beyond the pale

I couldn’t help myself.

Maybe I could’ve,
should’ve,
would’ve but,
I didn’t.
I failed to stop myself from following my demon and not my angel.

His hand was already on my knee, just there, a mere few inches below the hem of my skirt. I hadn’t planned for a night out with the girls would result in meeting a man, a stranger, though I should know from past experience that my habit of talking to anyone and everyone and of rarely saying no to anything that something like this could be a distinct possibility. By now my emotions were firing on all cylinders, as were my senses, especially the nerve endings up and down my legs, on one of which lay his hand, his bare skin familiarly resting upon my bare skin.

It serves me right perhaps for being so friendly, too friendly, too easily turned by a sexy-looking face, especially one with such penetrating eyes and a voice that seemed to caress the ears with every word it spoke.

The bar was crowded, vibrant bustling bodies revelling in that end of the week buzz, taking the chance to come down, de-stress and debrief. Though I didn’t say anything out loud I was surreptitiously growing a fantasy inside my head which included him, this face in the crowd who was slowly becoming right here and now more than that. Our conversation seemed to be bottomless as others came and went, some who either I knew or he knew, my own friends obviously to me having been slowly putting a little distance between me and them assuming I was ‘getting off’ with this guy. It wasn’t the plan but I could see how it must have looked, especially now with physical contact not inches away from the blue floral chiffon skirt, although I was sure he was moving upwards almost imperceptibly even as I sat facing him as he stood facing each other surrounded people.

A tightening in my stomach, across my waist, the butterflies perhaps were getting restless. As I hadn’t protested his hand it stayed there too long to by now say or do anything other than leave things as they were.

I smiled in all the right places, I think, and heard myself joyfully chattering away at which he also smiled and seemed content to listen too. Just the tips of his fingers were moving, like you would over braille, delicately, careful to take in every detail. I found it invigorating.

Maybe I could’ve;
should’ve,
would’ve but,
I didn’t.

Each tiny motion sent even tinier electric shocks through me, the kind that in their weird way make you want more and not less. Not that I showed this in my expression or the tone of my voice, although I admit it was tricky and no doubt any expert in micro-expressions wouldn’t found a different tale being told.

One then two then three fingertips edged their under my skirt. I smoothed down my skirt as an almost polite and casual excuse to edge his hand away. It worked but only for a minute. It happened again then again and each time I find my resolve dissolving until finally I didn’t and his fingers stayed just there, just there under the hem.

He smiled
I smiled.

Perhaps I should’ve slapped him but I didn’t want too. I liked him and admittedly was enjoying the attention. Perhaps it was the drink, but I’d hardly had anything, so perhaps it was down to my libido responding to an obvious chemical reaction that was occurring between us.

His fingers slid from the side of my thigh still barely under my skirt, over the front and in between my legs making me adjust myself on the stool. We were surrounded by people but they no longer mattered, not that we did to them either, each and all in their own bubble-worlds. I was not sure how so soon we’d become so familiar, and this was becoming very familiar. I looked around to ensure no one was watching and as I did his fingers squeezed between my thighs which I still held demurely closed. I smoothed my skirt down but his hand remained partly hidden beneath. He moved a little closer so as to block anyone who might notice. To anyone now we’d just look like to very close friends chatting and not with one with his hand sneaking under my skirt. We’d stopped talking even though in my head I was still bizarrely having a conversation. I sipped my drink, glanced into a mirror which lined the back of the bar and saw him also looking into it and into my eyes.

He smiled.
I smiled.

His touch kept moving along my bare legs. I felt his nails, short as they were still gently scraped and teased. If I didn’t stop this he would soon be touching me somewhere I was not expecting to be so before this night began. I stopped him, placed my hand on my skirt and pressed against his underneath halting its insatiable progress. As much as I was finding it intensely stimulating I was torn with us being in public, what if someone noticed, it would just take a moment and it would be obvious what I allowing to happen. What if one of my friends saw, friends who were now scattered across the bar intent on their own conversations.

He tried to slide up higher; I held him there not letting him but also not pushing him back either. I felt the room retreating to almost a vanishing point making me for a moment think we were all alone and accidentally relaxed my grip at which his hand inched enough to touch my underwear, there, between my legs. I flinched, opening my mouth as though to speak but nothing came out. Instead I only inhaled new air then exhaled it as the tip of his fingers played minute circles on the cotton which against my better judgement I felt a tremor ripple radiating from that very spot.

My breath took on a life of its own.

My heart was close to bursting through my chest. I steadied my breathing so as not to have an “Alien”-moment. All parts of my body were reacting in their own way scrambling for some unity of purpose. I closed my eyes and could see my atoms colliding, swirling, perturbating.

“I want to fuck you”.

I opened my eyes wide. What? His face was up close against my ear. What? Did he say that or did I just imagine it? He leaned back and smiled. This wasn’t any voice in my head. My atoms were now doing the most unfeasible somersaults. His finger kept tempting me for an answer underneath my skirt

He smiled.
I felt frozen in time.

My throat was dry. He leaned in again and repeated his out of nowhere request. Request; how strange to think of it as that as though he’d just offered to buy me a coffee but this time he added, “now”. Lost for words would be an understatement. My legs though had already relaxed a little as I now felt at least two fingers doing their work hidden from view. I didn’t say no, but was momentarily concerned if when he said now, did he mean right now, right here at the bar, which would’ve been out of the question: surely not, he isn’t that crazy I was sure.

His fingers were stroking the edge of my knickers when he told me to follow him. He took my hand and sliding off the stool ‘followed’ him down a corridor which I thought lead to the toilets as I was expecting we were leaving and this wasn’t the way out. We passed both the gents and ladies and opening a door with a ‘Staff Only’ sign, entered and closed it behind us. A storeroom, phew, not the toilets.

