At the Rear of the Theater

There's something to be said about work and how it makes us virtually married to what we do. It binds us with never-ending guilt and lures us into a commitment with empty notions of ownership and power. It ceases to be meaningful after awhile; it simply becomes a means to a strung-out end. We work until we're left with nothing but an empty climax.

You've been at the office all day, and I know my presence at your place is a diversion, somewhat of a mini-vacation for you. I've glanced at the clock several times within the past hour, as if that's going to do any good. It's going on 8, and the sky is already covered in an indigo veil. The streetlights illuminate the dark stretches of the quiet street. There's nothing keeping me here in the confines of your house, and I don't want to be here if you're not. I snatch up my phone and send you a quick text, letting you know where I'll be. Then I get myself ready, pulling the comfy little polo dress over my head, slipping into my sandals, and heading out the door into the stifling blanket of the evening.

The movie's been going on for the past 20 minutes, and you're still at work. I stopped looking at my phone fifteen minutes ago though. It's not as if the movie's particularly engrossing. I chose something bland and noisy but not likely to fill up the theater. There are people seated here and there, but I've just a rear view of heads from my seat in the back corner. I've my specs on, if anything, to pretend like I'm interested in Bruce Willis saving the world from terrorists with bad accents. My hands, on the other hand, are my real diversion. I've taken on this compulsion whenever I'm alone at the movies, and it's my excuse for wearing a short, knit dress out in public. The thought that someone might turn around in his or her seat and catch me in the act is what excites me the most.

The pinky finger of my left hand traces light, skittish circles around my left breast's nipple. The bra I've got on is thin enough that even through the cotton weave of my dress and the sheer nylon that cups my breasts, I can feel the tingling touch, teasing and hot. The nipple swells and puckers beneath my finger, poking and straining against the flimsy material. I allow my other hand to skim underneath the hem of my dress. It kneads my thigh, moving restlessly further onwards. Its guilty fingers slide underneath the elastic of my already saturated panties.

My cunt throbs in its heat as my fingers slip between the hungry, moist lips of my labia. Perspiration gathers in a tiny crown of droplets on my forehead, and my hair feels like a sticky cap. I can hear my own panting, a crescendo of wispy gasps, as my fingers toy maddeningly hard, around and around my inflamed clit. My left hand dives underneath to join its partner; its fingers seeking and finding the entrance to the wet cavern deep between my lips. I squirm in my seat as I fuck myself hard – one hand's fingers pushing in and out of me, the others flicking around my swollen clit.

I work myself into a frenzy in my seat, but I can't reach an orgasm. The act of my lonely desperation leaves me empty, unfulfilled. I let my hands slide back out from underneath my dress, my fingers wet and smelling of my heat. I slide back in my seat, pull my dress over my bare knees and sulkily cross my legs. There's no point to any of this, if I can't get relaxed and feel absolutely comfortable with my body at this moment.

"You okay there?" you ask as you sit down in the seat next to me.

I turn in my seat, facing you, grinning like I've been caught in the act. I'm so glad you're here, and I hold out a hand towards you. "You tell me, " I whisper in your ear. Then I let a couple of fingers trace the curve of your lips.

You take my fingers into your mouth, sucking and licking at them, taking in the taste of me. I climb over and straddle you, taking my fingers from out of your mouth. We kiss, and it's just right. Our lips flirt, brushing lightly against one another. My tongue languorously slides and strokes your lower lip, and your mouth gently pries and opens mine. As your mouth devours my own, your hands reach up from behind me and move up to unbutton the front of my dress. You release my lips from our heavy, sensual kiss, and your lips travel down the length of my neck to the cushiony hollow between my breasts. It isn't long before I feel your mouth sucking and pulling at a nylon-trapped nipple.

My hands massage your head as you release my breast from its thin bondage and draw it hard into your mouth, and I moan softly into your hair. This is tricky for me, to keep quiet and so absolutely still when your mouth feels so good on me. I feel your prick, thick and swollen, come to life, straining hard against your zipper, so I use the moment, while your mouth is locked and sucking on my breast, to grind my wet pussy against the front of your trousers. I can feel my clit swell and tingle through my soaking panties. It's all so very binding, all of this tightness, the heat, these barricades between us. There's only so much rubbing I can take before I have to have you in me, feeling your hard cock plunging in deep, making it so searing and liquidy between my thighs.

I have an idea though that will allow for one of us, at the very least, to be on the lookout while we're so contently busy enjoying ourselves. No room for trouble without our consent. I slowly and quietly shift off your lap, and your lips let go of my breast. You look up at me quizzically. I put a finger to your lips and then tuck my breast back into the cup of my bra and button myself back up. Then I turn and give a quick glance around to make sure no one has idly gotten up and has seen us. We're in luck, as everyone seems engrossed in the vacant thrills onscreen. Plus, there are no ushers meandering about, which saves us momentarily. I use the moment no one's looking to stand and remove my panties –a slinky, satiny little pair I'd bought awhile ago from an upscale place near my home. I'd never had the opportunity to wear them, never mind get utterly turned on in them; I'd only wanted to wear them for this very occasion, just for you and you alone. I playfully draw them back and sling them at you, and you catch them just before they land against your face.

I then bend and unzip your trousers, reaching in and grasping the perfect solidity I'm craving. You're engorged and throbbing in my grasp. I straddle you once more, this time with my back facing you, and I take your hard prick deep inside of me from behind. My cunt is so slick and wet, it's tricky at first to get adjusted to our new position, but after a minute of shifting around a little, we both ease back into the seat, my back in a comfortable nook against your chest. I use the seat armrests to lift and push up and down, hard against you, taking you in to the hilt. I feel my clit mash against the base of your groin as I find a steady, shaky, awkward rhythm. The hardest part is keeping it quiet, and you know this and how loud I can get. As I move in grinding, rough, clumsy movements against you, your hands roam my front and massage my tender, aching breasts through my dress.

Your fingers from one hand trap my rising nipples and gently squeeze them until they're sparking from within. I take your other hand from a breast and suck a couple of your fingers between my lips as I push and grind harder against you, twisting myself, and using the muscles in my pussy to tug teasingly at your cock. My bare ass moves in rhythm against you as I use my hands against the armrests as leverage and move up and down faster, pushing up and down. The sloppy wet sound of my pussy sucking and pulling hard at your cock is a soft, wet noise but loud enough in our own ears. The thrill of the thought of being caught is more than a turn on for both of us. However, there are plenty of explosions onscreen to divert the attention of everyone else in the audience.

I moan, sucking hard at your fingers, my climax building. We've no need to worry about the noise we're making, as we're surrounded by high definition blasting all around us. I am so close. It's at that very moment, when I push down and squeeze you greedily between my thighs, when you groan and whisper, "Fucking fantastic," into my ear. One of your hands releases a breast to move below and rub roughly and rapidly at my engorged clit. Your other hand's fingers move from out from between my hungry lips, and your hand clamps over my mouth in the nick of time, smothering my loud moan as I come, my body trembling over you, my pussy contracting, pulsing, twitching around your cock. You do this to me. Every time.

I slide myself off you. The smell of our frenetic, impulsive lovemaking is heady in the rear of the theater. I quickly stand and pull my panties back on as you tuck yourself back in and zip up, a grin of utter contentment on your face. I sit back down beside you, shifting back comfortably in my seat. My hand reaches over for yours and squeezes it. We share a naughty chuckle, like kids caught doing something we shouldn't have. I put my head against your shoulder, and you wrap an arm around me. We don't care much for anything going on in the movie. Our only thoughts linger behind to what we shared in secret, something we will never share with anyone else. This is us and our own private world.