Granted, they are under the table and nobody else outside the pub would be able to see – even the passers-by wouldn’t be looking so low. The Mayfair streets are not busy, the main traffic being taxis gliding past at a stately pace.
Their passengers will be the ones who might catch a glimpse and guess what’s what. From their windows, they will be able to see my legs, sideways on, bare to the very top, with a large man’s hand wedged between them. They’ll catch a flash of the image, but not for long enough to know that what they saw is what is actually happening. They might look back, but by then the backs of the other drinkers and the table will obscure their view.
I think we can get away with this. But how the hell am I going to get a picture?
I widen my thighs just a fraction, enabling his big ham of a fist to make its way to the apex. Just as it does, I take my phone and snap a photograph.
I am examining the rather disappointing shot of some bunched fabric and a wrist, when Jayden’s fingers whizz back down my thighs as if my pussy has actually burnt them.
‘You … no panties!’ he exclaims, loud enough for his fellows to hear and crease up with laughter. ‘And what’s with the photos?’
‘Just a little hobby of mine,’ I say, as matter-of-factly as I can muster. I need to keep him on task, get him hot and bothered so he’ll carry on regardless of his pals.
‘Hobby?’
‘Yeah. I like to take photos of myself getting fingered. Does that seem weird to you?’
His eyes are so confused, bless him. He runs a hand over his buzz-cut hair and says, ‘In a word, yeah.’
‘I know I’m different,’ I tell him, placing his hand back on my bare thigh
. ‘But I just love the feel of a strange man’s fingers between my pussy lips. I just love the way they stroke and rub and make my clit want to burst with heat. When I look at the photos after it gets me so wet to see how I let a man get his hands right up there, pushing his fingers all the way up inside my cunt …’
I break off. All three of them are like waxwork figures captured in a state of hypnosis, leaning over their pint glasses.
‘Is that so wrong?’ I finish, pouting at Jayden.
‘No,’ he breathes, letting me push his hand down the slope, into the dark place in the gap of my legs. ‘You’re a special girl, Sophie.’
I smile at his friends, who lean further, trying to see over the ledge of the table. Jayden’s fingers find my slit, confidently this time, fitting themselves between the lips with ease.
I hand my phone over to Sean, the lad on the left.
‘Get under the table,’ I suggest. ‘And take a photo.’
Jayden’s fingers push against my clit and my bottom squirms on the wooden bench.
‘You might need to put the flash on though.’
Sean looks at his friend, looks at Jayden, looks at me, looks at the phone. ‘Is this a set-up?’ he asks uncertainly.
Jayden’s fingers slip and slide. I lean over the table so as to make sure it’s invisible to anyone standing behind us. He’s getting close to my cunt, readying himself for the full impalement.
‘I mean, like a porn version of Pranked. This isn’t like that, is it?’ He cranes his neck, looking for a nonexistent camera crew.
‘Trust me,’ I say in a strange gaspy voice. Jayden has found a very good place to rest his weary fingers. ‘It’s just me and my little foible … ohh.’
Those thick fingers feel so good, even if they blunder a little bit around the opening. What he lacks in technique, he adds in enthusiasm, though. He wiggles them around inside me while I sit on the bench like butter wouldn’t melt. It would though. It would melt in the time it took to place it on my clit.
My thighs already feel as if butter is running down them, warm juices clinging to my skin. Luckily the cigarette smoke in the air neutralises any telltale odour.
Sean bobs down beneath the table. His friend makes to join him but Jayden holds up his free hand.
‘Don’t draw attention, mate,’ he says. His voice is slow and syrupy, like somebody caught in a dream.
‘Are you really doing it?’ the friend contents himself with asking. ‘Really getting your fingers in there?’
‘I’ll show you the picture,’ says Sean from his low-down position. ‘Hang on.’