Flash Fiction Friday 5-11-12: "Foreign Affairs"

(Source image unknown; provided some time ago by the lovely Lexi)

Summer in a strange country, wandering the streets, penniless, lost and dejected. I strolled aimlessly, not knowing what I sought.

It certainly hadn't been this. Dark hair, dark eyes, tanned skin; a hint of mischief in the crescent whiteness of her smile. She crooked her finger at me and I followed, helpless.

Down a blind alley, she pulled me against a wall. I tasted pomegranates in her kiss, licked the salt of her sweat from her nipples. She arched a leg high and gasped quietly as I sank into her.

I was still lost, but at least I'd found this.

(Click for details on FFF!)

Your challenge for today was to use the picture above and write a flash fiction of less than 100 words. Additionally, I provided a key phrase I wanted to see used somewhere in the submission:

"...a hint of mischief..."

Nobody's checking word counts, or for the key phrase, but you're only cheating yourself if you break the rules. Unless you're doing it to earn a spanking (in which case, see me after class).

Special Bonus Director's Commentary Track: 

The woman in this picture seems just the kind of mischievous imp I'd like to spend a couple of days getting to know while visiting a foreign country. I've never traveled extensively outside the U.S., but I had little trouble imagining someone who was down on his luck, had had a series of misfortunes or was otherwise unable to leave the country, yet couldn't find a means to sustain himself, wandering the streets, penniless and alone. I wondered how I would react if I were him. I wondered how she would notice. I wondered how she might introduce herself, and this, with very little changing or editing, is the result. I hope you enjoyed it. 

If you are playing along this week, please leave your link below using the widget. It will appear in the text of the post itself, not in the comments, so everyone that's playing will be listed here. This frees me from having to chase people down to find out if they're playing or update the Friday post several times for late entries. Your cooperation is appreciated.

In any case, the participants list is below. Go check them out, and thanks to all who played along.



Check back here on Monday for the next challenge! And if you have any photos or artwork you'd like to see in a future challenge, please send them my way. Thanks to Lexi for providing this week's photo!

-- PB

Flash Fiction Friday 3-25-11: "Café Confidential"

(Source image: "Casablanca" by TC Reiner)

She was everything I'd come to love about Casablanca: full of grace and spirit, a glint in her eye and spring in her step, white teeth agleam in face kissed by the sun, body taut but full of promise. For weeks my waitress at this dusty little streetside café, she danced right along the edge of flirtation but never overstepped it.

Till the day I brought my guitar. From the first chord I struck there was something in her eyes, dark and flickering. I wrapped cadenzas around her, held her fast with fingers dancing on the strings, her gaze locked with mine, the spark jumping.

After, she settled onto my lap with a swirl of skirts. “So beautiful,” she sighed with a lilting French accent. “Why did you not tell me you played?”

“Better to show you,” I grinned.

“Ah! yes, it is better to show,” she agreed. “Like....this?” Her eyes danced, flicking downward, to where she had pulled up her skirt. She was bare beneath it.

“Very much like that,” I agreed, and slid my hand up her thigh.

(Click for details on FFF!)

Your challenge for today was to use the picture above and write a flash fiction of 119-187 words. Additionally, I provided a key phrase I wanted to see used somewhere in the submission:

"...kissed by the sun..."

Nobody's checking word counts, or for the key phrase, but you're only cheating yourself if you break the rules. Unless you're doing it to earn a spanking (in which case, see me after class).

Special Bonus Director's Commentary Track: 

Originally I'd planned to call this one "Moroccan Fire" and play up the sensation of heat I got from looking at the photo. I pictured long, humid glances of passion between the players in the tale, sultry heat in a café, sweat rolling down bodies, torrid romance building slowly. And then my research on Morocco and Casablanca informed me that it has mostly a very pleasant and mild climate with neither extreme highs nor extreme lows. That threw that approach out the window.

So I seized on the guitar instead. Music is always flowing through my head, and so it was almost effortless to fit a fiery Moorish rhythm into the story I had in mind next. I tried to suggest this was a glimpse into the Casablanca of yesteryear, before its jeweled luster dimmed, by giving her a French accent. Maybe the waitress wouldn't give him the time of day, but she went all to pieces when he played for her. Stranger things have happened. It makes me wish I had more musical talent than I do, but I'll settle for wordsmithing any day of the week. I hope you enjoyed this little fanciful tone poem.

Please note that I am no longer collecting the participants list. If you are playing along this week, please leave your link below using the widget. It will appear in the text of the post itself, not in the comments, so everyone that's playing will be listed here. This frees me from having to chase people down to find out if they're playing or update the Friday post several times for late entries. Your cooperation is appreciated.

In any case, the participants list is below. Go check them out, and thanks to all who played along.



Check back here on Monday for the next challenge! And if you have any photos or artwork you'd like to see in a future challenge, please send them my way. 

-- PB

Flying the Friendly Skies

[[NOTE: Thanks to all who are stopping by via links from eLust! I hope you like what you see here.]]

My job requires me to travel quite a bit, so I've gotten very familiar indeed with the routines and patterns of airline flight. I know which airlines charge the least for baggage, which ones are the most likely to depart on time, which ones still actually offer snacks during flight, and which ones (in my experience) have the prettiest flight attendants.

That last is something I can't help noticing. Being a typical guy, I'm always keeping an eye out for beauty in all its female forms, and so when I sit down in first class I get a pretty good look at the flight attendants when they go strolling by on those lovely legs. And I make mental notes about which ones are the prettiest, and compose little fantasies about the most attractive of 'em, and shake my head at my own folly.

Just lately I've been flying Continental a lot. I don't know what their flightcrew schedules are overall -- that, like everything else in the airline world, depends largely upon seniority -- but at least one of the crews must have a schedule similar to the one that's been sending me from city to city of late, because recently I actually saw the same flight attendant on more than one of my flights. Once on a flight from Columbus to Detroit; once on a Los Angeles - Boston hop; and finally on a long overseas jaunt from Atlanta to London.

That had never happened to me before and it would have been enough for me to take notice even if she hadn't been outside the usual norm for flight attendants. To start with, she was tiny -- just shy of five feet tall, if I'm any judge. She wore a scarf loosely around her throat, a sweater/skirt combination, and knee-high boots. More to the point, she didn't have the crisp perfection in her appearance that so many flight crews do. One button on her sweater was undone, there was a rip in her hose, scratches on her boots, and her hair was carelessly pinned back with stray wisps of hair escaping. There was a curious flavor of soiling about her, something a bit dirty and unkempt.

This normally turns me off (I like my women to take pride in themselves) but something about this woman captured my attention. She seemed completely unaware of my gaze, going about her tasks with a kind of indolence that reflected her appearance. But she was obviously very familiar with her body and its uses; she moved with lazy hipshot grace, no wasted energy, her movements close and economical. It struck me that she was a bit like the lions you see at the zoo. They may appear bored and indifferent, and lie happily in the dust of their enclosures, but they could by-God tear your head off if it ever struck them to do so.

