So hard already, yeah. She loved that about him, how his dick practically sprang to attention, ready at a moment's notice. If Amber had started rocking against him to provoke him, now it was for herself, eyes lidded, needing to watch. Feeling Eric's erection rise against her tummy wasn't enough. Wanted to taste, fill her mouth. It’d feel so good, him around her lips, his groans echoing in the stall, her ears.
He had his own ideas, though, ones she'd prodded him into indulging. The cold, smooth plastic door rubbed against her spine as he lifted her-- show off, but sexy-- and for a second Amber hoped it'd withstand whatever they tried to put it through. And then such practical matters fled her mind as her sandaled feet pushed against the back wall, attention focused on what he'd do next. Drops splattered onto her thighs, the back of her ponytail pressed into her head, but all Amber knew were her whole-body tingles to have her legs around his waist, her groin flush up his stomach. Like this, limbs dedicated to supporting herself, all she could do was accept whatever he chose to do with her-- which was fine so far because she fucking loved what he was doing.
"Oh, yeah." Amber's hips bucked, suddenly exploding with arousal. Jesus, what he'd wanted was to touch her, doing all the things that turned her on-- that was so fucking hot. It blew her mind; rationalizations and justifications melted away. "God, yeah, that," she went on, not thinking, just wanting him to know that she one-hundred percent approved. This had to be why beards existed. And teeth. And lips. God. Everything he did to her breasts sent out wave after wave of pleasure to the rest of her, like water filling a vase. Amber squirmed, panting, feeling so much but unable to release any of it by action. It was both agonizing and delicious, only receiving. The most she could was speak. "You like that, doncha," she whispered. "Touching me, you can't get enough--" She stopped there, overcome by a shiver of anticipation; she knew where his fingers were likely headed.
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He had his own ideas, though, ones she'd prodded him into indulging. The cold, smooth plastic door rubbed against her spine as he lifted her-- show off, but sexy-- and for a second Amber hoped it'd withstand whatever they tried to put it through. And then such practical matters fled her mind as her sandaled feet pushed against the back wall, attention focused on what he'd do next. Drops splattered onto her thighs, the back of her ponytail pressed into her head, but all Amber knew were her whole-body tingles to have her legs around his waist, her groin flush up his stomach. Like this, limbs dedicated to supporting herself, all she could do was accept whatever he chose to do with her-- which was fine so far because she fucking loved what he was doing.
"Oh, yeah." Amber's hips bucked, suddenly exploding with arousal. Jesus, what he'd wanted was to touch her, doing all the things that turned her on-- that was so fucking hot. It blew her mind; rationalizations and justifications melted away. "God, yeah, that," she went on, not thinking, just wanting him to know that she one-hundred percent approved. This had to be why beards existed. And teeth. And lips. God. Everything he did to her breasts sent out wave after wave of pleasure to the rest of her, like water filling a vase. Amber squirmed, panting, feeling so much but unable to release any of it by action. It was both agonizing and delicious, only receiving. The most she could was speak. "You like that, doncha," she whispered. "Touching me, you can't get enough--" She stopped there, overcome by a shiver of anticipation; she knew where his fingers were likely headed.