Upstairs

You move as quickly as you can, his hands still around you. One of them pushing hard against your mound, so that with every step you take, your clitoris slicks along his palm, sending electric jolts of pleasure up your spine. On your part, you slide your hand behind you, deftly pulling his fly down, your grasping hand parting his boxers to firmly grab his shaft, softly and gently squeezing and stroking its rock hard length. Now it's his turn to gasp. His cock feels so strong. So strong and smooth and hot. Just touching arouses you even more, if that was possible.

You push through the crowd, uncaring of anyone noticing. You mount the stairs, and he opens the door at the top before pushing you through. As the door swings shut, the booming bass and chatter of conversation dies away and it is a moment before your eyes adjust to the gloom. Your man quickly finds a booth, away from both the door and the bar, hidden in the half light. He practically throws you onto the padded couch, before climbing over the table to join you.

Lying on your side, you feel his hands flip your skirt up before yanking your panties down your thighs, then your calves and over your three inch heels before throwing them onto the table with a quick flick of his wrist. You feel exposed, your stomach knotting in shame and humiliation. Your bare, shaved pussy, is gaping open for all the world to see, your thighs glistening in your own juices. You need him.

You can hear him behind you, fumbling quickly at his belt, and then the whisper of his pants being roughly pushed down before he clutches at you and roughly pulls you onto his lap. You look down, your thighs spread over his, his penis rubbing against your lips and jutting out obscenely, as if it were your own. You push yourself up, reach down and grab it. You position his thick glans against your labia, feeling them open around him. You turn your head back to him.