I snatched up my phone and swiped the green icon. “Hey.”
“Hello there, beautiful.”
The base in his voice made my stomach do a backflip. I played it cool. “Always the sweet talker. What are you up to?”
“I want you to come with me to a movie.”
“Is that so? What movie?”
“Does it matter?”
No! “Well, I’m not really into rom-coms, and anything with Sandra Bullock is grounds for divorce.”
He laughed and the sound sent a shiver down my back. “I’ll pick you up at seven. Oh… wear a loose dress or skirt.”
I frowned. “That’s strangely specific. Any other requests?”
There was a long silence. “Nope. Just the one.”
“Wait a minute, you never told me what we’re going to see.”
“You know what, you’re absolutely right. See you at seven.” He hung up without saying good-bye. A habit of his. In fact, I couldn’t recall a single instance where the conversation didn’t end abruptly. I asked him about it one day. His answer: “Good-byes are for when you don’t plan on seeing that person again. I plan on keeping you around for a while.” I swooned and never brought it up again.
My phone told me it was just after one in the afternoon. I started getting ready at four. I showered, did my nails, and proved what a girl I really am. I went through six dress and five skirts before settling for the black and blue doll dress with spaghetti straps, partially due to the new sandals I purchased the week before but hadn’t worn yet.
By six-thirty, I was ready. He rang my bell at five minutes till. I opened the door. “Hi.” He didn’t answer. He just stood in the doorway and looked at me, that arrogant smile on his face. “What?”
He stepped inside and wrapped his arms around me. His lips were on mine before I could protest, as if I would. Great kisser, this one. Soft lips, gentle tongue, and his hands massaged my back and made me melt in his embrace. I was breathless when he released me. “You look amazing.” His face was so close to mine I could feel his words on my skin.
“Thank you. You don’t look too bad yourself.”
He smiled that cocky smile. “What color jeans am I wearing?”
“Faded blue.”
He shook his head and released me. I stepped back and looked at his grey slacks. Well shit. “Whatever. Next time don’t attack me as soon as I open the door.” Please do!
He winked. “If you say so. You ready?”
I grabbed my purse. “Yeah.”
We went.
A goddamned rom-com. Oh, how I love the smell of burning popcorn in the evening. We’re sitting three rows from the back and almost dead center, all alone in the row. The movies been out for a few weeks, so it’s us, and about six other couples scattered around. Popcorn? Check. Cola? Check. Box of Goobers? Check. The lights dim and the trailers start. The first makes me wonder exactly how many superhero movies can get made before they run out of characters. The second is a theatrical debut of the blonde chick from SNL. I can’t really remember the third because that’s when he started rubbing my leg.
His hands are rough. Don’t ask me why, but that alone turns me on. I guess it has something to do with a man who works hard with his hands, building things, fixing things, hell, even destroying things, touching me as gently as he can…
His fingertips brush down my thigh, circle my knee, and then slide back up. He does this repeatedly, each time slow, soft, and deliberate.
And each time, he caress deeper and deeper between my thighs.
When the movie finally starts, he pulls my legs apart and drapes one leg over his. “What are you doing?” I whisper.
He shushes me and points to the screen with his free hand. I want to slap him for being so cocky, but then his finger traces my labia and my eyes roll. He massages me, the soft cotton of my panties between us. He squeezes and kneads my body with his fingertips and I can’t stop my hips from moving. I slide lower in the seat and spread my legs a little wider.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him smile.
When he pulls my panties to the side and the rough flesh of his hand touches me, I’m practically soaked. A finger slides between my lips and swirls around my opening. I bite my lip and grab his arm. Another finger joins the first and spread my lips wide, then trace a path up to my clit and start tickling it. It sends jolts up my spine and I jump with every twitch of his fingers. He gets me there within minutes. I bury my head in his shoulder and squeeze his arm. My legs slam shut and even trapped between my thighs, his fingers still flick me. The intensity of it makes me tug at his wrist. Not enough so he can’t touch me, but enough to where he can’t reach me. I can’t take it. Please don’t stop!
He waits until the climax fades before gently prying my legs apart again. I look up at him and his eyes are all for the screen. It’s like he’s not even aware he just made me quiver like a leaf in a wind storm. It’s almost upsetting. I’m about to make him stop when those two fingers slide inside me and press up. That’s all it takes. That one little move renders me limp and helpless, and I lose the power of speech. I can still moan, though.
He does it over, and over, and over. In, and up. In, and up. I feel something wet run down in between my ass and wonder if I should get more napkins. That’s when his fingers go in and up, and say “Come here”. Thoughts aren’t thoughts anymore. Just swirls of colors and flashes of lights in front of my tightly clinched eyes.
In and up. Come here. Come here. Come here. In and up. Come here. Come here. Come here. In and up, in and up, in and up, in and up. Come here. Come here. Come here. Come here. Come here. Come here. Come here. In and up. Come here!
Here I come, baby!
I feel my body clinch his fingers. My toes curl. I squeeze his arm with all my strength, and I use his shoulder to stifle the moan that explodes from my throat. And he keeps calling me. Come here. Come here. Come here.
I buck in the seat and kick the chair in front of me. And slap his shoulder a few times. I’m tapping out, damnit!
