Another from my fantasy diary. This was an old, old one from when I was younger and I was sat next to an older gentleman.
Week 1
We were late, again. The usher directed my family to a middle row that, surprisingly, had enough room for the five of us. Though the man at the end didn't seem particularly happy to be moving for my parents, my siblings, and myself. His previously empty row now crowded with me at the end trying to give enough room for him to sit back down. I heard him comment to the usher about the size of my family and as he slid back into his seat the rough texture of his trousers brushed up against my leg.
I gave a soft gasp and he gently patted my knee as he whispered an apology. His musky body odour mixed with his cologne enveloped me in an intoxicating aura. It wasn't unpleasant but deeply masculine and assertive; a smell that felt like it was claiming the air around me. For a moment, the world narrowed to the warmth radiating from my knee and the scent that wrapped around me like a cloud. Heat bloomed in my lower abdomen, and my breath hitched momentarily. I glanced over at his hand, now returned to his own leg, to see that it was large, slightly calloused, the golden signet ring gleaming in the light on his pinky. I let my gaze drift upwards, risking a glance at his face. He was perhaps in his late fifties, at least a good 30 years older than me, but there was nothing soft about him. Even beneath the suit, I could tell he was solid, a man built with a large frame and broad shoulders. A man that still took care of himself. My gaze was drawn upwards to take in the rest of him. He had a thick, neatly trimmed silver moustache that framed a mouth that looked firm, almost severe, yet the corners held the faint impression of a smirk. He carried himself with the confident elegance of a man used to occupying spaces; a man who commanded a room without saying a word.
The next time we stood, my siblings shifted and fidgeted, and when we sat down, their movements shoved me right back against him. I scrambled to press myself into them, to carve out any space I could but it was useless. As I settled, his leg was already there, flush against mine. In silent panic, I tried to cross my legs away from him, but before I could, his hand dropped to the pew. His palm landed flat, pinning the hem of my dress underneath its weight. I was caught. The choice was to either leave my leg pressed against him, or let the dress pull taut, leaving a long stretch of thigh exposed to the cool air. I crossed my leg away from him, a small, foolish hope that I could keep at least that sliver of space for myself.
However, his leg pressed outward, claiming the inches I had tried to protect, ending my brief, desperate attempt at space. A moment later, his hand shifted, the back of it coming to rest flush against my thigh as our legs pressed together. My eyes shot to his face. This time, there was no room for doubt. The faint impression from before was gone, replaced by a slow, deliberate curl of his lips: a smirk of pure, confident ownership. My mind raced, trying to dismiss it as a trick of the light, but then I felt it. His fingers lifted, the back of his fingertips tracing a slow, tantalizing line across the side of my thigh before settling back as if nothing had ever happened.
My thoughts were a frantic blur, unable to process what had just happened. Then, before I could catch a breath, I felt it again. A different kind of touch. I risked a glance down and he had crossed his opposite arm over his lap in a false gesture of casual relaxation but the touch was anything but casual. His palm was up, fingertips drawing slow, deliberate circles on the side of my thigh. With each pass, they drifted lower, sliding under my leg and around to the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. I inhaled sharply, the sound thankfully covered by the rustle of turning pages. My eyes darted nervously from his hand, to the audience, to my parents, a silent prayer that no one noticed.
No one had. Their gazes focused on either the books, the front of the hall, or had their heads bowed with focus. My eyes returned to the hand on my leg, fingertips still pressing firm, possessive circles on the inside of my thigh, then up to his face. His head remained perfectly still, aimed forward, but I could feel his eyes shift down to look at my confused, bewildered face. I froze, a deer in the headlights, unsure what to do.
Thankfully, the final chords of the song swelled through the hall, signalling for us all to stand. The sudden movement broke the spell. As I rose, his hand fell away, and my leg felt cool from its absence. I breathed a quiet sigh of relief as he dutifully picked up the book and sang with the choir. My mind raced. I had to switch seats with one of my siblings. I had to. But I knew they would make a fuss, drawing attention I didn’t want to us. As the music ended, I tried to scoot closer to them as we prepared to sit, but a sharp elbow from my sister pushed me back into my place.
When I turned to look back at the pew, a chill ran through me. He was already seated and, in my place, was his hand, flat on the wood. He patted the bench once, then turned his hand over, his palm open and waiting. It was a silent, unmistakable demand. In a panic, I looked down at him, but he was still facing forward, the same placid smile on his lips. I hesitated a second too long.
”Sit down,” my mother hissed over my siblings, a furious whisper that cut through my thoughts. Obediently, I perched on the very edge of the bench, as far from his hand as I possibly could. Another sharp whisper from my mom, and I finally gave in, sinking back against the pew. The stranger's hand slid into place, cupping and caressing my ass through the thin fabric of my dress and panties.
Resigned, I leaned into the pressure of his palm. It wasn't unpleasant, but the battle inside me was fierce. The good girl I was supposed to be screamed in protest, but my body, my traitorous body, sang with a dark, secret pleasure. The taboo of his age, the risk of being discovered, it all coalesced into a throbbing heat between my legs. His fingers found the cleft between my cheeks and pressed in firmly, a clear demand for access; one that was maddeningly blocked by the thin layers of fabric.
