[FM] The time I [26F] discovered the best place to get finger fucked is on a rooftop in Brooklyn

Summer, 2019. The kind of weather where you feel it’s a shame—not just a shame, but a waste—to be wasting away indoors, and yet, that’s what I was doing. Alone again. Half-watching TV, but paying more attention to the drama unfolding on the endless feed on my phone. Sprawled out on my bed. Wondering how it was that it was another Saturday night and I had no plans.

And then I realized: It didn’t have to be like this. I’d just moved to Brooklyn, so now my world was infinitely bigger than it was in New Jersey, even if my apartment was smaller. Translations? I had options! A good time was within reach! I went off Instagram, and onto—drumroll please—the apps. As true romantic, there’s never a time when I’m not scrolling through the apps hoping I’ll meet my weirdo, who is equally matched in wit and sex drive. That night, though, I was happy to settle for the latter.

I swiped and swiped until I met a guy. Let’s call him Hugh. Hugh had, first of all, a face that made him destined to be cast as a sidekick in a CW show. Undeniably handsome but in an understated way. And Hugh was a block–yes, a block—away from my new apartment. Quickly, we agreed to make plans for a drink at 10 p.m. at a dive nearby. He let me know it was his birthday, but was new to the city and had no one to celebrate with. Suddenly I felt less bad about being all alone. At least it wasn’t my *birthday*.

Walking into the bar, I immediately saw a guy sitting that I *hoped* was Hugh. When the door swung open, he looked up and we locked eyes. His face burst into the same big, warm smile that I’d seen on his profile. He passed the first test: He was who he said he was. Now, onto learning whether he was a swamp monster. *That* would take conversation.

“Want to sit at the bar?” he asked. There was a free seat next to him. I’d already decided that I wanted to be as close to him as possible, in case he wanted to put his hand on my knee. Or even higher. Yes, that’s where my mind wanders—always, higher.

“Let’s do it,” I said, sliding next to him. We bantered with the bartender and both ordered elaborate cocktails. Under the pink lights of the bar, we both looked washed up and magical at the same time. Since the place was pretty empty, we could have a conversation about everything—from politics to our families. Given the breadth of the conversation, I wasn’t sure if this was a *date* date, or a “prelude to fucking” date. Either way, I wanted to see where the story ended.

The whole time, I was watching his left hand. I leaned my shoulder closer so that I touched him at one point. Soon, I felt his hand on my knee. Our bodies were having a conversation that our mouths weren’t; saying everything we weren’t bold enough to say. Yes.

We talked until my voice was hoarse. Finally, we both finished our drinks. It seemed obvious that the night was not over, that the night was just getting started. That the drinks were just a test to see what the rest of the night would go.

“I have a roof,” he said, deciding our destination. First, we walked to the CVS across the street to get beer. Walking down the Brooklyn street, holding his hand—it felt like I was doing the whole New York thing right. In no time, we were at the lobby of his building. He walked me all the way up the five flights to the top floor, where we stopped below a hole in the ceiling.

“Here’s the thing,” he said. “You’re going to have to climb up a ladder to get up to the roof.”

“What?!” I gasped. Ladders are *not* my thing, it should be known. Neither are heights. Or big waves. “I’m sorry. There’s no way I’m doing that.”

“Come on,” he said, putting the beer down and holding me from behind. Together we looked up at the ladder. It wasn’t *so* bad. “You go up first. I’ll make sure nothing happens.”

Trembling, I held onto the bottom rung and heaved myself up. Did I enjoy hoisting myself onto a roof? No. Did I enjoy what came next? Yes. Very, very much.

This wasn’t a fancy roof, y’all. It was the top of a brownstone building. Unfinished. Like the set of *West Side Story*, or something Peter Parker would land on and leap off mid-chase. I felt like a street kid, naughty and about do something memorable. He sat down at the side of the roof, on a raised platform or a bench. I sat down next to him, and he realized that he didn’t bring a beer opener. “I’ll be right back,” he said, going to his apartment.

