SLIPPING INTO DEPRAVITY - Ch. 25 - Romance, Cuming and Going (Patreon)

ROMANTIC INTERLUDE, PART ONE OF FOUR

KAYLEY POV

“We should go out and have some fun,” Sam said cheerfully, as we cuddled up.

“I agree,” I said, kissing him. “Bedroom?”

Sam pretended to think about it.

“Eventually,” he said. “But I was thinking of getting out and about, maybe hitting a few bars, doing a little dancing, just seeing a bit of the city. Just get out of the apartment, get out of the rut.”

I Leroy’s cuckolding session was just days away. I was nervous and twitchy with anticipation, and genuinely worried about Sam.

“That does sound like fun. Anything specific in mind?” I asked.

He grinned saucily, like a mischievous boy with a secret. Damn he was so cute.

“Play it by ear,” he said, “but I might have a few ideas. You should get dressed.”

I was wearing comfortable jeans and T-shirt. But clearly, he had something in mind. I couldn’t help but feel a slow smile of my own coming on.

“I’ll go get changed!”

A minute later I came out with my pink minidress with white borders. It’s my Daphne-from- Scooby-Doo dress.

Sam looked me up and down.

“Hmmm,” he said. “Nope.”

“Oh come on,” I protested.

“Something less flamboyant,” he said.

I tried again, this time with a floral sundress with a scalloped top and spaghetti straps, but a decent length skirt.

Again, he shook his head.

“Nope. Let me help.”

He lead me into the bedroom, pawing through my closet and drawers.

“This!” he said, holding up a baggy oversized long sleeved sweatshirt with a hood and some faded logo on it. “After all, we can’t tell what kind of weather, it could get cold. This will make sure you’re all covered up.”

“This?” I said flatly. I was giving up my Daphne dress for this? “You have to be kidding.”

“Nope,” he told me. “It’s all about the comfort.”

“I wear this over my sundress?” I asked, holding it. The fabric was heavy, like canvas. I’d look completely shapeless in it. It was two sizes two large, the arms would bunch up at the wrists.

“Oh no,” he said. “The sundress goes. Let’s see... Here!”

He held up my embroidered peasant skirt. Heavy black fabric, with this six inch tall elastic waistband. I’d bought it at a rummage sale once, without realizing how bad it looked on me.

“You have to be kidding?” I said. “When you said go out... were you thinking Alaska? Lithuania?”

He laughed.

“Relax,” he said, “you look good in anything.”

It was clear he meant to test that proposition. Jesus Christ, what an outfit. Normally, you talk going out, you think dance clubs, cafes, galleries. You dress up. This was like dressing to tour homeless shelters.

“Sam,” I warned, “I really don’t know about this.”

He kissed me on the forehead.

“Oh give it a try!” he said, pulling on a jacket for outdoors. I decided right then, that if he put on even a hint of flannel, the marriage was over.

“Come on,” he grinned at me.

Reluctantly, I shed the sundress, and pulled the peasant skirt up my legs, the elastic wrapping around my hips and waist. The skirt flared out widely, despite its weight. It was the sort of skirt you wore to go picking onions in the baltic. Then I pulled the sweatshirt over my head, working my way through its voluminous folds.

“See,” he said. “You look great. Comfortable and casual.”

I checked the mirror. It was worse than I’d imagined.

“Oh god,” I said, “I look like a Ukrainian grandmother. But not one of the hot ones. One of the frumpy ones, whose grandkids live in another country so she spends all her time throwing rocks at pigeons. I look like I should be busy doing my village's laundry by hand.”

Sam laughed. I turned to him.

“Seriously,” I said. “You want me to go out looking like this?”

“Don’t call me Shirley,” he said, “and why not?”

“Why not?” I asked. “I look like a frump! Hell, I’m the definition of frump! Homeless people will look down on me.”

“Oh it’s not that bad,” he laughed.

“What did I ever do to you? Was it irradiating your sperm with gamma rays? We agreed that was for science. The fake geneology proving we were long lost brother and sister?”

“That one was hot,” he said.

“Was it the month I spoke an imaginary language? The time I sold both your kidneys? The time we met that really hot guy who was into milfs and I told him you were my son?”

He just laughed, the cad.

“Seriously?” I demanded, gesturing at my shapeless outfit. “Seriously? Do you hate me? Do you hate our children? They’re going to be completely humiliated to see their mom like this. They’ll be so ashamed they won’t even want to go to school.”

“We don’t have kids,” Sam pointed out.

“We’ll rent some,” I said, “so I can completely humiliate them, when I pick them up at soccer practice. All the other moms will be total Milfs! They’ll have platinum hair, and really tight capri pants with camel toes, and breast implants, and laquered manicured nails out to here, and they’ll be checking out the tight young, but technically legal, bodies of their son’s friends and probably drink margaritas while driving expensive minivans.”

I took a breath.

“And then I’ll show up to pick up our rented kids in some borrowed hippie volkswagon, and not even one of the cool ones, looking like I just stepped off the commune! They’ll be mortified!”

I pointed at him.

“Do you want to mortify our fake rented children?”

“It’ll be good for them!” he said. “You’ve missed something...”

“What?” I demanded. “I’m too upset about not giving teenage soccer players boners because of my awful dowdyness to think straight!”

“No bra,” he pointed out.

“Well, what’s the point?" I asked. "In this thing, no one’s even going to see nipple action.”

“No panties. No underwear.”

“I am wearing panties,” I pointed out.

“You should take them off,” he said.

“What?” I stopped dead. “You’re up to something.”

Sam smirked.

“Suddenly,” I asked, “you think frump is erotic?”

He made a little gesture with his fingers. Panties off. I reached up under the skirt at my hips, working them down. They were really nice panties too - red silk. I hoped he had something really good in mind, if I was going to go out looking like this. I hoped no one we knew saw us.

“Also,” he said, “let’s go with sensible shoes. Wear your runners.”

“I hate you!” I said.

&&&

Instead of driving, we took a cab out to the Italian district, further evidence that Sam was up to something. My man had a diabolical streak, the fact that he didn’t want me wearing anything under this dowdy outfit meant he was up to something. I was almost fluttering with anticipation.

At first we just went to the park, strolling around, hand in hand. We watched a street musician, some seventy-year old guy playing a violin exquisitely. He was too well dressed to be destitute, so we hung around and chatted.

It turned out he played with an orchestra, but liked to come to the park to play on his own. Slowly, with gentle probing questions, Sam teased his entire life story out of him, stories of growing up as a boy in Eastern Europe, escaping communism, making an uneasy new life that finally included a wife and children, the wife passed, the children moved on. An old man who came to the park to play violin in the sunlight, making beautiful music that no one listened to, here because he was alive and wanted to be part of life. I listened, enthralled. Sam had this gift for drawing people out. I passed him a twenty.

