A Night Out 112

I tug at the bottom of my skirt, worried that it's too short. That it's going to ride all the way up my thighs before we even make it inside the building. You catch my hand in yours, tracing a finger along my palm.

"Relax," you say. "It's not going to stay down -- or on -- for that long anyway." You slide your other hand down to the small of my back, grazing my ass, as you lead me into the vestibule and through the curtained archway.

We wind our way through the hightop tables, settling on stools at the bar. I glance at the door on the far side of the room -- a nondescript, barely noticeable outline against the shadows cast by the antique chandeliers gracing the ceiling, with a small placard reading "25 and older". I lean forward, catching the bartender's attention. He glances appreciatively at the way my deep-cut top has begun to drift, exposing the lace ridges of my bra, and winks, as if to put me at ease. Nothing he hasn't seen before, I remind myself. I order a whiskey and Coke, leaving smudges of my almost purple lipstick on the straw with my first sip.

You lean in and whisper, "I can't wait to see you leave all of that lipstick on another cock."

A shiver runs up my spine, and I down the rest of my drink. I'm ready, I think. And even if I'm not sure I'm brazen enough to abandon myself to the highs of the room behind the dark door, I do know that my clit has begun throbbing at the thought, and if I don't stand up from this barstool soon, I'm going to leave a mess. The idea of the bartender wiping the stool down, seeing how turned on I am, doesn't help the process. I stand, heading across the room as you pay, my heels clacking on the marbled tile. When I can feel you looking my way, I bend over to "fix the strap" on my shoe, exposing the filmy strip of lace that's failing miserably at the job of keeping me even halfway decent.

In moments, you're behind me again, fingers brushing briefly underneath my skirt before settling on my back again. You open the door, and firmly push me through, following after. I hardly consider myself innocent, but my eyes widen as they adjust to the low light.

There are couches, low cushions, and chaise lounges along the walls, most of them occupied by bodies of all kinds in positions ranging from chaste kissing to exhibitionist, hedonistic glee, and I can't help but stare as I take in the view. I stop to watch a couple for a moment as she rides his face, spreading herself wide and stroking her clit. He laps hungrily at her, and I feel myself grow wetter in response. I am overcome by the simultaneous urges to stroke and suck her perfect, bouncing breasts, and to slide onto his cock behind her, mirroring her movements with my own.

You pull me back against you, teeth nipping at the tender skin over the pulse points in my throat, hard cock pressing into my ass, straining against your pants. I reach back and unzip them, sliding a hand inside to rub a warm drop of precum over the head, just for a second before zipping them back up and turning my attention back to the couple. You cup my chin with your hand, directing my gaze to the center of the room. In my immediate distraction upon walking in, I had somehow neglected to notice the press of people on the small dance floor in various states of undress and involvement with one another. Two women in skirts tinier than mine kiss greedily, their breasts pressing against each other in a way that makes my own nipples harden. A fully naked man pulls at the leashes on the collars of a man and woman who kneel at his feet, and they kiss and lick around his cock.

I know I'm not drunk on one drink. But I am feeling tipsy -- high just watching the bodies, hearing the moans. You pull me onto the dance floor, one hand unbuttoning my shirt, pulling it off and discarding it in one of the seemingly random piles that ring the room. I don't even have time to feel self-conscious before my bra follows it, and your mouth covers my breasts in turn, kissing, sucking, and bruising them as you go. I moan and tangle my fingers in your hair, slowly pressing you down. You grin up at me, then push my skirt up around my hips.

You lick and kiss your way up my thighs, gasping in pleasure when you find them slick already. You pause when you reach my panties, teasing a finger along the sides, getting so close that I can feel your hot breath on me, then pulling away. You stand, and I whimper, eyes begging you to go on. One of the women who had been kissing slips up behind you, running her hands up under your shirt and pulling it off.

You look at me, questioning, as her hands move to your pants, already slipping the button and reaching for the zipper. It briefly occurs to me that I should probably be feeling possessive -- we came here to share me, not you, after all. But all I feel is anticipation, and I nod.

She finishes undressing you, pressing her breasts into your back as she does, and stroking your balls as she stands up from taking off your pants. She reaches forward again, and I smile as your cock twitches in anticipation of her touch. But she slides past you, cupping my face in her hands, and kissing me deeply. My tongue slips against hers, and I delight in feeling her soft body against me. She pulls back and whispers against my mouth, "have fun," before dancing over to her next partner.

I slide off my panties, pausing only to pull them from my stiletto when they catch. I can't stand having anything in the way of the eyes I want on me. The hands, the lips, the tongues I want on me. You spin me around and dance behind me, your fingers moving in slow circles over my clit, your cock teasing my aching pussy as I press harder into you. You ask if I see anything I like -- anyone I want to play with. I laugh.

"Everyone," I say, and I think it's true. You thrust into me, and I moan, closing my eyes with the wave of pleasure.

When I open them, there's a man standing in front of me, stroking his cock while he watches us. He meets my eyes, and I hold his gaze as you thrust into me again and again. He moves closer, covering your hand with his, and you move yours away, leaving him to rub my clit with one hand while he pleasures himself with the other. When he flicks his tongue over my breasts, I'm overwhelmed with the sensations and cum, drenching his hand. You pull out, and he drops to his knees, and licks in long, slow strokes over my thighs, then dips his tongue inside me. I throw one of my legs over his shoulder, and you catch me, sliding your hands around and cupping my tits to support me while I thrust against him. Before I can finish again, I pull him up, wanting the deeper ache of delayed satisfaction. I lick his lips and kiss him, sucking myself off of his tongue.

The two of you lock eyes, and as if by prior agreement, you each take one of my hands and lead me over to an empty couch near the back. You sit, and I drop to my knees in front of you, taking you all the way into my mouth, gagging slightly before settling into a rhythm, sliding one wet finger into my mouth to mirror the movements of my tongue against your cock.

"Good girl," you breathe, pulling my hair, and even though I didn't think I could want to be fucked any more than I already did, now I don't just want it. I need it. I lean down, tilting up my ass, inviting our new friend to come play. I feel him behind me, warm hands cupping my hips. I look up into your eyes, sucking harder, and watch your face morph with ecstasy as his cock slams into me, pressing me further down onto you. You buck your hips, groaning and pressing me back into him in turn. You reach down and pinch my nipples while he slips a finger into my ass, and I cum over and over as I'm rocked between you. He moans, and I feel him throb as he fills me. His cum and mine drip down my legs as you pull back, and cover my face and tits with yours.

You retrieve my clothes, and I pull them on, not bothering to clean up. After this, being your cum covered slut, sucking you off in the back of the cab might just feel tame.