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Recent posts

Finger: part one
12 Steps
Rock it
How not to chat up The Girl

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Wednesday, September 07, 2005

Finger: part two 

“You weren’t lying” he said, as he gently stroked my arse.

“About what?”

“About not wearing any underwear” he replied, running his hand along the curve of my bum where my knickers would have been, had I chosen to wear them.

“I would never lie about something as important as that”, I said. “Anyway, I just forgot to put them on”

He laughed. “Of course, that must be it – you forgot

I grinned at him, and felt his hand travel lower down my arse cheek.

Moving my arm to stabilise myself, I placed my hand on the couch between his legs, and noticed that if I subtly rested my forearm against him, I could feel his hardening cock pushed up against me through his jeans.

“Mmm”, he said, his cock giving a little twitch, “that feels good”.

I pushed my arm further back and could now feel his cock straining behind the denim. His hand gently tugged at my dress; his fingers exploring my bare skin beneath it.

I looked at him smiling at me, felt the throbbing between my legs increase tenfold, and tried to think clearly.

We were sitting in a public bar. Not only was it well lit, but it was busy too; there were people sitting either side of us on the couch. To indulge in any sort of play surely meant attracting attention to ourselves; though appealing, this was not really the sort of environment in which to explore exhibitionist tendencies.

Added to which, I barely knew this chap, and had been trying to maintain dignified intellectual conversation with him; I was worried that if I resorted to indulging my carnal desires, it might scupper the correspondence we had previously developed, which would be a shame on many counts.

But the main problem was that I was all too aware of the fact that my pussy was fucking soaking and I was immensely turned on and needed some release. Feeling his erection pressed up against the back of my forearm was driving me crazy: all I wanted to do was rip off his trousers and grip his cock in my hands, And, with his hand on my behind, I badly wanted his fingers to slide further down so he could discover how wet I was.

I tried desperately hard to focus – to remind myself that I was not a slave to my desires, that I could be dignified, friendly and connect on a non-sexual level. And that I could behave in public – even with a dripping wet pussy.

But with his gentle stroking of my arse, I couldn’t bear it anymore, and I raised myself so he could have better access to sliding his fingers under my dress and down between my legs.

And then I sat on his hand.

“My god you’re wet” he whispered in my ear, as he rubbed his fingers along my soaking pussy.

Jesus it felt good: too good. As he stroked me lightly, I felt myself quiver, and I couldn’t stop myself from gently grinding against him and asking him to put his fingers inside me.

Waves of pleasure washed over me as his fingers entered me; I responded the only way I could - in this very public place - by pushing my forearm back and forth in time with his throbbing cock.

It all felt divine: his fingers softly stroking my wetness, my arm pressing against his erection; I felt myself getting carried away by it all, my pleasure increasing with each stroke he gave me and each pulse of his cock against my forearm.

And then I knew what was to come.

That is – me coming. It was inevitable; there was nothing I could do to stop it. Forget men and their ‘point of no return’: when it comes to this Girl, there are no brakes that can stop this orgasm train.

I looked around me, saw the girl seated next to me deep in conversation, and I held on to the couch as hard as I could, to try to prevent the climactic shaking on the way being noticeable.

Feeling his fingers moving faster inside me, it was all I could do to stop myself shouting,

“Oh god, fuck me, I need you to fuck me” and turning around, unzipping him and sitting reverse-cowgirl on his hard cock.

But instead, I had to hold my breath, grit my teeth, and feel my body and all my muscles become rigid as I held back the shuddering and convulsions.

I came hard, dripping onto his fingers as I did so.

“You’re so naughty” he whispered in my ear, kissing my neck.

Still shaking from the aftershocks, I said breathlessly “It’s you; you’re bringing it out of me”.

He laughed, and kept moving his fingers inside me - a dangerous thing to do.

It’s all very well my having an orgasm in public - mere inches away from other people - far from it that I should complain about such wondrous pleasure. And since the people around me didn’t seem to realise that the jerking body movements I was having were due not to my being tickled, but because I was trying to contain an explosive climax, I shouldn’t have worried really.

But when I then had three more orgasms from him fingering me in clear view of at least 70 other people, it surely should have been some cause of concern for me.

It wasn’t.

Preoccupied with his hand constantly moving between my legs, I instead focussed on the sensations in my soaked pussy; the responding throbbing of his cock pushing up against my forearm, and somehow all my worries and inhibitions disappeared.

And when a mutual acquaintance came over to our couch, to say goodbye to everyone on it, I whispered in his ear,

“What if he reaches out to shake your hand?”

He grinned at me, and rubbing me harder, replied,

“I was thinking the exact same thought”

With the fingers of his right hand deep inside me, and my thumb now circling the outline of his cock through his jeans, we politely waited to bid our farewells.

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