Anyhow, on the third flight I finally struck up a conversation with her. Her name, it turned out, was Amanda, and conversationally I found little to change my initial opinion of her. Not terribly smart, not particularly interested in endearing herself to me, just passing the time, really, as the hours wound by. We'd pass a couple of minutes when she passed by, and then she'd beg off (flight attendants on 747s do, after all, have a lot of passengers to watch over). I'd watch her ass working prettily under that skirt, sturdy legs in those knee-high boots clocking down the aisle, and shake my head a bit at the waste.

The hour was growing late and most of the other passengers had dropped off to sleep. I, on the other hand, have trouble sleeping even in spacious first-class seats, so I was idly paging through a book, not really getting much from it, and wishing for something to relieve the boredom. At that, I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Amanda.

" 'Scuse me," she said, wiping a hand on her skirt and leaving a smudge. "I hate to ask you this, but you've been nice to me, so I thought, well, it can't hurt...."

She trailed off, staring at me. I raised an eyebrow. "Ask me what?"

"Well, I'm having some trouble with this gadget in one of the bathrooms. It's s'posed to help the air circulate but it's giving me this funny smell, like something's frying."

"Frying? And you haven't told the pilots?"

"Yeah, I did, keep your shirt on. They said their systems don't detect anything wrong back there. Asked me to take a look, and I did, but I can't see nothing wrong. You look good with your hands -- could you maybe take a look and see if you see anything?"

I sighed, a bit annoyed. Even in my spare time it seemed people were coming to me for tech support. "Good with my hands, okay. Yeah, sure, I'll see what I can do."

I followed her past the rows of dead-to-the-world passengers, past the galley to the restroom on the left side. "This is the one?" I inquired, and she nodded. I knocked -- no one inside -- and opened up. Nothing remarkable that I could see, so I stepped inside, and she followed me in. Before I could raise an eyebrow at that, she had closed the door and locked it.

A 747 has a bigger bathroom than, say, a small regional jet, but they still aren't all that big. There wasn't a lot of room and she was in pretty close quarters with me. I opened my mouth to say something -- what, I'm not sure -- and she put a finger against my lips. "I saw the way you were lookin at me," she said. "If we gotta talk about it, it's no good. I guess you know there isn't any problem here in the bathroom, other than the one I've got."

Dry-mouthed, I managed to croak out, "And what problem is that, pray tell?"

She gave a little laugh and her hands began going to work on my shirt, unbuttoning it swiftly. "God, can't you tell? I haven't been fucked in almost a day. I'm so horny I can't stand it."

She stopped briefly in the act of opening my fly. "You can do something about that, right? I mean, you think I'm hot, right?"

"Hot" maybe wasn't the right word, I thought as I stared at her. This little minx wasn't at all my kind of woman. But suddenly I wanted to grab at this one. I wanted to get my hands dirty, to press against that body and see if it was as ripe and soft as the bulging sweater and straining skirt made it look. Wanted to grab hold and spread her, to take her bending over the sink. Fuck, yes, I could do something about her problem.

And so I answered by yanking her sweater and shirt up to her neck. Another woman might have cooed with delight, or giggled; she did neither, simply nodding her head, her hands going back to work on my fly. She wriggled a bit against me, probably with the idea of getting me up, but stopped that as she realized I was already quite ready. She began stroking me and made a small sound of approval, then with a practiced motion, dropped my slacks around my ankles. She leaned forward and without any preliminaries began running her tongue along the ridge in my boxer briefs. I groaned a bit, and wound my fingers into her curly hair. My other hand roamed down her back till it found the clasp on her bra, and fumbled there a moment before I wrestled that free and her tits spilled out into my hands.

Oh, delightful. Warm and soft, surprisingly big for her little size. She had enormous cherry-red nipples which I delighted in flicking with my thumbs. She liked that, and pressed them harder against my clutching hands, moaning, as she kept stroking my cock. Without warning she darted a hand inside my briefs to grasp and fondle me. Talented fingers, fitting themselves to me, curving along my length and drawing me free, the other hand slipping my briefs down to my ankles to join my puddled slacks.

She stroked me a bit more and I leaned back, enjoying the attention, still fondling her breasts, rubbing the nipples in circular motions with my palms, licking a finger to draw circles around the aureoles, rubbing them against my shirt. She sighed. "Knew you were the one to take care of this," she said, and leaned forward, pressing her tits against me, nibbling on my neck, licking and sucking.

Since I couldn't fondle her tits with her pressed against me like this, I chose to grab her ass and work that tight skirt up to her waist. I had to do some creative rearranging -- she really was about a size too large for a skirt this small -- but finally I had the globes of her ass in double handfuls. Warm, yielding flesh met my questing grasp. She may have been wearing stockings, but they weren't pantyhose, because there was nothing under that skirt but her.

She giggled at my look of shock. "Isn't company regulations," she said, and went back to licking my throat, her hands still stroking my cock deftly, surely. "But I don't think you mind much, do ya?"

"No indeed," I murmured. I worked one hand around to the front and found another surprise. She was shaved as smooth as a marble table. I do like a woman who shaves, or at least trims neatly. There's less interference with tangling and it's easier to slip inside, as I did now. My fingers found wetness and heat beyond compare -- fuck me, she hadn't been lying about being horny and ready to go -- and abruptly I lost my remaining grasp on propriety and decorum.

Spinning her around, I bent her over the sink. She assumed the position without a word of complaint, waggling her ass at me. "Oooo," she said now in a little-girl voice. "You going to give me what I need?" She reached back to finger herself, her other hand caressing her hanging tits. "God, I'm so ready. Come on, man, show me what you've got."

Well, far be it from me to deny a lady what she wants. I dropped one hand on her ass, squeezing, lifting, grasping tightly. I fought one foot free of my piled clothes and used it to knock her legs further apart. Stepping closer, I probed with my cock between her legs, rubbing against her slit. More wetness splashed over me and I moaned, a guttural sound. I lifted her and spread her more, pressing upward, pressing inward.

Tight. God damn, she was tight. I could barely fight my head past the gripping suction of her lips. She was wetter than a Slip-and-Slide and it was a good thing, because as I pushed forward she enveloped me like a custom-made driving glove. I had to fight for every inch, wriggling and pushing, she emitting small moans of delight, until I finally bottomed out inside her. I stopped a moment, feeling her clenching around me. I reached around with both hands, grabbing her tits, fondling and squeezing. She waggled that ass against me again and I felt rippling walls of suction around my cock. God, it felt incredible.

I pulled back a little bit and I clearly heard wet sucking sounds as her cunt released me oh-so-slowly. Now that she had me, she obviously didn't want to let me go. Well, that was fine with me. I drew back a bit more, marveling at the sight of my cock emerging from her tight tunnel, coated with her shiny excitement, red with my own heat. Then I pressed home again, not thrusting exactly but sort of undulating my cock forward and in again. She threw back her head and gasped "Oh, fuck me, that's good," and I couldn't agree more.

