As she stood, horny and desperate, she watched out the window at the people walking past. Now and then she'd see a face, or a pair of legs, a smile, eyes, sexy hands; and she wished it would be him, in the room with her, in an encounter with her, in her, with her.

She could imagine the feeling of him walking behind her, his arms suddenly reaching around to take her breasts in his hands, only the thin shirt between his skin and hers, and wishing it was less.

She felt the firmness of his body, the hardness of his muscles, the aching desperate blood-filled fuckability of his cock pressed behind her, nestling in the crease between her buttocks.

When his hands left her breasts, she didn't resist. She didn't stop him. She was too busy replacing his fingers with her own, kneading her tits with her delicate digits, caressing her nipples while she delighted in his next movements.

His hands slid down her sides, fingertips delightfully firm through her shirt. He slid down further, over her short skirt and down her thighs, stopping as the very tips of his fingers reached the hem of the skirt, his breath hot and musky in the crook of her neck as he slid them back up, lifting the thin fabric with them.

She willed him to do more, grinding her ass into his erection, pressing her back against his chest, gyrating her hips just to feel his fingers a little more.

He took notice, took advantage, took the risk, and slid his fingers down her front, inside her skirt, over the smooth satin-like slipperiness of her knickers, over and underneath the mound, and felt the heat. The dampness was apparent too, but both were overpowered by indefinable desperation. Her hot, wet, needy cuntlips opened to his investigation; his rough practiced fingers slid through both sides of her knickers, ignorant of the pretty lace or the sweetly innocent colour, only interested in her damply immediate needs.

She thrust at him intentionally, mind ahead of her body, imagination matching the feelings; her hot wet valley sliding over his skin without hesitation, her arousal apparent in the air, in her breath, but especially in her rocking hips, and wantonly welcoming thighs.

It took them both only a moment to know that despite the fact she was close enough to come with another flick of his fingers, it wasn't what they wanted. They knew what they did want now, and they were both determined to get it.

Without a word, she pulled his fingers from within her, sighing with the loss, and dragged her sodden knickers down her legs. She knew he was releasing himself from his trousers, but thrust her ass at him all the same, unwilling to wait.

He bent her forward, hoisted her skirt again, and slid his member between her slightly parted legs, catching her dripping wetness, and coating himself with her scent.

He wasted no time, pushing her labia apart with the crown of it, feeling her fingers dancing on her clit now. He entered her, spread her, filled her with hot, hard red flesh. He thrust inside her tightness, feeling the friction, and the slipperiness, until he was fully within her, his cock properly sheathed.

Her moans met his sighs. His thrusts hammered desperate gasps from her. His relentless pumping matched her opposing movements, and they were pulsing as one. When she screamed, he came. When he came, she clamped about him, and climaxed with a cry. It was the inevitable and glorious ending to a short and delightful game. His semen sprang from him, great gouts of hot come pounded inside her as she leaked, and dribbled, and covered him with her own fluids.

He withdrew then, encouraging her fingers to replace his cock, pulled his trousers up, and left. She couldn't help herself, and began the whole process again, her delicate fingertips sliding near, but not on, her recently explosive clit. It wouldn't take long to do it again.