After that we just walked, passing long haired young men and short haired young women with the lean physique and sprayed on wardrobe of bicycle couriers playing hackey sack. I insisted we stop to watch, because they were just beautiful, in the way that horses or antelope are, symphonies of muscle and grace. We passed by a clown, and I got a balloon animal, twisted into shape as I watched. I passed to a gorgeous little boy in curious blonde pigtails at the playground as his mother watched warily.

We passed through the rest area, watched old men play chess, people feeding pigeons, sat and shared a gelati cone bought at the refreshment stand. This was one of Sam’s gifts, when he was around, he made the world seem deeper, more beautiful, more nuanced.

“This is nice,” I said, taking my lick, as Sam passed a fruit flavoured gelati,back and forth. “But I have to admit, I expected something more... thrilling.”

“Does everything have to be thrilling,” he said. “Can’t we just slow down sometime, smell the roses, enjoy life?”

“So that’s what the frump outfit is,” I asked. “Reminding me not to be a sex bomb, and just chill and relax?”

He shrugged and smiled, taking a lick of the gelati and passing it back.

“But if that’s true,” I asked, licking, “why commando?”

He smiled again.

“Maybe it’s just nice to breathe?”

&&&

We walked through the flower gardens, I picked out the names of flowers I knew, and we debated the ones I didn’t, bending over to enjoy the scents, watching bees flit back and forth.

When I bent over, I felt Sam’s hand behind me, pressing against my cheeks, slipping between them and down, to slide a fingertip until the thick fabric of the peasant skirt wedged briefly against my pussy lips, and I felt a fingernail brush against my clit. The sensation was electric, but I gave no sign of my sudden thrill.

But it was at the duck pond, now ruthlessly dominated by Canada geese, that Sam made his move. As I stood at the edge of the pond, Sam stepped behind me and wrapped his arms around me. I purred with pleasure at his embrace, he nuzzled the side of my neck, and I grinned with happiness.

Then his hand slid up under my sweatshirt, the flat of his palm pressed against the bare flesh of my belly, fingers splaying. Smoothly, he moved up to cup my breast, my nipple hardened under his touch. Sam nuzzled my neck. My grin shifted to a knowing smile.

I looked out over the smooth pond, geese and ducks swimming around smoothly. On the other side of the pond a couple was walking down a path with a stroller, children were playing tag and a game of frisbee was going on. Calmly I let my gaze wander around a park full of people enjoying the day. None of them paying attention to us.

“So this is what you were up to,” I purred.

His other hand slid under my sweatshirt, again palm against my belly, sliding up to cup my other breast.

“I thought you’d have figured it out from the start,” he whispered in my ear.

“I had some inkling,” I said, speaking normally. God, I was wet already, I felt the tingling of excitement. He was feeling me up in a public park and no one had a clue.

“Pull your sweatshirt down,” he ordered. Obediently, I pulled the voluminous hoody down and outwards, concealing him. Unless someone was looking directly at us and knowing what they were looking for, there was no way to tell.

“You are so fucking evil,” I said, looking out across the park. Off to the left, some twelve year olds were with their father learning to fly a kite. I nodded in that direction.

“Oh?”

“And I fucking love it!”

“Well, if you loved that, this is going to blow your mind,” he said.

His hand left my right breast and dived, slipping smoothly beneath the waistband of the peasant skirt, gliding down and down, across my mound, his fingers stroking my clit and setting up a delicate drumbeat all around it.

I gasped loudly, my knees turning to water. For a second, I went limp with shock and arousal, leaning back against Sam and letting his grip keep me upright. My pussy clenched and I was instantly wet.

“You’re fucking diabolical,” I whispered, breathily, utterly unspooled by his fingers and the way they teased my clit. The sun shone down, the air was fresh, somewhere a dog barked, and I stood at the edge of the duck pond in a public park, being groped and fingered invisibly.

I twisted around in his embrace, my face lifting up towards him. We kissed passionately, even as his hand worked just above my lips.

“Goddamnit,” I breathed between kisses, “I love you so fucking much!”

“This,” he told me, “is just the beginning.”

This wet shiver took me, rippling from top to bottom. I laughed involuntarily.

&&&

After that, we strolled through the narrow busy streets of the Italian distract. There weren’t actually that many Italians. It was mostly Koreans and Somali families living here now, with a smattering of Hispanics. But the old architecture, all these brick buildings from the twenties and thirties, the names of streets, that all spoke of its origins, a taste of old Europe.

It made for a lively set of stores, from old fashioned fruit and vegetable stalls, to a series of ethnic restaurants, art galleries, boutique shops, and sidewalk vendors. Every few yards, there was a subtle new scent from some exotic food place.

Sam, of course, took every opportunity to feel me up. Every time we stopped at a window display, he’d step up behind me. I’d hold my sweatshirt down and outward as he slipped his hands under. Regular civilians walking past. Restaurant patrons on the other side of the glass carried on their meals and conversations, glancing out and seeing us, but not noticing.

And every time Sam would step behind me his arms would enfold me, slipping up under my sweatshirt, exploring bare skin, cuppng my breasts, tweaking my nipples. I’d grin and giggle, especially when he kissed or nibbled my neck. Now and then, he was bold enough to slip fingers under my skirt, sometimes reaching my clit, sometimes falling short but still delightful.

I loved the intimacy of him against my back, the two of us pressed so close together. The warmth of his body, the feel of his breath at my ear. It added to the pleasure of being felt up, it made me feel safe as well as naughty.

My skin tingled with each touch, I felt giddy with arousal. Almost weightless and buoyant, it felt like gravity didn’t have its regular hold on me. My nipples were just perpetually rigid, every step I took I could feel the muscles in my hips shift, my vagina opening a little with each step, a surge of wetness. I felt radiant and sensuous.

When we walked his arm would snake around my waist, and as I strategically positioned my sweatshirt, his hand would slip under. Usually it just found the bare skin of my hip or waste, sometimes he was bolder, diving down to cup my ass, or recklessly try for my pussy - he never got my pussy, the angle was wrong when we walked, his arm would have to have been six inches longer with an extra joint. But I loved the attempt.

It was like we were invisible, or super-visible. We were in the middle of people, everyone saw us, we smiled at people and they smiled as we passed. Heads turned at what a cute couple we made. But no one realized what we were doing. No one had any idea that I was without bra or panties, that I was so wet it was practically seeping down my thighs. Or that my clit was teased, my nipples were rigid, that Sam’s hands cupped bare breast or ass cheek or made my skin tingle.

There was only one guy who saw what we were doing. A tall skinny Somali, a street vendor and musician selling CDs made by himself and his friends. We stopped to look at some CDs, there was a selection of Caribbean and African music, with little stickers indicating Jamaica, Nigeria, Somalia, Ethiopia, Tanzania.

I asked questions, he was happy to answer, and while we chatted, I pulled my sweatshirt down and forward, and with perfect synchronization, Sam slipped his hands across my bare skin to cup my breasts. I felt my nipples pinched between thumb and forfinger, but gave no other sign beyond a slight widening of my smile.

