Went out tonight, a social event, human peoples gathering together to chat and share an experience. I was solo this evening. I sometimes drag P to outings, people love her exuberance, she’s such a queen bee. Drones buzz around her, hoping she’ll take them to her hive. With her, I can sit back and observe the animalistic mating behaviors of our species. Not tonight though, it was just me. I’d been feeling especially keyed up for the past few weeks, I was hoping the story telling and people watching might calm my overactive nerves.
I had ditched my usual baggy jeans/t-shirt attire for something a little more appropriate for an arty Story Slam crowd. Leggings and a loose fitting tunic shirt that hung down mid thigh. I had even broken out an actual bra, the red one that was just a little too small to completely contain the girls-my cleavage was practically spilling out of my low cut shirt. I felt a little self conscious, but not enough to change.
I got to the event room at the art center, grabbed a drink from the cash bar, and stood at a table in the back corner. I had been sitting at my work desk all day, and it felt so nice to lean up against this tall table. I tend to fidget and move when I’m standing, and I didn’t want to distract others with my kinetic whatnots. There were windows behind me, I could watch the headlights speed past down the main street it was absolutely mesmerizing. The room was filling up quickly, the buzz of a hundred people trying to talk at once.
I was gazing out the window when I felt someone standing beside me at the table. A tenor voice asked if I minded sharing the space. I turned my face to him and jokingly said I’d been waiting all night just for him to show up. I took a long sip of my drink, and smiled. He laughed and I saw him peer down and linger on my chest. I was leaning on the table at an angle that basically let him look completely down my shirt front. I held my position, and felt hot, it excited me to tease this stranger. I was kind enough to warn him about my inability to stand still for any amount of time. He said he had the same unfortunate affliction, and that made us the perfect table mates.
Story teller introductions started and the room was darkened, the only lights being on the performers and the passing cars. We both leaned closely against the tiny table. Within moments of the room going dark, our arms, then fingers touched. Instant animal magnetism. He placed his hand over mine and slowly, rhythmically rubbed his thumb into my palm. I had to bite my lip to keep from whimpering out loud. He moved so he was standing behind me, and in the dark slipped his hands under the loose fabric of my shirt. He deftly unhooked my bra, freeing my large breasts from their satin prison, and ran his fingers up and down my spine. His breath was hot against my neck, and I felt myself pressing back against him. He moved his fingers from my back, around to cup my heavy breasts in both hands, pinching, kneading them. He started whispering the most amazing filth right against my ear, telling me his own story, in very explicit detail what liberties he wanted to take with my body. I tried reaching my own hands back to touch him, but he commanded I keep hold on the table… he guaranteed that he was going to make me lose my balance if I didn’t hold on to something. I could feel his stiff cock pressed against my backside, I couldn’t help but wiggle against it. One of his hands continued to massage my tits, while the other trailed down, slipping inside the waistband of my leggings, and found my pussy, already wet and throbbing for his touch. I wanted to cry out, but couldn’t risk drawing attention to us. The story telling was still going on, the rest of the audience in rapt attention, but all I could hear was his hot, quiet pornographic murmurs against my ear. His fingers slipped easily inside me, the heel of his hand rubbing against my clit, while his cock was grinding against me from behind. He was right, I needed to hold on to that table or I would have fallen. I looked to my right, and wondered if anyone driving past even realized what they could see out of the corner of their eye.That just excited me more, thinking random passersby were catching subliminal images of someone getting finger banged in the windows of the art center.I’m sure it happens all the time.I was shaking quietly, he removed his hand from my breast, and I felt him fumble with his own pants, then felt cool air as he pulled my waistband down from behind. My tunic shirt long enough to hide our exposure from the front. He bent me forward against the table, spread my legs with his own, and guided his cock into me from behind, fucking me so painfully slowly. It was absolute torture, I needed his dick fast and furious, I needed to fucking cum right then! He kept at the slow, barely moving pace, my frustration building. The last performer before the break was nearly done with their tale. He slid himself out of me, and adjusted his pants, re-positioning himself next to me, like nothing out of the ordinary was going on. Intermission was called and people start moving about the room. He grabbed my hand and lead me out to the lobby, behind the stairs where there is a locking changing room for the dance class held during the week. He bent me over the counter in front of the mirror, hands tugging at his pants, I pulled down my leggings, and he slammed that rock hard cock back inside of me. We watched ourselves fuck in the mirror, there was no slow tenderness that time, it was hard, deep rutting. His eyes were dark and heavy in the mirror, watching my reactions to his dirty whispers, watching my tits bounce to the rhythm of his thrusts. I could feel my orgasm building quickly, silently panting. I pushed back against the counter to take him deeper. The tip of him kept colliding with my g spot, and I was quickly climaxing, my cunt gripping him in spasm after spasm. He hoarsely murmured that he needed to cum and asked where I wanted it. I practically begged him to cum on my tits. He pulled out and I turned around, watching his hands stroke himself. I got down on my knees in front of his beautiful package, and couldn’t help myself, I shoved his hand away and took him in my mouth instead, my own hand wrapping around his silken skin. He tasted amazing, his pre cum mixed with the taste of my own. I cupped his balls, and massaged the space behind them firmly. My tongue trailed over the tip of his cock, the same tip that minutes ago was furiously bruising the deepest part of me. I took all of him in my mouth, held him there, and sucked firmly. His hands guided my head, making me take him deeper, I was up for the challenge. I pressed my fingers harder behind his balls, rubbing small circles against the sensitive spot. I heard him moan quietly, and gutterally warn me that he was cumming, then felt his dick twitch, his warm load filling my mouth. So much delicious cum, I swallowed the lot of it, and held him there until the spasms stopped. He was a gentleman, and helped me up off the floor, then re-hooked my bra. My hands lingered on his package, stroking his soft, wet skin as I helped him pull up his pants, tucking himself away. As we left the changing room, he playfully asked if he would see me at the next Story Slam. A wink and a maybe was my reply as I walked out into the chill February night. I couldn’t wait to get home and share my story about my adventure out on the town with my sexy penpal. It gets me off when he lets me know a story has tickled his pervy bone. I hope he can get off to this one, and tell me about it.