Instead of killing the mood, his absence made me ache. As he was gone, I thought about where I wanted his hands to go, now that he was about to sit next to me. On my neck, as his teeth bit my lower lip. Grabbing my hair as he tilted my head back. Another hand, twisting my nipple. Hands moving down, rubbing up and down on my undies, making me beg for him to slip them under the side and touch my hot, wet pussy. Make that my *burning up* pussy.

Finally, he got back with the beer opener. By then, I wasn’t in the mood for beer. “Come here,” I said, and stared at him for long enough to know what I wanted him to do next. He leaned in, ignoring the six-pack of beer once and for all, and kissed me. It was a kiss that lingered. He put his hands around my head as he slowly parted his lips, and then more intensely separated mine, too. He used his tongue to tease me, not to overwhelm me. His left hand traveled up to my ear, and his mouth followed. Tugging my love with his teeth. This much was clear: He knew what he was doing.

He moaned into my ear. “I’ve been wanting to do that,” he said. “Did you know you have a beauty mark right here?” He asked, pointing to a tiny mark I have on my ear. He kissed it, too. “I want you to stay just like that. Sit there, like a good girl. And don’t move, for as long as you can.”

Then his mouth traveled back to my (super sensitive) neck, where a single well-placed kiss can send lightning bolts to my pussy. Exhaling into my neck, his body curled towards mine. Then his right hand traveled down, past the boundary of my dress, past my bra, where he cupped my boob. I leaned into him—and suddenly, he stopped. “Don’t move,” he said, harshly, into my ear. “What did I say?”

“Don’t move,” I repeated.

“Good girl. If you move, if you disobey me, then I won’t be able to do this,” he said. Then he started to tweak my nipples, which made it nearly impossible for me to stay still. I moaned loudly. “*Please*,” I said. *”Please*.”

“Whining is not allowed here,” he said. “I’m going to have to punish you for that.”

“But I didn’t move,” I said.

“Doesn’t matter. You complained,” he said. And then he took the straps of my dress and ran them past my shoulders so that my bra was exposed, and then he unhooked my bra, and I was officially topless on a roof in Brooklyn (!). “I’m going to suck on your titties now. The longer you stay perfectly still, the more pleasure you’ll get.” His tongue flicked my nip. I shuddered. “That’s a warning.”

One hand slowly caressed my nipple and his mouth licked, gently, the other. So soft, and yet so intense that I thought I was going to combust. “Oh god,” I said. “Please.”

“Yeah? You like that?” He said.

“So much,” I said, holding onto his shoulders so that I wouldn’t fall into him. As he came closer, he spread my legs even more. It seemed like he was worshipping me. “That feels so good.” And it did. Gradually, his movements became more intense. Instead of flicking my nipple with his tongue, he wrapped his whole mouth around it, and gently grazed it with his teeth, like a warning he could bite me if he wanted to. He licked his other finger and then twisted my nipple with his wet finger. He did this for a while.

And then for a while longer.

And then he kept going. He did it for so long that I thought my bottom half was going to melt off completely. His hand still hadn’t traveled to my flaming pussy. “Please touch my pussy,”I said, finally.

“I was wondering when you’d ask,” he murmured, into my boob. Then he sat back up—the wrong direction!—and spoke into my ear. His left hand held onto my left knee, pulling it toward him, farther apart. “What do you want me to do?”

“I want…”

“Come on, baby. You can do it,’ he said, outlining my mouth with his finger. I played back, putting his finger into my mouth, sucking it in front of him. We made eye contact with my finger in his mouth. His eyes were half-open with desire.

“I want to come on your fingers,” I said, finally, leaning in so that now I was whispering into his ear. He exhaled, once I finally said it. I grabbed his hands and placed them on my pussy. Finally. “I want my pussy to clench your fingers as I come. I want you to finger fuck me so hard that I squirt all over this roof.” Now his hand was pressed flat against my undies. I must’ve looked like one dirty slutt.

“Yeah, baby? Is that what you want?” He asked, biting my ear again. “What are you gonna do if I leave you here, like this?” He spread my legs even farther, and took his hand away from my pussy.

