S is for Shhhh

The barbeque was in full swing when I beckoned you over. The yard of our neighbor was filled with dozens of people enjoying one last outing before the heat really hit.

“Come with me,” I say, pulling your hand a little.

You follow me and we head inside. We go through the kitchen and head down the hall.

“Where are we going?”

“To the bathroom.”

“The bathroom?”

“We haven’t had some sneaky fun in a while. I thought we’d take the opportunity.”

“Are you kidding? All of our neighbors are outside. Any of them could walk in and need to use the bathroom.”

“I guess you better be quiet then.”

We go into the bathroom and I close and lock the door. “Drop them,” I say.

You know better than to argue so you drop your pants. In spite of your protests, you are already hard. I smirk and start stroking you. Between my strokes and the adrenaline, you are nearing the edge quickly.

“Oh, no. Just keeping you interested. We can’t make a mess in someone else’s bathroom,” I admonish.

You groan and I say, “Shhh. Do you want someone checking on us?”

You turn red and shake your head. I proceed to edge you another three times and am just about to tell you to pull up your pants when there is a knock on the door.

“Is someone in there?”

Quickly, I reply. “Yes, just a minute.” I gesture to you and you pull up your pants and try to hide the telltale bulge. As soon as you have zipped them, I head to the door.

Our next door neighbor is standing there. “Sorry. I just had a bra strap that wouldn’t stay in place and asked him to adjust it for me. I thought it might be better if it was in here.”

As we leave, I hear a small giggle from her. I smile and we head back to the party.