On a Wednesday afternoon in late February, the movie theater is almost deserted. I choose the middle seat in the middle row, placing myself directly at the theater's center. The only other person present is an elderly man sitting near the front.

This is perfect, I tell myself.

I'm still sitting alone when the lights dim and the movie begins. It's a black-and-white film from the forties, one I've never heard of but that you claim is quite good. I stare up at the screen, seeing and hearing nothing of the scene playing out before me. I think only of you while I wait.

Ten minutes later, the door leading into the theater opens behind me. It makes a whisper-quiet sound as it's pushed ajar, but I sit up straighter, hot with anticipation. I don't have to turn my head to know it's you approaching. Your steps are deliberate. For what seems like an eon, you remain a shadow in my peripheral vision.

Then, you enter my row and make your way toward me. I keep my gaze fixed ahead as you drape your suit coat over a nearby seat and then sit down beside me. You're to my right, achingly close. With an ease bordering on nonchalance, you slip an arm around my shoulders. Your fingers are within grazing distance of my left breast. I can't hide my smile, for this feels like a date, during which I'll let you take all kinds of liberties.

And perhaps it is a date, bizarre as the timing of it is. You're on a long lunch break from the office, and of course, that's permitted in your line of work. You're expected to wine and dine clients on a regular basis. The effortless charm you exude, the same charm that immediately drew me to you, serves you well in your career.

As for me, it's my day off from working at the shop. Outside this theater, you and I are practically clichés: we live in the same neighborhood, and while you're the married businessman, I'm a twenty-something single girl still living at home. How many times in history have people like us ended up in a situation like this? A chance encounter several weeks ago, a simple nod and a smile as we passed each other on the street, but it was enough to ignite a spark.

Out there, we're painfully aware of our designated roles. But in here? We can be whoever we want. I can ignore the gold band on your finger, and you can shamelessly fondle my breast through my sweater. While you coax my nipple to hardness, we sit in silence, pretending to watch the film. My breathing quickens, and I realize I'm already sodden between my thighs. You inevitably have this effect on me. Sometimes, when you slip into the shop where I work, I grow sopping wet simply from watching you stroll down the aisles. In those moments, I don't dare approach you. Instead, I let one of the other girls ask if you need assistance. Always, you flash me a knowing smile as you tell them, "I'm just looking."

Cupping my small breast in your palm, you now give it a possessive squeeze. Then you bring your lips to my ear and whisper, "Feel how hard I am for you."

My eyes widen at your gentle command, but I don't hesitate to obey it. Gingerly, I place my hand on your leg. All the while, I stare up at the screen. You give me no time to grow shy; I sense more than see your smile when you guide my hand to your groin. The feel of your erection draws a barely audible whimper from my throat.

I can't stop glancing at the elderly man, who seems oblivious to us. With his head tilted back, he's clearly captivated by the film. Does it bring back memories for him? I wonder.

You grow bold, freeing your cock so that I can circle my fingers around it. I delight in the contrast of soft skin and the hardness beneath. Now, you're breathing faster, too. I know it excites you that I'm willing to do such filthy things. Without warning, an image of your wife drifts into my mind. She's such a prim and proper woman. A true lady. I almost snicker at the thought of how horrified she'd be if you tried this with her in a public place.

Your lips are hungry at my neck while I eagerly stroke you. A delicious shiver courses through me at the feel of your warm breath on my skin. By this point, my nipples are almost painfully hard, the skin surrounding them tight. As if sensing my discomfort, you slip a hand beneath my sweater. Letting my head fall back against the seat, I open my legs like a wanton slut.

"What a naughty girl you are, allowing me to play with you like this!" You grow brazen enough to lift my breasts from my brassiere. I gasp when you pull up my sweater, completely exposing me. "Have you let any other men have their way with you?"

You know I haven't, yet I still mouth the word no.

Lowering your head, you wrap your lips around my nipple. The sound of your suckling is amplified in the theater's quiet, but I can barely suppress my moans. You've kissed me like this before, and you've been inside me as well. But that was in the darkness behind my house, late at night after your wife had gone to bed.

