"YOUR friends," I say, putting my hands behind my head. I am lying on the bed. I have been ready for 20 minutes. My pants are off, over the back of a chair, so I don’t wrinkle. My suit jacket is over it, too. I am looking at you, watching you from behind while you stare in the bathroom mirror, trying on earrings.
"You wearing that?" I ask.
"Yes," you say. “Why?"
"No reason," I say, sitting up. I cross the bedroom, into the bathroom, my hands on your waist. You have a long black dress, tight, form fitting. “You look sexy," I say, biting your neck.
"Stop," you say, nudging me.
"What?" I say, my hands on your dress, pulling it up slowly.
"Don’t," you say, more firmly. “We don’t have time."
Your dress is up, over your ass, you feel my cock pressing into you. I reach around, cupping your tits over the fabric. You are not wearing a bra. I squeeze the nipples and you moan, pushing your hands on the counter to brace yourself.
"No time," you try again, without much fight.
I reach my hand down, tugging at your panties, slipping them down to your thighs. You instinctively spread your legs as I press into you, forcing your back down, against the counter, your hands reaching out, bracing against the mirror.
I grab my cock, teasing your slit. You are wet. Soaked. Already. I slide the head in and you grunt. One thrust, and I am all the way in. You bite your lip, smearing your red lipstick.
I grab your hips, pumping deep inside of you. “Fuck," you groan as I reach around, teasing your tits. Pulling at the nipples.
You hear my thighs slapping against yours. Skin on skin. Wet. Sticky. I pump deeper. All the way. I fuck you harder. Faster.
Your palms still firm against the mirror, using it to push back. Meet me. You squeeze my cock with each thrust. You are not shy. Not timid. You want to cum. Now.
I reach down, between your thighs. My hand rubs your clit and you tense. An electric pulse through your body. I fuck you through it, you cumming around my cock as I pump deep inside of you. “FFFUUUCCCK," you say, through clenched teeth.
Faster. Faster. All the way. Deep inside. I groan and cum, shooting myself inside of you. Deep. I fill you. A quick release of tension to start our night.
I kiss your neck, slipping your dress down and me out. “We won’t be late," I say.
"Bad boy," you tease, straightening your dress. “I need to clean up."
"No," I say. “Pull up your panties. I want you to go like that."
Your friend Beth is saying something about a trip she took with her cousin to Dublin, and I see her mouth moving, but I just can’t seem to concentrate.
And it’s not the four whiskeys I have had or the sheer boredom I feel whenever Beth speaks. No. It’s the fact that I have been riding my hand up your thigh for the last two minutes, teasing you over your panties while you bite your lip and thrust your hips and try to pretend that nothing is happening south of the equator.
But I know the truth. I know how wet you are. I know I am rubbing in just the right spot. And I can tell by the way you are slowly grinding your pelvis you are so close.
I slip my hand under the thin silky fabric, and feel your wetness on me. Soaking me. I slip a finger in and you gasp. Out loud. Luckily no one is paying attention. I finger fuck you while my thumb teases your clit, and you cum for me. You cum against my palm, leaving your cheeks flush red and my fingers soaked. No one notices.
We are dancing. I never dance. I can’t dance. But I can now. I am flying. Six whiskeys deep. Or maybe I am standing still and the room is spinning?
Either way, your dress is backed to being hiked up as you grind against my thigh. We are connected. The song is one of those loud pulsing numbers with no reason. No anything. Just loud. Thumping. Confusing. This is “fuck me" music. This is “crazy sex" music.
I feel your hand on my cock as I grind against you. The dance floor is crowded, but we’ve found our space. You tease me. Stroke. Smile. Kiss. You taste like beer and cigarettes. It’s an aphrodisiac.
Your body is warm in my hands. Soft. Perfect. Your mouth is tender to my lips. “Let’s leave," I say, over the loud thump, thump. You smile and grab my hand and pull me out of the darkness.
We barely keep our clothes on in the cab. If not for the constant stares of the cabbie, we might not have.
The stairwell was an adventure too. We stopped on every floor for a break. Hands. Tongues. Lips. Mouths.
By the time the front door closes, your dress is off and so are my pants and jacket.
We hit the bedroom. Our clothes leaving a trail. You shed your panties and I take you in. I am still amazed by your body. Still turned on. You twirl for me in the moonlight, and I drink you in.
You smile and grab my cock and fall to your knees. You take me into your mouth, your hand teasing my balls as the other jacks my shaft. You pump me. Harder. Deeper. You are determined. Focused.
I grab your hair, long, dark. I scoop it up so I can see your face. You paint my cock red with your lipstick.
"Fuck," I say. “Stop," I say. “I want to fuck you," I say.
"No," you say, pausing, a string of spit from your lip to the head of my cock. “My turn."
Your hands reach around, grabbing my ass, pulling me deep, down your throat, gagging on my cock as you fuck me with your face.
You tease me, your hand jerking me. Your gorgeous mouth urging me on. I am drunk, but that’s not why I am spinning.
"Fuck," I grunt through gritted teeth. I pull my cock out, jerking it as you open wide, sticking your tongue out. I shoot down your throat. I know how you like it. You moan and swallow and let me jerk a few more on your lips before you swallow me again. All the way.
Some girls say they love cum, but you actually do.
You milk me. Every drop. Pumping me down your throat. You lick me dry. Lovingly. Knowingly.
We fall back, in our bed. Tired. Long day. Long night. You nuzzle into my shoulder, kissing me lightly, your lips salty.