Dancing with Strangers

It's my first time going to a club alone, and if I'm being honest, I'm feeling a little nervous.

I'm a confident person.... usually. But it's so much easier to be confident with friends, and all of them are busy tonight. And I don't spend too much time in clubs to begin with - any time, really, by most people's standards. But tonight, I want to hear music, I want to be around people, and more than anything, I want to dance.

I spent a little too much time getting ready - making sure that my hair looks great and my clothes are flattering, classy sleeveless top cutting off neatly above my leather-front leggings - but not

too

flattering, of course. Everyone says clubs get messy after 10pm, and all my primping means I'll get there way closer to midnight. Sure, a part of me is hoping to catch the attention of a handsome boy on the dancefloor, but mostly, I just want to be alone in the crowd tonight.

I give myself one more glance in the mirror and head out. I'm psyching myself out more and more on the train ride there, picturing all the ways I might embarrass myself or look weird. When I get to the door, my usually solid composure is giving way to the anxious pounding of my heart. I make a beeline straight to the bar.

"One Cherry Mary, please," I ask, ordering the first drink that looks palatable off their cocktail menu. I sip it quickly, eager to let it ease the tension in my chest and replace it with that electric push to get moving. It soon works its magic, and I feel the tension slip away. The dancefloor pulses with generic electronic beats, beckoning me to join the swaying crowd.

The rhythm is intoxicating. It's easy to instinctively move my hips to the beats as the songs get progressively more energetic, swelling with a grungy, eclectic energy that I can feel in my veins, and I'm forgetting myself in the crowd easily. It's freeing, like I'm floating with the music, losing a sense of my own body's movements.

It takes me a while to catch it - catch you moving against me. I felt it earlier but didn't register it. It's hard not to register your thrusting now, though, now that I can feel the unmistakable pushing of your bulge against my ass.

Normally, I'd shove this gutsy stranger away and retreat to wherever my friends are dancing. But without my friends here, I feel strangely okay with this. Maybe it's the alcohol or maybe it's the music, but I keep moving my hips to the music in rhythm with yours. I feel you move in closer, chest flush against my back now, running your hands up and down my arms before settling one on my hip, the other closing over my own hand for just a second before making its way to my other hip.

My heart is pounding, all senses focused on your hands on my body. I'm hyperaware of them moving up and down, up my stomach and back down, getting bolder and closer to my chest and pelvis on each pass. I try not to break the rhythm, try not to let you see how affected I am by this. I can't let you know how wet it's making me.

I can't stop the hitched breath that comes out of my mouth when you cup my chest, though. Can't help the moan when the other hand matches it on the other side, your thrusting not slowing down as you openly grope me on the dancefloor, squeezing and teasing me in front of everybody.

Your mouth brushes against my throat, lips ghosting over it while your hands play with me. I moan again when it suddenly turns into a wet sucking at my throat, almost intimate, except for the fact that you're a stranger, and everyone can see us. I'm praying that no one is paying attention, but it's getting harder and harder to deflect attention with my moans getting involuntarily louder.

One of your hands snakes its way down my stomach, resting at my waistband as you lick up my throat. Marking your territory. Your property. Your quiet chuckle drives me wild - even wilder once I feel your hand slip under the waistband. I thrust against your fingers, unbearably slick with my desire, earning another chuckle in my ear.

People are definitely noticing us now, but I don't care anymore. All I can think about is want. Your free hand is in my shirt now, teasing my nipple, and I can't handle it, moaning and thrusting on you like your personal fuck toy in front of everyone.

Please

, I can't stop thinking as you pump your fingers in and out of me, stretching me open.

Please, please fuck me

.

I haven't even seen your face yet. I don't want to. I don't care. I just want you to take what's yours right now. Standing up, on a table, on the fucking floor, I just want release, and I want you to give it to me.

You give me another long, possessive lick, and then I feel my shirt being lifted over my head, exposing my braless breasts to the crowd. You cradle them and lean your head on my shoulder, facing the crowd, like you're parading me in front of an audience.

Better give them a good show

, I think hazily. You pull your fingers out of me and run them up my chest, into my mouth. I suck on them obediently, looking out at the crowd, unable to make out any faces in my haze -

and when did it get so bright?

- but fully aware that everyone's turned to us, no one dancing anymore.

You pull your fingers out and wipe the spit off on my skin, undoing the button and zipper on your pants and releasing your cock, guiding it to my mouth. Obediently, I give it long, sultry licks, still not looking you in the eyes. I'd rather not know. I just focus on my task, sucking and licking you with your hand in my hair. My eyes roll back as you start to thrust in earnest, and I can't help the pathetic whine that comes out of my mouth when you pull me off and to my feet.

My disappointment doesn't last long, though. You're pulling my pants down, along with the panties, turning me around to show the crowd again. I give an awkward smile, unsure of what to do, until suddenly, I feel you picking me up and slamming me onto the bar, lining yourself up and

thrusting

in what feels like a split second.

I shout with shocked pleasure, completely filled up by your enormous cock, salivating deliriously at the feeling of your thrusts.

Thank god he stretched me - this thing could tear me in two!!

I can't tell if I even feel like that's a bad thing in my blissful trance.

I feel like I could explode right here - and that explosion is approaching fast, your thrusts hitting

just right

, my skin electric with the feeling of your hands on me, and it hits me - vision going completely white out of focus with pleasure, my body clenching on you like a vice. And I can feel it hit you too, spilling inside me. It's sexy -

so fucking sexy

- and it feels like I'm being filled to the fucking brim, happily overflowing with your sticky seed.

Suddenly, everything feels.....

different

. Your thrusts stop, and the haze around me mellows out, awareness slowly coming back to me. The awareness is too sharp, sickeningly in focus - suddenly, it's all real again. I'm seriously sitting naked on a bar in front of a roomful of strangers, all eyes on me, cum oozing out of me onto the bar.

I feel wobbly, eyes cast to the floor. You help me down, and I'm almost grateful for a second, until I feel you slap my ass and give it a squeeze before walking away. I gather my things hastily, in a different kind of daze, and go get dressed in the bathroom.

When I come back out, the party is back to how it was before, couples and friends laughing together in the low light, music low-key and pumping in the background. I would think it was all a dream, if I didn't feel the wetness between my legs and see the unmistakable puddle on the bar.

I stumble out onto the street and into a cab. I can't figure out what I'm feeling, or what just happened. All I can think about is getting home. And when my friends inevitably ask what I did this weekend, I know all I'll be able to answer with is a timid, "Nothing much..."