My right arm is pinned between the armrest and your body as you lean close, yet I manage enough range of motion to keep stroking you. Fluid soon coats my fingertips. I easily recall my naïve confusion when that first happened. You were pleased by my innocence while explaining that the fluid was pre-ejaculate, a sign of your heightened excitement.

As my hand moves a little faster, I feel the tension rippling through you. In my own body, I discern a deep, insistent throb. You and I are desperate for each other, but there are limits to what our surroundings will allow. Right now, if the door were to open, or if the elderly man were to turn toward us, I could yank down my sweater, and you could cover yourself with your suit coat. Chances of us being caught are low but not impossible. If we get too carried away, those chances steadily increase. The consequences of being discovered like this would be dire. I'd lose my job, since no one wants a hussy waiting on customers. As for you? Your wife might leave you. You once mentioned that she comes from a wealthy family. It goes without saying that she doesn't rely on you financially.

Yet we deem this furtive encounter worth the risk.

Lifting your head from my breast, you're clearly delighted by the sight of my hard nipples. You roll one, then the other, between your fingertips. The urge to watch me stroke you grows too strong to resist, and you fix your stare on my pumping hand. I sense a wildness threatening to overtake you. If it does, I'll be powerless to stop it. That knowledge doesn't make me withdraw. If anything, it sends a surge of hot lust through me.

Your wicked smile is almost chilling in the semidarkness. I can't help but think that you'd make a perfect movie villain. So handsome and charming, so irresistible to a young woman like me.

Until you, I was a virgin. A reluctant one, for my body ached to be taken. And that night in the shadows behind my house, when you first thrust into me, I had to cup a hand over my mouth for fear that I'd scream from the pain of it. You whispered apologies, and with your lips and your touch, you tried to soothe me. By the time you pulled out, spilling your semen on the ground between my thighs, all I wanted was more.

I don't protest as you now slide a hand beneath my skirt. Your lingering caress makes it clear that you relish the feel of my thigh-high stockings. When your hand inches higher, so does my skirt.

You gasp to discover I'm not wearing panties. "You've been walking around town naked under this skirt!"

I stare placidly at the screen as a smile forms on my lips. It gives me a thrill to shock you.

"You love being a little slut for me, don't you?" Your fingertips part my folds.

The elderly man half-turns to shush us before refocusing his attention on the movie. My face flushes with arousal and trepidation as I look down at myself. My breasts are still clearly visible, and my skirt, bunched up around my hips, does little to conceal my sex. If you're unnerved, you don't show it. Instead, you expertly rub my clitoris. I'm certain the man up front hears my sharp intake of breath.

"Say it," you murmur.

When I turn my face toward you, you brush your lips against mine. "I'm your little slut," I whisper.

You make a guttural sound in response. Closing my eyes, I surrender to the pleasure your fingers give. I can't stop myself from tugging at my nipple to intensify the bliss washing over me. Now, it's your turn to gasp, and a smile again forms on my lips. I'm the woman you've always dreamed of; I'm everything your wife isn't.

I'm not so far gone that I fantasize about you one day being mine. Besides, I don't want to be the woman greeting you when you arrive home in the evenings. I don't want to be the recipient of your exhausted smile, or the reason for such boring familiarity.

I want you just as you are right now, when you're wild to have me. When you can't keep your hands off me.

Your kiss is hard, your hunger overwhelming. I begin shaking in my seat. Even with the movie playing, I can hear your fingers against my slick skin. The stimulation is relentless, and I grow tense, waiting for the first orgasmic spasm to seize me.

"I think I might be falling in love with you." Your voice holds a note of shyness. It's as if you're a young man again, not quite sure of yourself. I find myself enthralled by this vulnerable side of you. As you kiss my neck, and then my breast, I wonder if I could love you, too. I wonder what that might mean for us long after we've left this theater.

In here, it means you make come fiercely. Even in the grip of my orgasm, I continue moving against your hand, and the lewd bucking of my hips makes the seat squeak. You press your lips to mine in order to quiet my moans. All the while, your fingers work to extract every drop of bliss that my swollen pearl can offer.

