I put up with this while I finish my drink. It's too loud to hear anyway, and we are a little separated. I leave my husband and start to mosey back toward the bar to get a refill. It's only like eight or ten feet away, but it takes a couple minutes, incredibly, moving ever so slowly, nudging people to move past. Mr. Hand follows me. He is decent looking, dressed casually, about our age. I stub out my cigarette in an ashtray on the bar. As I raise my arm to reach it, the dress comes up. That hand is firmly on my buttock now. I wave to the bartender for another drink. The dress comes up even higher. Now his hand is at the hem and he reaches under it. He rests his palm firmly on my panties now and rubs my butt gently, more firmly, squeezing, fondling. That feels great! What am I doing? I am really getting into this. Somehow he can tell. When I don't object, don't even squirm, he takes it as acceptance. Well, I guess that's right. He reaches down under my butt trying to get his hand between my legs. Oh, god, not this is getting serious. What do I do now?
When the bartender returns with my drink, I have to use both hands to pay her and take the glass. This makes the dress come up much farther. His hand is completely under my skirt and pushing between my thighs. Christ, that's intimate. But my body is enjoying being touched like that. What the hell, go for it. To reach the bar better, I have to shift my weight, move my foot much closer to the bar side. A lot closer. A couple feet. My feet are now wide apart, my legs well open. He uses the opportunity to reach under me right onto my pussy. He presses his fingers hard into my pussy teasing my lips apart through the fabric. I feel him pressing on top of my clit, he moves rhythmically, he wants to fuck me with his hand. By this time I want him to, too. I lean forward, I open my legs more to his touch. He knows I want to continue.
I inhale that drink and wave to the bartender for another. While she's mixing it, I decide that I might as well give in completely to this experience and cooperate. There's a foot rail in front of every bar. Convenient. I lift my foot and hook the rail with my high heel, just as you would do if you were leaning on the bar. For me, tonight, however, it opens my legs much wider. It makes my sex much more accessible, available to his touch, for anything he wants to do with it. He knows right away that I am spreading for him. He slips his hand down inside my panties over my bare ass, and down between my legs, and right onto my pussy. Oh, god, he is between my lips. I'm so wet by this time that his fingers slide easily between my lips. He scrapes my clit with his fingertips, I jerk my hips to his rhythm. Then a finger comes into me, into my hole, inside my pussy, oh, god, this is real sex. A guy I don't know is finger fucking me in a public bar. His hand is under my short skirt, he's inside my panties, he's inside my labia, he's inside my vagina, he's penetrating my body for god's sake, he's pushing a finger into my cunt and is fucking me with it.
My husband is only five or ten feet away but in this crowd he can't see what is happening to me. He's making small talk anyway with another couple. He would be so turned on if he knew. He would encourage it. He would probably join the stranger in fingering me. Yes, both of them would finger me at the same time. He would happily stick his finger into my vagina alongside the stranger's, and saw it in and out of me. Yes, stranger in back, husband in front, openly pushing into my crotch not caring who was watching. He would love that. The perv.
He loves other men to see me, stare at me. He loves me to flash my panties under short skirts. Getting in and out of cars is always a challenge with a real mini skirt. Nothing ladylike about it. He *wants* me not to be ladylike about it. Here, here's my pussy. See? Isn't that a nice shape? Do you like my panties? They barely cover my sex. Can you see the lips of my slit? Mmmm, don't you wish you could feel it?
He would be much happier if I would do it without any panties in the way. That's just a little too bold for me. At home, sure, I give him a shot now and then. But not in public, not with strangers. He would love that, but it's a little too perv for me. So I just flash for him. He has asked me to take my panties off in bars occasionally, and I have, but unfortunately no one else has benefited from my lack of protection. And I get felt up at times like this. I don't mind much, and he loves it. He loves to hear about how some guy fondled my ass as I pushed through a crowd in a ticket line or a dance floor or a subway. He wants me to tell him how I was fondled in an elevator. A slow elevator. With many stops and many on and offs. He would love it if more than one man handled me in an elevator, with serious hands on my boobs and up my skirt. That hasn't happened yet, but when the opportunity arises. . . .
Oh, but who's the perv here tonight? Surely I am the perv, encouraging a strange man to feel me up, to put his hands on my sex, to push his fingers inside me, a stranger fucking into my most intimate place. I didn't just passively let him. I didn't just ignore his hand on me. I encouraged him. I opened my legs for him. That's what a woman does when she wants a partner to get into her sex, she spreads her legs like that. And I just did. And he got the message, and he got into my sex. Oh, god, that feels good, his finger sliding in me.
When the bartender comes with my next drink, she senses that something is funny. As she hands me the drink, her hands cover mine and hold me for a few seconds. "It's okay, honey," she says. I don't know what she sees or knows, but she knows something is going on. Maybe she sees this sort of activity all the time in the bar. Maybe she can tell when a girl is being fondled or groped, maybe she can tell if the girl is scared by it or likes it, maybe she can see the subtle movements of my hips as I am being fucked so subtly.
I smile at her and take the glass. "Thank you. Yes, it's very okay."