But his eyes darted to my sweatshirt for just a split second, I watched his expression, puzzled for an instant. Then he worked it out and he smiled the biggest whitest smile. I grinned at him, nodding, while Sam nuzzled my neck.

He looked up, his eyes catching our new friend’s, and then he casually asked his opinion on a Tanzanian CD. Our Somali friend paused for just a second, as Sam boldly kneaded my breasts, showing off and bringing the slightest sigh from me. Then he shook his head, smiled and plucked the CD with those long sexy musician fingers, handing it to me.

For a second, as we passed the CD our fingers touched, stroked each other quite deliberately, and I just gushed. I could feel my stomach pulling up high inside my belly, my pussy clenching, and if my wetness wasn’t running down my thighs before, it was then.

That was it, we all smiled at each other, laughed and chatted about music. I took every opportunity to touch his hands, he reciprocated and our fingers lingered together again and again. Meanwhile throughout, Sam had his hands under my clothes, almost showing off for our audience. His hand dived under the waistband of my panties, two fingers dancing around my clit, teasing me to the very edge of orgasm.

My eyelids fluttered, I arched my neck, and pulled down one side sweatshirt exposing the curve of my breast, my erect nipple thrusting hard against the fabric. Our friend’s eyes lingered on the shape exposed for him. That was it, we chatted merrily, bought a few CDs, and I made sure to hand him cash, our fingers lingering and lingering as as they touched, fingertips sliding against palms.

We finished our conversation and moved on.

“Did you see his hands?” I asked.

“Yeah, do you think it means he’s got a big cock?” Sam asked.

I laughed out loud, I hadn’t even thought about that.

“You pervert. No, I was all into his hands. His fingers were so long, so muscular, musician hands. I loved touching them, I loved the way they felt when he was touching mine. I was just flashing on him doing what you were doing. The idea of those hands all over me...”

I shivered. “Ooohh!”

Come to think of it, those fingers probably meant there was a pretty good cock on him. I wondered what it would look like. Circumcised? Probably. What would it smell like? Male and musky. Hairy balls I bet, a big full dangling scrotum, weighted down by semen.

Oh but those hands. I wanted to lick each finger, and press those long, muscular, musician hands to my breasts!

“I have his card,” Sam said smugly. “And a flyer for his band’s next jam session.”

“Oh god!” I said, turning to kiss him, “I love you so much. We’ll have to check him out.”

“First time I ever heard it called that,” he said.

I laughed.

&&&

We strolled along and eventually came to a sports bar a couple of blocks down. It was one of those open concept places, with garage doors rather than windows and walls, leaving it spilling out into an outdoor café.

It was packed, the signage, the decor, the patrons very clearly Italian. You could tell from the slight babel of conversation drifting to our ears. Sam stopped us and we watched it for a minute. Apparently, there was some sort of important soccer game going on, there were a half dozen big flat screens, and every pair of eyes was glued to one of them.

“What do you think?” Sam said. “Thirsty.”

“I don’t think there’s room,” I replied skeptically.

He shrugged and smiled.

“Let’s check it out.”

“Is this part of your diabolic evil?” I asked.

“It might be.”

That mischievous, evil grin!

My heart went pitter pat.

“Lead the way then,” I said, “but if something naughty and sordid doesn’t happen, I will be extremely disappointed.”

Sam laughed and threw an arm around my shoulders. Smiling we ventured through the doorway.

Inside the place was even more packed. The place reeked of beer and sweat, I was one of only a half dozen women in the place, two of whom were the waitresses. Everyone was glued to the screen, idly chatting during slow phases.

No one even looked at me as I came in. I mean... come on! Sure, I was dressed as a frump. But these were Italians, that shouldn’t have made a difference. Hell, they like that kind of thing. But no, it was all about the game. I never really followed soccer, as near as I can tell, it involves running around after a ball or something and trying to kick it first, according to some esoteric rules.

“There are a couple of seats towards the back,” Sam said, squinting. Bars are supposed to be no-smoking but there was enough tobacco and marijuana in the air that someone had to be cheating. The place reeked of beer and the rich sauces and spices of Italian bar food.

“I don’t know,” I said. Being stuck in the back while loud sweaty guys cheered on an incomprehensible game wasn’t my idea of sexy. “Maybe we should try someplace else?”

Like someplace we could get away with the shit we were planning to do? He was so half-assing it. He had an amazing gift for improvisation, but sometimes he fell flat on his face. This was one of those times, it seemed.

Sam just grinned, and tugged the loose arm of my sweatshirt, dragging and jostling me through a crowd of men who barely registered my presence. We made our way to the back corner of the bar and the empty seats and settled in. There was no good view of any of the half dozen flatscreens. No wonder the chairs were empty, this was the shittiest table in the house.

A waitress came up to take our order, middle aged, visibly Italian with thick black hair piled high, thick eyebrows, and a mole on her cheek. She weighed us with studied indifference as I tried to order a wine, and Sam ordered us two beer.

It was almost too loud to talk with the gabble of foreign voices. I leaned into Sam’s ear.

“I am seriously unenthusiastic,” I whispered. “My mulberry withers from lack of moisture.”

I felt a whole rant coming on, but there was too much noise to go full tilt. Damn. Maybe I could text it to him. Meh, it just wouldn’t be the same. I tilted my head, humphed, and stared pointedly at the pillar that obstructed the main flatscreen. I glanced to the left, in the distance another pillar stood smack dab in front of the center of another flatscreen, leaving only two wedges of colour and shape on either side.

I took out my phone and started to scroll, very carefully ignoring Sam. The waitress brought two beer and a glass of wine, Sam paid. I sat, scrolling, mentally composing a really snazzy rant, something about Husbands not doing their husbandly duties, failures to follow through, inhumanity to god’s creatures (me), how beer and soccer dehydrated a wet pussy and turned willing flesh into a gobi desert and he totally wouldn't make it as a mongol, and the price of a good mulberry.

After ten minutes, my phone buzzed, and a text message appeared: “Come sit on my lap, little girl.”

Hmmm. Sam had dragged me into a loud smelly bar, to the worst seats in the place and had failed to pay attention to me for fifteen whole entire minutes. I should say no, on general principle.

Another text: “I have a present for you.”

I smiled and texted back.

“I like presents.”

“You’ll like this one.”

“Is it a big present?”

“Very big.”

“A hard present?”

“Very hard.”

“Is it a pony?”

“Yes, it’s a pony.?

“Where exactly is this pony?”

“In my pants, waiting for you to ride him. Come sit on my lap and find out.”

I smiled.

“You’re not a pervert trying to trick me are you?”

“I am definitely a pervert,” Sam texted.

“I don’t know. You perverts can’t resist a tight nubile young female body in its sexual prime. You might do perverted things to me if I sit on your lap.”

“I most definitely will,” he texted.

“Okay!”

Sam just laughed, as I quickly shifted from my seat to his lap, snuggling against him. I twisted to kiss him.