A few more in-and-outs and she had either gotten wetter still or her cunt had found a different way of accomodating me. I was now sliding effortlessly in and out; she was still tight as hell, still gripping me fiercely, but it wasn't a struggle to thrust forward any more. No, her pussy was now taking everything I had to offer, begging for more, welcoming each invasive strike. Letting go of her tits (her nipples were so hard now they could have cut glass) and grabbing her ass, I started using it as a fulcrum, rocking and grinding deeper into her with each thrust, really starting to pound her in earnest now. The gentle smack of flesh on flesh as my balls slapped against her wet cunt, the gasps and moans from her that were now ratcheting up in intensity, the ringing clap as my hand fell on her ass -- these were music to my ears.

And to hers. Her mouth was open again, spilling a stream of obscenities. In a candy-sweet voice she begged me to fuck her harder, to do her like the naughty girl she was, to pound her little pussy till she was too sore to walk. "Do you like it? Do you like my little pussy?" she gasped. "Do you like the way your flight attendant's taking your big cock up her tight little cunt?" Moaning, she threw her head back again. "Oh yeah, pound me good, baby." With every thrust I made into her she pushed back harder, moaning even louder.

I put a hand over her mouth to keep her quiet. I could feel her giggling but she stifled her moans a bit, though her body was still busy as hell, swaying and grinding against my crotch, getting my dick as deep into her as she could. I felt her shiver and tense and suddenly there was a pattering sound and I felt warmth running down my legs. Apparently she was a squirter. I felt her cunt clutching me even harder, massaging my cock expertly, and I leaned forward, pressing her down on the sink, battering into her. I felt my balls boiling and growled low into her ear, "Dirty girl indeed. How many guys have you done this to? How many strangers have you fucked in the bathroom like this?"

"Dozens," she gasped through my hand. "Anyone who's willing. I can't help it. I gotta have it regular-like, or I'll go outta my mind." She felt me twitch and a low laugh escaped past my fingers. "Ooo, that turns you on, doesn't it? You like pounding your little flight attendant slut."

Damn it, she was right. That soiled, unkempt feeling was back and stronger than ever, but I didn't care. I was embracing it. Rolling in the dirt with her, getting filthy with her sweat and her juices, fucking this total stranger in the bathroom of a 747 while outside any passengers who were still awake could have no doubt what was going on from all the thumping and rocking and squealing. Well, so be it. All I knew was that her cunt was so tight and hot and wet, her body so lush and active, that I was going to shoot off very soon now. I brought my hand down in a sharp slap on her ass, the crack echoing, and she howled delight past my still-restraining other hand. She raised a leg and propped it against the wall, giving me more access, spreading herself further as I plundered and plowed her. Her exhortations had now become a steady low chant: "yes-yes-yes-yes-yes-yes-yes" as I thrust harder and harder into her.

Grunting and gasping, I grabbed her ass with both hands and clutched it hard enough to leave bruises as I spent myself like a shooting star, hosing her pussy down with what felt like a gallon of cum. I thrust as far into her as I could, lifting her all the way off the ground. She spread her hands to brace herself, now laughing loudly, openly, as I struggled to catch my breath and let her sag back downward, still impaled on my softening cock.

She lifted up and off of me and turned to face me, our mingled fluids now positively pouring down her legs. "Oh yeah," she sighed happily. "I needed that." She leaned back against the sink, spreading her legs, letting her head fall back on her shoulders, her throat working as her pulse hammered its way down into a reasonable range again.

Just looking at her was enough to arrest my softening. God, she was a stunning sight. Sweater and skirt still yanked up, skin shining with sweat, her tits capped with nipples that were still rock hard. Her cunt shone like a promise as she idly reached a hand down to play with her clit some more. She shuddered and moaned again, deep in her throat.

I couldn't stand it. I had to have her again. I grabbed her by the ass and lifted her up, tightening my PC muscles to get my cock pointing in just the right direction. She had time only for a surprised "What..." before I drove up and into her again, and her mouth went wide with shock and pleasure. Muttering "aw yeah, aw yeah, aw yeahh" in time with my strokes, she wrapped both legs around my ass and hung on as I started to pound her again, not caring who she'd been with, not caring if we were heard anymore, only reaching for that filth, embracing it, getting dirty with this slut of a flight attendant who was so very fucking horny that she couldn't do without it.

Maybe I wasn't Mr. Right, I thought hazily as I banged her against the wall, her shrieks ringing in my ears, my legs burning, my cock as hard as it had ever been. But damn if it wasn't pretty fucking good to be Mr. Right Now for a change.

[[Director's Commentary: Regrettably, this is just fiction. I did run into the same flight attendant on three different flights in the space of a month, but there was no bathroom interlude like this. But I couldn't help wondering whether she looked untidy and unkempt because she really didn't care about her appearance, or because she really was the lioness type and had more earthy urges to concern her. Plus she looked really really good in those boots and that skirt. The last flight was weeks ago, but I kept thinking about her at odd times, and finally I wrote this over the course of a half hour, unedited, to give it the same raw, dirty feeling I sensed from her when I saw her.

It also goes without saying that I would never ever fuck a total stranger without protection. I don't much like condoms, but they're an absolute necessity. Especially if the girl's as big a slut as the one in this tale. And I mean that with all due respect. Nothing wrong with a slut who loves it and goes after it anywhere she can find it.]]

-- PB

Across a Crowded Room, part 3

(Please do read part 1, which you can find here, and part 2, which you can find here. My apologies for the delay in finishing this, but I wanted to complete it with a bang, shall we say.)

Science fiction writers use terms like n-space and hyperspace to describe methods for moving between dimensions. There must have been something like that in or near your apartment, because I barely blinked and we were inside. Or maybe it was just that there wasn't room in my head for everyday observations, because I was utterly lost in you; your voice, your scent, your presence, all were so overpowering that there was nothing left but She, She who is all women and none, She who is sexuality defined, She who leaves even the goddess Aphrodite behind in beauty and poise and grace.

You drifted ahead of me, sylphlike, down the corridor, through beams of moonlight streaming through windows. "Here," you said quietly, and beckoned to me. I followed, blinking, eyes adjusting to the dim light. An enormous window at one end of the bedroom had curtains flung wide; silver shine spilled in, painting the thick, heavy bed in bright bas-relief, strong contrast to the shadows elsewhere in the room. You reached for a lamp switch; moving fast, I took your wrist and prevented you. "No," I said. "Nothing artificial tonight. I want to see you in all your glory without any aids."

In the luminous glow of the moon, you turned to me and turned your face up. I stepped close, bending near you, taking in every line, every curve of your face. Long eyelashes blinked, slow and sultry, waiting. Your lips parted, your tongue ran along your lower lip. I breathed deeply of your scent, reaching down to your waist and placing my hands there, gently.

Closer. I ran my hands up your sides, carefully avoiding the sideswell of your breasts; ran fingers around to your back and up to your shoulders. I played with your curls for a moment and bent closer still, inches away now from your face. You sighed and closed your eyes, lips parting further and pouting. It was long past time....

Taking your face in my hands, I closed the remaining distance and kissed you oh-so-lightly on the lips. Brushing softly against them, tingling touch only. Your mouth soft and inviting, warm and growing warmer. Again I kissed you softly, then with a bit more force. Again. Again. Each touch of our lips was deeper, more intimate. I caressed your face and neck as our mouths merged, melding together now, wet and hungry for more. Your arms went under mine and locked around my waist; with a soft murmur of need you pulled me close. I felt the soft weight of your breasts against me and wanted to crush you in my arms...but that could wait.