His fingers stop dancing inside me and after a few moments, my body releases him. His fingers come out with a rush of fluid that gives me a chill. It’s warm and thick and takes its time running down my body. He massages me a bit more and I tense at his touch. When he’s done he pulls free and wipes his hand off with some napkins. Then he takes a sip of the drink and offers me some. I accept eagerly. My throats dry and I feel dehydrated. Wonder why.
I give him back the cup and start to sit up. Somehow, I wound up with half my ass hanging off the edge of the cushion, one foot on the back of the chair in front of me, and the other leg still draped across his lap. It’s awkward as hell and not very comfortable.
“Stay there.” He whispers.
I frown at him. Now that the pleasures is fading, I’m becoming very aware of the crimp in my neck. I start to protest, but he intrigues me when he takes the lid off the cola, digs free a cube of ice, puts it in his mouth for a second, and then transfers it to his hand. I brace myself for what comes next.
The cold is both a blessing and a curse. My entire body goes rigid. The cooling sensation is like water on hot coals and an instant later, I’m melting back into place. I mean… it’s not that uncomfortable. When that ice cube is melted, and all that’s left is a cool puddle under my ass, he does it again, this time sliding the cube slowly in between my labia, and running it up over my clit, and down over my–
It slips from his fingers and slides inside me, and I suddenly feel all cold inside. I look up at him and can’t tell if he’s laughing at me or at the damn movie. He offers me a wink, then drapes his jacket over my lower region. He tends to me with a few napkins, and I consider asking him to switch seats. Let’s see you laugh when your underwear’s completely soaked and ice cold.
He discards the napkins. I’m all ready to return my seat back and tray table to their locked and upright position so I can at least try to enjoy the rest of the in-flight movie, when his had quickly returns to my body and I feel something… foreign.
It’s not altogether soft, and not exactly hard either. I’m about to ask “What the hell is that?” when he flicks a switch… and it starts vibrating. Now, I think I said “What the hell?”, but I’m pretty sure it sounded like “Holy fuck.”
I’ve never owned a vibrator. Never used one. Sure, I masturbate, but call me old fashion: fingers always got the job done. Okay, so there was the “Great Cucumber Experiment” of ’06, but in my defense: you drink five beers and take seven shots of tequila at a sorority party during hell week and see if you don’t wind up with something strange sticking out of your pooter. At least there were no pictures.
As he ran that thing in between my lips, up and down the length of me, teased my opening, and back and forth over my clit, I knew two things: 1) I was going to buy a vibrator in the very near future. And 2) I was about to cum. Hard.
Now, I can’t tell you what happened in the movie to make everyone else roar with laughter, but I’ll be damned if the timing couldn’t have been better. I screamed. Not like “Oh baby! That feels so good!” I’m talking jump off a cliff, stub your toe in the middle of the night, your asshole little brother jumps out from behind the shower curtain wearing a hockey mask while you’re taking a dump, scream!
I never felt anything so intense. My body seized and convulsed, and my legs felt like a California earthquake. And it didn’t stop. It was like the orgasms were a plate of all-you-can-eat pancakes, and the cook just kept piling them on, one on top of another, on top of another, on top of another.
And if that wasn’t bad enough, I squirted. Something I claimed was bullshit more than once while watching porn. I felt the cool liquid erupt from my body clear as day and it had nothing to do with my bladder. It sounded like rain against the leather of his jacket covering my legs and dripped down to the carpeted floor beneath us.
I clasp my hands over my mouth and clinched my legs together, moving his hand and that damned contraption away from my body. Only then did it stop. “Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.” He looked at me, his eyes full of sin and satisfaction, and he smiled. He turned off his toy, pulled his jacket from me, draped it over the seat in front of him, and just looked at my body.
My legs were still shaking. The seat cushion squelched when I moved. I sat there stunned, shocked, and amazed at my own body. Finally, I stood and went to the bathroom without a word to Mr. Full-of Surprises.
I cleaned up as best I could given the facilities. Can I just go on record as saying those air-blowing-hand-dryer-thingy’s are stupid! Where the fuck are all the paper towels? My panties were a soggy mess. I balled them up and put them in my purse. When I went back into the theater, I sat in the seat on the other side of him. It was dry. So was my throat. I killed the rest of the cola. I kissed him after. Long. Deep. Passionate. His hands massaged my ass and breasts. He tried to go back between my thighs and I stopped him. “You’ll have to carry me out of here.” I warned. He smiled and shrugged.
I sat back in my seat, dug out a clump of wet cotton, and threw it at him, hitting him right in the face. “I want those cleaned by tomorrow.”
The freaky bastard actually sniffed them before stuffing them into his jacket pocket.
Sure, I went “Ewww!”, but it did make me a little wet again.
I got a good grip on his hand, nestled back in my seat, and cleared my head. Time to watch this damn movie.
And that’s when the credits rolled.
What the actual hell?
That night, we had sex for hours. He used that toy on me and I left a puddle in the bed. We broke up a few months later. Cheating fucker. Now, I own three vibrators and bought a detachable shower head.
And to this day, I can’t tell you shit about the film he took me to… but it’s still my favorite movie ever.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/3o9tri/favorite_movie_mf_foreplay