When I'm unable to bear a second more, I clamp my thighs around your hand. Reluctantly, you withdraw, then show me you're willing to be filthy as well. Lifting your fingers to your mouth, you extend your tongue to lick my juices from them.

I allow you to slide those fingers between my lips. The taste of my arousal is primal, and by now, I can smell it, too. Is it my scent that makes you grow more demanding? I'm still breathing fast when you grasp my hair and guide me toward your cock.

I have to position my body in a very unladylike way, practically draping myself across two seats. Though the armrest dividing your seat from mine digs into my torso, I succeed in wrapping my lips around your glans. Your salty essence gathers on my tongue, and your sigh is full of such longing that another blissful shudder travels through me. I doubt your wife has ever done this, even in the privacy of your bedroom. She probably considers it dirty for a woman to take a man's penis in her mouth.

Despite my inexperience, I crave the act, just as I crave your touch. Gently, encouragingly, you stroke my hair. I love the way you start to squirm a bit while I lick and suck your cock. It's as if you can hardly bear such intense pleasure. Of course, I know exactly how that feels, for you had the same effect on me only moments ago.

Then, you wholeheartedly give yourself over to it. With a hand on the back of my head, you press me down a little farther. When your tip pops into my throat, my eyes begin to water, but I manage to hold you there. Even when I allow you to thrust between my lips, you remain careful; choking me wouldn't do. I'm soon able to maintain the rhythm you most enjoy, and while my head bobs up and down in the shadows of the theater, you lift my skirt, gathering it around my waist. I shiver as the cool air collides with my hot, wet folds.

Leaning your upper body farther in my direction, you're able to place a hand between my thighs. Though I know I risk gagging myself, I take you deeper. Your musky scent only serves to build my lust. The wet sound of my mouth, and the gurgle in my throat, are dangerously loud. Again, you massage my clitoris, and I can't keep from moaning around your cock. Another shh! reprimands us, but I'm beyond caring.

Maybe you are, too, for I feel you pulse between my lips. As your pubic hair tickles my nose, I allow your unrelenting hardness to punish my throat.

Drawing in a sharp breath, you suddenly tense. While the rest of you grows very still, your fingers keep working at my clitoris, faster and faster, until I want to scream. I don't know how I succeed in staying quiet, but when I come for the second time, my lips remain sealed around your shaft.

Finally, I'm rewarded with the first spurt of your hot semen. Readily swallowing your seed, I feel an intoxicating rush of power. While my own orgasm ebbs, my flesh continues quivering beneath your fingers.

Once I'm certain you're completely spent, I let you slip out of my mouth, but I'm quick to lap up any lingering mess on your cock. The sensation of my tongue gliding over your skin makes you softly moan. Though you're still trembling from the force of your orgasm, you're ever the gentleman, with a clean handkerchief at the ready. As I use it to wipe my lips and chin, you lower my skirt, taking care to smooth the fabric.

When I'm again sitting at your side, you reach for me. I'm taken aback by your fervent kiss. "My darling girl," you whisper.

I smile while tucking my breasts back into my brassiere. With my sweater again covering me, I have indeed returned to the role of a good girl. In your presence, I can freely embrace both sides of myself. And, of course, the taste of your seed lingering on my tongue reminds me just how bad I can be.

Grasping my hand, you bring it to your lips. Then, you settle back in the seat to watch a little of the movie with me. When I sneak a glance in your direction, I find that you look utterly relaxed, as if you could drift off to sleep.

Instead, you eventually stir. Our eyes meet, and you offer me a regretful smile. "I have to go," you murmur.

I merely nod and lean to plant a kiss on your lips. There's no need to try to convince you to stay, for I know you'll find your way back to me. Your hot stare, still a bit wild, makes me confident you'll seek me out sooner rather than later. When you do, I'll again play the role you love most: I'll be your little slut, your filthy girl.

And in the midst of the erotic drama unfolding between us, love might play its own role.