Again. We kissed and kissed, our breath coming faster now, soft moans escaping each time we pulled free. There was fire there now; I felt like I was kissing a piece of the clean sun, a sister to the moonlight now bathing us both in its radiance. One of my hands went, involuntarily, to the back of your neck, pulling your head harder against me; the other slid down to the small of your back, pulling your body closer against me there. Our tongues met now, twining together, hot and wet and urgent. My head spun. My mouth burned.

Again. Again. Moaning into each others' mouths now, heads turning in perfect synch as we tried new angles and new variations; still we explored, tasted each other, drank deep from the fountain of lust that was now spraying over us both. My hand on your back slid lower, cupped your ass, squeezed gently; you moved against me and cooed in delight as your belly pressed against my hardness.

We broke then, staring at each other, panting. Seconds passed; blue eyes locked with gray, that silent offer and counteroffer more plain than ever. Then: "More," you sighed. "I want more."

"And so do I," I agreed, bending to kiss you again, just once this time, but a deep, plunging and forceful kiss this time, bending you backward, supporting you with one hand on your head and the other at your back. I felt your arms clutch me convulsively, fingers digging into my back; a bright spear of delight shot through me and I groaned into your mouth. I pulled back and pulled you up, releasing you. Slowly, a panther stalking its prey, I stood back and began to circle you, eyeing you for what you were: the most delicious treat I'd seen in years.

You stood there proudly, offering yourself for my gaze. Your hands ran up your body, from curve of hips to flat stomach to swell of breasts in front; you lifted and cupped them for me, noting with approval how my breath caught and my grin grew. Up your hands went, caressing yourself, painting with desire, lingering here and there, a touch on your nipples, a curl round your chin, sweeping upwards through your hair as you arched your back and tossed your head. You sighed softly as I came to rest behind you; again placing my hands on your waist, I bent close and nipped at the expanse of skin between neck and shoulder. I felt you shiver, and began kissing my way up your neck, nibbling gently, bending forward, arms locked around you now, pressing against your ass insistently so you'd know without a doubt how you were affecting me.

Long moments we stood there, sighing, as I kissed and licked up your neck to your ear. Bending forward a bit more, I licked at your earlobe and heard a soft breathy gasp from you. I took it in my mouth and sucked gently, running one hand up your front to cup and fondle one breast, nipples now standing out very nicely. You arched forward, into my hand, pushing your tits into my caresses. My other hand was busy lower down, running over your belly and down to your thighs, caressing, exploring. You melted against me, reaching one arm back, hand going round my neck and clenching there.

Now both hands were on your tits, stroking and squeezing. Never hard, never aggressive, but fondling and teasing, feeling them tighten underneath my ministrations, nipples poking out so hard they seemed likely to cut through the silk of your dress. Low moans drifted from your lips; you wriggled your ass against my erection, bringing moans from me as well, making me push harder against your softness.

I pulled back, planting a final trail of kisses down the knob of your spine, and reached for the zipper at the rear of your dress. "Oh yes," I heard you sigh, and couldn't have agreed more. Feeling more excited than a kid unwrapping a Christmas present, I pulled the zipper down all the way to its stop just above your ass, an expanse of milky white flesh meeting my hungry gaze. I began planting kisses and licks down your spine, soft sighs from you urging me onward; I felt you shrug your arms free and the dress's front fell downward. Squatting, I planted a kiss on the small of your back, then reached both hands around front to your thighs, caressing, running upwards. The tight silk frustrated me; I couldn't get at the real goodies. I had to get this dress off you all the way.

Other things first, though. I reached for the clasp on your bra, my growing excitement finally betraying me as my fingers fumbled with it. I heard a low glissando giggle from you but you didn't offer to help; instead you stood very still until I slipped the clasp free and peeled the bra off you. Again I stepped close, cupping your breasts in my hands. Soft. So incredibly soft and smooth. You moaned as I lifted them and caressed, palms and thumbs running over your nipples, so very hot and hard. I squeezed one gently and you cried out "yes!"; delighted, I slid my other hand to your other nipple and squeezed that one as well, tweaking and rolling it between thumb and forefinger.

Your hips bucked and your ass thudded back against my crotch, reminding me there were further delights to be found. I slid my hands lower and began working the dress free from where it'd bound up around your hips; you undulated from side to side, somehow managing to brush against my cock repeatedly while still "helping" me get the dress off; seconds later it fell free and puddled around your ankles. You stepped out of it, now clad solely in a pair of spike heels; I rocked back, stunned, realizing your panties hadn't come off in a mass with the dress -- you just weren't wearing any at all.

You turned to face me, gloriously, unbelievably nude. "Do you like what you see?" you asked, licking your lips.

"God, do I," I muttered hoarsely. What a sight you were -- body bathed in moonlight, creamy white skin spattered with freckles here and there; a flush spreading down your face and chest; bright rosy red nipples standing at attention on perfectly-shaped breasts; a tiny, cute navel; intoxicating swell of hips; lovely firm thighs....and oh yes -- a perfectly-kept landing strip pointing the way towards something I wanted very badly to taste by now.

But not yet. I circled you again, touching you here and there, running my hands over your body, caressing, squeezing, inflaming you further. I'd bend to take a nipple in my mouth as I came round the front, or meet your mouth with mine for more deep, wet kissing, or squeeze the cheeks of your ass with my hands and pull you against me, feeling the heat of your skin through my clothes now. So hot. I wanted that fire. I wanted you. I wanted you.

My hands now went to the buttons on my shirt; eagerly, you began helping me, your fingers exploring and questing over my skin as the shirt was spread wide. You played with the few hairs on my chest, pressing your palms against my pectorals; I arched my shoulders as the shirt slipped backwards and off me, and was surprised as you stepped close, capturing both arms behind me, winding the loose bits of the shirt around the wrists for a temporary binding.

Now it was you who was in control, stepping close, rubbing your breasts against my chest, your hand on my ass, pulling me close. You leaned in and planted a line of kisses down my neck and chest; I threw back my head and moaned as your hot lips and tongue scored fiery trails down my skin. Gradually your hand slipped away from the shirt and it fell loose, away. I pulled my wrists out of it and it dropped to the floor. I felt your hands on my slacks now, undoing the fastening but stopping there; your small hands went to the bulge (very prominent now) at the front, rubbing, squeezing gently, running up and down my length. I moaned again. "God, that feels good," I sighed, and you answered "Good," happily, now going to your knees to plant kisses on my cock through my slacks, still caressing it with one hand and squeezing my ass with your other one. The friction was maddening.

A few moments of this delicious torture and you stood again. Hazily, I realized that you'd somehow gotten my shoes and socks off as well while I was busy floating in the clouds; I'd certainly been in no condition to notice. I felt your hands working along my length and then pulling the zipper down; your mouth quirked into an O of surprise when you realized I, too, had worn no underwear and only hot flesh awaited your questing fingertips. And it was hot, very hot, heavy and hard beneath your admiring gaze as you pulled my slacks down. And soon it was beneath your admiring fingers as well. You ran your hand along the shaft, testing its texture; I gasped at the contrast, softness vs. hardness, delicious friction. You took me firmly in hand and pumped me twice, quickly, sharply; I gasped again and felt my balls draw up in pleasure.

