Sit On His Lap

"Hey, look at that... there's only one stool left. You should totally sit on my lap, you know just like old times at the bar we used to hang out at? You know, the one too small for the crowds that always showed?"

I laughed at his joke, a smile firmly on my face, and rolled my eyes, remembering the bar we went to together, back when we dated and had fun with his friends. We sat together, and it did draw crowds. Enough that many couples, including us, ended up having to sit tightly together. He loved grabbing my ass then, knowing nobody would know, and he could get away with pulling and yanking my clothes out of place, while not causing a scene unless I moved to stop him. Which I never did. Guess that's why he still plays at it now, even now we are no longer dating.

"Fine, I'll sit on your lap, but only because it's that busy, and not because you got me thinking about old times. I hold my hand up in the air, and watch as he sits down casually on the single stood still available. I find myself giglging along, noticing he manages to keep his arm around me, holding me tight. I smirk as I notice him making sure to have a spot prepared for me to sit. He looks up at me expectantly, and I left out a chuckle as I half walk, half pulled, onto his lap. At the last movement, my skirt catches on something, and I feel it pulled up hard, and as I finish sitting down, I feel it rise up to around my waist. I giggle softly, my gaze on his face, even as I felt his hand tightly on my ass, and my exposed brests softly bouncing before him.

I **** myself not to stand up, quite aware of the southern expose I'd have to endure if I did. All the same, I let out a gasp, and try to shoot him a dirty look, but all that I can manage is a naughty, flirty one as I giggle at the face he's making. I become all the more aware that all standing between my shaved bush and his hard cock is now just his pants. It's then several young men and a woman pass us by, clearly seeing me exposed before them. Peter, for his party, simply smiles, casually holding him close to me, his hand upon my brest making it clear my bosom was just as openly on display as the rest of me. They paused, taking their time to look me over, looking me over closely, before heading on, smirking as they left.

With that, I felt his hand tighten upon my exposed breasts, before turning and ordering shots for us, and quickly they arrive. He held one for me, and I find myself giddy as we clink glasses, drinking them down quickly. Just as swiftly as the last pair, another set of shots arrive and those go down just as fast. It's not long before we've gone through five or six shots, and I'm a giggly mess. I feel his hand once more on my chest, and I feel myself wonder what's he up to now.

And yet, a part of my being seems all the more willing to play along with whatever he may be after. Maybe it's the ****, but I don't quite feel the same desire to resist such an act as I did before.