Party, party

If you’re a regular reader of these pages (thanks a lot, by the way. I bet it takes almost as much hard work to read them as it does to write) then you’ll know that the things I talk about are either something that’s just happened that I think you may find interesting, or something that happened a while ago which I think you may like. And the reason I think you might like it is usually because I like it myself.

Think about it.

In the many years I’ve been active (deliberately not counting her in case it makes me feel old) there have been many encounters, many men, a few women and an awful lot of cocks. I don’t, to be honest, really remember many of them all that well. A lot of that may be due to the fact that the events themselves were caused by the demon in the Baccardi bottle which then helpfully wiped my memory overnight. A lot of it is simply down to the passage of time, and a lot of it is because some things just aren’t that memorable, even if they were fun at the time.

So I’ve forgotten a lot, and the things I remember best are the ones that are so exciting they make me wet and want to cum when I think about them afterwards, and so I’ve continually used them while I’m alone and playing with my pussy. And there’s something you didn’t know – almost all of the past events I write about on here are the ones I still use for inspiration today when I’ve got my hand in my knickers.

A lot of the time, the reason I’m using those memories at all is in response to the questions I get asked on Yahoo or MSN, which means in many ways you are the ones directing the content on here, which is a good thing, I think.

And this current entry is a classic example, because we went out the other night, had a little bit of fun but really nothing extraordinary or memorable, so I won’t be using it in those last few seconds to turn almost there into cum, and I certainly wouldn’t have bothered writing about it unless people I chatted to hadn’t been asking for more and more details and telling me how exciting it was. So now I find myself sat here with my laptop open on the table, typing away while it’s still all fresh in my mind.

Friday night, a posh do in a big hotel, black tie for the men, long frocks for the ladies, and I’ll be honest and say I was a bit disappointed by that. I mean, how do you show off your knickers if you’re wearing a dress that reaches the floor? And I do like to show them off, as you know. After a bit of searching round, I found an answer, or sort of an answer. I found a dress made from shiny red satin, skin-tight from the neck down to mid-thigh, with a little bit of flare at the bottom so a girl could walk.

Skin tight in this case means all that and more, the material so smooth that you couldn’t wear anything underneath without every line showing and making it all ugly. Even the tops of my holdups were visible. I tried what Rog insisted on calling erotic popsocks before deciding that I’d look very stupid if I took the dress off and was standing in front of someone wearing heels and socks, so that was them gone, and I went out wearing only the red dress and matching shoes, plus the occasional diamond.

It was a very wicked look. In fact it was a very wicked and very naked look, like someone had just spilt wet paint all over me. You didn’t need 20/20 vision to tell that there was no bra – or that there were no knickers either. From behind the absence of VPL was a real giveaway under a dress that slick and clingy, and from the front you could see my little bump sticking out, and on it, clearly visible, a fuzzy triangle of hair making the surface of the dress uneven. Anyone who looked for more than half a second would realise I had nothing on underneath and that this week’s shave was indeed a Brazilian triangle and not a straight landing strip. Rog was delighted (surprise surprise) and said the only reason it wasn’t available in white is because it would be illegal. When we used to go to swinger clubs I have worn stuff that WAS white and see-through and he’s right. Even in those places it created a sensation, and although this dress wouldn’t have been see-through if it HAD been white, it was wicked enough as it was.

The white dress that DID cause a sensation

It turned heads as well – mostly male heads with admiring or greedy glances, and a good few female ones, mostly looking daggers. There were plenty of girls and women who’d chosen daring low backs, amazingly low-cut fronts and even one who seemed to have come in a kind of toga made from net curtains with enormous boobs swinging in and out of view, but I’d like to think that I’d got all of that beat hands down. No girl likes their best cocktail frock and hairdo upstaged, but this dress, simple and unobjectionable, was definitely a success in that department, hence the daggers.

And the chat-ups, which increased in frequency and decreased in style and subtlety as the evening wore on and the drink content climbed ever higher. It was one of those events where most people are staying overnight and so there was no holding back. If we go again next year I think we’ll probably get a room as well. I’m pretty sure it would be worth it. Rog thinks so too, but he thinks if we started saying yes to the pick-up lines early enough, we might manage half a dozen different visits to our room before they shut down the party at 3 am. Wish we’d thought of it earlier. By the time it occurred to Rog, the hotel was full, no rooms left.

