We enter the restroom—divided into stalls. We choose one. The door opens outward. I lock it. I press you against it and we start kissing hungrily. All night I watched you dance in that tight, short silver dress that outlines your delicate figure.
With one hand I grab your wrists and lift them above your head, pinning them to the door. With the other I hold your chin and slowly slide down toward your breasts. I take one of them and massage it with slow, circular movements.
With my knee I part your legs, lifting it until it touches that burning place, and I begin to move back and forth. Your breathing deepens. With a sharp motion I turn you so your back is to me.
Your hands are now behind your back, held with one of mine, while with the other I turn your head to kiss you. Our tongues meet and dance to the rhythm of the music.
I release your head and my hand slides down. I lift your skirt and begin to massage, through the white lace underwear, that little spot that makes you tremble at every touch. I feel the wetness coming from you.
I pull your underwear down to your knees. I stop kissing you for a moment. Our gazes lock. I lick my fingers and trace your lips with them, but they're not wet enough—I need more. I place them in your mouth. You know why. You lick them one by one, soaking them with that sweet juice I was tasting just moments ago.
My hand returns to the sweetest place. I start with one finger, with light up-and-down motions. Gradually I reach that slightly firm spot and touch it persistently. Your breathing quickens. Minutes pass. Juices run down your thighs. You're close—just a few more movements are all you need.
Just then someone enters the restroom—two men. You hold your breath so they won't hear you. I release your hands. You press them to your mouth to stop any sound.
The men go about their business and talk at the same time—not about something, but about someone. About a girl in a short silver dress. About you. They talk about what they'd do to you if they had one night with you. You feel desired, and it excites you even more.
Between your legs you feel the heat of something burning. Without warning I penetrate you from behind. From excitement and pleasure your legs begin to tremble uncontrollably. You press your mouth shut to hold back the cries.
One or two minutes pass. The men are still outside, and I don't stop. One of my hands grips your hair and gently presses your head against the stall door, while with the other I drive into you.
You feel that you're barely in control. I place your hand on the lock, unlock it, and hold the door so it doesn't open under your weight. You shake your head—no, there are people, they'll see us. I smile.
You grip me tightly. The thrill of being seen drives you crazy—a new, unfamiliar sensation. I let go of the door. It opens. The light blinds you. And from the very thought of being exposed, you reach your first orgasm.
Your body shakes; our fluids run down your thighs. I hold you tightly for a moment until you calm down. Your mind clears and you realize—we're alone. The men left long ago.
You turn to me with an angry look—why I didn't tell you. You lightly hit me on the shoulder. I pull you to me and kiss you gently until you calm down.