I Let Myself Be Masturbated in the Cinema Line

That night, we had made plans to have dinner at Miramonte Mall, the big one, the one with the theaters at the back of the third floor. I had dressed in something I knew would drive Mateo crazy: a white miniskirt made of thin fabric, the kind that looked like a tennis skirt but lighter, and a wraparound blouse in the same color, also thin, with no bra underneath. The only underwear I was wearing was a tiny leopard-print thong.

Dinner was the usual. We ate slowly, laughed at silly things, and he stroked my knee under the table whenever the conversation got boring. Afterward we walked around the corridors for a while, looking at shop windows we weren't going to buy anything from, giving each other quick kisses at every deserted corner.

“Want to see a movie?” he asked, pointing at the illuminated marquee.

“Whichever one you want,” I replied.

He bought two tickets for the last showing. There was still a while before they opened the theater, so we slipped into the side corridor the cinemas had, the dark one, the one almost nobody used. There were some benches against the wall and a dim light at the far end that barely reached us. We sat there pressed together and started kissing for real.

Mateo slipped his hand under my skirt and felt for me through the thong. He felt the dampness soaking through the string and let out a low moan against my mouth. He squeezed my pussy with his whole palm, moving it in circles, while with his other hand he grabbed one of my tits over my blouse, pinching my nipple until a gasp escaped me. I felt the heat rising inside me, his cock hardening against my hip every time he pressed closer, but something made me close my legs.

“Not here,” I told him, without really knowing why.

He leaned back with an annoyed expression, like a child having his toy taken away. You're going to regret saying no, I thought. And then the idea came to me.

***

“I'm going to the bathroom for a second,” I said, getting up before he could answer.

I walked to the other end, where the bathrooms and the popcorn counter were. I locked myself in a stall and, instead of doing what I was supposedly going to do, pulled my leopard-print thong down to my ankles and carefully took it off. The fabric was soaked, darkened in the center by a viscous stain that had built up during dinner. I ran a finger over my pussy, now uncovered, and felt it hot, swollen, and slippery. I brought my finger to my mouth and sucked my own taste while looking at myself in the mirror. Then I folded the thong, rolled it up, and tied it into my hair like a scrunchie, leaving myself with a loose bun on one side of my head. The white skirt, my bare legs all the way up, and that tiny piece of fabric turned into an ornament. I laughed to myself. My heart was beating fast, and I could already feel wetness trickling between my thighs just from thinking about what I was about to do.

I left the bathroom walking slowly, searching for him with my eyes. I found him with his back to me, standing in front of posters for upcoming releases, his hands in his pockets. I approached from behind, swaying my hips, slow and deliberate, like a cat testing the ground before pouncing.

It was when I got close that I saw them. On the floor, leaning against the wall beneath the posters, three boys were sitting, younger than me, waiting for who knew what. I was twenty-two then; they looked around nineteen or twenty. One in particular caught my attention: messy hair, a slack smile, eyes that lifted just as I passed. And since they were sitting so low, anyone looking upward, toward me, was going to realize that there was absolutely nothing beneath that white skirt.

Mateo turned around and gestured to me.

“Come here,” he said.

I swallowed. I could have walked straight ahead, my legs together, like a decent girl. Instead I lowered my eyes toward the boy with the slack smile, who was already staring at me wide-eyed, fixed on the edge of my skirt. And I took one more step, parting my legs just enough for him to see everything: my shaved pussy, my lips shining with wetness, the thread of fluid running down the inside of my thigh.

I saw his breath catch. I saw him discreetly elbow the boy beside him without looking away. I saw the third, slower to understand, follow the direction of his eyes and sit there with his mouth open. All three of them were staring at my wet pussy in the middle of the cinema corridor. One put his hand on the bulge in his pants and adjusted himself without even trying to hide it. And I felt something hot and electric run through me, from the nape of my neck to my thighs, knowing I was being watched like that, completely exposed and doing it on purpose, feeling my pussy clench just from imagining what they must be thinking about me.

***

I reached Mateo, and he wrapped an arm around my waist.

“Aren't you hot?” he asked, and without waiting for an answer he began taking off the light sweater I had been wearing over my shoulders.

I was left wearing only the wraparound blouse, that fabric so thin that the ceiling light made everything beneath it show through. I felt the cool air on my nipples, which hardened instantly and showed through the fabric as two clearly visible dark points. Mateo looked at my tits, then at my face, and I knew he had noticed something.

We kept walking arm in arm, pretending to look at the posters. His hand moved down my back to my ass and stopped abruptly. He squeezed one cheek with his whole hand, feeling the bare skin beneath the fabric.

“Where's your thong?” he murmured near my ear.