And then we were in each others' arms again. Skin on skin, so exquisite. I pulled you against me, firmly but not crushingly, my cock standing up between us, an exclamation point of desire. Our mouths met again for a hungry kiss, opening deeply, devouring, tasting, sucking at tongues and lips. My hands clenched on your ass, your arms locked round my neck, your fingernails dug in hard to my shoulderblades. I felt you wiggle against me, delighting at the way my cock throbbed harder and harder against you, delectable torture.

Now I bore you backward towards the bed and lifted you in my arms. Grinning, you kicked your shoes off and they clattered to the floor, fetching up in a corner. I bent and laid you down upon the coverlet; it looked like black velvet and felt softer still. I stood by the bedside a moment, admiring; the moonlight spilled in rivulets of silver over your curves, shadows pooling in the hollows the moon's caresses couldn't reach. You smiled up at me and beckoned me with one finger. I took the invitation and crawled onto the bed, spreading your legs, and you grinned again, this time in anticipation, as I began kissing my way up your thighs. You arranged yourself on the pillows and settled in for some enjoyment.

Kissing, licking, sucking; I tasted your scent on my lips as I got closer to your pussy. Musky and sweet, maddening and arousing. I breathed deep, filling my head with that aroma, then lapping delicately, oh so delicately, at your folds, opening you with my tongue, spreading your lips with mine. Such a taste -- no gourmand had ever had a variety of flavors like this one, earthy and complex, sweet and spicy all at once. I put one hand under your thigh and moved it outward; the other hand stole upward and began caressing one breast and tweaking your nipple again. I ran my nose along your landing strip, liking the way your scent had lingered there; perhaps you'd been rubbing yourself before I accosted you in the club? But why wonder about that, I wondered, when the real thing's available? And I dove back in, feasting on you with lips and tongue, lapping up your nectar, using the broad side of my tongue to lick you from bottom to top and back again.

Loud moans and cries were my reward as I continued my ministrations. I felt your hips undulating slowly, not bucking hard, not yet. Your thighs and belly were trembling with need. I wanted more, and I took it, teasing your folds open further until your pink pearl glistened in the moonlight. I began to lick slowly all around it, providing gentle pressure on the sides in passing, getting you wet and sticky with my saliva, mixing it with your own juices for a fantastically wet lube. Soon I closed my lips around your clit and squeezed it softly, once, twice. I heard a louder moan and smiled to myself, now licking you in earnest, tasting that nectar that was flowing so freely, getting it all over my face and lips and chin. I loved the wet sounds, the slickness, the liquid-on-liquid tones of pure cunt worship. Which this was -- I wanted nothing more than to stay here for hours, worshiping you, bringing you from mountaintop to mountaintop, whispering endearments as you moaned and thrashed, coming and coming until you couldn't remember your own name.

You had other ideas, though. I felt your hands on my head, pulling upward; I lifted reluctantly from your sweetness, wiping the back of my hand absently across face and chin to dry myself a bit. What I saw in your very direct gaze immediately drove all thoughts of further oral worship out of my head. A look of purest need, a look just on the threshold of begging, a look that reminded me of the growing ache in my balls and the throbbing need of my own cock. It wasn't a want anymore. It was a need. I needed you, and you needed me. "Yes," you sighed, and "Now" I answered.

I slid upward, forward, over you, poised and fluid. Your hands went between us, positioning me, angling me, pointing the way; you spread your legs and raised your hips. Smoothly, effortlessly, I glided up and into you, that electrifying moment of first mergence as always sending a shock right through the deepest pleasure centers of my brain.

We lay there, sweetly enclasped, for long moments. You drew up your legs and locked them around my ass, your hands moving up and down my back. "Yes, yes," you moaned. The animal side of me wanted to fuck you right through the mattress, but instead I began a slow, grinding rhythm, keeping my weight balanced on my palms, my stomach brushing against yours, driving my hardness deeply into your all-enfolding wet tunnel. In and out, in and out, moist sounds drifting, soft cries of pleasure from both of us. There were words there too, but only small phrases: "yes" here, "more" there, "oh, like that"....instructions we followed, feedback we passed back and forth as our pleasure built and built into another incredible feedback loop.

Sensations. Such sensations I'd never felt before. It wasn't just some trick of well-trained muscles, or that you were tighter and hotter than any woman I'd been with before, or that your skin was softer, or your nipples more exquisitely hard-tipped -- although all of those things were true. Maybe the moon was lending its magic here, but I began to realize as our rhythm picked up that windows were going to break from the screams when we came. Groaning, balancing on one palm, I reached the other arm around to lift and spread you further, spearing deeper and harder into you with each thrust. "Yes, yes," you urged me on. "Harder. Oh, god, like that. Right there." Your "right there" was perfectly in agreement with my own; delicious friction built and built and built all around me with every stroke I took. Our fit was exquisite, our movements effortlessly synched, every straining urge pulling us closer to a pure mergence.

Our gazes locked again and this time the eye contact was searing. I felt a dazzling shock go through us both, and knew by the shuddering gasps we were both making that we were right on the edge. "Can I?" I wanted to know, almost begging, and you threw back your head, crying out "Yes! Yes! Yes! Fill me now!" And I did, bucking against you, screaming "oh FUCK yes!". I thrust hard twice more, then fountained urgently, still screaming, feeling your pussy clenching around me almost unbearably tightly, seeming to shape and direct each blast, aiming my spurts so there was no part of you left unfilled by my hot cream. And you were coming too, crying out your own pleasure in keening wails, banshee howls, drawn out and out and out until I wondered how you still had breath left to scream. But I only wondered it dimly -- I was busy, still thrusting, still spurting, my hands clenching your ass.

A short time later I collapsed on top of you, still buried balls deep inside. I felt you stroking my back, and turned my head to nuzzle at the hollow of your throat, planting soft kisses, feeling your pulse beating at my lips. I heard you humming quietly, a sleepy tune I couldn't recognize, and with some effort I lifted up to gaze at your face, wreathed in a goofy grin that must have mirrored my own.

"So," I asked softly, "does this mean I finally get to find out your name?"

And you smiled.......

-- PB

Across a Crowded Room, Part 2

(Note: If you missed part 1, it can be found here. -- PB)


"Charmed, I'm sure," you smiled, a slight blush coloring your pale cheeks. Lightly dusted with freckles, I noticed -- a detail I hadn't seen from across the room. It was that smile that really had my heart pounding, though -- that was a pure go-to-the-devil smile if ever I saw one. It promised chaos, sang of sin, hinted at delectable events yet to come. I wanted to taste it. I wanted to taste you.

"How's that?" I managed, pulling free of the threads you were already weaving around me. "You're sure I'll charm you, or you're already charmed?"

"Oh, now, that would be telling," you purred. "Why don't you just take me" -- and there was a long slow pause as you and I both savored the phrase -- "away from here, and we'll see what develops?" Again that long slow smile, warm, inviting, rich and decadent as pure dark chocolate.

