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I enter the bar where we’ve arranged to meet, and shake the snow from my hair and coat. It’s packed in the bar on this cold night, so my eyes quickly scan the crowd for your face. I think I spot you at the bar, so I make my way through the crowd, unbuttoning my coat as I go. Your back is to the bar, your eyes on the door and the crowd, so you spot me squeezing past people to get to you.
You have my beer in your hand, waiting for me. I finally get past the last person and we’re face to face, eye to eye. You stand and we give each other a hug. You offer me your bar stool, but I decline, saying I wouldn’t be comfortable sitting anyway, given what I’m wearing. Your eyes roam down my body and see that I’m wearing what I promised: black skirt, not tight or a mini, but it’s flared a little at the knees, and there’s a slit up the middle, dangerously high. Given the weather outside, I’ve worn my knee-length black leather boots that fit snugly on my calves. You sit back down. We make friendly small talk like two people on a blind date might make.
The movement of the crowd forces me to stand closer to you, so eventually I’m standing nearly pressed against you, between your parted legs, which is fine, because the din of the crowd means we have to talk almost directly into each other’s ears. It doesn’t seem to take long before the contact of our bodies and feeling the other person’s lips and breath against our cheeks makes us look knowingly into each other’s eyes. We stop talking for a while, and I just enjoy knowing that you’re Travesti likely as turned on as I am. You slide forward on the bar stool a little, moving your feet from the rings on the bottom of the stool to the floor, so that you’re standing and leaning against the stool more than you’re sitting on it. A guy squeezes through the crowd, inadvertently pushing me into you, and your arm goes under my coat and around me quickly, naturally, and you hold me to you. You push against me a little with your hips, and I can feel your erection through your jeans, through my skirt, against my hip. I look in your eyes, as if to say, “I did that?”
No one can see under my coat, so your hand moves lower, from the small of my back to my ass, and you hold me against you. Looking into your eyes, I tell you point blank that I want you, and you close your eyes as the words escape my lips. You don’t need to say it back; it’s evident enough from the erection you are pushing against me that you want me, too.
“Are you wearing the—”
“–the garter and stockings? yes.”
“And…?”
“That’s it.”
“Are you—”
“—wet? Most definitely.”
I think I hear a soft growl escape your lips as you move your head forward to nuzzle my neck. Your arm moves down the back of my leg, around to the front, until you feel the opening in my skirt. You reach in a little, sliding your hand between my thighs, feeling the silky stockings. You look up, and around. It is dark and wall-to-wall with people and no one even has izmir Travesti a clue. You move your hand up a little, and feel the tops of the stockings on both legs, the fasteners of the garter belt, the soft, warm skin of my inner thigh. You move your hand up just a little more, your thumb making initial contact with my wet center.
I jump a little at your touch, and you chuckle a little at the thought of what you’re doing to me, where you’re doing it, how you’re doing it. I’m at your mercy and we both know it. You move your thumb into me just a little, then out and up and forward a little, between the folds of skin until you find my clit and press against it. I fall forward a little into you. To anyone watching, it looks like I’m putting my lips to your ear so you can hear what I’m saying, but I’m not saying anything, really, because I’m unable to speak. I feel you move your thumb back down, into the wetness, into me, then back out to my clit.
I tell you that I have to have you, and you respond, “And I you. But all in good time. We have the entire evening.” Your thumb is now working countless tiny miracles on me, rubbing my clit for several seconds at a time, then dipping back into me, then back to my clit, over and over. I can’t believe how close I am, and here, with 200 people clueless about what you are doing to me. I do my best to control my facial expressions, but my breathing is shallow, and I can’t even talk to you right now.
“Cum for me,” you say softly. I can barely hear you, but Konya Travesti I don’t miss a word. I nod slowly, almost imperceptibly, unable to verbally respond. My arm is around your shoulders now, and I put my lips to your ear. “One more minute of you doing exactly what you’re doing, dear, and I will.” You need no further encouragement. I softly press my lips to yours, murmuring against your mouth, “I’m going to cum. Don’t stop. Please do not stop.” I feel it start to build and you slide your other arm under my coat, around my back, for support. Softly, so only you can hear, “Oh, god, yes, that’s it,” and just as the first sharp intense wave hits me, you kiss me passionately, hardly drawing the attention of anyone, we’re just two lovers having a fun night out, getting a little carried away with kissing, for all anyone knows.
But my cries, which I do my best to control, are smothered by your kisses, by your lips, your tongue in my mouth, as your thumb grinds back and forth on my clit, your other arm around me to hold me as my knees buckle from the intensity of the orgasm. I can’t believe how incredible it feels, a touch so simple as a thumb, and several long moments go by before I can pull my lips from yours safely. I move my forehead to your shoulder as you stop moving your hand. You withdraw your thumb, trailing it along my upper thigh, leaving a streak of my juices on my own leg.
We remain there in the embrace, quietly, not speaking for a few minutes, as I catch my breath and gather my senses. I touch my lips to the side of your neck softly, then to your ear, softly saying, “That was incredible!”
“Yes, it was,” you say with a grin, and I know you’re referring to the thrill you got from making it happen. “Shall we go?” you continue. “Most definitely.”
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