I pointed to the bun with one finger without saying anything. I watched him understand. His face transformed into a mixture of surprise and desire I had never seen on him before. I felt his cock harden against my hip, thick and pronounced beneath the fabric of his pants.

“So the ones over there,” he said, glancing at the boys on the floor, “the ones sitting down, they saw you with nothing on.”

“I don't think so,” I answered, pretending innocence. “It's dark.”

“Where they're sitting, it isn't dark,” he said. “They saw your whole pussy, you slut.”

The word shot through me like an electric shock. I didn't answer. I didn't need to. I only felt a new little stream run down the inside of my thigh just from hearing it confirmed aloud: three men had seen me, completely naked beneath my skirt, my pussy wet and open, and I had allowed it. I had sought it out. Mateo slipped his hand behind me, under my skirt, and ran a finger from my asshole to my clitoris, gathering all the fluid that had collected there. He brought the finger to his mouth in front of me and sucked it, staring into my eyes.

“You're such a fucking bitch,” he whispered. “And I love it.”

***

“Let's get in line,” Mateo said. “It won't be long now.”

The line to enter the theater had grown long, about ten people, mostly couples, with the occasional group of friends. Mateo stood in front of me with his back to me, so his body blocked me from the people ahead. I pressed myself against him, hugging him around the waist and resting my chin on his shoulder.

And then I felt his hand. It moved around behind me, beneath the edge of my skirt, and found me already soaked. It didn't have to search. He slid two fingers over me slowly, from bottom to top, opening my pussy lips, and I clenched my teeth to keep quiet.

“You're dripping,” he whispered without turning around. “Dripping, right here in the middle of the line.”

I couldn't answer. He inserted one finger, then another. I was so wet they slipped in effortlessly, making a damp, sticky sound that seemed deafening to me even though no one else could hear it. Within seconds there were three, sinking all the way in, curling against the front wall, searching for my spot. I hugged him tightly, hiding my face against his back, biting the fabric of his shirt to hold back my moans, while right there in line, surrounded by people, he fucked me with his hand beneath my miniskirt.

The white fabric kept rising in front with every movement. Anyone paying attention would have noticed. I felt my fluid running down his wrist, dripping along his forearm and falling in drops onto the tiled floor. And instead of closing my legs, instead of stopping him, I did the opposite: I spread them a little farther apart, gave him more room, offered myself, pushing my hips backward against his hand so he would put it deeper inside me.

***

I leaned slightly backward, seeking with my ass the body of whoever was standing behind me in line. I wanted to feel an unfamiliar cock rubbing against my ass over my skirt, wanted to add someone else to this without him fully knowing it. But no matter how far I stretched, I couldn't touch anyone; I had left a prudent gap.

I turned my head just slightly, out of the corner of my eye, and nearly lost it. The line had doubled. Several men standing alone had joined behind us, some staring openly at me, others pretending not to with a crooked smile. One had his hand inside his pants pocket, adjusting his cock without the slightest attempt at discretion. Another ran his tongue over his lips every time Mateo sank his fingers into me. And there I was: standing in a white miniskirt with nothing underneath, my legs spread, my boyfriend's hand moving in and out of my pussy, fluid running down my thighs to my calves, while everyone around me pretended to look at the wall with hard cocks outlined in their pants.

I recognized the boy with the slack smile among them. He was no longer on the floor. He had stood up and gotten into line a few places behind us, just to keep watching. His hand was inside his pocket, and he moved his fingers slowly, squeezing himself through the fabric. Our eyes met for a second. He lowered his gaze to my crotch, then to Mateo's hand emerging wet from beneath my skirt, then back to my face. He didn't look away. Neither did I. I held his gaze while his face engraved itself in my memory: I knew he was imagining me on my knees, his cock in my mouth, and I clenched hard around Mateo's fingers, so hard that he smiled without turning around.

Mateo curled his fingers inside me, searching for that spongy spot up front, and I let out a sigh that I had to disguise as a yawn. I was well worked up, as we say, on the verge of something I wasn't going to let myself finish yet. Not there. Not so soon.

***

They began opening the theater and the line moved forward. Mateo pulled his hand out just in time, brought his soaked fingers to his mouth, and sucked them slowly in front of the man behind us, then discreetly wiped them on his pants and put his arm around my waist as if nothing had happened. We went inside, handed our tickets to the girl at the entrance, and climbed the stairs toward the seats.

That's when I realized it wasn't over. Someone must have seen us in line, because as soon as we entered I noticed that nobody else was sitting far away. Mateo chose a pair of seats in the middle row, and several men immediately settled nearby: one in the row behind, two in the row ahead, others scattered along the sides of the aisle. Discreet smiles in the darkness. The occasional girlfriend looking daggers at her distracted companion. The boy with the slack smile sat exactly two seats to my left, with one empty seat between us.