"I knew you were a smart woman," I agreed. "All right. My car's nearby; would you care to follow me?"

"Follow?" You seemed puzzled. "What with? I had a friend drop me off tonight. My car's back at my place." You stretched again, relishing the way I gazed at your breasts as your arms squeezed them together. Stunning cleavage.

I quirked an eyebrow. "How were you planning on getting home again, then?"

A silvery chuckle and a very direct look were my answer. "You're not always this slow, are you?" Gray eyes blinked at me, calculating, challenging.

I grinned in admiration. Minx! I thought, yet again. "I guess that also answers the question of where we're off to. You'll need to give me a few directions, though."

"Oh, of course," you agreed. "I'll always be sure to give you any feedback you might want." And licked your lips.

Oh, this is going to be a very interesting night indeed. "As I was saying..." I said, and steered you across the room and out the door.

The drive to your place was oddly quiet. That same electric tension that had built up as I stalked across the room to your side seemed still in effect. Every movement we made, every word spoken, every sultry glance, seemed curiously charged, fraught with meaning. Or perhaps it was the way we were still dueling with each other. I "accidentally" brushed my fingertips across your leg as I dropped my hand from the gearshift; you motioned a direction change and my gaze lingered on the curl of your fingers as they crooked in invitation. You shifted periodically in your seat, legs crossing and uncrossing; when I asked if you were comfortable, you said only "Quite comfortable," and smiled secretly.

We pulled up outside a very nice flat. "Yours?" I inquired, and you nodded. "Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home." I parked nearby, and came around to help you out of the car, only to have you stumble as you stood up and fall full length into my arms. I should have been suspicious -- where was the grace and poise I'd seen from you for weeks? -- but at the time I was too intoxicated by the delicious warmth as your body pressed against mine. I heard a faint "mmm" deep in your throat, and could have sworn that you wriggled very slightly against me; in response, I tightened my arms around you, bending down. Your face turned up, your eyes fluttered, closed. Your lips, full and red, parted sulkily, begged to meet mine. Closer I bent. One hand slid down your back, to the hollow just above where your ass began, and pressed firmly there.

I bent my face closer still, my lips scant inches from yours. A pause, for long breaths, relishing your curves, your softness pressed against me. I liked the way you fitted with me. "Not here," I sighed. "I want privacy for what I'm going to do to you."

Your eyes flickered open, locked with mine. "Yes," you sighed, just as softly. And again: "Yes."

(Part 3 can be found here, in much more detail. This is the payoff you were hoping for, folks.)

-- PB 

Across a Crowded Room

For days I'd watched you. Tracing the curves of your womanly form with an artist's eye; painting images in my brain to last long into the night. At first I would attempt a semblance of propriety, flicking my glances elsewhere when your sultry gaze met mine from under lowered eyelashes. Then, once I realized you were enjoying the attention, I stared more openly, more boldly; taking you in, absorbing your mannerisms, your silvery chuckle, the graceful line of a wrist as you reached for your drink, the way the fabric of your dress drew tight over your breasts when you stretched your arms back, yawning lazily.

Soon I realized that it wasn't just a one-way thing. There seemed to be something of a mutual admiration society going on here; at least, so I interpreted your own rather challenging stares. Several times I saw you run your eyes up and down my body, slowly, insolently. Saw your gaze linger on my waist, teasingly slipping lower; saw your breath catch as you watched me scratch my stomach and then "accidentally" slide it down to brush against the crotch of my slacks. There was a nice warmth there by now, a heat born of this very deliberate game we were playing with each other. I saw you shift in your seat, uncrossing your legs oh-so-deliberately; a ghost of a smile flickered across your face and was gone as you saw me accept the invitation and try to see up your dress to find out whether you were wearing panties or not. Frowning, frustrated by shadows, I muttered a very sincere "damn" and heard that purring chuckle again. What a minx, I thought, not for the last time.

Call-and-response, challenge and acceptance, offer and counteroffer. It was a strange dance we were performing, a bit like the ones seen in classic films where the dancers stretch out hands but never touch, turning slowly about a common point. Lack of touch, however, may be all very well for some, but it was inadequate for our needs, our hungers. Like the dancers spiraling inward about that point, like a comet falling into a gravity well, we were being drawn inward as well, spiraling in to an inevitable meeting. There was only one way this could end. We had offered, suggested, too much -- proffered our all and silently accepted the other's counteroffer. So now, how to pass the event horizon and begin the long slow fall?

Chivalry dictates that the man should make the first move. Very well. I pushed away from the wall where I'd been leaning, not missing the way your eyes flashed up to meet mine as I moved. There was a preternatural stillness in the air, a charged electricity, that somehow cut through the haze of smoke and the hum of conversation. With every step I took I felt the anticipation building. Yes.....it was long past time.

Very soon I had reached your side. You regarded me with equanimity but -- was that a hint of trepidation as well? So it wasn't all confidence and poise with you, there was a hint of vulnerability too. That was reassuring.

The silence stretched, spun out. Slowly, very slowly, I reached out a hand to your face, to touch your chin and lift it gently.

"Mario Puzo and Gabriel Garcia Marquez have a phrase for moments like this," I said softly. "They call it 'the thunderbolt'."

Silence from you, but not oppressive; invitational, rather. Waiting....

"You feel it too, don't you?" I continued, hand rising to caress your face gently, then tracing along your neck, up to run through your tangled curls. A slight tremor passed through you, but not a shiver of disgust, to my gaze; rather, a sweeping of sensation. "You know what this is. You know what I want, and you want it just as badly. The time for words is past....long past."

I let my hand fall from where it had been twining through your hair and took your hand. It was cool and firm in my own. I pulled gently and you rose to your feet gracefully, sinuously, willingly.

"Now. Where can we go from here?"

Finally, you spoke. Your voice was as sultry and smoky as I'd hoped, as I'd fantasized. I could see you tasting the words as you shaped them, very deliberately. "Anywhere that isn't here," you purred. And paraphrased Eliot: " 'And indeed there will be time / To wonder, Do we dare? And Do we dare?' Oh yes....we have plenty of time. But no space, not here. Let's go find some space, and a bit of solitude. How better to make a new acquaintance?"

I raised your hand to my face and brushed my lips very lightly over your fingertips, never breaking eye contact. "Then I'm glad to make your acquaintance," I said. "I am very pleased to know you...."

(Continued here, in part 2.)

-- PB

Next Stop, Orgasm

She sighed and shifted uncomfortably on high heels that looked fantastic, but provided very little actual ankle support when you get right down to it. Not for the first time, she cursed the overcrowding in her city that forced her to take this annoying subway to work every day. The people were rude, the crowds were thick and the smell of hundreds of hurried, overstressed people was something better left undescribed.

She turned up the volume on her iPod a bit more and adjusted the headphones. Beethoven's Sixth washed over her, painting its usual idyllic picture of a pastoral countryside gathering. Her mouth twisted bitterly with recriminations. I should never have left. I hate it here.

Hating wasn't getting her home, though. She brushed her hair absently out of her face and stared hopefully at the electronic progress bar on overhead display. Still six stops to go, dear god was this day ever going to end? All she wanted to do was get home, drop her clothes on the floor and head straight to a bath. And a drink. Not necessarily in that order.