“Why the wait?” I whispered, as my lips brushed his.

His hand snaked under my sweatshirt, found the high waistband of my peasant skirt and dived like a heron, fingers sliding over my clit and parting my pussy lips.

“I wanted to make sure we could get away with it,” he whispered.

I moaned into his mouth and then whispered. “And here I was thinking you where just fucking with me.”

“I was doing that too,” he said.

That was too much, I turned my back, pressing my shoulders against him, as his other hand slid under, rising to cup my breasts. I leaned my head back on his shoulder, pulling the sweatshirt down to obscure his activities.

“You bastard!” I whispered in his ear. “I knew it! Just for that...”

I braced myself hands on his thighs. Too bad our chair didn’t have arms, that would have made it so much easier. Then I humped against him, using my ass cheeks to wiggle his cock until it was positioned straight between my cheeks. That by the way, was a fuck of a lot harder than it sounds. I don’t know how lap dancers do it.

Maybe it was the distraction of his hands roving all over my body under my clothes. It was so naughty and delicious. My nipples were so hard they were literally tingling. But it wasn’t just my breasts and pussy, his hands moved everywhere, changing positions, fingernails across belly or hips, tracing my ribs. There was something joyful about the way his hands moved under my sweatshirt and peasant skirt, as if he was discovering my body for the first time. It was arousing, ticklish, infuriating. He teased my pussy again and again, bringing me so close to orgasm

Still, I had him where I wanted, and I positioned myself to where my I could feel his cock head, tucked in his pants, wedged between the deepest most muscular part of my butt cheeks. I looked over my shoulder, smiling angelicly down on him and started to squeeze my cheeks as quickly as I could. Then as he got used to that, I added some back and forth motion.

“I’m going to make you have a wet spot,” I said sweetly . “Revenge.”

“Oh shit!” he whispered.

“Oh yes!”

But then, his hands climbed up to cup my breasts and play with my nipples and I was delightfully distracted. Still, I had my goal. If he was going to tease me, I was going to make him come.

There was kind of a wild ecstatic excitement to the whole thing. We were in a room full of thirty people, and even if they all seemed distracted, we were still in the middle of them.

Out at the park, or on the street, if we thought someone might make us, we could just walk away. Here, there was nowhere to go. We had to be careful. Sure my clothes were baggy, maybe someone looking wouldn’t notice they were covering his hands on my breasts... at first. But each time we moved, either of us, were were at risk of giving ourselves away.

His hands roved and teased, dipped between my pussy lips, pinched nipples, fingered my clit, cupped my breasts, I squirmed on top of him, arched my back, spread or closed my legs, twisted, bounced, writhed and humped. But each movement had to be deliberate, calculated, we had to keep an eye on our surroundings, choose our moments, and always be so utterly minimal and careful, never extravagant, never so free as to attract attention, it had to be so subtle that no one noticed in the crowded bar.

The Soccer game was our camouflage. We rode the currents of excitement from the game, as it transmitted to our surroundings. Slow spots, we were careful, almost still. But when the game picked up, you could smell the electricity, we could be bolder. A sudden action in the game allowed a fast sexy move. If someone scored a goal, or even came close, we could do anything, be bold. It was almost like a game of stop and go, but instead of stop, it was a series of slow go’s.

It was fucking exquisite!

I couldn’t help grinning, I was so wet, so aroused, I was breathless. And totally engaging, it was like a chess game with our bodies, a continuous series of meticulous moves and countermoves.

We could have done it, I could have done it, until we were both dripping and exhausted.

But we got spotted.

I ground down against Sam’s cock, leaning back into him, casually sweeping the room.

Uh oh.

There was a guy across the room, looking in our direction. As my gaze passed over him, he looked away quickly. Too quickly.

I pretended not to notice him, enjoying the feel of Sam’s hands under my clothes, playing with my breasts, watching from the side eye. Yeah, he was definitely looking in our direction. I sat up a little and slid my ass a little down Sam’s cock, wiggling slightly to make him moan. He was definitely watching. I turned my head to look directly at him. He blushed and broke contact.

For a few minutes, I left him alone, pretending to ignore him, pulling the sweater tight, so that from his angle it was clear Sam’s arm was under my sweater. Again, I challenged. Again he looked away. But a few minutes later, he didn’t look away. Our gazes held as I squirmed on top of Sam, my hips involuntarily lifting slightly as he brushed fingertips against my clit. I smiled at him. His return smile was shy.

“I think someone’s noticed us,” I breathed as Sam pulled on my nipples. Even though his hands were under my hoodie, on my bare breasts, you could still see movement under the heavy fabric of the roomy oversized garment. I squirmed on top of Sam, feeling his erection between my cheeks.

“Who?” Sam asked.

“Guy over to the left, mustache, kind of swarthy, wearing the red jersey,” I whispered, watching him. We made eye contact as I ground down extra-extra hard, bringing a small grunt from Sam. Mustache looked away for a second, when I realized I’d caught him looking again, then his gaze returned, and he smiled apologetically.

“I can’t see him,” Sam said. “He’s out of my line of sight.”

“He’s definitely watching us.”

“Is he doing anything else?”

“Like what?” I asked. “Masturbating? Telling his friends? Calling the management? No, nothing, he’s just watching.”

Stan was running his hand down from my collarbones, along the slope of my breasts. Now he cupped me, lifting them, pinching and pulling on my nipples.

“Does he look okay?” Sam asked.

One hand slid down, along my belly, diving under the waistband of my skirt. I spread my legs a little wider to give him access. In our current position, he couldn’t really fully reach my fingers into my pussy, not unless I climbed a little higher, but his fingertips could just brush my clit, and they did. I moaned slightly, mindful of being in a roomful of people watching sports.

I watched my new friend, watching me getting fondled and smiled at him. He lifted a glass and I nodded slightly.

No one else noticed, just him. In the crowded bar, with all other eyes on the soccer match, we shared a sort of communion together. In the whole place, he was the only one who knew what Sam was doing.

I shivered and my eyelids fluttered, my lips parted silently, and I shifted position on his lap partly from Sam’s fingers squeezing a nipple and just barely brushing my clit, partly from knowing I was being watched. I was definitely wet, the almost touches, as his fingertips tapped my clit hood were exquisite.

“He looks all right,” I whispered back to Sam. “Fine. Ordinary, not gross or weird.”

“Why don’t you invite him over?” he whispered.

Somehow I knew he was going to say that. Or maybe I was wishing he would.

“He’s all the way over there,” I protested.

“Just give him a look,” Sam coaxed. “A CFM look.”

“What?”

“A come hither look?” Come hither? That didn’t translate to CFM. Then I figured it out.

I laughed. That’s only in the movies. But I locked eyes, staring directly into his, until he noticed, then I jerked my head.

He looked surprised and touched his chest? ‘Me.’

I smiled and nodded, jerking my head again. He picked up his beer and stood up, trying to unobtrusively adjust the bulge in his pants.

