A Night Out 93

What a night. I just can't believe I did that. What a night.

I've fantasised with the idea for perhaps the last three years. Five if I'm being honest, but for that first while it was little more than a taboo fantasy that scared me outside of my imagination.

Well, it happened And I can't believe it, even now. After the deed.

At the start of the evening, with my gladrags on and make-up applied, I thought I was setting off for another night with the girls. Dinner, a few drinks, some huddled dancing in a crowded club and, perhaps, depending on time constraints and sobriety, some chips from the shop facing the taxi rank before going home.

It began that way.

Beverley and Donna arrived here at around seven o'clock. We sipped at a few vodka and lemonades, double, triple and quadruple checked our hair and war paint as the clock inched toward eight, and the beeping of a pre-booked cab.

The driver was a little late, but none of us cared. We still tipped him as he dropped us off in the centre of town, and he grinned in appreciation. At least I think that's what he was grinning at. I suppose it could have been having three jovial women giggling in the back seat, Donna in a low-cut top and Beverley in a short skirt. Maybe the tip was a little too much, thinking about it.

The town was buzzing quite well as we bundled ourselves into the first club of the night.

The bass-tones of the music throbbed through my feet and, along with the buzz of the alcohol, served to intoxicate my senses. I found us a nice alcove in the corner of the building, threw myself into the padded seating, and surveyed the other party-goers as Donna struggled through the crowd at the bar to get served. Beverley fiddled through her bag for something, next to me, and applied a new coat of lip-gloss with the help of her compact mirror.

Two young men sauntered past us, their hair cut almost to their skulls, and wearing what looked to be designer clothes. They paid us little attention, if any.

Too old for them.

Donna returned with the drinks, beaming from ear to ear. Much too happy for someone just back from the chaos of the bar.

"What have you been up to?" I asked, reaching out to take a glass. I watched her in bemusement.

"I was getting the drinks." She threw herself down on the other side of the table and giggled.

"Yeah right. I know that look. You've been up to something." I sipped from my drink and nudged her hand with mine. "Come on, what happened?"

"I'm not staying long." Her eyes and teeth gleamed even in the low light as she grinned for all her worth.

"Slut," Beverley shouted. She clasped her knuckles to her mouth, too late, and all three of us guffawed with laughter. The music continued to pound and no-one paid us any heed.

Phew.

A few drinks later and the night was ours. Beverley managed to pull me up onto the dance floor and, with a firm grip on my wrists, tugged and prodded me around to something similar to the beat. I was getting tipsy by this point. The best part of being drunk. Just enough to make the world more vibrant and cheery. And to let the vulnerabilities slip off my shoulders and spend an evening under my feet, rather than around my neck.

Before long Beverley found herself in the arms of someone else, some dark-haired guy in a gaudy Affliction shirt. A bit of a poser.

I made my way back to the alcove, plonked myself down in the soft seating, and sipped at my drink, all the while watching everyone else having fun.

That's when things got interesting. Very interesting indeed.

"You mind if I sit here?"

I looked up to the owner of the new voice. Wow. He towered above me at around six-foot-two, just a plain grey t-shirt stretched across his broad, bulbous shoulders and, although cut off a bit tight around his biceps, not enough to be considered a desperate ploy for attention. He smiled at me and I saw something humble in his eyes. I wasn't sure if I was fooling myself, but he didn't seem to be the usual cocky, young MILF hunter that I'd found myself trying to escape from on most nights out. I smiled back. "Sorry?"

"You mind if I sit here?" He pointed to the other side of the table to clarify.

"Sure. I mean, yeah." I shifted myself a little further into the alcove like a schoolgirl trying to hide her activities from her parents. I should have known at that point it was going to lead to something. But I didn't. Or at least I didn't admit it to myself, if I did.

"You here on your own?"

"I came with some friends, but they've buggered off and left me here alone." I watched him watching me, his lips parted a fraction of an inch, and a tiny, pink patch of his tongue visible in the cleft.

Gorgeous.

Whilst trying to keep myself focused on his words, and not be too blatant, I stole glimpses of his body. His large shoulders bulked out from his thick neck, and led to strong, pale arms and a pair a huge hands that wrapped around his pint glass like it belonged to a child's kitchen set. I squirmed beneath the table, crossing and uncrossing the heels of my shoes out of sight.