He switched on the light as there were no windows and without it the space would’ve been pitch black. A single bulb illuminated us as he wasted no time, lifting me onto a bench table as we found ourselves surrounded by shelves in cleaning products, towels, hand sanitiser, and other sundry items I didn’t have time to take in, nor any particular interest in considering the circumstance which commandeered pretty much all my attention. He lifted me onto a bench, my legs apart which I tried to close but he was between them as quick. We kissed, both his hands pressed down on my thighs holding me there as our tongues tasted each other’s for the first time that evening as it struck me that he’d already managed to touch me intimately before we’d even kissed. That was cheeky.

I was pushed back against a wall as he towered over me keeping my legs akimbo. I wondered if anyone I knew saw me coming in here. I could’ve been abducted for all anyone knew, and in a sense I was, expect in this case I was a willing abductee. Now I was guessing he was going to experiment on me! Why my thoughts were suddenly finding themselves imagining alien visitations I do not know: he was no alien. Or, was he?

He pulled me to the edge of the bench making me slump backwards more against the wall and knelt before me pushing up my skirt with no ceremony or asking and pulled aside my pink knickers and in went a finger, then two, then three. I accidentally banged the back of my head on the wall which didn’t hurt as such but did make me laugh as I felt his fingers probing me. He blew on me there, cool air from his lips and I shivered pleasingly. In and out he went as my thighs contracted over and over inside, then his lips and tongue were there lapping me while he held the material out of the way. I must admit I hate calling it cunnilingus, such a weird word, but that’s what he was doing, we were doing. I closed my eyes having got a bit dazzled by the bare single blub At this rate I was going to have an orgasm this soon.

Too late, I had one, right then as his mouth tasted me. I grabbed his scalp and held him to me tightly shuddering and almost suffocating him but he didn’t stop lapping his tongue which became almost too much to bear until it subsided. My thighs were so hotly flushed. He grabbed my knickers and yanked them down and off completely leaving me wide open to his gaze, and to anything he wanted to do to me. My bare mound glistening, flushed and pink with having just cum. Pulling me another inch to the very edge he stood, unfastened and dropped his jeans and shorts and pulled it out where it stood very erect, very solid-looking, very red and twitching and clearly ready for anything. Was I ready though?

 He looked me straight in the eyes and slipped tightly inside me, his head stretching me making me hiss with an in-breath. He pushed, my muscles having tightened after cumming. He pushed and I felt myself opening as I gripped the bench for dear life. He adjusted himself and pushed and in it went, head and all. I had to muffle a scream with my hand as I looked into his eyes and he into mine. He stopped, holding himself there like that, most of his erection bare inside my wet thighs, unbuttoned my lace top which covered a black blouse beneath which he preceded to also unbutton and having done so, pushed the clothing aside and grabbed my breast through my bra. At that he pushed the rest of himself inside me and started to fuck me, and I found myself counting in time in my head: one, two, three, four, five… That’s what my breathing now sounded like even though it wasn’t as such.

I lost count when he pulled almost all the way out and then pushed in again fast and hard shaking the bench and from that moment on he was frenzied which affected me too and made me feel similar. Like we were in a rush but not, I didn’t want to rush this, but at the same time I wanted to cum again, I needed too and knew I was so very close as he unhooked my bra and awkwardly pulled it aside the best he could. Pinching one nipple I stifled another scream as my hips slipped back and forth on the bench shaking the shelves above us which I sorely hoped were securely fixed to the wall..

We were not making love, we were simply fucking.

I could feel it.
I could feel him.
I knew he was close.
I knew he would soon.
We didn’t stop.

I no longer knew where his hands were, they seemed to be everywhere as he made sure to keep me guessing. Now he was rubbing my clit and at that point I couldn’t bear it any more and relented to another orgasm which made me clamp my legs high against his hips and tighten around his erection which was borderline painful but not enough to end what we were doing, just to stop for a few seconds while I recovered and once he’d felt I had, or guessed he was thrusting his hips into mine again in a frenzied way. I gripped his buttocks and dug my nails right into his skin. He gave a sort of agonised grunt but didn’t stop, as though sucking up the pain. I could have drawn blood for all I knew.

I could feel him edging, or that’s what I guessed from the way he motion changed. I looked up at him and his eyes were tightly shut as though concentrating on making this last. I could tell he was soon going to lose that battle. I don’t know why at this moment I decided to say something but I did, something that even took me by surprise, I said, “cum in me”. I may have said it more than once, I can’t remember but I think that may have sent him over the edge as his banging against my thighs became almost bruising and his breathing like he was having a heart-attack and then he came. I saw it in his face and felt it through his muscle before I felt anything else but I knew he was flooding all of his semen inside me right at that moment, as his cock twitched madly inside me, its entire length I guessed.

Only then did I realise how hot it was in there and how sweaty my face felt, and how his looked too, bright red and starting looking hugely in need of a rest. Moments later I felt a trickle between my thighs: his cum, still warm and sticky.

He slipped out of me but stayed where he was, watching the trickling, seemingly mesmerised, or simply exhausted. After several minutes during which he dressed again I sent him out first leaving me, fortunately, with some privacy and surrounded by plenty of towels with which to make myself normal again before I returned to the bar where hopefully nobody will have noticed how long I’d been gone or even what I’d been doing.

© Emmaleela

6 Comments

  1. It’s always new when someone “takes you” even if it’s not for the first time. You make ever thought a moment to savor. The whole experience, an erotic re-awakening.

    Liked by 1 person

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