Anyway, we didn’t, and I was saying no to all kinds of daft propositions, not least because Rog knew a lot of people here through business and we weren’t planning to blot his copybook while they were watching. But I was enjoying the attention, naturally enough, until round about 1 am, when Rog left me alone while he went to the bar, and a rather aggressive drunk lurched to a halt in front of me and said that if I needed fucking that badly I should have left the dress at home and arrived naked. Might as well be, he slurred, because everyone can see everything anyway.

I told him that I’ve never wanted fucking badly and only ever wanted it to be done really well, which didn’t cheer him up as much as I hoped it might, and he stumbled off looking for somewhere to be sick, his place in front of me taken by a smug chap in his thirties, who had overheard the previous exchange and confirmed that you could indeed see pretty much everything there was to see and very nice it all looked too. And that if I wanted fucking really, really well then he was just the chap to take care of it for me. I raised an eyebrow and smiled my polite, enquiring smile, and said oh really?

Oh yes, he said, don’t waste your time with drunks, which was a bit funny seeing as how he was a bit red in the face and wobbly himself, but only a bit by comparison I must admit, and he was more objectionable than drunk – one of those over-confident smartarse types who thinks he’s Brad Pitt with a horse-cock. Which opinion he confirmed with his next words. If you want the real thing, I’m your man.

I did the really thing with the smile again, and he told me he’d got all the equipment and he knew how to use it properly. If you want the best fuck you’ve ever had, just give me a call, he smirked, and he handed me his business card. I think I was meant to be impressed because he was Managing Director of his own business, but stuff like that doesn’t really get me excited.

Not that I wasn’t. Walking about in a crowded room in a dress so revealing that everyone knows you’re naked underneath and can count the remaining short hairs above a well-trimmed Brazilian is quite a fun thing to do and had a predictably runny effect, and I’d been danced with and chatted up fairly extensively, even had my bum and boobs felt, as well as a quick snog, so I didn’t dare sit down, which was the only flaw in the red dress no knickers ensemble – the wet patch which would undoubtedly be visible if I sat down even briefly.

Yes, my pussy was wet and I was a little tiddly as well, so I smiled at Managing Director again and said why wait? There’s no time like the present, which surprised him more than a little. He blinked and said he wasn’t staying in the hotel, and asked if I had a room. I said no, it was full, we couldn’t get one, which was true of course, but there’s bound to be an empty meeting-room we could use. I knew there was, because Roger and I had found it earlier and considered using it ourselves for a bit of fun before we went home. The idea got his interest, but then the ‘we’ part of it clicked and he looked guiltily around like a thief caught with his hand in the till. We? he asked. Friend? Boyfriend?

Husband, I told him Over there, nodding to where Rog was still at the bar, now with drinks and in the process of paying for them. MD obviously wasn’t ready for that, and to be honest looked a bit relieved to be off the hook, and started to say that a phone call some other time would be the best when I reassured him that Rog had no objection, and in fact was very keen on the idea, so there was nothing to worry about. That made him blink and swallow a bit, and he watched Rog cross the room with two drinks and I said, Roger, this is Whatshisname, and he’s just offered me the best fuck I ever had.

Rog read my face and knew exactly what my look meant, and immediately did his best smile and suggested we go straight upstairs to the room. Whatshisname looked a bit more shocked every time either of us spoke, but managed to say he didn’t have a room (although I think he probably did, probably with Mrs Whatshisname, who was probably asleep in it right now). There’s an empty room down the corridor here, said Rog, let’s go. And he took my arm and set off towards the door, leaving me to take Whatshisname’s arm and bring him along too. He followed along quite willingly, though a lot of his earlier Alpha male strutting had disappeared.

The room wasn’t big, with about 20 chairs in rows facing a big table in front of a whiteboard on the wall. We had already decided the table offered the best opportunity, and Rog had tested it for strength and stability. It passed. And best of all, there was a big floodlight in the car park right outside the window so we had no need to turn on lights and attract attention to our presence.