"Want a fresh drink?" Again that smile. I had no resistance to it. And to be honest, I didn't want one.

"Vodka and lime, please." I finished off the glass in front of me, and handed it to him as he stood up. So tall. And big all round. I gazed at him as he barged his way through other people for the bar. His jeans held tight to his bum, half of it hidden under the flapping hem of his shirt. His legs didn't seem as muscular as his upper-body. But still pretty damn divine. I wiped the moisture from my mouth just in case I was drooling. Close call.

"I'm off. Catch up with you later?"

"What?" I stammered, bringing myself back to the rest of the world. I found Beverley swaying back and forth in front of me, her eyes spinning in the sockets and one arm draped around the waist of her dancing partner.

"I'm off. Maybe we can catch up later?"

I grinned. "Yeah. See you in the morning." I chuckled and rolled my eyes at her.

She giggled and the two of them staggered off together.

The man with no name returned with two drinks, set them down on the table and slid himself in beside me, nudging at me with his hip until I moved further along. I was just about to ask him his name, when he blurted it out.

"Jack. Or Jackie. That's what my mates call me. You?"

"Hi, Jack," I said, still trying to find a comfortable position. "I'm Angela. I don't mind Angie or Ange, but if you start calling me Angel, you'll be talking to yourself for the rest of the night."

He chuckled and licked the foam off the top of his fresh beer. "Angela it is," he grinned, a little of the white fuzz still clinging to his top lip.

By now I knew he was going to make a move. I didn't, however, know if I would accept. I wanted to. God, I did. But it's just not my style. My last one night stand took place on my twenty-first birthday. Now here I was debating with myself whether to repeat the act almost nineteen years later.

Decisions, decisions.

"I don't normally do this sort of thing," he began.

"I bet you don't." I shook my head, but smiled at him.

"You don't even know what I'm going to say," he said, his lips still open to continue.

"I have a pretty good idea."

We both laughed, and sipped at our drinks.

I started to wonder if I'd pushed myself a little bit too far, in that moment. This guy was at least ten years my junior and, although I'm in decent shape, and not too horrible to look at, I'm pretty sure he wasn't limited in his choices.

"Go on, then. Sorry. Tell me what you don't normally do?" I wiped at my mouth again, to reduce the fine mist of moisture that ejected from my lips with each word.

"It was a pretty corny line, to be honest." He laughed and hoisted both hands into the air in mock surrender.

"Tell me anyway," I blurted, before I had a chance to stop myself.

"Well, I was-" He shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Oh God. It really is corny."

"Please, tell me." I'm not sure where it came from. I could say it was the drink, but I was a bit tipsy at most. I guess I just wanted to play. Flirt. Maybe a little more. The sensation of my stiffened nipples brushing against the inside of my bra confirmed that.

"I was going to say that I don't often do this, but I live nearby and if you'd like, we could go back there and have a quiet drink. Or something." He rose his glass to his mouth and perched it between his lips. I don't think he drank any, as his throat remained still.

I clamped my mouth shut. I knew i wanted to say yes. But should I? Could I?

He turned to watch me for a reply. God I wanted to say yes, as I looked into those steel-blue eyes. "Yes."

I tried to gulp the word back into my throat, but it was too late. It's said. It's done. Something between a shiver and a tingle crept up my spine and chattered in my teeth. I pinched my shoulders around my neck and forced another drink.

He jumped to his feet, grabbed at my arm, and I couldn't, or wouldn't, think of a protestation. I followed him as he pushed a path through the revellers, to the outside world, his big, meaty hand engulfing my wrist in its gentle grip.

As the cool night air wafted up and down the deserted street, my nipples turned into diamonds. I picked at the straps of my bra through my top, but it did little to alleviate the pleasurable discomfort. I gave myself over to it. Somewhere in the back of my head I hoped I wouldn't be wearing it for long, anyway.

"This way," he said, pulling me again. He guided me around a corner, then another, and down into a little narrow road with cars parked on either side. My heels clicked on the cement and tarmac, and I shook my head from side to side as the breeze ruffled my fringe over my eyes.

"This is it, here." He stopped us in front of a battered little door with blue paint peeling away at the corners. "This is where I live."

I didn't have time to say anything. He opened the door, yanked me into the hallway, and closed up behind us.

