Fantasy #2

We’re at a party. The music is loud, the drinks are flowing, and everyone is having a fabulous time. We’re both there with separate groups of friends, and aside from a few snatched moments of flirtatious conversation here and there we’ve barely spent any time together. You’ve been holding court at the bar, laughing and joking with your group of tall, strong men. I’ve been on the dance floor, blissfully singing along and swaying my hips with my handful of pretty women, all happy to be out and away from responsibilities, all joyfully moving their bodies without a care in the world, arms draped conspiratorially over a shoulder or carelessly resting around another’s waist, just enjoying the music and each other.

All evening I’ve been stealing glances in your direction and I keep catching the eye of one of your friends in doing so. This time, I hold his gaze, and smile suggestively before I finally turn away.

Minutes later I’m at the bar and I feel you lean in behind me to whisper in my ear.

“He wants you,” you say. Your voice is low with lust, and jealousy. I feign innocence.

“Who’s that?”

“You know exactly who I mean,” you growl. The bar is crowded and you press into me. I can feel how hard you are.

“Maybe I’ll ask him to dance,” I say, lightly, but inside my heart is beating fast.

“Maybe you should,” you say, and then you’re gone, and I’m missing the firm warmth of you pressed against me. Now, though, I’m on a mission. I down my drink and walk over to your group, ignoring you and making a beeline directly for him. He says something but it’s so loud I don’t hear him. His face is expectant. I hold my hand out and gesture to the dance floor. I see the two of you exchange an inscrutable look as he places his hand in mine and follows me.

The music is slightly slower now, more sensual, though still with an intoxicating beat. I pull him to one side, slightly away from the rest of the throng, and we start to dance. It’s a little awkward at first as we find each other’s rhythm, but soon we’re in sync: one of his hands pressed into the small of my back, my hips grinding into his. My dress is short and tight and rides up slightly as I gyrate, prompting him to run his free hand along my thigh to the hem of my dress. He looks into my eyes and I know he wants to move his hand further up, further in; in response I turn around and grind my ass into his crotch, taking his hands and guiding them to my hips. Now I can clearly feel his arousal, and I’m aware of my own, my underwear drenched, my pussy aching for him.

We move with each other for only a couple more songs but it feels like an eternity, the ecstasy of the movement countered by the clear mutual desire for more. Finally, he turns me back around and pulls me in towards him, firmly, almost roughly.

“I have to have you,” he mutters, his eyes dark. “Now.”