Working night shifts is strange, but I love it – people are different at 4am. More open, more honest. It creates a cameraderie amongst my colleagues that rarely occurs during the day.
Nights are also strange because there are sometimes long periods of time with nothing to do. If no one is sick, there’s no routine work so there’s just nothing to do…but I don’t want to sleep. It’s too disorientating.
Instead I daydream. Or, nightdream I suppose. And late night Twitter is an exciting place to dip into when I have a moment free!
So, as a thank you to the other insomniacs, here’s a bedtime story that I wrote before the shift started…
I swear he’s whispering. Perched in the semi-darkness on a bar stool next to him, I can see his mouth moving but I can’t hear anything. Shuffling ungainly, I try to shift nearer. Rocking from side to side, the stool edges towards him until we can sit closer, knees entangled and pressed against each other.
‘What were you saying? I can’t hear you!’
He leans forward, putting his hand on my thigh, and I wonder briefly if this is just an innocent, supportive gesture.
And then he speaks.
‘I haven’t been able to stop thinking about your cunt all night.’
His words course through me and focus into a blazing point between my thighs. Having not been able to hear him before, I am now convinced that we will be overheard. The possibility of being caught is terrifying but I can’t tell him to stop.
His fingers trace a fiery heat over my skin and it is soon patterned with the impression of his touch. He teases the hem of my skirt, dipping underneath to stroke the softer skin of my inner thigh before sliding his hand back to caress my knees, just as I tilt greedily towards him. My initial reluctance vanishes, forced out by an overflowing desire that is now bubbling out of me, and I need him to touch me. I need him to stop fucking around and just touch me, but he’s taking his time.
I am soon trembling at his touch as his fingertips lightly dance their way up until they graze my underwear. Somehow suppressing the need to arch my back into him and disguising my movements by taking a sip of wine, I open my legs wider, pushing my hips towards him. I can hear his intake of breath at how wet I am, my barely concealed public arousal flooding out over his fingers as he slips my underwear aside and begin to stroke my slick, swollen folds.
‘You’re not very subtle, are you?’
His voice in my ear crashes into the ever increasing pulses radiating outwards from my clit.
‘Sat here in full view of everyone in this bar, not even a table to hide behind, and I am going to make you come…right here, where everyone can see you.’
He pushes his fingers deep inside me and my cunt clenches around him in response. Gripping hard on his thighs, my forehead on his shoulder, I bite my lip to conceal the noises that are bottled up within me. With his thumb against my clit and his fingers curling inside me, I soon unravel. My tensed, screaming muscles shudder with release and I exhale, quivering as his touch prolongs my orgasm until I am panting and slack.
Leaning back, he hops off his stool.
‘I think it’s time to go, don’t you?’
Nodding, unable to speak, I grasp his outstretched hand and follow him. He hails a taxi and, sitting to one side, gives me room next to him. Instead, I fall to my knees in front of him. Giving the driver the address, he looks at me questioningly, not recognising the bold recklessness that his public exhibition has drawn out of me. Shrugging, I unbutton his jeans and release his cock, hard and already glistening.
‘You can always tell me to stop…’