If you aren’t reading and following F dot Leonora, then you’re missing out! Today is her birthday and we are celebrating her birthday week by writing short Friday Flash fiction. Happy Birthday to a beautiful woman, a wicked tease of a writer, and someone I’m thrilled to have as part of my Twitter Tribe.
The lights twinkled above them, winking in and out of existence. Laser lights and colored spotlights shifted and swirled following the music in some bizarre pattern. Bass thumped, thumped, thumped in time with the hearts beating on the floor as the club goers writhed together. Bodies rubbed and brushed and reached out with a questing hand to pull someone a little closer.
Except them. I watched the two from my perch. They came in every month, the same couple. They moved to the music in a way that only a couple of lovers could. The woman caressed his face and I wished I could feel the softness of her skin, the prick of her nails against my own. As she nipped his earlobe between her teeth, I pinched mine.
Watching from the shadows afforded me the ability to watch them without being seen, without anyone knowing what my hand was doing beneath my skirt. While they touched and teased in front of everyone, as if no one else existed in the world, I flicked back and forth against my clit. While they kissed each other, tongues writhing against each other, I slipped my fingers deep, pumping to the beat of the bass.
I’d been so close to the edge during the night, watching them, playing with myself. Tweaking every nerve, holding in every gasp. The way he ran his fingers down her arms, or cupped her face to gaze into her eyes made me want that. I wanted them, too. I wanted it all.
Coming together, their hips swaying, he wrapped his arms tight around her and pulled her even tighter against his muscled flesh. She wrapped her arms around his neck and looked at him, their hips meeting in a movement as old as time. I bit my lip and gave in to my base urges.
I watched, desire flooding me to the brink, as the couple rocked together, clinging tightly to each other. Thrusting my fingers deep, I played myself like a well-loved guitar. I spied the way the man’s hand moved up his woman’s thigh, to slip between their bodies, up inside her skirt. Muscles flexing on his forearm as he moved turned me into a gooey puddle. He wasn’t even touching me, but the way he touched her, gazed into her eyes, was all I needed.
Licking sticky fingers as the music wound down and house lights flared to life caused the languid feeling that had taken over my muscles to split, and so did I, quietly out the back door to await my special couple next month.