In that instant the subway lurched hard and she lost her grip on the pole. She staggered backward and thumped solidly against another person. A restraining hand came down on her shoulder and she heard a deep rumbling voice: "Whoa, there."

"I'm sorry," she stammered. "Just lost my balance for a second."

"Yeah, those heels don't look too stable," he agreed. She could hear the grin in his voice. His other hand grasped hers, and guided it back to the support pole. "There you go."

She nodded. "Thanks." She peered at his reflection in the glass ahead. Tall, at least six and a half feet, skinny as a rail, dressed in suit and tie. And a fedora -- how many men still wore hats these days? It looked good on him, from what she could see.

Brakes screeched and the subway lurched hard again; this time it was he who was thrown against her, with a very surprised "Oof!". She snickered inwardly but gasped with surprise as his hands went to her waist and clenched hard, even dragging her skirt down a bit. A tingling bolt shot through her and she swayed with a new unsteadiness that had nothing to do with the subway. Oh no, not here. Not now. 

"We seem to be having trouble keeping our footing. Maybe you'd better keep holding on there," she heard herself saying, from a long way away. A tiny flame kindled inside her, her slit beginning to trickle wetness. She slipped the earphones down off her head, wanting to hear that voice again.

A rumbling chuckle. "Indeed? Perhaps you're right." His hands tightened a bit, one on her waist, one sliding down a bit to the fullness of her hips. He shifted a bit behind her as the bell bonged and the car stopped at the new station, the doors opening and letting a positive flood of people in. In seconds, they were packed in like sardines. She pressed hard against him, feeling wiry strength in his frame, in the confidence of his hands on her.

And something else, too. There was a very definite rigidity pressing against her ass now. She shifted experimentally and rubbed "innocently" against him, catching a muffled groan before he chopped it off. Another lurch as the car started off again only made things worse. She grinned wickedly, her mind clicking along rapid rails now just like the speeding car, no longer worried about propriety, only wondering how best to accomplish her new goal: getting him into her as soon as possible.

First, access. "Belt," she murmured, and after a shocked second she felt his hands undoing his belt. She wriggled against him, her hands going to her skirt, rucking it up a bit. Her eyes caught those of a businesswoman standing across the car; the woman looked stunned for a moment, then a knowing grin spread over her face. No interference there, obviously.

She wriggled some more, fingers tearing at her panties, sliding them down her legs, just far enough. There, that should do it. Now him. "Open up," she whispered; startled, the hoodie-wearing kid to her right swung around. "Say what?" he inquired, and she dismissed him with a wave of a hand. Behind her, the real object of the comment was doing as asked; she felt the heat of his cock pressing hard against her. She bent forward a bit but the angle was wrong. "In! In!" she hissed, no longer caring who heard, and felt him probing at her lips till suddenly everything aligned and he slid home.

God, it felt so good, so fucking good. She bit her lip to stifle the moans that wanted to escape; several people nearby were now turning to watch, most looking horribly embarrassed and turning away again. One or two were openly admiring, though, including the businesswoman across the way, whose mouth was parted in a sulky pout. Her breath was coming fast.

Their breath was coming much faster, though. He pressed home his length into her, moving within her in quick, short thrusts -- there just wasn't space for anything else. It was more than enough, though. She tightened her cunt against the invading flesh, milking it, massaging it; his hands on her waist, so powerful, pulling her hard against him, helping him drive himself deeper. He growled deep in his throat and that noise had half of the car looking this way.

"You ready?" he murmured into her ear, still moving relentlessly inside. "Yes, yes, now, do it," she whispergasped, and was rewarded seconds later with his burning cum splashing into her depths. Frantically, she worked a finger around to her front and strummed her clit hard, once, twice, three times; that was enough to send her over the edge as well and she shuddered all over, chills racing over her body.

The bell bonged and half the car exited at the next stop, all of them glancing at the guilty pair as they left. Again, lots of embarrassed looks, mixed in with a few admiring ones. The businesswoman, grinning, stopped at their side long enough to say, "That looked like fun," and then exited with the rest of the horde.

"Fun?" she mused, feeling him slip out of her, no doubt leaving smears of cum and her pussy juices all over her legs, her ass, her skirt. "Yes, I think you could say that." She pulled her skirt down again, but stepped out of her panties -- they'd slid down to her ankles anyway. She picked them up and met her paramour's eyes. Gray as stormclouds, they were, but sparkling with glee.

"Want these?" she inquired.

He nodded silently. She tucked them into his jacket pocket, and turned to face the window again. Just another subway ride, she thought. God, I hate this city....but I guess it does have its good points.

-- PB

[fiction] Dance the Night Away, Part 2

[Part 1 can be found here.]


Without warning she pulled me to my feet. "I love to dance," she purred. "I love to move, love to twist and twine my body around. Love the way the music shoots through me. But you know, even more than that, I love to be watched. And you've been watching me all night, haven't you?"

Why lie? I nodded and grinned, still wiping bits of her wetness off my lips and chin.

"Thought so," she said. "Let's see what we can do about that......"

I reached for her but she shook her finger at me. "Ah-ah!" she tutted. "You can just watch for a bit."

And so I stood back and watched as she began to run her hands up and down her body. In a few seconds more she was slowly moving to the music again, the music which we could still hear pulsing through the door. Her lips parted and she ran her tonguetip along her lower lip, still twisting and swaying slowly while caressing herself. She sighed softly as one hand cupped and lifted a breast, pinching gently at the nipples, which I could see were hard as tiny pebbles. Her other hand was now between her legs, pressed hard against the same spot I'd been sucking and licking so industriously not so long ago.

She moaned louder and threw her head back, suddenly stopping her dance. She lurched for a second and I almost reached out to steady her but remembered her "hands off" admonition and stayed put. She rocked back and leaned against the counter, using it to support her as her hands kept busily working away. Breathing hard, she fumbled at the snap on her jeans and slid them down. My eyes went wide as I discovered why those jeans had been so wet: no underwear met my gaze, only smooth skin and a tiny landing strip above a pussy that was slick and shining with her nectar.

Her fingers slid lower and plunged in. "Ohhhhhhh," she moaned, and her mouth went tight as she began to fuck herself. Decorum was far out the window now; she was too far gone to worry about niceties such as buttons as she ripped hard at the V-neck of her shirt. The buttons flew off, plinking on the tile floor, and she yanked the shirt wide, her breasts spilling free. Her hands were now moving all over herself, from sopping pussy to her tits and back again, mauling and squeezing her bright red nipples and then darting back to her slit to finger herself furiously. Her eyes flashed open and she speared me with a lusty grin, her gaze sliding down my body to the ridge in my jeans. She licked her lips and nodded in its direction.

My mouth was watering and my cock was aching. I had my own jeans and underwear pulled down in seconds, my cock standing out like an exclamation point to emphasize the amazing show she was putting on. Soon I was stroking myself in time with her own strokes, both of us now gasping with lust and shivering with desire. I was moving slowly towards her but somehow stayed separate still, even though my cock was now just inches away from her soaked slit.

