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How was it that she was alone? Or did she prefer it? Did she enjoy moving throughout the club, watching others dance, listening in on the absurdities no doubt being spoken of… I needed to get near her – that much I knew. I wanted to feel that skin, covered only by a black tank-top and leather skirt that hugged her legs down to her knees, her body was accentuated by those 4 inch red stilettos. She seemed to deflect others, skillfully moving around the bar until she knew she would be left alone with her dirty martini – a woman like that would drink a dirty martini – classy, yet with a mysterious bitterness that assaulted and caressed your tongue. She lifted the olive from the glass, perching it between her teeth…I could see her tongue moving over it slowly before she took it between her lips, painted red, sucking it into her mouth. I could feel myself getting hard just at the sight of her – that marvelous sight. I was almost afraid to imagine how good it might feel to approach her, to. Breath seeps into me before shuddering out once more, and my own small breasts rise and fall in response to the expansion and contraction of my lungs causing the taut, stretched fabric of my own, too small, bikini to rub back and forth across the hard, stiff peaks of my nipples. Shards of sensation to radiate outwards. My breath catches. My stomach quivers.Before my eyes they exchange smiles and she leans forward and strokes his leg, her breasts hanging provocatively in their fabric bonds somehow remaining in place despite gravity’s pull. Curiously, unexpectedly, some fingers have found their way beneath my bikini’s protective fabric; their soft pads slowly inching their way over the smooth skin of my pubis towards the persistent throbbing of my swollen clitoris. Moisture is collecting between my thighs, dampening yet more fingers that seem intent on stroking every inch of flesh as they steadily ascend. Beneath my palms all is movement; my thighs quiver and my stomach vibrates at.
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