The best thing about your birthday falling when it does, is that there is always a big fireworks display down by the river. We finish our roasted chestnuts and I stand behind you, in the crowd, my arms around you as we all stare up at the night sky.
I slip my hand inside your long coat and push my hand down inside your skirt and panties, my fingers are cold and you shiver as they slide down over the heat of your pussy. The crowd presses close and no one can see what I am doing to you, nor can they see the way I am rubbing myself against your slowly rocking ass. Even through all our clothes, you can feel how stiff I am.
The sky bursts with light and sound as I deftly rub at your, now wet, clit and the crowd gasp with each flash and bang and, unknowingly, with each of our shudders of pleasure. I get faster and you let out as long “oooh!” out of sync with crowd and a man gives you a funny look; we try our hardest not to giggle.
The crowd, press close around us, unaware of our secret pleasure, and as our orgasms rumble from deep within our beings, the display reaches its climax and the sky explodes in a long series of torrential showers of light and sound, shaking the ground, filling our noses with the smell of gunpowder as we erupt along with the crowd. I feel you tremble with each carnal sky burst, you feel me shudder and squirt into my shorts. We gasp and roar, along with the others but to our own private explosions, the fireworks a mere accompaniment to our thigh-quenching celebration.