“Well fuck me,” I said. “It worked.”

“He’s coming over?” He pinched my nipple hard enough to make me wince pleasurably.

“You are so fucking evil,” I whispered to him, watching the stranger approach. “I love it. How far do we take this?”

“He’s on his way. As far as you want.”

“Bold!” I said. “I might go further than you expect. A lot further. After all this teasing, I’m feeling adventurous. I need a cock in me, it doesn’t have to be yours.”

“Go as far as you dare. Sky’s the limit.”

“Not worried?”

“In a crowded bar?” he said, and laughed in my ear.

“You might regret that,” I teased.

I watched the stranger approach. Broad, heavy set, muscular, you could tell he lifted weights. His thick arms were covered with sleeve tattoos. I bet he was hairy as a bear.

“Hi,” he said. I reached out to shake his hand.

“Hey,” I replied. “He’d shake, but his hands are full right now.”

Sam’s hand under my sweater, lifted off my breast, visibly shifting the heavy fabric of my loose sweater, in a sort of wave, but mainly to show off.

“I can see that,” he said, speaking over the noise of the bar, “my name is Bruno.”

“Nice name,” I replied.

“Thank you,” he said.

“So,” Sam said, “we noticed you watching us.”

“You looked like you were having fun,” he said, and shrugged.

“We are,” I replied, and squirmed on top of Sam for emphasis, grinding myself onto his erection I’d gotten so close to making him come, it was maddening..

I smiled and nodded.

“Kayley’s not using her seat at the moment,” Sam said from underneath me. I gestured towards it. “Feel free.”

Bruno slipped into my empty seat, not even pretending not to stare. My leg brushed his.

Sam’s hands had withdrawn from my private places, his arms wrapping loosely around my waste. Instead, he was bulling the hoody fabric tight, outlining clearly the shape of my breasts and the hardness of my nipples so fully it might as well have been a wet T-shirt for all that it concealed.

Damn, I thought, as Bruno’s eyes slid over my naked-feeling breasts, he’s just good. I’d felt like my charms had been hidden under a potato sack, but now, with a simply pull of the fabric, Sam had made me feel deliciously naked. I could feel a little surge of wet excitement.

“Kayley,” I extended a hand again, and he shook it. “This bad boy is Sam.”

Sam pulled an arm out from the waist of my hoodie to shake, a movement not lost on Bruno.

“I haven’t seen you around before,” Bruno said. We had to lean in to hear each other, the bar was so loud. I glanced around, no one was paying the three of us any attention.

“We were just passing through,” I said. “We were thirsty, so we stopped in to relax a little.”

“You looked very relaxed,” he said.

I smiled and laughed. Sam’s hands moved up my belly, along my ribs, once again cupping my breasts, teasing the nipples and pushing them forward, as if to present them to Bruno. I couldn’t help grinning. My ass shifted on Sam’s lap, grinding a little. I felt Sam start under me, his hips lifting, and he gave a little grunt, then another, followed by a sigh. No one but me, and perhaps Bruno, noticed.

Victory?

Did showing off, showing me off, a little voyeurism make the difference? I twisted around to kiss Sam. His erection felt the same as ever, but you couldn’t tell from that. And his denim jeans and my skirt were both heavy. I desperately wanted to just reach around and stick my hand on his crotch to see if there was a hint of a wet spot, but I couldn’t.

None of this stopped me from working him, or him reaching under my clothes. If anything, an appreciative audience of one added to the complicated eroticism of the event. I was wetter than ever.

Bruno watched it all, occasionally glancing at the big flat screen where the game was on. Was he actually that interested in the game? Or was it his way of trying to be inconspicuous, so no one would notice him staring at my breasts.

“You want to,” Sam whispered in my ear.

I nodded, looking at Bruno. “Why not?”

“My lap’s falling asleep, dear,” he announced just loudly enough for Bruno to hear as we leaned in over the crowd noise.

“Oh!” I said innocently. “I’m sorry. I should get off on you. Or get you off. But Bruno is in my seat. And he just got here.”

“Well,” Bruno said nervously. There was something sweet about his polite innocence. “I could go.... Or you could sit on my lap?”

“You wouldn’t mind?” I leaned forward and spoke into his ear. “Me sitting on your lap, I mean?”

“No,” he said, there was a confused gleam in his eye, as if he couldn’t quite believe it was happening.

His fantasies were running wild, but deep down, he was almost certain he was misinterpreting something innocent.

“I would be fine. It’s your chair after all. As long as your husband doesn’t mind.”

“That’s so sweet,” I said with fake naivete. I looked back at Sam. “You don’t mind, do you, honey?”

He shook his head.

“Oh not at all,” Sam replied.

I twisted backwards to kiss him as his hands slipped out from under my hoody and skirt, then, with almost childish glee I scampered over to Bruno, planting myself on his lap. I could feel almost instantly that his cock was awkwardly positioned, so I lifted off him, pretending to whisper to Sam, so he could quickly, unobtrusively adjust it.

When I settled back on him again, I could feel his cock now straight, comfortably nestling between my cheeks. I ground into him a little, working it his erection just slightly. It wasn’t a full lap dance or anything, just a slight tease. Slight enough that he couldn’t really be sure whether I was doing it deliberately, or it was just accidental.

I couldn’t help grinning. This was so much fun.

I leaned back against him, like he was a cushion, and whispered, “I’m not making you uncomfortable am I? I’m not too heavy.”

“No,” he gasped, his voice just a little tight. “It’s just fine.”

“Okay,” I shrugged, giving just a tiny wiggle of my hips, so my ass cheeks slid ever so slightly and apparently accidentally against his boner. I felt his little intake of breath as I did that, and felt a thrill of excitement.

After that, I laid back against him, as if he was comfortable furniture, and Sam and I pretended to watch the game. Perhaps he tried to watch as well, but my hair brushed against the side of his face. I shifted now and then, slowly, making myself comfortable.

I’ll say this for him, he tried to keep his hands to himself. At points, he lifted them, pressing his palms against my hips. I was vividly aware of his touch, the cautiousness of it, almost timid. He could feel I wasn’t wearing panties, couldn’t he? His hands, his fingers moved slightly back and forth, searching for panty lines. Or perhaps desperately wanting to do more, but being too timid.

I didn’t mind the timidity, that made him safe. I felt like I had control.

After a couple of minutes, apparently someone made a score, or something. I couldn’t follow soccer. But suddenly, the whole tavern was roaring. Some of the patrons stood up to cheer, people were shouting and laughing.

I took his hand and slipped it under the waistband of my sweatshirt-hoody, laying it across my stomach. Is that invitation enough for you, I thought. Sam was casually pretending not to be watching us, I glanced at him, and he nodded. My cheeks brushed hotly. I reached down for his other hand, but his arm was already rising, needing little more than permission, rather than guidance this time. Instead I reached for the waist of my hoody pulling it way from my body, granting him access.

