One finger.

Isn’t that how it starts?

I tell you, without a hint of irony, “Just the tip, babe, what’s the problem?”

“But there are people around…” You squirm, whine. Wanting it but putting up a play fight.

“Nobody’ll know. Spread your legs a little, let me see those thighs.”

There’s a reason I like you in skirts. In dresses. In anything that can be hiked up to your waist. That one finger starting at your bare knee. Though, sometimes you wear thigh-highs or tights or fishnets. So I tease you–just like you tease me. Why’d you wear that today, huh? Trying to get me hard? Want me to show you how much I need to fucking tear it off you?

Lemme stretch the fabric. Pretend like I’m going to rip it. Sometimes I do. And then you’ll pout, but only for a minute, your brain a blank slate of need as soon as I drag my digit along your thong. Well, when you wear one, that is. Sometimes you’re bad. Or maybe just over-eager. I push my hand along your thigh to find nothing impeding my progress towards your slit.

“No panties today?”

You bite your lip and try to look innocent. Bat your pretty eyes at me and act like you forgot.

“You didn’t fucking forget. You wanted to feel the fucking ocean breeze against your pussy. You were hoping that I’d find you like this.”

Oh, you’ll protest and act like that couldn’t possibly be true. But you’ll shut up as soon as my index finger is spreading your folds, knocking at your entrance, pushing its way in–isn’t that wetness enough of an invitation?

Look at me while I do it. Keep those big round eyes on mine. I wanna watch them go wide as I push slowly inside you. Watch you close ‘em, squirm, and hold ‘em. Once I’m two knuckles in I’ll double-back, following a similar path to exit with a rude little flick. Back in. A few more times. Until I stop to let you catch your breath–you’re getting so fucking noisy, aren’t you? I’ll pull free of your reflexive grip and slowly raise my hand to your mouth.

“Suck it. Tastes like a bad fucking girl.”

And god do you ever suck it. Like a famished, desperate little thing. Sweet and tangy and salty. When you get into it, I mean, you really get into it. Sucking my finger like it’s my cock. Spit across my cuticle. Drool over my knuckle. The tactile bump of your tastebuds over each distinct line.

Two fingers.

That’s all it takes to make you absolutely simmer with need. Two fingers in your pussy. Index. Middle. Spreading just enough to fill you up. Dragging back and forth intermittently. Slowly. Steadily. Deliberately.

This is when you have to spread your legs wider. Put your feet up on your seat and let me get deeper. Deeper. Deeper still. You know my fingers are long and I like to push ‘em in right up to my palm. And when I get going you start to get so noisy you have to bite on your sweater or I have to squeeze your neck just enough to shut you up. Do you want everyone to hear you sounding so desperately insatiable? Surely not. Actually, let’s be honest, I know that thought turns you on too.

Your thighs glisten. Your moans quicken. My fingers dart in and out, leaving prints all along the walls of your pussy. That’s what makes it mine, right? Let me leave my marks. Let me gesture come hither along the anterior until I hit the spot. Then flick outwards again, making a V as I squeeze on either side of your tumescent clit. Push your folds together around that needy nub, making it jump. Making you fidget.

Three fingers?

Think you can take that?

Sometimes you can. Other times you just beg for me to replace my hand with my dick. It’s hard. Of course it’s hard for you. And if we were somewhere quieter I’d be bending you over, squeezing your ass with these slick hands and fucking you bareback. But we’re not, so quit begging and wait. You’ll cum one way or another, won’t you? I always make sure of that. Whether with my tongue, or a toy, or–quite simply–with a single, solitary finger.

And yeah, maybe I should punish you differently. With a belt or a paddle or some other tool. But, you know me, I really like to work with my hands. I like to be direct. Like to feel you myself. Like to make you learn the location of every little callous. Because, ultimately, what I want is for you to buck and moan and writhe and twist. So do it for me now. Don’t be shy. You can bite my ear as you cum against my wrist.