Still she fucked herself, and still I flogged myself. Something had to give soon, and it was her. A mewling cry burst from her lips, a primal squeal of ecstasy as she buried her fingers deep in her pussy. I heard her juices splattering on the floor in a perfect torrent. Her hips bucked hard against her hand and seconds later she came again, jerking backwards and forwards like a marionette with its strings cut. She fell to her knees; I let go of my cock to help her up, but thoughts of chivalry vanished when she grabbed my ass and devoured my cock in a single gulp. Suction like I'd never felt sent my brain into a whirl. Her lips and tongue seemed to be everywhere at once, and I roared my own primal roar as I blasted off down her throat. A slight gurgle from her was her only reaction as she kept milking me, her throat clenching hard around my still-spurting cock, her saliva drooling out and around the base of my shaft.

Finally she pulled back, her hair wild and her ruby red lips red no longer -- all her lipstick was painted all over my softening cock. She stood up in one smooth motion, breathing hard, and leaned back against the counter. "Mmmmmm," she moaned, grinning at me, and went right back to fingering herself! Again I reached for her, and again she stopped me, this time with a hand on my chest, her other hand still working busily in circles on her clit. "No," she panted, looking up at me, "just....I....oh, oh, ohh, ohhhhh, YESSSSSSS......" Her entire body tensed up and her eyes went wide as she went rigid all over for what seemed like an eon, then slowly, slowly relaxed.

Still panting, she bent over and pulled her jeans up, swifly knotting her shirt together below the curve of her tits. Her gaze swept over my body and a smile swept over her face, a very self-satisfied look, like a cat that's been into the cream. And without another word, she turned on her heel and strode for the door.

"Wait!" My voice, a ground-glass croak. It did stop her, but only for a moment. She tossed another grin at me over her shoulder, unbolted the door, and slipped through it like smoke, gone. By the time I yanked my own clothing into a semblance of order, got out of the bathroom, and had convinced Security not to throw me out on my ass, she was nowhere to be found.

I resolved to come back here the next time this band was playing.

********************

Hope you enjoyed this one!
-- PB

[fiction] Dance the Night Away, Part 1

Rock concerts are really a crap place to meet people. Fortunate for me, then, that I don't go to meet people, but rather go to listen to the music. Last night, though, I met someone at a rock show, in about the most direct way you can meet them.

It was a show from one of my favorite blues guitarists. He and his band aren't much for small talk or patter in between songs -- they let the music do the talking. Their shows are always packed with people watching him and the boys pouring emotion and soul into their instruments, and women writhing like sirens on the dancefloor. I don't know what it is about this group that makes the ladies want to get up and act out their erotic dance fantasies, but as a lover of female beauty in all its forms, I always have trouble keeping my eyes on the band at these shows when there's such a wanton display of lust on the dancefloor.

Tonight was pretty much the same as usual for this group: dark, smoky club, people packed in around tables and chairs and bar, and the dancefloor full of men and women grinding against each other. I'd been watching one particular brunette all night, but she seemed off in her own world, eyes closed and weaving to the music, completely unselfconscious and completely unconscious of the effect she was having on all the males within fifty yards. I just shook my head in admiration, and turned my attention back to the band again.

A good, long set by a really good band doesn't just tire and dehydrate the band -- if they're doing their jobs, the watchers get tired and thirsty too. This would be why they play at bars, of course, and the owners love it when they're getting a nice influx from thirsty fans. Right now, I was one of those thirsty fans. Fighting my way through the mob to the bar, I managed to get a Scotch on the rocks and turned to head back to my spot near the edge of the club. Slithering sideways around a table, I backed to avoid somebody tipping back in his chair and felt a huge THUD as I ran squarely into someone else. The Scotch tumbler flew from my hand, arcing downward to splash directly into the jeans-clad crotch of the brunette I'd been watching all evening -- now off the dancefloor and standing right in front of me.

I was stunned for a moment, but she wasn't. Her mouth drew down into a line as she looked down at herself, and then shook her head, a half-grin now playing about her features. "You realize, of course, that you're going to have to make this right," she half-shouted, her voice cutting cleanly through the Delta blues rumble of the band.

"I'm so sorry," I shouted in return. "The guy over there" -- I half-motioned to the fellow who'd caused the mess, now leaning forward (of course) and talking animatedly to his friends -- "leaned back so fast I jumped to avoid him."

Her brows drew together. "What?" She motioned to her ear. "Can't hear a thing you're saying!"

I leaned forward, precisely at the wrong instant as she leaned forward as well. Our foreheads met with a white-hot CRACK and she staggered on her feet. Oh, this was going just wonderfully. Shaking my own head to clear it, I grabbed her by the shoulder to steady her and leaned in a bit closer into a very tantalizing aroma of womanly sweat and some indefinable perfume. "I was TRYING to say I was sorry," I yelled, "but it doesn't seem to be working very well, does it?"

She raised her head. Incredibly, she was still grinning. Stunning ice-blue eyes blinked up at me. "No," she allowed, "doesn't seem to be. You'd better come with me for a bit. Can't even hear ourselves talk here."

With that, she grabbed me by the wrist and began pulling me, quite sharply, towards the back of the club. Somehow she was able to eel her way through the mob with no problems at all, sliding through spots that closed seconds later, all of them bumping into me and giving me irritated looks. I tried to figure out where she was headed but...no, surely not. What possible reason could she have for...?

I barely had a chance to stammer out "Um, is this really a good....?" before she had pulled me into the women's bathroom behind her. Two blondes looked up from the sinks, startled. "Out," she said curtly, pointing at the door. One of the two opened her mouth as if to say something, but closed it swiftly as the brunette's eyes flashed imperiously. The two of them beat a hasty retreat and the brunette locked the door behind them seconds later.

"What...?" I managed, before her hands went round my neck and she pulled me to my knees in front of her. "Suck," she said. "That looked like good Scotch and it'd be a shame to let it go to waste."

Well, who was I to argue with that? So I opened my mouth and got to work, sucking spilled Scotch out of the crotch of a pair of jeans molded around a woman I'd only met a few seconds ago.

I could only taste a bit of the Scotch, truthfully. Within only a few seconds, though, I didn't care in the least about that, because it was very obvious that not all of the heat and wetness on these jeans was Scotch, or sweat. This woman was so turned on that she had soaked through her underwear AND her jeans as well. The Scotch was just the overlay. Even through the jeans, though, she tasted amazing: dusky, spicy, and oh so very womanly.

I sucked and licked at her crotch for several minutes, her hands moving restlessly through my hair. The seconds ticked past and she began to moan as I began to press my tongue harder against her crotch. "Mm, yes, that's good," she sighed as I put my arms round her thighs and began to massage her firm ass, still licking and biting at her crotch (which, it must be said, was getting rather wetter, not drier from my attentions).

Without warning she pulled me to my feet. "I love to dance," she purred. "I love to move, love to twist and twine my body around. Love the way the music shoots through me. But you know, even more than that, I love to be watched. And you've been watching me all night, haven't you?"

Why lie? I nodded and grinned, still wiping bits of her wetness off my lips and chin.

"Thought so," she said. "Let's see what we can do about that......"

****************

[Part Two can be found here.]

-- PB