The following fantasy was written to share with a friend. I remember the day I sent it to him – in short snippets, trying to tease reactions out of him and his body – while I sat with my laptop on my knees and my hand down my pyjama pants. I can also remember the comment which sparked the imagining. Writing out my fantasies has always been a great way to bring them to life for me, and properly loose myself in them, especially when I can share it with a willing participant.
I’d like to start by noting that this fantasy is just that: a fantasy which bears no relation to anything I would like to happen in real life – or at least not without the consent and enthusiasm of all those involved.
The details at the start of the fantasy are important because they set the scene. My partner and I are at a friend’s house for dinner, and a whole group of us are sitting around the table laughing and drinking wine. The exact identity of those there doesn’t matter, but in comparison to them I’m the shy, quiet one. During this dinner, I end up sharing something slightly inappropriate about our sex life. I’m not exactly sure what I say – that isn’t important – but it gets a big reaction from our friends, and my girlfriend pulls completely away from me. She is smirking as she looks at me, and I look sheepishly back.
One of our friends says in a low, teasing voice, “Ooh, looks like someone’s going to pay for that tonight”, to the amusement of the other guests. I look my girlfriend pleadingly, and she’s doing her truly evil smile, the you’re-not-going-to-be-allowed-to-touch-me-all-night or you’re-going-to-be-on-your-knees-within-five-seconds smile. She stands up, shaking her head but still smiling and say the words which, when I first thought of them, made a fresh arousal drip from my cunt:
“Nope, someone’s going to pay for it now.”
“What?” The dialogue is important here: to me it’s the words as much as the actions which make up a fantasy.
“If you’re comfortable with telling all our friends about that, then you’re clearly more than happy for the details of what happens between us to stop being private. So strip. Now.”
I stand up nervously, and she leans forward to whisper in my ear. “You’ve always wanted to, you know that. And you were so desperate to undress for me earlier, so do it now. Strip, let everyone see how you will do anything for me.”
Blushing, but with her hands having already slipped down to grip my arse while she was talking I had no doubt that I was going to do this. She stepped back while I stood, my back to most of our friends and my eyes on her, slowly unbuttoning my shirt. The lust in her eyes spurs me on, and I push aside the shame as much as I can to perform, and make sure her eyes never leave me as I strip down to my bra and pants.
“You get a choice now.” Even in her fantasy the voice of this woman sends shivers of arousal down my spine. “Do you want to let me take you on this table right now, and let everyone see you moan for me as I fuck you, or do you want to get on your knees in front of everyone, and let me go back to eating while you eat me out?”
I try begging her with my eyes, to the whoops and whistles of the other guests, but she seems resolute that I have to say it. To admit what I want. Shame battles desire and loses, but I’m blushing as I answer her.
“Fuck me, please?”
“Here? You want everyone to watch you squirm on my fingers on this table?” She’s enjoying this, teasing me, knowing that it makes me wetter.
She steps back towards me and kisses me, moving me backwards until my legs hit the table. Amid their laughter, I imagine one of our friends has moved the dishes away from our places, because a tiny part of my mind registered that nothing breaks when she pushes me downwards, while the larger part is focussed on the fact that her lips are working their way along my jaw. While her mouth sucks on my neck, her hands slip downwards and play with the edge of my underwear. I squirm and buck my hips, wanting her fingers on my clit, inside me, everywhere.
“Do you know how gorgeous you look? But so desperate: you’re already wet and rocking against my fingers and everyone can see you. Should I turn you around and make you look at them while I fuck you?”
She slips her fingers past the layers of lace and brushes them against my clit. I moan softly. In my fantasies I can moan softly; in real life I seem to be incapable of being quiet unless I’m made to.
“Louder. You have absolutely no shame, do you? Do you want my fingers inside you?”
“Please. God, please.”
Here is where the coherent part of the fantasy ended, and I put my laptop aside in favour of rubbing rapid circles on my clit, enjoying the wetness on my fingers. The build-up is important, the build-up is what turns me on, but when I start touching myself I set further into the fantasy: I am that girl being watched by her closest friends as her girlfriend finger-fucks her into incoherence. At the time I first wrote it, this fantasy was a powerful one, allowing me to explore how I feel about exhibitionism and being controlled in public. I’ve since developed the imagining earlier, adding in details about how my friends urge my partner on and how tells me she’s going to let all of them play with me… unnggh. I find it an incredibly hot fantasy to this day. And on that note…