A fabulous handjob in the local cinema

In the dark, the cinema is a haven of secrets, and tonight, mine is the throbbing cock in my jeans, twitching to life as her fingers brush against me. I can see her silhouette, the curve of her cheek as she turns to me, eyes gleaming in the faint glow of the screen. Her hand, soft and warm, finds its way to my zipper, tugging it down with a deliberate slowness that makes my breath hitch. She reaches in, her fingers wrapping around my shaft, and I can feel the wetness of her spit as she lubes me up, her hand moving in a steady, ruthless rhythm. The cinema’s muffled sounds fade away, replaced by the wet slaps of her handjob, the rustle of her skirt as she shifts closer. Her thumb circles my sensitive tip, spreading the pre-cum oozing out, making my hips buck in response. The seat creaks under the pressure, a symphony of dirty secrets in the heart of the cinema.

I grab her wrist, guiding her hand faster, harder. Her breath hitches as I use her, my cock throbbing in her grip. The room spins as I focus on the sensation, the blunt head of my dick pounding into her palm. Her other hand sneaks under my shirt, nails digging into my chest, marking me as hers. The combination of pain and pleasure sends me spiraling, my balls tightening as I feel the orgasm building. I grunt, a low, guttural sound that she swallows with a hungry kiss. Her hand never stops, never slows, pushing me over the edge. I come hard, my cum shooting out in hot, sticky ropes, coating her hand and the inside of my jeans. She laughs softly, a sound of pure triumph, as she pulls her hand away, licking her fingers clean, her eyes never leaving mine. The cinema fades back into focus, the movie playing on, oblivious to the filthy handjob that just went down in the shadows.