She has me pinned against the door; one hand around my neck and the other shoved down the front of my jeans. I struggle briefly; protesting “What if someone sees us?”
The museum is mostly deserted, only a handful of straggling tourists ambling from room to room. Here in the long corridor, we are alone for the moment, but anyone turning the corner couldn’t help but catch sight of us even tucked into the doorway niche as we are.
She laughs at me. “I’ll say you’ve got something in your eye” Mirth gives way to focus, her intent gaze making my stomach flutter. When she looks at me like this, I can almost feel the heat of her cobalt-laser eyes drilling into me. I relax and lean against the door, spreading my legs as wide as the confined space allows.
She tightens her hand around my throat and leans in to whisper into my ear
“I’m going to make you come now kitten. You’re going to let me fuck you with my hand and when I ask you how close you are, you’re going to give me a number from one to ten, with nine being ‘can’t hold back’.”
I squirm, the idea of being quizzed on my proximity to orgasm – and in a public place – causing a flush of both excitement and embarrassment to rise in my cheeks.
“And the longer you take” she growls softly, flexing her fingers “the harder I’m going to spank you when we get home.”
Now that’s the kind of threat that I’d usually take as a challenge, but the idea of being caught red-faced and gasping with her hand in my knickers by some random tourist is 90% terrifying and 10% desperately fucking hot, so I’m not tempted to string this out too long.
Her long fingers are stroking my already-slick clit with the slow back-and-forth motion that she knows I find deliciously frustrating. Circles are what gets me off, a tight round-and-round motion is my path to orgasm-by-digits. I shift my weight from hip to hip, trying to move myself against her hand but she stills me with a sharp nip on my lower lip
“No cheating” she murmurs. “What number?”
“Two” I gasp, and she grins her approval. “Better hurry up then” she says, sliding two fingers slowly into the entrance to my hot hungry cunt. At my helpless moan, she moves her hand up from my neck to cover my mouth, giggling “Sshh now. Quiet”
Now she has me in a pincer grip, thumb circling my swollen clit, delving in and out of my twitching cunt with three fingers and I’m bucking my hips to speed up her deliberate movements. In the back of my mind, I’m slightly concerned that any minute a security guard or wandering tourist will appear at the end of the corridor and catch us, but most of my attention is taken up with the glorious friction of her fingers and the heat of her stocky muscular body pressed against me, the bristle of her short spiky hair against my neck as she nestles her head in the hollow of my shoulder.
“Number” she says, and the word “Four” escapes me in a gust of entreaty.
“Let me help you with that” she smirks and returns her hand to my throat, squeezing lightly as she covers my mouth with her own, sucking at my lips and drawing back to look me sternly in the eye. “You like this don’t you? My hands in your cunt and round your neck, you greedy little slut. You’d better hurry up and come before you run out of air, don’t you think? Tell me the number now”
Between her touch and her cruelly playful words, I’m all the way to six and tell her so in a breathless squeak. Knowing how much pleasure I get from being threatened and intimidated she roughens her tone “Look at you, getting hand-fucked in a museum doorway like the desperate little tramp you are. I might just rip open your blouse, yank your bra up and yell for everyone to come and see what a whore I’ve got trapped here. I’d make you perform for them, show them all how wet your cunt is, how much you like being choked. Can you imagine that? I’d bend you over and spread you wide so they could all get a good look at you”
She wouldn’t really. But the image of being degraded for an audience, her menacing tone and the increasingly rough movement of her hand is having the desired effect. “Nine” I moan when she enquires.
“I love fucking you” she hisses and bites my shoulder, grinding her hand against me and me against the door as my breath hitches and my body spasms around her in helpless thrall to the orgasm tearing through me.
She offers me her wet fingers and smiles in approval as I suck my juices from them. I grin back, a trembling satisfied sigh of a smile as my breathing starts to slow.
And we both dissolve into raucous cackles as a group of elderly sightseers trundles round the corner; flee hand-in-hand to the gift shop where she buys me a packet of fudge for being a good, obedient girl.