I often wear skirts. Even in winter, I will combine skirts or knitted dresses with thick tights. Yesterday’s adventures, however, required something warmer and sturdier as I wasn’t exactly sure where the adventures would take me. Sitting in a coffee shop last night, I realised that there is an advantage to wearing a skirt: easier access for sex.
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Content note for elements of consensual non-consent play.
We only get a handful of steps away from the building when my girlfriend stops us.
“You’re shivering. Why aren’t you wearing your jumper?”
Usually I’d roll my eyes, but today has been as exhausting as it has been brilliant, and I’m happy for her to take care of me. She holds my bag while I pull on the warm jumper, and I look up at her for approval. She steps close and wraps her own scarf around my neck, knotting it securely in place. I pout a little, but she just kisses my nose and hands my bag back. She holds my hand as we walk along, and I grin into the soft mustard fluffiness of her scarf. The cold air and the streetlights and excitement in the air create a magical feeling. I don’t want today to end.
“You know how we said we could have an introvert interlude if we needed to and get some coffee? Could we do it now instead? It would give us some energy for walking home.”
I look at her faux-shyly under my lashes, ready to beg if I need to. She considers, just for a minute.
“Who are you asking?”
She nods, and a few minutes later I’m shivering again – this time with the relief of walking into the warmth of our favourite coffee shop. Her look is pointed, but she doesn’t comment as she gestures for me to walk up the stairs ahead of her. I wiggle my arse for her, putting on a little bit of a show, which earns me a sharp smack on my right arse cheek. It stings even through my jeans.
Upstairs we join the queue, looking at the brightly-lit glass-case of tempting treats as we wait. At least, I am. She sneaks her hand under my jumper and layered t-shirts, gently stroking the skin just under the waistband of my jeans with her cold, cold fingers. She whispers in my ear to stay still, because if I make a sound I’ll attract everyone’s attention. Then she pinches me sharply, and I have to bite my lip to hold back a squeak.
“Go and get us a table, babe.”
I rub the spot at the top of my butt where she pinched me as I head for our favourite corner. I’m smiling by the time I sit down though, because I love how good she is at giving orders that would sound, to anyone who heard us, like a suggestion. There’s something deliciously dirty about being the only one who knows that it’s really a command, and I’ll get in trouble later if I don’t obey her.
I smile even more when she joins me a short while later, because she’s bought me a slice of brownie as well as a hot chocolate.
“The barista is cute and absolutely the kind of person I’d love to instruct in how to beat you properly.”
I can’t quite stop the half-moan from slipping out, because that’s such an evil and enticing idea.
“Meanie.” I pout again, but this time she doesn’t let my brattiness slide.
“What was that? Do you not want this brownie?”
I quickly shake my head.
“No, no. I want it. Please sir?”
Sitting there in the warmth – even with my girlfriend’s hand resting possessively on my inner thigh, just to remind me who is in charge – I begin to grow sleepy. The brownie is delicious and the hot chocolate is the perfect temperature, and soon they’ve disappeared and my eyes are closing. It’s been a long day…
Then her teeth are on my neck, lightly scraping rather than biting, setting the hairs on the back of my neck on edge. She nibbles on my ear, and then uses a hand on my cheek to turn me towards her so she can gently kiss my lips. Her hand is still on my thigh, a little more firmly now.
“I want to finger you,” she whispers, as I try not to squirm.
“I wish I’d worn a skirt,” I murmur back. “It’s so much easier for you to slip your hand up my skirt and touch me.”
“You should’ve worn one – as it is it will probably be much, much more obvious to onlookers what I’m doing to you.”
“What? No, you can’t do it here, I’m in jeans!”
“Is that my fault?”
“That’s right. Now, are you going to stay nice and still while I play with you, or do you think we should just invite everyone over to watch you squirm on my fingers?”
“I’ll be quiet, sir.” My voice is high and whimper-like, as though I’m begging with every word.
I sit rigidly while she unzips my fly, glad that the angle of our booth means no one should be able to tell what’s happening – unless I give it away by making a noise. But just in case…
“Can I put your scarf on my lap, sir?”
I drape it over my crotch, hiding the fact that her hand is now inside my jeans, lightly rubbing at my cunt through my panties.
“You’re very wet. Some people would say that means you want this. You want me to touch you here, even knowing that if you make a fuss and wiggle about people might hear you and come and see what’s wrong. You know I wouldn’t stop, right? I want to finger you and I am going to. So you’d better be a good girl, hadn’t you?”
“Yes sir. I’ll be a good girl for you.”
I gulp as her fingers slip under my knickers and gently tease the entrance to my wet fuck-hole.
“You want me to go in, don’t you? Beg for it.”
“Please,” I gasp, my voice low and desperate. “Please finger me.”
She grins, purring good girls at me as she pushes her fingers inside. She fucks me slowly, oh-so-slowly, but still putting pressure on my g-spot in exactly the way I like. I do my best to hold myself still and silent while she fingers me, very aware that if she was pinning me down and finger-fucking me on our bed at home I would be expressing my pleasure vocally.
“It looks like you really, really like this. Do you think you can keep being a good girl and stay nice and quiet while you come for me? Maybe you can only have an orgasm today if you have it here… what do you think babe?”
I screw my face up in desperation, cursing my decision to wear jeans today. I’m pretty sure she’d never have got the idea if I’d been wearing a skirt.
Masturbation Monday is run by the fabulous Kayla Lords. Click on the logo to see what everyone else is getting off to this week.
Hand sex is brilliant. While I’m emphatically not telling you that you should finger your partner in a coffee shop, I can suggest that sometimes a little bit of lube can greatly enhance your hand sex experiences.
Quinn Rhodes (he/him) is a queer, trans, disabled sex writer with vaginismus. He’s a slut and a sex nerd who writes about his adventures in trying to fuck without fucking up. Quinn can usually be found wearing stomp-on-the-patriarchy boots while falling in love every time he fucks.