Page 8 of Santa's Baby
I’m lying. My eyes are already roving around for the next person of interest, but I don’t get all that long to mingle. Someone presses up against me from behind, and his hands on my waist put the last guy’s confidence to shame. He roves them up to grope my tits through my dress, and grinds his cock against my ass. I work him right back, spurring him on, and I get tingles when his breath lands on my neck.
I can only just hear his words above the music.
“Better get back to loverboy and his prosecco. He wants a piece.”
“He’s not going to fuck me hard enough.”
“He doesn’t know that. Be a good slut and appreciate his efforts.”
The stranger shoves me forwards, and he’s already blurred into the bodies on the dancefloor by the time I spin around. Damnit, I have no idea who that was, and the strobes don’t make it easy to track anyone. He’s long gone, no doubt eyeing me from a distance.
I do what I’m told, dancing back through the throng towards the guy returning from the bar. He has my drink in his hand, what a sweetie. I thank him and raise it in toast, my eyes locked on his like a siren. He’s my target. My minx trap. My job accessory. I want to get him so worked up he’s set to ravage me on the dancefloor, and make that plain. The watcher in the shadows is the one who matters.
“Come on, let’s stop playing coy,” I tell the guy I’m up against. “Show me what you can do, and we’ll see about getting that cab.”
I guide his hand down between my legs, and it’s clear the people around us are too engrossed in their own beat to notice. The lights and noise have ramped up, the club getting headier and heavier.
I’ve passed off this guy as a half-assed nobody too easily. He’s got more dirty substance than I banked on, and if circumstances were different, if he was the guy paying… but he’s not.
He’s slender against my curves, but he’s strong. He hands me his beer, then reaches down to tear the crotch of my fishnets open like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He hooks his fingers inside my lacy thong, and damn, he’s good… he knows where my clit is, sliding a nice path up and down my slit through my slick, puffy pussy lips.
“I had you down as a hairy girl,” he shouts in my ear, and I laugh.
“Nah. Clean shaven. Always.” I hand him back his beer.
“Nice and smooth. And wet.”
“Sure am.” I give him a cheeky grin. “Check it out.”
I squat a touch on my stilettos, swinging my hips in disguise, because I want his fingers inside me on the dancefloor. I want him to fuck me to the knuckles, so my teasing means something. I wrap my arms around his neck, being careful with my prosecco, since I wouldn’t want to waste any.
“I want filthy, remember?” I say, my mouth on his ear.
His fingers slide to my pussy, scissoring my clit. “Is this not filthy enough?”
“Nah, not even close.”
“Fine, let’s ramp it up.”
He kisses a path from my lips to my throat, and pushes three fingers inside me, hard.
It’s easy to use his hand for my pleasure since his rhythm matches the thump of the bass. Good work on his part.
I think about the guy watching from the sidelines somewhere. Through the throng of bodies I can sense him. Watching. Waiting. Viewing me as a slut getting fingered while people dance around me. My scarlet hair must be an obvious spot, no matter where he is in the club. The way I moan like a whore against a random guy’s mouth speaks wordlessly above the bass.
But still, amongst it all, I’ve got my clutch bag held tight to my side, barely anything in there besides my phone – set to vibrate at maximum when my notification comes through. The one that will instruct me to leave this place and head outside.
I wonder if I can come before then. To be fresh from a climax when I get assaulted in the darkness would really make my day.
“More fingers,” I say. “Fuck me like you mean it.”
I groan as he pushes in a fourth, loving the stretch, even though I’m still sore as fuck from last night’s action.
“I’m gonna do you so hard when we get out of here,” he says, and I’d get a pang of guilt if it meant anything, but it doesn’t. There will be plenty of horny bitches looking for a hookup before home time. He’ll strike lucky.
“Show me how hard you can play,” I tell him, working myself deeper onto his fingers. “Give me a filthy taster.”
I’ve always loved public playtime, especially when other people are blind to the filthy bitch I’m being, right in front of them. I ride his fingers as I dance, and if the music wasn’t so loud, the squelches from my sopping wet pussy would be clear from a mile off. He feels my excitement rising, twisting his fucking fingers as I groan, and then he searches out my clit with his thumb, digging between my pussy lips for the target.