Written by Nifemi
We are at a party together. An official kind of event. You’re wearing your three-piece suit—the type you wore with her in the picture. But dark blue this time. I knew I’d like dark blue on you.
I am wearing one of my skimpy short skirts and a thong underneath. I look hot as fuck. You’ve said this into my ears about seven times, your hands always finding an excuse to make contact with my skin.
You know what you’re doing. We know what you’re doing. I don’t hate it, but I don’t want to acknowledge it either. You know this too, so I know you’re plotting to force me to acknowledge it. My body tenses up in anticipation. Excitement. But I rein it in.
You are bold. We established that in the first few minutes of our physical contact.
“I am a toucher,” you had said gruffly over the phone the previous day. “I’d like to touch you. Would you be okay with that?”
“S-sure,” I had replied, internally giggling because I adore physical touch. Little did I know I had signed myself up for… Well, we’ll see.
“Nervous?” you ask, watching me fidget.
I am, but I’d die before I admit it. “No,” I say, but my voice comes out high-pitched, betraying my inner turmoil. You narrow your eyes at the lie but don’t comment on it. Instead, you pour wine into a cup and carefully slide it to me.
“Drink,” you command, leaving no room for questions.
Christ. You really are dominant. I take the drink and swallow it in one gulp, the cool taste settling over me and relaxing me. I move to wipe my mouth, but you’re faster. You lean forward, your thumb dutifully swiping at the bottom of my lip, catching the spill of wine.
I watch, mesmerised, as you bring your thumb to your lips and lick it.
You don’t break eye contact, and the air suddenly feels heavy. Charged. Fuck, I need another drink.
I don’t even have to say this out loud because you are immediately pouring me another glass. I take it and sip gently this time, careful to avoid any spillage. You have a smirk dancing on your lips, and fuck, if it isn’t the sexiest thing in the world.
I look back at my drink. You are watching me intensely, and I don’t know what to do with all that attention. I’m usually bold, but right now, I am melting under the intensity of your gaze. It usually takes effort to make me shy, but then again, it’s you.
You don’t ask before pulling me into your lap. A little squeak escapes me, and I look around to see if anyone noticed, but everyone seems engrossed in their own business. The speaker drones on, and the room hums with activity—the sound of clinking glasses, polite conversation, nothing out of place. Nobody seems to pay us any mind.
I tilt my head to look at you, and the hunger in your eyes startles me. You look like you’re ready to devour me. Like you think I’m the sexiest thing alive.
I’m not gonna lie, I’m a little turned on. Who am I kidding? I’ve been turned on since I walked into the room and our eyes locked. You trailed your eyes lazily over my body, as if stripping me naked with your eyes. My body hasn’t stopped burning since then.
Your hand doesn’t move at first. It just rests heavy on my thigh, but am I hyperaware of it? Yes, yes, I am. I try to keep my cool, but it’s hard to when your fingers begin lazily circling my thigh. I know you’re doing this on purpose, but the movements are so lazy that I’m tempted to think otherwise. I shift on your lap, and my skirt rides a little higher. I’m quickly soaking through my thong. I’m so turned on, fuck. But two can play this game. If you can be nonchalant, I can be too.
“You’re fidgeting again,” you murmur into my ear, voice low, almost casual. Your fingers drum idly against my bare skin but fuck, I feel everything. I feel the barest graze. I suck in a breath as your hand moves higher up.
I try to keep my breathing steady, eyes fixed on the glass in my hand, pretending to sip, pretending not to notice the way your thumb is sliding higher, inch by deliberate inch, toward the hem of my skirt. Close to my heating core.
“Relax.” You say it so gently, but it’s an unmistakable order. “You’ll give us away.”
So much for nonchalance then.
I shift, a small adjustment, as though I’m trying to sit more comfortably, but really, it’s to ease the pressure, the hard press of your thigh beneath me. My ass falls perfectly into place between your crotch and my skirt rides up an inch higher.
“Better,” you whisper, breath tickling the shell of my ear. To anyone else, it must look like you’re murmuring some polite nothing. But your hand squeezes my thigh, firm and deliberate, and my body betrays me. I press down harder into your lap.
The speaker at the front laughs at his own joke, the room follows, and in the swell of laughter your fingers finally slip beneath the fabric of my skirt. Too close, too fucking close. Teasing.
I bite back a sound, turning it into a smile for no one in particular. My nails dig into my glass stem.
“You’re enjoying this,” you breathe, the words hidden in a chuckle that only I know isn’t real. “Trying so hard not to.”
I swallow. My throat is dry, though the wine was cool. I can’t answer. I don’t dare.
Your fingers flex. And the smallest roll of your hips lifts me just enough to remind me exactly where I’m sitting—on you, on your lap, grinding so subtly it could be mistaken for shifting in my seat.
Almost.
As your fingers reach even higher up, my legs subconsciously part, and I adjust myself until my pussy makes direct contact with the fabric of your trousers. At the same time, your warm palm rest heavy on my thong-clad pussy. Your thumb finds my knob and the effect is instantaneous. A delicious feeling shoots up my spine, and it takes everything in me not to beg you to fuck me right there and then.
Fuck, fuck, fuck! I mentally chant. You must know that I’m so wet for you. I close my eyes from bliss and try to stifle the sigh of satisfaction that escapes from the bliss I’m feeling. I start to grind on your finger and lap. Small, slow movements.
Your other hand wraps around my waist to steady me, and my eyes flutter shut when I hear your voice in my ears. Husky, low, commanding.
“That’s my good girl. Grind on Daddy’s lap, baby.”
Your hand wraps firmly around my waist as you control my movement. Needless to say, all caution has been thrown to the wind as I shamelessly move back and forth on your strong, sturdy lap.
“Open your eyes, baby.” Your voice says gruffly in my ears. “Mmhm,” I say, unable to register anything beyond the pleasure I’m currently feeling. A gentle slap on my thigh jolts me back to reality. Barely.
I look back at you, and I see your eyes on me.
“Look ahead, pumpkin. That woman in gold can see you shamelessly riding on my lap. How does that make you feel?”
Immediately, a feeling of awareness settles over me as I remember where I am. Where we are. But underneath that, there is another feeling. Excitement. I love that I’m being watched. I love that I’m making a good display of myself, and judging from the very pleased look on the woman’s face, I must be doing a good job. I want to do a good job. I love that she is pleased with me. I want to impress her even more. And it’s not just her. The thought of being on display for everyone here makes my heart flutter. Fills me with excitement. Pleasure.
I must look like a wanton slut right now, and Christ, do I love it.
“I don’t mind. I like it.” I say in response to your question.
A look immediately settles over your features. Pride. It fills me with a rush of warmth. I love that my answer impressed you. I want you to be proud of me.
“Ugh, I don’t know who I’m turning into.” I whisper, burying my face in my hands.
Your body vibrates behind me, and I know you’re chuckling.
“Do you want to get out of here?” You ask.
I contemplate it for a few minutes before I’m nodding vigorously. My pussy is throbbing in anticipation of the wicked, delicious plans I know you have for me.
