Getting a Hand In [Fiction] [MF] [MILF] [Exhibitionist] [Long]

It had all started innocently enough. We had met online. On Reddit actually. I had made a post that was moderately humorous. He made a wickedly funny comment in response to it. I responded in a rather mischievous way. His reply was intriguing and revealed that he lived surprisingly close by.

Then, we continued our conversation over DMs. It was light-hearted, charming, and sometimes slightly flirtatious, though never overtly sexual or scandalous. There was, after all, a nearly than 20-year age gap between us. Our lives were completely at odds. I was a 41-year-old divorced mother of two and the acquisitions editor of a major publishing house. He was a 23-year-old university dropout, working in a hobby and games shop that hosted Dungeons & Dragons campaigns. The thought that we could be anything more than casual *online* friends was absurd!

But then, we decided to meet *in real life*. For lunch and a movie. After all, we had discovered that we shared many things in common. We both enjoyed Japanese food, listening to acid jazz, and reading cosy British murder mysteries. And there was a new movie coming out, based on a book that we had both enjoyed reading. We both agreed that we should have lunch and then go and watch the movie *together*. It only made sense, after all.

So, that day, after a very enjoyable lunch where we laughed at each other’s jokes and continued to be astonished at how much we had in common, we found ourselves only two of a handful of people scattered throughout the theatre. It was clearly *not* a very popular movie. And, so we settled ourselves three rows from the back, with only one other patron anywhere near us – a very grumpy-looking elderly woman about two rows behind us.

A bit into the movie, I shifted in my seat and crossed my tired legs. I had gone to work earlier that day and my delicate stiletto shoes were making my legs ache terribly. In the darkness, I heard him take a sharp intake of breath. But it was during quite a dramatic moment, so I did not think too much of it. However, as the movie’s plot slowed and I could hear the rapid, nervous pace of his breathing continue, I began to wonder what was the matter.

Looking down, I realised then that the slit in my narrow skirt had revealed quite a lot more of my legs than I had intended and my pale skin almost glowed in the darkness. It was inviting. Too inviting. And I reached forward to pull my skirt down. But then, I felt his hand on mine. It was the universal gesture to stop. “Don’t do that,” it seemed to say. And so, I stopped, settling back in my seat.

We never spoke a word. My eyes never left the screen. I never even turned my head. But I could feel his hand land on my knee the moment I had settled back in my seat. His hand caressed my knee, softly, subtly. Stroking it firmly but gently, as one would pat a slightly nervous cat. And, in truth, I was trembling very slightly at his touch. It had been so long since any man had touched me like that, least of all my ex-husband.

In the darkness, I saw him lean forward out of the corner of my eye and I felt his hand slowly, deliberately move down my leg, from my knee to my calf. And the pressure from his fingertips increased, so that he was now massaging the weary muscles on either side of my leg with long, purposeful strokes. Down from the knee to my ankle and back up again. Over and over, slowly and emphatically. There was no mistaking how good it made me feel. And I almost groaned out loud in pleasure.

Then, he did something quite unexpected. Leaning forward a little more, he caressed my ankle and slid a finger under the thin ankle strap that held my shoe in place, slipping it off with well-practiced ease. The casual confidence of the gesture nearly made me gasp, and my heart thumped loudly in my chest. I wanted to tell him to stop but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. So, I quickly turned my head to look at the old lady behind us, to see if she realised what we were up to. But thankfully, she seemed fully engrossed in the movie.

By now, his hand had reached down to my bare foot, and his thumb was now comfortably pressed against my sole. He could feel where the knots and tightness were – the result of years of wearing perilously high stilettos – and was patiently rubbing away the pain, massaging all the sore muscles and tendons in my foot. After a moment’s indecision, I gently pushed my foot into his hand, letting him know that I approved of this. And I could feel the pressure of his fingers increase in response, as he worked his way down to the tips of my toes, gently tugging at them, stretching them, easing the tension out of them.