The lights went out. The previews began. I settled into my seat and, without thinking too much about it, did exactly what I had done all night: I put one foot on the edge of the seat, let my knee fall outward, and stayed that way, with my legs spread wide, my skirt bunched up above my hips, my pussy completely exposed, feeling the screen intermittently illuminate my bare skin with white and blue flashes. Whenever the scene grew bright, I could see the glossy reflection of my own fluid on the inside of my thighs.

Mateo slid his hand up my thigh as soon as the movie began. He went straight to it. He opened my pussy lips with two fingers and began playing with my clitoris with his thumb, in slow circles, while he pushed his index and middle fingers all the way inside. I spread my legs wider, let my head fall against the backrest, biting my lip so I wouldn't scream. Every time I was about to come, he slowed down, pulled his fingers out, stroked the insides of my thighs, and left me trembling on the edge. Then he started again. He worked me up, left me hanging, and started again, playing with me as if he had all the time in the world.

Out of the corner of my eye, I looked at the boy with the slack smile. He had opened his pants. His cock was out, hard, clenched in his fist, and he was slowly jerking it while staring at my open crotch. He bit his lower lip. Every time Mateo pushed his fingers into me, he squeezed harder and sped up. In the row ahead, another man had undone his pants too and was masturbating with his left hand, his head turned toward me at an impossible angle. The whole section had become a theater where I was the movie.

Mateo noticed. He pressed his lips to my ear.

“Look how many hard cocks there are because of you, slut,” he whispered. “They're all jerking off, thinking about fucking you.”

A moan escaped me that I barely managed to swallow. He thrust three fingers into me at once and curled them inside, squeezing my clitoris with the palm of his hand, holding me there and pressing me against his hand until I felt everything come crashing down. I came there in the seat, my legs spread and three strangers jerking off in front of me, biting the sleeve of my sweater so I wouldn't scream, my pussy clenching and releasing around Mateo's fingers, soaking his entire hand and wrist and the seat beneath me.

I managed to see, in the darkness, the boy with the slack smile coming at the same time. I watched his face fall apart, his mouth open in a silent gasp, thick semen spurting between his fingers and splashing onto his hand and jeans. He looked into my eyes as he came. I held his gaze.

Mateo didn't let me rest. As soon as I finished trembling, he started again, more slowly and gently, taking advantage of how swollen and sensitive everything had become to torment me. Over the next two hours he made me come three more times, always silently, always with that invisible audience breathing around us. Meanwhile, I stared at the screen without seeing anything, conscious every moment of the silhouettes around me, the restrained breathing, the eyes and hands moving to the rhythm of mine.

I don't remember what the movie was about. I remember the cold air against my skin, Mateo's hand buried inside me, the smell of sex rising from my seat and filling the surrounding rows, and the strange, intoxicating certainty that for those two hours I was the true spectacle in the theater.

***

When we left, already in the early hours of the morning, I let down my bun, and the leopard-print thong fell into my hand, wrinkled and forgotten. I put it in my purse. Mateo looked at me with a new smile, the smile of someone who has just discovered something about the person he thinks he knows.

“I thought you were going to tell me no all night,” he said in the parking lot.

“And I did tell you no,” I answered. “Once.”

He laughed. He opened the car door for me, but before I could get in he pressed me against the cold bodywork and put his tongue in my mouth. I felt his hard cock against my belly again. He yanked up my skirt there in the empty parking lot, turned me around against the car, and kicked my legs apart. I heard the zipper go down, the crackle of the condom, and then the thick head of his cock forcing its way into my pussy, already ravaged by all the orgasms. He drove it all the way in with one thrust and made me let out a scream that echoed off the concrete pillars.

“I've been watching you all night,” he growled against my nape, taking me hard and gripping my hips. “All night holding back the urge to fuck you like this, in front of everyone.”

I braced both hands on the hood, arched my back, offered him my ass, and told him yes to everything. He slammed into me hard and fast, without restraint, while I watched the yellowish parking-lot lights and felt every thrust rise to my throat. He brought his hand to my clitoris and rubbed it with the same fingers that had been inside me throughout the movie. It only took a few seconds. I came again, squeezing his cock from inside, and he let out a hoarse growl and emptied himself into the condom with his face buried in my hair.

We stayed there for a while, breathing, pressed against the car. Then he straightened my skirt with an unusual tenderness, kissed my shoulder, and opened the door for me again. I got in, thinking that night I had learned something about myself that I had no intention of forgetting: that I liked being watched, that knowing there were hard cocks because of me turned me on, that the danger of being discovered was exactly what made me drip, and that next time there would be no bathroom, no excuse, and no thong to twist into my hair.

Next time I would leave the house with nothing underneath.