Read in the event of auto erotic difficulty or for simple masturbatory assistance.
It is late September and it is a warm evening, not hot, but comfortably mild for early autumn. There is a full moon and a slight breeze. We are driving to a new jazz club to enjoy an evening alone listening to jazz and drinking wine.
We arrive at the club around 9:00 and traverse the parking lot toward the main entrance across the street. You endure the obligatory groping as we walk and I discover to my great pleasure that there are no panties under your short black mini skirt. While functionally more comfortable, I enjoy the thought that your bare ass and exposed mound are for my benefit. I give one last squeeze of your ass as we get to the door and we're in.
The club is dimly lit, not in a negative way, but in such a manner as to reflect a sultry uninhibited experience, one that allows the music to be the focus, not the décor. The carpet is a neutral earth tone color and it melts into the deeply colored wall paper and draperies that adorn the windows and booths.
Each booth is somewhat recessed into the wall with a semi circle bench seat at each table (much like the old circular tables at that Mexican place we like). The table clothes are a rich dark red and they hang about 14 inches below the table. The candlelit tables are inviting, private and cozy.
We take a table in the corner and order a bottle of white zin'. The band is an energetic yet smooth ensemble consisting of a base, piano, drum and saxophone. The piano player and drummer are nondescript. The bass player is lanky, unshaven in a beatnik kind of way with long hair and what looks like a cabbie hat resting on his head. The saxophone player is lean, muscular and tan. He sports sunglasses, I suppose, for dramatic effect.
The music is awesome. Some songs border on big band-type jazz while many are smooth and sensuous. We talk, joke, laugh and largely relax as we let the music work its magic. Soon you turn with your back to me and lean back against me. While you sip wine, I caress your shoulders and breasts. You smile warmly, but also look around reflecting that you are still cognizant of our public locale. Seeing other couples and groups in various positions of comfort and diverse stages of intimate embrace you relax and let the music, the wine and I treat you to an evening free of inhibitions.
As we enjoy more music and more wine we become more relaxed. While relaxed, I am unable to resist pursuing additional exploration of your body. After massaging your neck and shoulders for nearly fifteen minutes or at least for the duration of two songs and a saxophone solo that nearly brought the place to its feet, I slip a hand down your scoop neck top and massage your breasts occasionally gently rolling your nipples between my fingers. You moan softly and casually hike your skirt up a little. This signal is interpreted by me as a desire for more than your breasts to be treated to my hands. The aforementioned table cloth provides cover and privacy so I reach down and stroke your bare thighs. With each subsequent stroke my fingers travel higher on your thighs and your internal monologue is wondering why I am teasing you so.
With no intention of teasing you, I am resisting rapid progression against all my animal desires to throw you up on the table and fuck you wildly. I continue the gentle strokes and enjoy the building desire in us both. Eventually I find the upper most part of your leg, the area that is leg no more. I gingerly brush the hair of your pussy with my fingers. You respond by moaning and arching your back trying to raise your hips and pelvic area forcing my fingers to exert more pressure. I push against your pussy with my fingers and slowly follow the contour of your opening wetting my fingers with your juices. I withdraw my hand and lick my fingers. I linger to breathe deeply from them the scent I love most in the world.