The inside looked a lot better than the outside. Not a typical bachelor pad, at all. Mild tones, nothing bold or gaudy at all, just creams, pastel colours, and a few minimalistic items of furniture.

As I followed him into the living room, I found myself nodding in appreciation at the three-piece-suite. Plush, comfy, big cushions, in pale shades that matched the ceiling-to-floor curtains and contrasted the darker, grey carpet. My heels sank into it as soon as I stepped onto it. I kicked them off and savoured the soft, deep shag on my bare feet.

"Make yourself comfortable," he said, rushing off into the kitchen. I heard him clattering with glasses and thudding his way around the contents of a cupboard.

"Not bad at all," I said to myself, my tone almost too quiet to be audible. I slid myself up onto the edge of the sofa and kept going until my bum hit the back. So comfortable. I could live here.

"Is wine OK?" He returned carrying a bottle in the crook of one arm, and two glasses hung from his hooked fingers.

"Yeah. That's fine." I slid myself forward a little, until the backs of my knees reached over the edge of the cushion, allowing me to dangle my feet a few inches from the carpet.

He set my drink on the floor and plodded himself down next to me. Without a word, he gazed into my eyes, and leaned in to kiss me.

I didn't fight it. I didn't want to. For a big guy, he held me with such tender gentility. His lips brushed over mine, his tongue teasing its way into my mouth so slow it made me wet between my thighs. I pushed my legs together and reached one arm half-way over the bulk of his shoulder to pull him closer.

He continued to kiss me, sliding the palm of of one hand around my jawline, and wrapping his fingers into my hair. I moaned aloud.

Decision made.

I let my legs fall apart, limp, and pushed my heaving chest toward him.

Somewhere in the background I heard music, faint, but there for sure. I hadn't seen him put the TV on, but it made sense. I flickered the tip of my tongue against the length of his, kissing with a little more passion, and eagerness, than he'd shown me.

He followed my lead. His fingers delved deeper into my hair and he pushed the back of my head just enough to show me he wanted me as close as possible.

I moved my hand lower. Over the wide expanse of his back and down over the knobbled track of his spine, until I found the ridge of his jeans under the thinner fabric of his shirt. I lingered there for long, long seconds. More to tease myself, than him.

He kissed harder. His breathing grew heavier, more urgent.

I tugged up his shirt and squeaked into his mouth as my fingers found the taut, bare skin of his back beneath it. I pushed them into the waistband of his jeans and held them against his warmth as our tongues moved in unison with each other.

I opened my eyes a little as the sound of the music rose in volume. I couldn't see around him, so I paid little attention to it. My nipples burned inside my clothing, and a tingling wetness begged for attention inside my panties.

He must have read my thoughts. Or chanced his arm. I'm not sure which. He pulled his hand away from the back of my head and slid it with a firm pressure down over the nape of my neck, to the rise of my left breast, held it for no time at all, and continued to my belly. He squeezed at my soft flesh, brushed across in one direction, and back again, to my hip.

"I want you," I said. My breath caught in my throat and I pulled back a little from the kiss to gather myself. He chased my lips with his and found them again.

I felt it. I twisted one knee to turn myself toward him better, and it pushed against the front of his jeans. I wasn't sure at first, but the contact made him twitch, and as I manoeuvred myself again, there was no mistaking it. His cock was already hard. Thick, long, and hard. God, I wanted it right in that second. In my mouth, on my face, in my hands, between my tits, in my pussy, hell, as long as he didn't rush me, I was willing to try and take it in my arse. No going back, now.

He thrust his hips against me. His glorious erection pressed against my leg, and I moved against it.

His hand crept under the hem of my top, glanced against my bare belly, and he sneaked his little finger into the top of my skirt. He fiddled for a few seconds, found the waistband of my panties, and withdrew.

No. Get back in there.

I chased him with my pelvis, but he didn't give me what I wanted. Instead, with his hot breath in my throat and his tongue tracing the edges of my teeth, he swept his hand down over the material of my skirt until it touched my leg at the bottom. He gathered the material around his knuckles, increased the pressure of his kiss, and crawled his fingertips up over my inner-thighs. I moaned and groaned to his every manipulation. His cock continued to prod against me. So hard. So big and hard.