But the next time we stood and sat back down, my body moved of its own accord. I subtly shifted my hips, a movement so small it was hardly noticeable, but it was enough. As I sat, the hem of my dress fell over his hand, removing the last barrier to his touch. His hand pressed against my bottom, a finger began to stroke my slit through my now-damp panties and I shuddered from the raw arousal. As the ending announcements were underway, he hooked his fingers under the elastic of my panties and I felt his finger probe my wet lips before letting the elastic snap back into place. He leaned over as he moved to stand, his voice low as his breath tickled the shell of my ear. Two words, meant only for me, sent a final, shivering thrill straight to my core.
“Good girl”
Week 2
The next week, we were late again though this time there were only seats for four. I told my parents I was fine to stand at the back while they and my siblings took the seats for themselves. I figured I could find a single seat on my own but as my eyes scanned the pews, the sight of a familiar solid build slowly, nonchalantly made its way towards me.
Did he recognize me? Was he coming over or was this just a coincidence? The doubt was erased as he found a spot next to me, far enough at first not to raise eyebrows but close enough that the same intoxicating aura of masculinity and musk swallowed my senses. As the hall filled up and more people took their places at the back, he shifted over in the guise of making room for them and I found him almost pressed up against me, trapping me in the corner.
My body hummed in a heady mixture of anticipation and trepidation. Would he touch me again? That’s why he was here, wasn’t it? Or would he just ignore me, the incident last week forgotten, or was it a mistake and all in my head? I didn’t know which option was worse, or which one I wanted more.
But then I felt his fingers as the service started. They trailed along my lower back, drifting downwards in circles over the curve of my ass. I froze, the next lyric of the song stuck in my throat. My eyes were wide as I turned my gaze up to his face. Like last week, he remained looking forward but the hint of a smile touched the corners of his lips. He knew exactly what he was doing. His fingers drifted lower to cup my ass, giving it a slow, firm squeeze. A silent, unmistakable claim.
I gasped, and swallowed the lump in my throat. A war of relief and anxiety waged inside me as his hand found its way back to my ass. But my body had already made its choice. I pressed into the touch craving the warmth radiating from his big palm, the way his thick fingers dug into the soft flesh of my bottom as he squeezed his claim. Taking my cue from him, I kept my eyes forward, though I struggled to keep my attention on the speakers and not on his hand. But our position at the back corner allowed more privacy than last week.
Soon, I felt fingers tug up the back of my dress, lifting it until his hand could dip beneath the fabric to cup my ass through my panties. His fingertips explored the crease between my thighs, then stopped. A quiet, disappointed tsk drifted to my ear. The tiny sound was a reprimand more effective than a shout. Stung by the quiet reproach, my body reacted on its own; I shifted, taking a slight step to the side to open my legs just enough for him. A low rumble of approval vibrated from his chest, a reward for my instant obedience.
His fingertips brushed along the growing damp spot on my panties, stroking it skillfully, pressing insistently as if he wanted to break through the cotton to touch my most private spot. We watched as the crowd stood up, his hand withdrawing as the usher made his rounds through the aisle but quickly returned once he had moved on. This time, his fingers hooked under the elastic of my underwear, pulling the fabric to the side. His fingers found the slick, swollen heat of my core, and he circled my clit slowly, deliberately. My breath hitched and I had to bite my lip to keep from moaning, though my knees felt weak. Then, without warning, one thick finger slid inside me, and my entire body clenched around him in a silent, desperate need, that shocked me to my core.
He stroked his fingers in and out of my cunt, while another rubbed against my clit with every thrust. I clasped my hands in front of me, my knuckles white as I wrung them, trying to contain my moans. I could feel my arousal coating his fingers, soaking my panties; the wet sounds of his invasion lost in the ambient noise of the hall. My body trembled, thighs squeezing against his hand in a desperate attempt to hold back the orgasm that was building deep within me.
I gasped when I felt his fingers withdraw, an ache at the sudden emptiness. But, before I could process it, those same wet fingers pressed against the tight pucker of my ass. My breath hitched in panic. His fingers, aided by my own slick arousal, gained entry easily and I muffled a moan behind a poorly timed cough. A few heads turned in my direction, my face flushing in embarrassment and a spike of pure panic.
Seizing the opportunity, the man leaned in, his face a mask of mock concern. “Are you alright, my dear?” He whispered, his voice a low rumble. And, as he spoke, he thrust his finger deep into my ass, a single, shocking invasion that stole the air from my lungs. I could only nod silently as I watched a smirk form on his lips. He left his finger buried in my ass as the others see-sawed between my pussy lips.
The next time the crowd rose, he used the cover of their movements to begin thrusting his finger in and out of my ass. He knew the shuffling and rustling would muffle any sound I made. And moan I did, though I desperately tried to stifle it, terrified of drawing more attention to myself. He continued his slow, deliberate invasion, his finger circling and wiggling inside me testing my tightness, stretching me to his shape. It was a struggle to stand straight, my body traitorously wanting to grind down on his hand.
The dual stimulation was overwhelming, a mindbreaking pleasure that pushed me to the very edge of sanity. However, as the final song concluded, he removed his fingers, snapping my soaked panties back into place with a sharp sting. I almost whined with the sudden emptiness and the denial of climax. He pulled out a handkerchief and meticulously cleaned his fingers, then fixed his gaze on mine as he lifted the fabric to his nose to inhale my scent. Tucking it back into his pocket, he gave me a brief, predatory smile, and turned away to follow the crowd. I remained frozen for a moment, my body still humming with desperate, unfulfilled need. It took conscious effort to make my legs move, to force myself to shakily join my family, barely hearing the conversation around me, my eyes locked on the broad spread of his shoulders as he walked away.