I could feel his hands on my bare skin, on my belly on either side, just below my ribs. My heart was starting to pound, and it was all I could do to breathe normally, and just maintain a neutral expression, waiting to see what he would do next.

Bruno was cautious, holding his hands on my bare flesh but not moving. It was a little disappointing, but also a little liberating. I could understand it, you’re in a situation like that, who the fuck knows what the limits are, how far you’ll be allowed to go, risking getting caught. Every step could be your last. You won’t know you’ve gone too far until you’ve fallen off the cliff.

But for fuck’s sakes! Go for it! Come on.

To encourage him, I shifted my hips back and forth, deliberately rocking up against his cock a few times, unmistakable in my grind. I leaned back, whispering into his ear.

“Sorry,” I said, “that wasn’t uncomfortable for you. Was it?”

“Oh no,” he whispered back, his breath warm and beery in my face.

“It’s just that the game is so exciting,” I whispered. I couldn’t even tell you who was playing or what the score was, or even how you scored, much less who was winning. “When I get excited sometimes I just have to move around.”

I tapped the bottom of his forearm under my hoody. He reached up slowly, keeping his palm and fingers flat against my skin, until he was cupping my breast.

Finally!

His other hand began to move up. I could feel my skin flushing hot, my nipples hardening even more. I squirmed on Bruno’s lap, this time involuntarily, as I felt my clit throb and my pussy clench, with a little wet pulse.

He glanced openly at Sam, who nodded without directly looking at us at us. Sam had this little smile on his face, the bastard was pleased with himself. Here I was, naked under my clothes, getting my boobs fondled by a complete stranger in the back of a bar full of screaming sports fans, practically in public, and he was looking like the cat that swallowed the canary. The bastard.

I ground down hard onto Bruno’s cock between my cheeks, feeling how hard he was even through two layers of fabric. Involuntarily, he pushed his hips against me slightly, his hands clutching my breasts.

Not too much of that, I thought. There was a limit to what I dared to do, or what he should do, in the back of the bar. After all, he’d noticed us. Hands under clothes, we were getting away with, an occasional bump or grind, that was just the excitement of the bar. But any amount of dry humping would give us away.

Bruno’s hands were rough, coarser on my skin than Sam’s. His fingers were stubby, his palms flat and muscular. I wondered what he did for a living with hands like that. It was exciting to be felt up by a stranger, and his physicality magnified that. His body was very different from Sam’s, his legs shorter, his nips wider, a little fat around the guts. I wondered what he would look like naked.

He touched me differently from Sam. Sam was smooth, practiced. Bruno had been so tentative, but when he squeezed, he really squeezed, hard. There was something erratic about his hands on me, as if he didn’t know what to do next. His hands were on my boobs, then off. He seemed to want to explore, but didn’t know where to go.

Sam produced a condom, my eyes went wide.

“Tell you what,” Sam said. “Why don’t you go off to the bathroom and put this on. Then come back and you can both be more comfortable.”

He looked uncertain.

“I don’t know,” he said. “What’s this for.”

“Maybe nothing. Maybe something. Maybe in between. It’ll be up to her,” Sam encouraged him. “Live a little.”

I could feel his hands squeezing my breasts firmly, my nipples trapped between his thumb and forefinger, he rolled them back and forth a little, thoughtfully. I ground myself back against him. I watched Sam carefully. What was he up to?

“This isn’t some dodge,” he asked. “You’ll be here when I get back?”

“Promise,” Sam said.

Awkwardly, he took the condom and shifted under me, lifting up. His hands slipped out from under my sweater. I half stood up, allowing him to escape the chair, and he made his way to the washroom.

The moment he was out of sight, I leaned in towards Sam.

“What the hell are you thinking?” I demanded. “Are you crazy. I’m not going to fuck him out here...”

A thought occurred to me.

“Or were you thinking of going somewhere?”

Where, I wondered quickly. Not the Men’s room, those things were disgusting, and this place was so busy it was like a revolving door. We’d get arrested. Somewhere else? Not outdoors? Alley? Next to a dumpster? That would be gross. Did he have something in mind.

“Did you see his face,” Sam smirked. “Of course you didn’t. He was ready to come in his pants. Bruno is a blowout waiting to happen. I’m just making sure he doesn’t make a mess.”

"You mean like you just made a mess?" I asked sweetly.

He blushed. Oh I had him! I so had him!

“Is that all with Bruno though?” I asked, I couldn’t help a half smile. “I’m not sure I trust you.”

“Whatever you’re comfortable with,” he said.

“So you’re throwing it back at me?” I replied. “The balls are in my court?”

“The balls and the rest of his junk,” he smiled. “But yes.”

He looked up and waved. I glanced in the direction. Bruno was making his way back, his walk a little stiff. Although his pants were a loose casual French-cut, I could tell he was hard. The fabric had been fine. Yep, if he shot his load in those pants, it would show through. Maybe the condom was a good idea, even if nothing much happened.

Once again, he slid into my seat and with a happy squeal, I transferred to his lap. As I did, just before I settled on him, I reached down and unzipped him. I think the boldness of my action shocked him, his eyes went wide and he gasped. I settled down on his lap feeling his erection against my ass cheeks.

“You didn’t mind that, did you?” I asked, twisting around so that my lips could brush his ear. Already, his hands were moving eagerly up under the sweatshirt.

“N... N... No,” he replied. I settled back, pressing my shoulders into his chest, and wiggling against him, enjoying the feeling of his strong hands on my breasts. I caught Sam watching, and stuck my tongue out at him. Bruno withdrew a hand for a moment. Beneath me, I felt his hand slipping behind me, and suddenly his pants loosened as the clasp released. I allowed myself a wicked smile, and ground my butt in extra hard.

As Bruno groped my breasts, I wiggled my butt under him. He couldn’t help pushing his hips upward, it was a little like riding a very small bronco. At times, my feet would lift off the floor. I’d scan the bar warily, Bruno wasn’t nearly as subtle as Sam.

As we twisted and bounced I felt his pants working their way down. Was he pushing his pants down, or was it just the way we were squirming together?

I decided to return the favour, carefully pulling the back of my skirt up. Once Bruno realized what I was doing, he helped, and soon the back of my loose peasant skirt was bundled up in folds of fabric against his waist.

Now my bare ass was nestled against his bare thighs, I could feel the thick hair of his legs, his pubic hair tickled between my ass cheeks, our naked flesh pressed against each other. It was freaky and kind of exciting to know that I was sitting on someone’s latex coated condom. I could feel it distinctly between my ass cheeks, tucked under my skirt. I made sure to grind on it, keeping Bruno at attention. Meanwhile, his hands massaged my breasts with obsessive intensity. He wasn’t like Sam, whose hands roved freely under my sweater.

All this while we were in the middle of a crowd of screaming yelling Italians, all of them obsessively focused on the game on the big screens around the bar. Only Sam knew what we were doing, watching us from the corner of an eye with a knowing smirk.