We pulled back at the same time. Savouring a few quick breaths. He reached down and flicked open the button of his jeans. The zip whizzed down without him touching it, and the front of his white underwear sprang through the gap, pushing his trousers further apart.

I gasped, clutched the back of my hand to my mouth, and felt my cheeks sear with heat. You stupid tart.

He chuckled. His eyes never left mine, as he pushed the jeans down over his hips and thighs. He lifted himself up enough to remove them over his shoes, kicked them off, and moved himself back into position to kiss me.

I couldn't resist. My hand shot out like it had a mind of its own. I grabbed at the front of his underwear, squeezed, prodded, massaged at the huge, hard bulge beneath it. He groaned into my mouth, and the sound reverberated around my skull.

He pushed his hand back under my skirt, groping at my thighs as he moved higher and higher, toward, but not quite reaching, my panties. I wanted to leap up and remove them myself, to feel those fingers on my pussy. The teasing slowness made me tingle from the tips of my toes to the depths of my belly. I allowed him to move at his own pace.

My fingers reached into his underwear, peeling them down enough to unleash the head of his cock. I grabbed for it. The bulbous, hot glans thrust back and forth against my touch, already slick with pre-cum. I needed to taste it. All of it. Or at least as much of it as possible.

He reached my panties.

His digits traced the edges of the fabric, every now and then feathering against my mound, but never staying there for long. I pushed myself against him. Twisted. Almost bucked my hips. He kept teasing me. And I loved it.

With my other hand, I pushed his face away from mine. I looked him right in the eyes, and in a low, husky-tone, I made my intentions clear. "I want you in my mouth."

He laughed, sat back on the sofa, and lifted his bum long enough to tug his underwear down and off.

My senses swirled as I pushed myself up to my feet. I brushed my forearm across my chest as the other arm straightened my skirt. My nipples ached, and the momentary release made things worse, not better.

"Stand up," I told him. He did so, and with his cock protruding from his torso like a canon, I kept my eyes on it as I lowered to my knees. I pushed my face against his thigh, higher, until the wonderful thing bounced against my hair.

He moaned.

I darted out my tongue and licked my way up his thigh. His cock pressed against the top of my head, bobbed over the edge, and throbbed against the side of my face as I ascended. It left a trail of sticky moisture on my skin.

"Oh God."

Just what I needed to hear. I swooped around and eased my full lips over the rigid head of his cock. His hips jostled and he gasped. I pushed my face down further. His neat-trimmed pubic hair brushed against my nose as I moved him deeper and deeper into my mouth. I wanted all of it. Every last inch.

My throat contracted a little, and I forced myself to slow down. A few more dips back and forth, and I managed to get close to the base. I held it there.

"Oh Christ."

Not the voice I was expecting. Female, for a start. I must have sounded like Scooby Doo, as I high-pitch moaned something around the erection in my mouth, twisting my neck toward the source of the words.

I didn't even have time to assume it might be a wife, girlfriend, or mother.

"Angela?"

Another Scooby Doo style, confused yelp erupted from my packed mouth, as I set eyes on her.

Oh God.

My cheeks burned and my stomach lurched. I pulled back, plopped his cock out of my mouth, and just sat there, on my knees, dumbfounded and silent.

I couldn't think of a single word to say. I just wanted to close my eyes and make it all go away. A long blink showed that wasn't going to work.

"Oh. My. God." She stood there with eyes as wide as I supposed my own were. Her lips sagged into an astonished gape.

"I-" I couldn't think of anything to say. Nothing to make the situation any better. Part of me wanted to cry.

"Looks like I wasn't the only one to pull tonight." Another voice. Male.

Jack sniggered, somewhere.

"You two know each other?" The new voice pushed past Donna and revealed himself as the guy from the club. He grinned as he glanced back and forth from one person to the next.

Something clicked inside of me. Like an auto-pilot. I scrambled myself up to my feet, straightened my clothing, wiped at my mouth. The taste of cock lingered. "I-." Again, nothing.

"I never would have guessed," Donna chuckled. She stepped into the living room, her eyes boring a hole into my reluctant gaze.

I laughed. I didn't feel like laughing. The situation wasn't very funny. But I laughed anyway. Like there was nothing else to do. My face still burned, and I could only imagine how red it beamed in the midst of everyone. But I kept laughing.