“It’s hot… in here. That’s. Just. Sweat.” I managed as he rubbed my pussy through my panties. I leaned into him and could feel his hard body against my back. My resolve was slipping. What could it hurt to give in and enjoy some pleasure?Oh my God. Just a… lap dance.
“Hmm. I think you’re a pretty little liar.” He slipped his hand inside my panties and those two large fingers slid through my slit.
I was a liar. I could tell I was wet. Soaked. Those two fingers slid up and down my slit twice before finding my clit. If his knuckles had been delightful on the stage, his fingers were magic in the dark Cherry Pit.
He continued to stroke my flesh with his other hand, spending considerable time on my breasts. He kissed my shoulder and neck, and his lips knew exactly where to caress my flesh.
The nape of my neck.
That spot where my neck met my shoulders.
The spot just below my ear.
My gasps had turned into moans.
“You think I’m pretty,” I moaned, my brain in a foggy daze suddenly.
He chuckled, and even the vibration of his chest on my back exhilarated me.
“You know you’re pretty. No one dances like you do. Moves like you do without knowing that she is beautiful.” He nibbled on my neck, pushing me closer and closer to the edge.
“That’s a nice thing to say,” I murmured.
My eyes were half shut and the couple across the way was just a blur, although I was sure they had progressed to a hand job. I could also hear moans and gasps from Heather and Mr. Suit in the next section over from us.
Testosterone, pheromones, and the smell and sounds of lust filled my ears.
Just a lap dance.
My mantra held no weight, though.
His fingers stroked my clit like guitar strings just as “Nothing but a Good Time”by Poison kicked into its refrain. My flesh burned as his moist lips caressed my skin. Being this close to his body softened my resolve. His hands on my body melted my resolve.
As soon as I relaxed, an orgasm rolled through my body. Radiating from my clit, down through my pussy and into my thighs, up my belly, into my stomach and chest, racing hard for my nipples. The energy of the orgasm sent tremors racing through me. I clinched my mouth closed and fought the urge to scream my delight so that no one could hear.
He didn’t let up either. He continued to stroke my clit, applying more pressure as I came until I jerked back and forth, up and down on his lap.
“Stop,” I gasped as I grabbed his hands and pulled them away.
He kissed my neck as I caught my breath, and my body recovered. I could feel his hard cock pressed against my ass, especially when he flexed his hips, driving me up and off the couch.
That feeling that many women seem to be genetically engineered to feel as soon as our partner has brought us the joy of an orgasm, soon raced from my body into my brain. The need to reciprocate is like a genetic imperative. At least for me. Unlike men, who fall asleep before we’ve recovered from our own orgasm, women have this driving urge, passed down by generations of subservient and giving women, to please their man.
Or the man they decided to let please them in the Cherry Pit.
Soon, with little thought, and without turning around, I unzipped Mr. Dark Eyes’ slacks, undid his belt and had his hard cock out and in my hand. I’d seen bigger in my life and in my work, but he had nothing to be ashamed of.
I stroked it several times as I thought of what to do next. My normal response would be to give him a blowjob. The thought of being on my knees in that moment on the floor of the Cherry Pit didn’t elicit the right response. So instead, I pulled my panties aside and rubbed his head up and down my slit. He deserved this. I deserved this.
His moans behind me gave me enough permission to continue.
I inched his cock inside of me. My pussy was definitely wet, and it slid in about half way easily. It could have slid in all the way based on how wet I was, but I had to take a second as waves of pain swept through me. Maybe he was bigger than I thought he was.
It had been a long time since I had anything this big inside of me. I purposely used smaller toys and my kegel routine left me tight for a forty-something woman. The pain soon turned to pleasure though, and after moving up and down on his cock a few times, I began inching it in deeper and deeper inside of me.
Soon we found a smooth motion. I liked a man’s hands on my hips in this position, but he wanted my breasts. With his arms around me and his hands squeezing my breasts, I felt so held in that moment, not as a dainty woman protected by a man, but as a woman worthy of a healthy fuck.
I felt like a queen on her throne as I rode him. My body woke up, which was exactly what I expected to happen when I danced earlier. It had when I danced, but this feeling coursing through my body was ten times stronger.