It was so thrilling I wanted to burst out in giddy laughter. My stomach was an avalanche of butterflies. I was breathless with delight. Every time I moved on him, my clit throbbed. My lips tingled, I could feel wet surges working their way down inside me.

With one hand, I reached down, my fingers finding his cock, feeling it sheathed in rubber. Carefully, laboriously I rolled the condom back up, working it off his cock. I stared at the big television screen just like everyone else, my face carefully blank and neutral. If anyone looked they wouldn’t notice anything. Just a girl in a strangely baggy hoody, watching the game, sitting on her boyfriend’s lap.

Nothing to see here folks.

His hands clutched my breasts, rhythmically, so tight I could feel my flesh welling up between his fingers, the rough texture of his palms and fingertips adding to the intensity. Working hands, scarred and callused by toil, I bet his fingernails were dirty and cracked. He barely moved them, just pressing and squeezing, each move almost pinching my nipples.

I almost had the condom off, just a little more. I hoped he wouldn’t come the moment it came off. I waited. Some guy in shorts kicked the ball, a shout went up and I pulled it off. I slid my hand out from my skirt just long enough to drop the discarded condom on the floor, and slipped back in again.

His erection, hard, moist and eager was waiting for my touch. Wrapping fingers around the front of the head, I adjusted my hips slightly, spreading my legs a little wider, and moving forward, so that my pussy was against the back of his cock. I pulled it back towards me, feeling the pressure of his shaft spreading my wet pussy lips.

Could he feel it? The exquisite softness of my lips, my wetness flowing out, coating one side of his shaft?

I can never remember how sensitive the shaft is. I mean, I gather it’s not supposed to be all that sensitive. But every man I’ve ever met has felt compelled to get as deep as possible, so they must feel it. There must be some sensation in a man's shaft, it's not all in the head.

I pressed the head towards my clit, trying to work his glans against it. I felt a bead of precum emerge, harvested it with a fingertip and smeared it over my bump, under my clit hood, enjoying the slickness and smoothness. I lifted my hips just a little, working his shaft against me, toying and teasing myself

I had done this before, at the booths. A nice long cock had come through, and I’d straddled it, rubbing my pussy and clit against the shaft. I thought I’d invented something new. But actually, when I looked it up, it had a name. Names. Sometimes pussy job, sometimes cameltoe slide.

The most insane part was we were practically doing it out in public. Hell, we were in public. The bar was packed. I was pulling my sweatshirt down and forward to conceal Bruno’s arms slipping under it, and my hand in my skirt, but anyone who looked closely would see what we were doing. It made me so wet, I squirmed uncontrollably under him, fingers caging the head of his cock between my legs, pushing it against my clit even while my camel toe opened wetly against his shaft.

I forced myself to stare at the screen, pretending to follow the incomprehensible nonsense with apparent concentration. The players went back and forth, the ball went back and forth, it seemed that the entire game involved running around in circles, and occasionally standing around as a referee did something inscrutable. The audience seemed fascinated though.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a man at a table at the back across from us glance our way, and then glance again, more intently. He nudged one of his mates. Oh no, I thought, busted! Bit by bit, their whole table was surreptitiously watching us, momentarily tearing themselves away from the game to wonder and guess. But happily, or maybe insultingly, we were only a curiosity. They were really focusing on the game.

It was still hot though, to know a few people were noticing us, that we weren’t completely invisible. I couldn’t help grinning. If they knew what we were doing, how far we’d actually gone... How much further I could go, I’d blow their minds.

Some guy in shorts ran up and kicked the ball. That seemed to be all they did. But this time, it was apparently a really special kick. The whole bar erupted in cheers, men were waving, laughing, some jumping with excitement. Two guys even stood up and embraced. Even Bruno surged behind me, his hands moving jerkily, clutching my breasts and squeezing savagely.

I took the opportunity to cheer as well, jerking forward a bit. His cock slid down against my pussy lips, and then I ground down fiercely, pushing him hard. I felt my entrance opening to his cock head, lips pushing apart to the shape of him, and for an instant, it felt like with just a little more, he’d enter me, slide his bare cock up inside me. Then it slipped past, sliding upwards along my wetness as I pushed it against me until it was ramming against my clitoris.

A teeny tiny orgasm blossomed inside me, in my clit, as focused and hard as an acorn. I gasped, turning it into a cheer, my face going red, my whole body shaking. I let go my grip on the hoody's waistband to wave, momentarily exposing the shape of hands beneath the fabric on my breasts. I gasped again, heart pounding, momentarily breathless.

I caught Sam watching me, and flashed him a grin. Turning, I glanced quickly over at the table of my admirers, but they were fully caught up in the game on screen. They’d completely missed my orgasm.

What goofs.

The thing with orgasms, is there’s different kinds. I know it’s all supposed to be the same. That it’s how we dress up, the context, the psyche. But that’s all bullshit. Like some orgasms are just fulfilling - you have them, they’re overwhelming intense, and you go “I’m good now.” And some orgasms leave you going “that was good, looking forward to the next one.” And some, they just leave you hungry and demanding they’re like “Okay, where’s the next one, motherfucker!”

This was one of those, my little acorn orgasm was good, but it provoked my appetite, rather than quelled it. I was ravenous for more. I squirmed on his lap, nakedly moving my hand inside my skirt, aggressively rubbing his cock, now wet from my juices, against my clit. I swung my shoulders a little trying to press my breasts against his hands.

“Harder,” I whispered, leaning my head back. It was so loud by this time, I wasn’t sure he heard me, he didn’t really respond apart from kissing my cheek.

A waitress appeared with glasses of beer. Suddenly, we all froze, she was staring directly at me and Bruno, her face turned to stone, stern and disapproving. Bruno tensed so much, he felt like wood underneath me, his muscles were just rigid. His hands slid off my breasts, an inch or two, and then halted, like he knew he’d been caught being naughty. I felt my face, my whole body grow hot and flushed, I’m sure my cheeks were glowing. I couldn’t look directly at her, I pretended to stare at the screen, all the while, his cock was pressed deep into my camel toe, my pussy lips wrapped around the length of his shaft like it was giving a hug, his cock head under my hand.

We were so busted! She had seen me come! I was sure of it. While I had my tiny acorn orgasm, she’d watched the expression on my face and knew exactly what I’d done.

Finally, she moved, setting three glasses of beer at our table, and taking the empty glasses. Again, she fixed me with a disapproving stare. All I could do was blush and smile shamefacedly. Sam thanked her, and then she was gone. I exhaled relaxing. Suddenly, I felt like peeing.

“I think we’re done,” Bruno whispered.

He shifted under me, trying to push me off, his hands sliding to my waist. I felt almost angry, frustrated. I wasn’t done, I was soaking wet and needed to pee. I lifted a little on his lap and then sank, leaning back into his chest, pushing his erection up against my camel toe. I heard him grunt, felt it in his chest. Again, that delicious moment I could feel my pussy being opened, before he slipped past. Not again, I thought. Again, I lifted, pushed back, arched.