I nearly gasped. The thought of being left like this, pulsing with unmet desire—it was unthinkable. But I’d begged enough. There was no more time for begging. So I ran my hands through his hair and pulled his head back, until he was looking at me. “You’re not going to do that. You’re gonna rub me until I come, because that’s what you want, too.” Then I kissed him roughly. “Go,” I said. “Do it.”

His hand crept down, back to my pussy. “Fine. But take off your undies, you slut,” he said. I sat up and wriggled my panties down so they were near my ankles. I realized at any moment, someone could catch us.

The night air hit my pussy at the same time as his fingers did. He pressed into both sides of my pussy. One, after another. Skipping my slit entirely, as if he had a month to make me come, and was going to take all 30 days. Then finally, he ran his fingers up my slit so that I shuddered. “More,” I said. “More of that.” He opened up my pussy folds like an inspector, pushing them apart. He concentrated on my pussy opening, moving his hands around it, but not inside.

My clit, meanwhile, neglected and close to catching on fire. Still, he stayed down there, exploring the first few millimeters of my pussy, until finally, accidentally, brushing my clit. With that, I gasped. “You like that, don’t you?” He asked. He was still sitting up straight, measuring my reactions. At that point, all I could manage was one word: *More*.

He touched the corner of my clit. Pressed it once or twice. Then, with two fingers, one on each side, he began to rub back and forth. Slowly. My hips rocked with him. I arched my back and tilted my head so that my hair was skimming the bench. A few more seconds of this, and I’d come everywhere—and then he stopped.

The bastard.

He plunged his fingers into my pussy, and then said, “Hold on tight.” All of a sudden, he was finger fucking my pussy with such intensity that I nearly leapt off of the bench. I screamed and then muffled my moans on his shoulder. *Oh my god, oh my god,* I repeated, over and over, my ass lifting up off the bench as he finger fucked me. He was able to hit my g-spot as he pumped my pussy. All this time, and I still have yet to find the words that describe the exquisite bliss of a person’s fingers filling me up. The deliberateness of the act. He could gauge the right number of fingers (two), the right pace (fast and hard), the right angle. I love being fucked, but this is so precise—and it’s all about *me*.

Finally, he did what I needed to do. He brought his other leg around me, so that we were both sitting on the bench, me in front of him. His left hand continued to finger fuck me. His right hand started to move in circles on my clit. At that point, I had nowhere to moan but the open air. I leaned back onto his chest and tried not to scream.

“Yeah, I can feel you getting close,” he said, roughly, in my ear. “I feel you getting tight around my fingers. Mmm, baby, you’re so wet and tight. I’m going to take you downstairs and fuck you so hard that you can’t walk tomorrow. You know that, right? That after this, your pussy is mine to plunge into? That I’m just doing this to get you ready for me?”

His right hand found a rhythm that led me closer and closer to coming. Around and around he went. I felt that exquisite brightness building up in my pussy. A warmth. A fire. It began to spread to my legs, my chest, my fingers. If he kept going, just as he was, then I would explode in no time.

“Are you gonna come for me, baby girl? Is that why you’re moaning so hard, so that the neighbors can hear? Mmm, when I jerk off in a few days, it’ll be to this, baby, you on the roof, all mine,” he said. I could feel his cock getting harder, if that was possible. “I want you to tell me when you’re going to come.”

It was happening. And then it finally happened, the light was brighter to the point where I sensed it in the back of my eyelids, a pressure. “Do it,” he said, and then I did it, I let go, bucking against his fingers as my pussy convulsed, my eyes fluttered, my whole body succumbed to the pleasure of release after a long climb.

He kept his fingers in my pussy until I recovered and my breathing went back to normal. Kissing the back of my neck, he asked me, “So?”

“It was…amazing,” I said.

“Good,” he said, pulling me closer. “Because it’s not over.” I felt his cock pulsing through his jeans. He was right. It wasn’t over. “But I’m taking you downstairs. You’re mine for the rest of the night.”

**Part 2, to be continued!**

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/hztkfd/fm_the_time_i_26f_discovered_the_best_place_to