The music is awesome. Some songs border on big band-type jazz while many are smooth and sensuous. We talk, joke, laugh and largely relax as we let the music work its magic. Soon you turn with your back to me and lean back against me. While you sip wine, I caress your shoulders and breasts. You smile warmly, but also look around reflecting that you are still cognizant of our public locale. Seeing other couples and groups in various positions of comfort and diverse stages of intimate embrace you relax and let the music, the wine and I treat you to an evening free of inhibitions.
As we enjoy more music and more wine we become more relaxed. While relaxed, I am unable to resist pursuing additional exploration of your body. After massaging your neck and shoulders for nearly fifteen minutes or at least for the duration of two songs and a saxophone solo that nearly brought the place to its feet, I slip a hand down your scoop neck top and massage your breasts occasionally gently rolling your nipples between my fingers. You moan softly and casually hike your skirt up a little. This signal is interpreted by me as a desire for more than your breasts to be treated to my hands. The aforementioned table cloth provides cover and privacy so I reach down and stroke your bare thighs. With each subsequent stroke my fingers travel higher on your thighs and your internal monologue is wondering why I am teasing you so.
With no intention of teasing you, I am resisting rapid progression against all my animal desires to throw you up on the table and fuck you wildly. I continue the gentle strokes and enjoy the building desire in us both. Eventually I find the upper most part of your leg, the area that is leg no more. I gingerly brush the hair of your pussy with my fingers. You respond by moaning and arching your back trying to raise your hips and pelvic area forcing my fingers to exert more pressure. I push against your pussy with my fingers and slowly follow the contour of your opening wetting my fingers with your juices. I withdraw my hand and lick my fingers. I linger to breathe deeply from them the scent I love most in the world.
The band begins a particularly lively tune and I take the cue to return to your moistened pussy. I part the lips and insert a finger into your pussy. I begin slowly moving it in and out. You are squirming. I partially withdraw and concentrate on rubbing your clit in a circular motion, then harder up and down. No longer squirming, you are intensely rocking up and down to meet my thrusts. I move faster and faster and faster again. As the music crescendos you let out a mild scream and quickly back it off to a muffled whimper as you soak my hand and your skirt (and the new upholstery).
The scene is repeated two or three more times throughout the evening and you are satisfied, a little tired, very relaxed, a little drunk and somewhat uncomfortable from soaking your skirt. You turn toward me and attack my mouth with yours and our tongues wrestle lustily for an eternity. We finish our wine and we head for the door after nearly two hours of great jazz and heavy petting. As we walk out the door you look around sheepishly begging me to block the view of the large wet spot on the back of your skirt.
At the car, you surprise me by dropping to your knees on the other side of the car, away from public view. You unzip my pants with such urgency and lust that my knees buckle. You remove my cock and attack it with a passion. Sucking aggressively at first, and then playfully flicking the head. After long licking strokes the length of the shaft you take it all in again as if you are daring me to hold back the river of cum that seeks to explode in your mouth. Not wanting it all to end that way I force you away and guide you over to the hood of the car.
