here." He punctuated his words by rubbing his hardness against my ass. I felt myself grow wetter still at the thought- at the same time my stomach clenched with fear. The place was not well lit, and there were many people, none of whom were paying attention to us but the idea of sex- here! It was too dangerous, too risky. And because of that one of the hottest things I could imagine.
"You like that idea don't you? Perhaps later, for now I just want to dance." The finger slipped inside of me for a moment and my knees buckled. I felt him laugh, quietly, again, against my ear. But then the finger slipped out from under my skirt. I was bereft until I felt him paint my wetness against my lips and it was without thought that my tongue slipped out to lick them clean, then to suck his fingers clean.
I let my head rest back against him as I began to dance again. The music was slower now and I could enjoy the feeling of him firm against me, sturdy and exciting. He turned me again so I was facing him. I looked up into his face for a moment but his expression was unreadable. I tucked my head into his shoulder and swayed with him. It was only a moment that I got away with this calmer, sweeter dance. Almost immediately his hands found my waist again and he rocked his knee between my legs. The friction of our dance parted my skirt again, and the feeling of the rough denim of his pants against my bare skin was intoxicating. I could feel myself begin to rock myself against his thigh, almost humping his leg like a dog. I forced myself to still my movements but he reciprocated by pulling me firmer to him.
"Its okay darling, take your pleasure where you can" His whisper coincided with another change in the music and he ground his leg into my mound. My head fell back in pleasure. I was on fire. I imagined that there would be a wet spot on his pants if I moved. I could feel myself dripping and a light sheen of sweat beginning on the bridge of my nose and down my back.
He held my hips and ground into me along with the music. It was all I could do to stay standing.
It was like he could tell when I was about to spill over and cum- just from the constant friction against the most delicate parts of me. Just when the beat would drop and I was teetering at the top of the cliff he would change direction, change the rhythm just enough to knock me back from the edge. The fourth time he did it I growled in the back of my throat and he laughed, only to turn me again. With my back firmly to his front he nudged me toward the bar. Using me as a shield for what I could feel was an impressive erection. It was my only reassurance he was somewhere near as turned on and uncomfortable as I was.
~*~
We reached the bar and instead of finding me a place to sit like usual he just leaned me against the counter, still holding me tightly against him. He ordered two waters, one without ice and handed me one with a quiet murmur that I would need to be hydrated "for later". I hoped my intensifying blush could be disguised as a flush from the heat and exercise.
The water was beginning to cool me down, and I began to think that maybe I could make it through the evening without embarrassing myself too badly when I felt one of his hands beginning to drift again. The bar was at my chest and there was a small overhand so his hands were free to roam underneath. I knew what was coming but I couldn't help choking on my water when his hand cupped my pussy through the thin cloth of my skirt. His hand held me tightly for a moment and I swallowed my water. The constant firm pressure was almost comforting until he began to wiggle his middle finger until it was nestled between my lips with cloth of my skirt. I knew there was no way that there wasn't going to be a wet mark when he was done.
He spoke calmly to the bartender while he stroked me gently. The extra friction from the cloth was intoxicating, and almost too intense against my clit. But even still I couldn't help but begin to rock my hips along with his rhythm. Again he knew exactly when to pause to keep me on the edge.
I was again burning with need. I had no idea what he was talking about, all I could think of was his finger slipping inside of me, of his cock slipping inside me, or his tongue dipping inside me, of his cock trying to slide down my throat. I imagined all the positions he would, could fuck me, and how the different angles would feel as he slipped inside of me.
I was in the middle of an especially delicious scenario of modified missionary in front of a mirror when the conversation stopped. I drifted slowly back to the present and realized my mouth was open and eyes closed. My hips had paused mid thrust and when my eyes opened they met the bartender's. His eyes were dilated and filled with lust and I could only imagine the faces and sounds I had been making. Picturing as I had been watching his cock enter me slowly, dripping with my wetness, stretching me open- my eyes began to drift shut again the grip of the fantasy still strong.
"I think that's enough water." He laughed as he took the cup from my hand. His other hand left my mound as he steered me back toward the dance floor and the breath of cold wind and the slow un-sticking of the cloth from my pussy told me the skirt was soaked.
~*~