I thought speed might still be a good idea though, so I bent down, gathered up my long skirt and lifted up above my waist, suddenly very glad I had abandoned the erotic pop-socks. Now, about the best fuck I’ve ever had, I said to Whatshisname, and moved my feet apart so he could get the full effect (Men are very visual and easily aroused by looking at things, where I think women have to be mentally or physically engaged before they reach the same state).

He made some strangling noises and then stepped forward and grabbed me round the neck with one hand and stuck the other one between my legs. His fingers were a bit rough, as men often are in this situation, but felt good going in, thick and strong, so I put one arm round his waist and pulled him closer, unzipping him with the other hand and wriggling through his zipper to find not the biggest cock in the world, but an acceptably large two-hander (I only have small hands, but that’s still better than average) that was very acceptably stiff. Sometimes men who’ve had more to drink than they realise have a degree of bravado far beyond their ability to pump blood at any pressure, but Whathisname was having no problems.

He was still fingering me quite hard and fast, and the sensations in my pussy were beginning to take control of my brain. I used my other hand to help me undo his trousers and shove them down, and then turned to bend over the table with my bum up and out, legs wide apart.

Oh yes, he said, to no-one in particular, I don’t think, and he spread me with one hand and steered himself in with the other. Much better than fingers, any day of the week, warm and long and filling. Oh yes, he said again, still not talking to me, I don’t think, and started to fuck me with hard, solid strokes that picked up on the feelings his fingers had begun and carried me quickly to a small but rather loud climax, and I remember thinking I hadn’t realised that I was that ready, but I suppose I’d been on a slow burn ever since I got ready more than six hours earlier and started watching the faces of the men staring at my pussy.

Anyway, the noise and the wriggling and my pussy clutching his cock seemed to inspire him. Told you so, he grunted, said it would be the best fuck you ever had, and his cock seemed to swell up and grow another couple of inches and he got a lot faster and harder. What do you think of my cock now it’s right up inside you, he asked, which I really couldn’t answer, because I was gripping the edge of the table and bracing myself so I didn’t get pushed over, and to be fair I was having some breathing difficulties now, because it certainly WAS right up inside me and now it seemed to be at full size I’d have to agree that he certainly did have the equipment.

But like a lot of men with big cocks he had no finesse, and thought all he needed to do was come at me like a battering ram and it would be the best fuck I’d ever had. Give him his due, a big cock like that will always produce a reaction in a girl, and travelling at speed it will make someone like me scream and shout and wriggle and cum, which will make him believe it’s the best I ever had. But still, it was good enough to make me very noisy, but luckily he wasn’t a long-laster and suddenly he was filling me with quick, hard spurts, making me cum again as I always do if I’m anywhere near my own finish when a man cums in me, and I was soon silent, apart from the heavy breathing, which meant we probably weren’t about to be caught in the act by Roger’s boss or someone.

Whatshisname had probably planned to make it all last longer than five minutes, but that’s about all it was, and when he plopped out of me and started pulling up his trousers I knew we weren’t going to be having seconds. As I stood up and pushed my dress back to the floor he looked at Rog and then me, tucking what was now half-hard but still an attractively big cock back in his trousers. Told you, he said, with a smile, and off he went, slipping out through the door and leaving us alone. Rog rocked the table a bit, testing. I think it could handle another one, he said, and we went back to the party to find out.

But the dress flaw had struck, and Whathisname’s contribution, plus all my extra excitement was leaving a mark. There could be no doubt about what it was or where it came from, so instead of looking for another one, we had to make a fairly swift exit. I hiked my skirt up when I got in the taxi so as not to make a mess of it, and that got a certain amount of attention from the few drunks bumbling around outside the main entrance having a ciggie, and the taxi driver spent more time looking in his mirror than he did at the road ahead, but we got home safely, at which point Rog went immediately and deeply to sleep instead of taking care of business. When I took care of it myself, I thought not of  the night’s experience with Whatshisname but all manner of different things, many of which you can read about in these pages.

1 Comment(s)

Comments RSS TrackBack Identifier URI