Disco gal

I push open the door and the beat still pounds in my ears. The boys from the bar flash behind my lids—tight shirts, easy smiles, the way they watched my hips move. Heat gathers between my legs. I peel off the little black dress, let it puddle on the floor. Underneath, a sliver of white lace clings to my breasts and the matching thong is already damp. I lie back on the bed, legs spread, and slide one hand inside the thin fabric. My fingers find the slick, swollen flesh and start a slow circle over my clit. I picture the tallest one, the blond with the strong forearms. My breath shortens. Two fingers slip lower, sink inside, curl. The rhythm picks up. My hips lift off the sheets. The room fills with the wet sound of my cunt and the little moans I can’t hold back. I come hard, thighs trembling, lace pushed aside, nipples tight against cool air. For a moment everything is quiet. Then I smile, already wondering who I’ll meet next time.