Crowded Bar

This happened a long time ago, back when we were kids. We had been married only a couple years and were still mighty playful. We had fun with semi-public (and safe) sex like this a number of times.

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Our favorite Mexican restaurant has a really good bar. A very, very crowded bar on weekends. People are jammed in like on a Japanese subway. I can hardly move. It takes minutes to squeeze over to the bar to get a drink.

On summer nights like this, everyone drinks frozen margaritas or cold beer just to stay cool. The air conditioning can't possibly cope with this many people, especially on people on alcohol.

I'm used to being touched by the crowd there, my hips, my ass, just trying to make my way across the floor. Happens every time, I usually don't mind much. A couple times I've even had guys reach up and fondle my boob. Yes, right there in the bar, in front of everyone. The bodies are jammed together so tight that you can't see much below the neck. Certainly not below the waist. Tonight is no different.

No different except that I'm wearing a rather short dress, a one-piece knit shift, no belt. It moves when I do which is why I like it. So does my husband. It moves when I move, molding boobs here, hips there, and always ass, tight on my ass. He calls me his slinky broad and loves it when I slink around in this dress.

Well, as I said it is short. Really short. Less than six inches below my crotch when I'm standing up straight, "below the goodies," as he says. It gets a lot shorter when I move, not quite immodest just interesting. Well, if you are watching while I raise both hands over my head, it gets truly immodest. My panty crotch is clearly visible when it comes up. So I try not to do that too often. It *is* fun at the grocery store when I have to reach for something on a high shelf, he tells me. And I have noticed a lot of other men following me around the store hoping I have to reach for something. But I digress.

This particular evening, the wait for a table is going to be more than an hour. We ooze over to the bar for a drink, then ooze our way back into the crowd a few feet. On the way, several hands rub deliberately across my ass and hips. One touches my butt way down. Near the hem of the dress. Ooh, that's bold.

Then I feel a palm on ass, squeeze. Ooh, more bold. I can't push his hand away, with a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other. (Everyone smoked back then, me no exception. Yes, dumb, but I'm smarter now.) And I can't move much. At most, I can reach over to the ashtray on a nearby table. Of course, when I do reach over to the ashtray, the dress moves up with my arm. This gives the man with the hand a better target. Better watch that.

I put up with this while I finish my drink. It's too loud to hear anyway, and we are a little separated. I leave my husband and start to mosey back toward the bar to get a refill. It's only like eight or ten feet away, but it takes a couple minutes, incredibly, moving ever so slowly, nudging people to move past. Mr. Hand follows me. He is decent looking, dressed casually, about our age. I stub out my cigarette in an ashtray on the bar. As I raise my arm to reach it, the dress comes up. That hand is firmly on my buttock now. I wave to the bartender for another drink. The dress comes up even higher. Now his hand is at the hem and he reaches under it. He rests his palm firmly on my panties now and rubs my butt gently, more firmly, squeezing, fondling. That feels great! What am I doing? I am really getting into this. Somehow he can tell. When I don't object, don't even squirm, he takes it as acceptance. Well, I guess that's right. He reaches down under my butt trying to get his hand between my legs. Oh, god, not this is getting serious. What do I do now?

When the bartender returns with my drink, I have to use both hands to pay her and take the glass. This makes the dress come up much farther. His hand is completely under my skirt and pushing between my thighs. Christ, that's intimate. But my body is enjoying being touched like that. What the hell, go for it. To reach the bar better, I have to shift my weight, move my foot much closer to the bar side. A lot closer. A couple feet. My feet are now wide apart, my legs well open. He uses the opportunity to reach under me right onto my pussy. He presses his fingers hard into my pussy teasing my lips apart through the fabric. I feel him pressing on top of my clit, he moves rhythmically, he wants to fuck me with his hand. By this time I want him to, too. I lean forward, I open my legs more to his touch. He knows I want to continue.

I inhale that drink and wave to the bartender for another. While she's mixing it, I decide that I might as well give in completely to this experience and cooperate. There's a foot rail in front of every bar. Convenient. I lift my foot and hook the rail with my high heel, just as you would do if you were leaning on the bar. For me, tonight, however, it opens my legs much wider. It makes my sex much more accessible, available to his touch, for anything he wants to do with it. He knows right away that I am spreading for him. He slips his hand down inside my panties over my bare ass, and down between my legs, and right onto my pussy. Oh, god, he is between my lips. I'm so wet by this time that his fingers slide easily between my lips. He scrapes my clit with his fingertips, I jerk my hips to his rhythm. Then a finger comes into me, into my hole, inside my pussy, oh, god, this is real sex. A guy I don't know is finger fucking me in a public bar. His hand is under my short skirt, he's inside my panties, he's inside my labia, he's inside my vagina, he's penetrating my body for god's sake, he's pushing a finger into my cunt and is fucking me with it.

My husband is only five or ten feet away but in this crowd he can't see what is happening to me. He's making small talk anyway with another couple. He would be so turned on if he knew. He would encourage it. He would probably join the stranger in fingering me. Yes, both of them would finger me at the same time. He would happily stick his finger into my vagina alongside the stranger's, and saw it in and out of me. Yes, stranger in back, husband in front, openly pushing into my crotch not caring who was watching. He would love that. The perv.