And suddenly, he slid up inside me, opening me around his cock, a sudden cool sensation of penetration, willingly my body opened and stretched to receive its invader. From this position, I only took half of his length. My fingertips traced my lips tight around his girth, so much of his shaft beneath me. The angle was extreme, not straight in me, but pushing up, almost behind my clit. I tried to push down, to get him deeper.

Then I felt it, this spurting feeling, a shift of pressure, of temperature, of a tiny river of wetness running, forced between us. Sometimes I felt it when men ejaculated me, but I’d never felt it so vividly. Maybe he just had a fucking fountain jetting up out of his balls. Or maybe he was ejaculating into a super sensitive spot inside me. Yes, women are not cheese, some places inside us are more sensitive, like the g-spot. He must have been ejaculating against a very aware spot.

But it felt exhilarating, thrilling. A complete stranger was coming inside me, I was taking his semen, his body for my own, taking his orgasm and owning it. His hands on my waist were squeezing, and I savoured the feel of him. He relaxed under me, trembling, his hands alternately gripping and going weak, as if he was draining into me.

Then it was over, his cock lost a little rigidity and slipped out so quickly it felt like it popped out. I sighed heavily, leaning forward, taking my hand out of my skirt, even as his arms fell out from under my hoody.

“And I think we’re done,” Sam said. He picked up his glass of beer and drank.

I took a deep breath. I really needed to pee now. I sure as fuck wasn’t going to do it here, though. I glanced around. It wasn’t just one table that had noticed us. There were two others trying not to stare.

“That was...” Bruno began, “that was...” He gave up, half breathless. His fading erection felt slick and slimy between my thighs.

“I think,” I said, “yeah, we’re done. Time to go?”

I twisted around on Bruno’s lap, so I could kiss him, but because of our positions, I could only manage his forehead. He wrapped loose arms around my waist, this time on the outside of my hoody. “I think we’re going to go,” I said.

“Okay,” he replied.

“I’m going to lift up slowly, with my skirt on you, so you can tuck yourself in. When you’re ready, okay?”

“I’m ready.”

I lifted up, he tucked, it was practically seamless, almost as if we’d practiced it. There, it was if nothing had happened. I hadn’t had my breasts mauled by a rough handed stranger, hadn’t masturbated to orgasm against his cock head, hadn’t taken him inside and felt him ejaculate. Just a trio of completely normal people watching the game, not doing anything.

As I stood up fully, so did Sam, and then Bruno. He looked awkward, embarrassed, as if now that it was all over, he wasn’t sure what to do. I understood. There’s no instruction manual for these things.

“I don’t think we’ll stick around to finish the game,” I said. “I think we’ll be going.”

“That’s it?” he asked, it was almost childlike.

“Yeah,” I told him.

“No one’s going to believe this,” he said.

I thought of the waitress and three tables.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,,” I said ruefully. I had the feeling Bruno was about to become a living legend.

“Do you want my number? Am I going to see you again?”

I shook my head: No. I tried to smile kindly at him.

“Did I do okay?” he asked.

For a moment, he seemed like a lost little boy, sweet and unsure of himself. I was moved by this wave of affection. I wrapped my arms around him in a hug, and kissed him affectionately. And then an instant later, I realized we were being watched, so I laid hard into the kiss, pushing my tongue against his lips and drawing it out, surprising him a little, I wanted him to look like a macho stud for his friends, or at least, the other strangers watching us.

“You did perfect,” I told him.

Not really, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. “You’ll get the beer for us?”

“Sure.”

Sam shook his hand, and after that, we made our way out, under the hostile glare of the waitress. Maybe it was my imagination, but I could feel the three tables of men behind us, finally distracted from the game, staring at my ass as we walked out.

&&&

“Wowsers!” I said, we were walking rapidly away, hand in hand. I kept checking over my shoulder to make sure no one followed us. “So this is what you were up to.”

He smiled his ‘canary eating cat’ smile, all superior and knowing.

“Part of it.”

I wanted to laugh. There was no way he could have known how far I would go with Bruno. Or did he? I had a sudden doubt. Sam had had the condom ready, he’d chosen our route, the park, the Italian section, the street... the bar? Had he set it all up in advance? Was Bruno really a random stranger? Or a plant, there for me to ‘spontaneously’ play with.

I stared at Sam, speculatively. Did he set me up with a ringer? Did he have the condom ready because he knew Bruno was waiting?

Did I want to ask? Did I really want to know?

There was no way he could have known I would fuck Bruno. Well, except he had the condom ready. Fuck, he was diabolical.

But there was no way for him to know I’d taken the condom off, and let... insisted... that Bruno come inside me. I took some satisfaction from that.

“Oh,” I said. “There’s more?”

“Oh yeah.”

“You going to tell me?” I asked. Fucking diabolical.

“In time,” he said, smiling. “Think of this as foreplay.”

“So I just have to find out and fuck around? FOFA?”

He laughed.

“How was it so far?”

“Insane,” I almost giggled. “I can’t believe we did that. That bar was full of people. Almost standing room, And you not only felt me up and fingered me, you handed me over to a total stranger to play with. Holy fuck! That was insane!”

“You enjoyed?”

“I’m blown away,” I said. “I’m speechless. That was high wire. That was working without a net. That was... HOT!!!!”

“You went a lot further than I expected,” he said. “I wouldn’t have pushed you.”

I smirked. You have no idea, I thought. Even if you planned it to the last detail, you have no idea how far I went.

“Yeah,” I said. “Let that be a lesson to you. You open that door, I’ll go through.”

He laughed.

“You’re fearless.”

“Totally,” I replied. “That’s me. Fearless.”

As long as I have you there, I thought, to back me up. If you’re there, I know I can do anything. I’d gone a lot further and a lot more fearlessly than I could have imagined doing on my own.

If we’d talked about it, sitting around home, I would have said he was crazy. But when the moment was there, I went for it.

“He came in me.”

Sam nodded. “I saw.”

He didn’t seem to have any strong reaction. Had he seen me drop the condom? I’d let it fall to the floor on the side he was on. If he hadn’t seen it, he might think Bruno had ejaculated in the condom, inside me, rather than painting my walls.

I thought about asking. Then decided not to.

“You came too,” he said.

I squinted and scrunched up my face, holding thumb and forefinger almost together.

“Euhhh,” I said. “I don’t know that really counts as an orgasm. It was just a bitty one. Like stepping off a curb. A tiny little ‘O.’ Hardly worth mentioning.

I paused.

“It was nice, I guess.” I shrugged. “So what’s next in your evil master plan?”

“The subway.”

I stopped dead, and sucked my left cheek in.

“Interesting,” I said, “I can imagine lots of possibilities. I think I know what you’ve got in mind.”

“Disappointed?”

“Not at all... But I need to pee.”