Then, his hand stopped and I felt almost cross at the abrupt cessation of pleasure. But I smiled shyly in the darkness when his hand began to move again. Now, it began to glide up my calf, circling my knee almost teasingly, before pressing my outer thigh, and sliding into the slit in my skirt. And I felt the tips of his fingers explore. Patiently caressing the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. Cautiously enjoying the warmth there. The feeling of this unfamiliar hand on my bare skin almost made me shiver. There was an almost primal need here – a desire to explore a new and fertile territory. Ripe for command and conquest.

But he could progress no further between my legs. They were crossed. I was flushed with indecision. My body was frozen. Should I uncross my legs and let him explore further? Or pull that mischievous hand away and chide him for taking such liberties with a woman nearly twice his age?

His touch felt so wrong and yet so right all at once. My every nerve was on fire as his fingers continued their upward journey. But since he could not get in between my legs, his fingers followed the valley created by my two thighs pressed together, till they reached the top of my delicate lace underwear. Then, so quickly that I almost didn’t realise what was happening, his fingers eased over the soft elastic band and slid into the top of my knickers, feeling the top of my pubic mound.

Mine was perfectly smooth and hairless. The result of IPL years ago. My entire bikini area was hairless, in fact. And I heard him softly moan his approval in the dark, as his fingertips lightly tickled me, urgently, persuasively. Open up, they seemed to say, and I did. Everything about this seemed so wicked and dangerous, and I loved it. The unspoken sexual tension that had been absent from my life for so many years burned within me once again.

I uncrossed my legs, parting them just enough for him to slide his hand into my knickers, still enveloped in the warmth of my thighs. And, I heard him whisper, “Good girl.” Just loud enough for me alone to hear. And a shiver ran down my spine at his words.

Now, his hand continued its exploration in earnest. I could feel his palm pressed firmly against my public mound as his fingers traced the lips of my labia. Stroking them over and over, taking delight in their velvety softness, till I almost felt like purring in response. Then, with two fingers, he very gently parted the outer lips of my pussy and began to stoke more firmly, insistently, along the inner lips of my labia. I could feel a familiar aching need building up within me and I drew my breath so sharply that it was halfway between a moan and a growl of desire. And I clutched the arms of my seat to steady myself.

Then, without warning, I felt his middle finger glide the length of my wet pussy, making first contact with my clit. Tickling it ever so gently. Just with the very tip of his finger. It was just the tiniest of vibrations, but it felt as powerful as an earthquake and my body moved instinctively in response. My desire took control of my mind and body and my hips moved gently to his rhythm. They encouraged his fingers to go deeper within me, as my back arched and my head pressed back against the seat. The build-up of pleasure within me was undeniable and unstoppable. I could feel my nipples grow hard, pressing against the silken lace of my bra. My underwear was now so wet that I was pretty sure that I was going to leave a rather large damp puddle on my seat.

Then, finally, after what seemed like a torturously long time, he sank two fingers into my warm, wet pussy and pressed upwards and inwards, seeking my g-spot. And when he heard me stifle a moan, he knew that he had found it. By now, my legs were well-parted, pressing outward against the arms of the seat, offering him as much access as possible under the circumstances. My skirt had now ridden so high that it was lying in folds around my hips. My legs were trembling, and I could feel the ache building to unbearable levels within my pussy. Teasing my clit with his thumb and stroking my g-spot with his middle and forefinger, he was close to making me cum. And I wanted him to, more than anything in the world. The movie had long since been forgotten.

Just then, there was a crash of music and the movie came to an abrupt end. We both quickly came to our senses. He pulled his hand out from between my legs, and wiped his dripping fingers against the leg of his pants. I hurriedly pulled down my skirt and put on my shoe, slipping the strap over my ankle. Then, the house lights came on and, one by one, people stood up and shuffled their way to the exit.

I couldn’t bring myself to look him in the eye. I had forgotten myself in the heat of the moment. What must he think of me? Looking down, I fussed over my bag and its contents, hoping he would get up and leave first. But he didn’t. Instead, I heard him speak, for the first time since we had sat down in the cinema…

“Would you like to watch another movie with me tomorrow? There’s a new movie called *Heat* that’s showing. I think we’ll both enjoy it.”

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/gclbm0/getting_a_hand_in_fiction_mf_milf_exhibitionist