One Saturday morning you decide to see the matinee at the theater. Now that it is summer you are glad of the heat. Now a light sundress is enough clothing even in the morning. Inside the theater is nicely air conditioned and you notice your nipples stiffening. Inside the auditorium there are several people already seated and a few more trickle in as the theater darkens. Never one to sit in the middle, you seat yourself in the back corner. Thinking of a quick escape when the credits roll. Almost as the last trailer ends, you see a large shape standing at the top of the aisle, but you don't think anything about it. Until, a man sits in the seat right next to you. He has broad shoulders and you smell a whiff of your favorite cologne as he sits, never turning his head to glance in your direction. Your indignation at this man's intrusion surfaces and you turn to him to demand he sit somewhere else. Just as the first syllable reaches your throat he shushes you quietly. Almost like he could read your mind. There are no words in his command but you feel the authority in his voice. Somehow undeniable.
The film starts, some action comedy. It isn't what is foremost in your mind. All you can think of is this man, when you feel warmth and pressure on your leg. He has put his hand low on your thigh. You can feel the strength in his hand, but the warmth the comes from it, in the cool theater, makes you forget to be upset. The fingers start to rub lightly and it feels like electricity. Like he is feeling the cloth of your dress. Feeling the fabric gently moving over your soft skin, you steal a glance down, and notice what his fingers are doing. The hem on the sundress slips quietly over your knee and up your leg to where he has been gathering it up. Shortly the hem is past his fingertips and you feel the pads of his fingers on your flesh. Suddenly the heat from his hand is not the only fire warming you. Deep down where it just starts, that is where the heat comes from. His hand moves slowly around your thigh to rest where you have your legs pressed together in an act of defiance you know you won't be able to put up for long. As he feels the pressure between your legs lessen with your resistance waning, his hand continues it's slow journey. The fingers have wrapped beneath your leg, but his thumb is still on top, when you feel the strength you imagined grasp your thigh firmly, but with more care than you expected. He easily pulls your legs apart but only a bit. The heat coming from you has made you a little light headed, and you feel like the air conditioning has decided to skip your area.
Now that it has released his grip on your leg, his hand is gentle as he rubs your silky flesh. Slowly, slowly his hand moves. Sometimes on top of your leg sometimes between them, feeling every inch like a blind man studying his favorite book. You know soon there won't be any higher to climb and shudder a bit at the prospect of what will happen when it reaches the top. His hand is so close, his fingers gentle. Then, as his hand moves from deep in your lap, his fingers brush against you. Only lightly, but you were so concentrated on what was happening it felt like an electric shock. Then his hand moved on and the contact broken, but only momentarily. His next movements place his hand over your satin covered mound and you feel some of that strength as he presses with his hand, only the thin, silky fabric is keeping him out of you.