He loves other men to see me, stare at me. He loves me to flash my panties under short skirts. Getting in and out of cars is always a challenge with a real mini skirt. Nothing ladylike about it. He *wants* me not to be ladylike about it. Here, here's my pussy. See? Isn't that a nice shape? Do you like my panties? They barely cover my sex. Can you see the lips of my slit? Mmmm, don't you wish you could feel it?

He would be much happier if I would do it without any panties in the way. That's just a little too bold for me. At home, sure, I give him a shot now and then. But not in public, not with strangers. He would love that, but it's a little too perv for me. So I just flash for him. He has asked me to take my panties off in bars occasionally, and I have, but unfortunately no one else has benefited from my lack of protection. And I get felt up at times like this. I don't mind much, and he loves it. He loves to hear about how some guy fondled my ass as I pushed through a crowd in a ticket line or a dance floor or a subway. He wants me to tell him how I was fondled in an elevator. A slow elevator. With many stops and many on and offs. He would love it if more than one man handled me in an elevator, with serious hands on my boobs and up my skirt. That hasn't happened yet, but when the opportunity arises. . . .

Oh, but who's the perv here tonight? Surely I am the perv, encouraging a strange man to feel me up, to put his hands on my sex, to push his fingers inside me, a stranger fucking into my most intimate place. I didn't just passively let him. I didn't just ignore his hand on me. I encouraged him. I opened my legs for him. That's what a woman does when she wants a partner to get into her sex, she spreads her legs like that. And I just did. And he got the message, and he got into my sex. Oh, god, that feels good, his finger sliding in me.

When the bartender comes with my next drink, she senses that something is funny. As she hands me the drink, her hands cover mine and hold me for a few seconds. "It's okay, honey," she says. I don't know what she sees or knows, but she knows something is going on. Maybe she sees this sort of activity all the time in the bar. Maybe she can tell when a girl is being fondled or groped, maybe she can tell if the girl is scared by it or likes it, maybe she can see the subtle movements of my hips as I am being fucked so subtly.

I smile at her and take the glass. "Thank you. Yes, it's very okay."

This goes on for a few more minutes until I finish my drink. Three margaritas, way over my usual limit. When will our table be called? I signal to my husband that I'll be back soon. I pull away from my molester's hands and head to the ladies room. By the time I force my way through the mob to the other end of the room I really have to go.

When I come out of the ladies room, my molester is there in the hallway. He holds me, pushes me back into the wall and kisses me passionately. Finally, face to face, not sneaky. He cups my breast with one hand. With the other, he pushes under my skirt, cups my crotch. I open my legs wide for him. He gets inside my panties again, slides through my bush down into my slippery wet labia again, and pushes two fingers into me. This feels wonderful! Oh, oh, oh, I want to be fucked like this, in and out, harder, harder, deep into me! I swoon with my eyes closed, being kissed and felt and fingered and fucked now. Out in the open, visible, for anyone to see. My cunt is absolutely sloshy, soaked and slippery. His fingers make a noise every time he pumps in and out.

The other women who walk by can easily see his hand moving under my skirt; they must know that he's inside me and moving in and out. What they don't know is that we are complete strangers. I have no idea who this man is who is poking my sex.

Eventually even I figure out that this is ridiculous, I have to stop this. I kiss him, ask him to take his hand out of my pants, pat him on the ass, and go back to my husband in the crowded bar.

When I tell him about this little adventure, it will make him, to use one of his favorite expressions, "harder than Chinese arithmetic." He will go nuts. He will throw me on the bed or couch or floor and fuck my brains out. I'll tell him, your wife got fondled tonight in the bar. Yes. A man put his hand on my ass and rubbed me gently. When I reached for my drink, he put his hand under my skirt and really fondled my ass. I liked it. I liked having someone I don't know touch me.

Then I got another drink. To get it from the bar, I had to step in toward the bar, I had to step over and open my legs to reach it. And he reached farther down under my ass when I did that. I opened my legs so he could feel me. Your wife opened her legs for another man to feel her. He put his hand right on your wife's pussy and pressed into it. I opened my legs even more so that he could get to me, and he slid his hand into my panties. Right there in the bar, in that crowd, this strange man reached into your wife's pussy, and she let him, and she liked it. I was sipping my margarita and this man put his fingers into my pussy. Yes. He pushed a finger into me, into my hole. He pushed a finger into your wife's cunt, and you were right there and you did nothing! He used me for his pleasure, he used me for fun. He put his hands on your wife's sex, he put his fingers *into* your wife and fucked her with them, right there, in that crowd, in front of everyone.

And that's not all. When I went to the ladies room, he followed me. He kissed me in the hallway. He pushed me back to the wall and grabbed my breast. And that felt good. And he reached under my skirt to my crotch, again. And I opened my legs wide for him. I kissed him and spread my legs for him right there in the hall where people could see. He reached under my dress and got into me again, he fingered me openly, and other women saw and understood that your wife was being finger fucked in the hall, in the bar, in the cheap Mexican restaurant. Your wife spread her legs for him and let him fuck her with his hand.

But she didn't come. I didn't come. You noticed I was nervous as a cat all through dinner. I was sitting on my wet pussy, my pussy swimming in my juices, remembering how he caressed my clit and how his fingers felt inside me. And wondering how long it would be before we could leave and go home and you could make love to me and fuck me and make me come, give me that wonderful release. Now! Do it now! I want to come now!

He will love hearing that as much as I loved doing it. We will use that experience to ignite our fun in bed for many months to come.