I wore the dress on purpose.
Black, thin, no bra, no panties. The hem hit mid-thigh when I stood still and rode up the second I sat or walked too fast. I knew exactly what I was doing when I texted him the address of the bar and told him to meet me there at ten.
He was already waiting when I walked in. I saw his eyes drop straight to my legs, then climb slowly. I smiled and kept walking until I was close enough that only he could hear me.
“I’m not wearing anything underneath,” I said. “And if you’re good, I’ll prove it before the night is over.”
His throat moved. He ordered us drinks with a voice that had gone rough.
We stayed at the high table near the back. Every time I shifted on the stool the dress slid higher. I made sure of it. When the bartender brought the second round I leaned forward to take my glass and felt cool air hit the bare lips of my cunt. I glanced at him and saw his knuckles go white around his own glass.
“You’re serious,” he muttered.
“Dead serious.” I took a sip, then set the glass down and reached under the table. My fingers found his thigh, then higher, until I was cupping the hard line of his cock through his jeans. “And if you keep looking at me like that I’m going to make you do something stupid in public.”
He swallowed hard. “What do you want?”
I leaned in until my lips brushed his ear.
“I want you to take me to the bathroom hallway in ten minutes. I want you to push me against the wall where anyone could walk past, lift this dress, and finger me until I’m dripping down my own thighs. And I want you to do it without caring if someone sees.”
His breath left him in a rush.
Ten minutes later we were there. The hallway was narrow, dim, one flickering light. Voices and music leaked from the main room. I put my back to the wall and spread my legs just enough. He stepped in close, one hand bracing beside my head, the other already under the dress.
His fingers found me soaking. He groaned under his breath and pushed two inside without warning. I bit my lip to stay quiet while he curled them and started thrusting.
“Fuck, you’re dripping,” he whispered. “Someone’s going to see—”
“Then let them.” I rolled my hips against his hand. “Deeper. Harder. I want to walk back out there with your fingers still wet on my skin.”
He obeyed. The wet sounds were filthy in the quiet hallway. Every time footsteps approached he slowed but didn’t stop. My clit was swollen and sensitive; every brush of his thumb made my knees threaten to buckle. When I came it was sharp and sudden, a tight clench around his fingers and a muffled cry against his shoulder.
He pulled his hand free and, without breaking eye contact, licked his fingers clean.
“Your turn,” I said, voice rough. “Unzip. I want to feel how hard that made you.”
He hesitated only a second. Then his belt was open, jeans shoved down just enough. I wrapped my hand around him and stroked once, twice, feeling how he throbbed. I was still catching my breath when I dropped to a crouch right there in the hallway, took him into my mouth, and sucked hard.
He cursed softly and braced both hands on the wall. I worked him fast and messy, spit running down my chin, not caring about the risk. When he tried to pull me up I stayed down and took him deeper until he came with a broken groan, flooding my tongue.
I stood up, wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, and fixed my dress like nothing had happened.
“Now buy me another drink,” I said. “And try not to look so wrecked when we walk back out there.”
He stared at me like he’d never seen me before.
I smiled, turned, and walked back into the noise and the lights with the taste of him still on my tongue and the wetness of my own orgasm cooling on my thighs.
That was the first night.
It wasn’t the last.