the finger away, savoring it.
My hands clench at the armrests, my fingers tight.
Laughter again.
A finger dips forward and downwards, pausing at the ring of my muscle, the very entrance to my body. Moisture gathers around it. It slides in effortlessly, up to the knuckle and I feel it run over the corrugated roof of my cunt, the bumpy indentations there soaked.
In and out he moves it, attempting to press deeper each time, exploring me. When he does the solid underside of his palm presses down against my clit and I grind forward to meet it, careful to restrict my movements. His face remains steady. His eyes face the movie.
He draws his finger out slowly and I can feel how wet it is.
I want to grab his wrist to force it back inside, but I hold firm.
He cups his chin with his hand, two fingers pointed up to his nostrils like a gun. He rests his elbow on the armrest, and to anyone else it would look like a gaze of contemplation, The Thinker in any other circumstance. Yet I know my juices coat the finger that rests under his nose. He inhales my scent with each labored breath. His eyes close. He can’t get enough.
It’s happening. It’s finally happening.
It is some time before they open and glance my way. A smile falls onto his lips. I smile back, enflamed, my legs spread and my pussy still exposed.
I picture one of the ushers coming up the aisle with a torch, catching us in the act, taking in my bare vagina, the lips plump and moist, that fissure of a mouth hungry between them. He’d think of how he could feed it, his cock growing stiff in his pants.
Brock leans over to me. I feel his stubble on my cheek. He’s careful not to make too much sound or exaggerate the movement. He waits until a moment of action on screen, the crowd to cry out or gasp before he whispers, “Take them off.”
Questions roll into my head, hesitation, but I force it all out.
I keep my eyes locked on his.
I raise my bum up, pressing up on my heels until I’m no longer in contact with the seat.
His tongue rolls over his bottom lip as he watches, staring into the dark void between my legs.
A kid screams at some cheap popcorn thrill.
I find the back of my panties with my hands, one each side of my hips, and slowly push them forward over my legs.
There’s a blinding white on screen and it lights up the top of my pussy, the dark triangle there that dives down into my bare lips, now spread and glistening in the light.
When my panties are halfway down my legs, I place my bum back down on the seat, feeling wetness between my ass cheeks, on my anus, staining the seat with it. It’s slick up the side of my inner thighs, my juices everywhere.
Ass on the seat, I lift my feet up, pull my legs together and attempt to pull the panties free over my knees, but as they stretch over my kneecaps they stick to my cleft, stretching thin, the stickiness keeping them attached, a sexual glue. I pull and they spring free, a stained patch clear in the deep recess of the D shape they create swinging between my legs. I let them fall over my legs until they dangle around my ankles.
I loop one out from my heel so that they hang from my left foot. I reach around and sling them off. Scrunched up in my hand, I place them in the space between our seats. I’m completely naked around the waist, my bare ass on the chair, my pussy completely uncovered, my dress pooled around my hips. I spread my legs again, eyes still locked on Brock’s face, his hand moving over his groin.
He’s focused on the ball of panties. I know he wants to snatch them up, to breathe me in, cover his face in my wetness, but he restrains himself.
His eyes flicker up into mine. I stare into their azure abyss, the screen a tiny square in his pupils, fragmented into two.
“Make me cum,” I whisper, as I spread my legs wide, my pussy opening. I can feel the moist cinema air deep in my hole, cooling the fire there such is the level of my excitement.
My heart races. I see Brock’s thudding
My hands clench at the armrests, my fingers tight.
Laughter again.
A finger dips forward and downwards, pausing at the ring of my muscle, the very entrance to my body. Moisture gathers around it. It slides in effortlessly, up to the knuckle and I feel it run over the corrugated roof of my cunt, the bumpy indentations there soaked.
In and out he moves it, attempting to press deeper each time, exploring me. When he does the solid underside of his palm presses down against my clit and I grind forward to meet it, careful to restrict my movements. His face remains steady. His eyes face the movie.
He draws his finger out slowly and I can feel how wet it is.
I want to grab his wrist to force it back inside, but I hold firm.
He cups his chin with his hand, two fingers pointed up to his nostrils like a gun. He rests his elbow on the armrest, and to anyone else it would look like a gaze of contemplation, The Thinker in any other circumstance. Yet I know my juices coat the finger that rests under his nose. He inhales my scent with each labored breath. His eyes close. He can’t get enough.
It’s happening. It’s finally happening.
It is some time before they open and glance my way. A smile falls onto his lips. I smile back, enflamed, my legs spread and my pussy still exposed.
I picture one of the ushers coming up the aisle with a torch, catching us in the act, taking in my bare vagina, the lips plump and moist, that fissure of a mouth hungry between them. He’d think of how he could feed it, his cock growing stiff in his pants.
Brock leans over to me. I feel his stubble on my cheek. He’s careful not to make too much sound or exaggerate the movement. He waits until a moment of action on screen, the crowd to cry out or gasp before he whispers, “Take them off.”
Questions roll into my head, hesitation, but I force it all out.
I keep my eyes locked on his.
I raise my bum up, pressing up on my heels until I’m no longer in contact with the seat.
His tongue rolls over his bottom lip as he watches, staring into the dark void between my legs.
A kid screams at some cheap popcorn thrill.
I find the back of my panties with my hands, one each side of my hips, and slowly push them forward over my legs.
There’s a blinding white on screen and it lights up the top of my pussy, the dark triangle there that dives down into my bare lips, now spread and glistening in the light.
When my panties are halfway down my legs, I place my bum back down on the seat, feeling wetness between my ass cheeks, on my anus, staining the seat with it. It’s slick up the side of my inner thighs, my juices everywhere.
Ass on the seat, I lift my feet up, pull my legs together and attempt to pull the panties free over my knees, but as they stretch over my kneecaps they stick to my cleft, stretching thin, the stickiness keeping them attached, a sexual glue. I pull and they spring free, a stained patch clear in the deep recess of the D shape they create swinging between my legs. I let them fall over my legs until they dangle around my ankles.
I loop one out from my heel so that they hang from my left foot. I reach around and sling them off. Scrunched up in my hand, I place them in the space between our seats. I’m completely naked around the waist, my bare ass on the chair, my pussy completely uncovered, my dress pooled around my hips. I spread my legs again, eyes still locked on Brock’s face, his hand moving over his groin.
He’s focused on the ball of panties. I know he wants to snatch them up, to breathe me in, cover his face in my wetness, but he restrains himself.
His eyes flicker up into mine. I stare into their azure abyss, the screen a tiny square in his pupils, fragmented into two.
“Make me cum,” I whisper, as I spread my legs wide, my pussy opening. I can feel the moist cinema air deep in my hole, cooling the fire there such is the level of my excitement.
My heart races. I see Brock’s thudding
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