Saturday Night Fever

Last weekend was a good one, rude, but a bit light on serious shagging, and by the time Friday came I wanted that quite badly. I’d spent a week with one hand in my knickers just about everywhere I went, and the more I do that the more I want a proper fucking. So by Friday I’d made myself cum countless times while home alone, but I’d still been overwhelmed by the need while I was out and about. It happened first while I was shopping, and I went to a nice quiet Ladies’ Room in the Trafford Centre which I’ve used for the exact same purpose many times before, usually while shoe shopping as you probably know. I did it next in the Ladies in our local wine bar during lunch with the girls (the barman. Italian, bit up his own arse, but fanciable? I’m not just saying swallow, I’m talking gargle). I’d tried to do it in the car while waiting for school to finish and just failed to finish, I’d succeeded next day while driving down the M6, which isn’t clever but had to be done, and while I was out walking the dog I’d just had to lean against a tree and stick a hand down my jeans.

And most of that was hardly an hour after I’d been working my fingers dizzy before I left home. Which I do most mornings but especially this week. I was raging with need, my knickers were permanently soaked, and nothing I could do made any difference. Rog tried every night of course, which was much better, but if you’ve seen my posts on Yahoo you’ll know I’ve been awake at 5am most mornings, and now you know why. And what I’d been doing before I logged on chat, of course.

What I needed was a good long fuck. Or several short ones, Rog said, and you know, as soon as he spoke I could feel a hot gush in my knickers and I could see myself surrounded by fit lads with hard cocks bursting out of their trousers, all impatient to be bursting in me, and all of them young enough and fit enough to be ready for seconds before their friends had finished the first time.

He knew I meant a good long fuck from some random stranger, of course. When I get like this the only thing that turns off the heat is to do something rude and bad, which almost always means finding a complete stranger and fucking him. Or them.

We’ve done that few times before, of course and it’s easy to find two or three lads who are happy to oblige. They usually offer before I’ve thought about it, to be honest. Somehow that didn’t seem bad enough for me this weekend. Let me choose, Rog offered, by which he meant he’d pick the ugliest and most unpleasant guys he could find and then get all worked up watching me go from disgust to wild pleasure as soon as they put it in me. He always says it’s sort of like rape, and in a way I agree with him, which is probably why it makes me cum so hard, but like I said, we’ve done that often enough. We’ve done the never say no thing as well, which he suggested next, which does exactly what it says on the in. As soon as we get to the first bar I have to say yes to everybody, no matter what they ask me.

So I get bought a lot of drinks, and I get snogged, groped, fingered and fucked by all manner of people I would normally not look twice at. It’s very horny, but we’d kind of overdone it at the beginning of the year, and once again it didn’t quite match the fire in my pants, or the constant itch in my brain that wanted to be bad.

Then Rog had an idea.

We’d both enjoyed me going knickerless last weekend, so we decided to do it again this Friday, except in my red dress, all Lycra and clingy, and very short. I’d say there’s less than an inch of dress keeping my pussy hidden when I stand up. Sitting down or dancing, I can’t keep it hidden. I may have mentioned it before.

I must admit I felt quite rude when I all I put on was a sort of red tube and a pair of red shoes to match, and sitting in the cab I felt quite naked under my coat. I did my best to sit in the middle of the seat and let the driver have a look at my pussy, but it’s dark early these days, and it’s all in shadow. In the summer when we went out, every cab driver we went with got a look at my knickers, at least on the way out when it was still light and I still had some on.

Anyway, I oozed and dribbled into town, partly because I was trying to catch the driver’s eye, partly because car journeys make my pussy buzz anyway and partly because I knew that whatever tonight had in store I was going to be a bad girl on every dancefloor in town.

Except we never really got as far as a proper dancefloor. First bar we went in, a regular place we go to warm up for the evening and have an experimental flash, I got the attention of about a dozen lads. It’s easy when you’re showing them your pussy. Anyway, one came over and said they were on a stag night, but the groom had been looking the wrong way when I showed them the view, and would I do it again so he could have a last look at the kind of thing he’d be missing. They must have started early because they were clearly pissed, but also in a good mood, and so was I, so I said yes, waited till they gave the signal and opened my legs wide. I’d shaved very carefully (and at length), moisturised very carefully (and rather longer) and then just before we came out, I massaged myself with very oily fingers just to be sure, so I know I was looking good, and shining with moisture, mostly my own, but pehaps not all.

Every one of these 12 lads must have had a camera phone because there was a barrage of light as they all snapped a picture. Not what I really wanted, but what could I do now. Rog just laughed back at them and shrugged at me. The internet is huge, I know, but stuff like that does worry me. Rog always has a chat with lads about that and we’ve been very lucky, but we haven’t always got away with it and Rog has shown me a couple of pictures of me (one on a very well-known website) and a few rather dark and indistinct phone snaps of me getting fucked, and 3 phone videos of the same thing. You can’t really see it’s me, but I recognised my voice shouting all that embarrassing yes, yes, yes, cum now, cum now stuff.

These days everyone has a phone that does video, which is why we never take pics or video any more. Don’t want people getting any ideas, do we.

Anyway, I’d like to see him show that to the bride. Because they seemed so relaxed, Rog went over and asked to have a look. They weren’t very good, he said after, because it was 20 feet and more, but a couple were quite detailed, he said, with my pussy all puckered up and sparkling pink, just ready to be filled.

They all wanted to try again, but Rog explained we didn’t like the idea much, and they asked why sit around like that then, and he explained why in words of one syllable, and then went through the whole question-and-answer rigmarole about not minding and so on, and the Best Man said maybe she’d give the groom a private viewing, and Rog said on any other weekend, anything is possible, but the mood she’s in tonight, I’d say everything is possible. However, we didn’t have a car, and it was lashing down with rain. They did, though. They had a minibus outside.

Rog came over and told me what he’d arranged. Didn’t ask me, you notice, just told me. But he knew that in the mood I was in I would have fucked Gordon Brown. I was already more or less stuck to my seat with oozing so much, and now it got worse, and I could feel my pussy swelling and opening and starting to dribble. I had no idea which one was the groom, but it didn’t matter and I didn’t care. I didn’t even try to guess when he went back over to tell them I’d said yes.

They seemed to be having a long conversation, with a lot of head-shaking, which I thought wasn’t a good sign, so I spread my knees and gave them another look at the wedding present just to hurry things along. It was still only 10.00pm, and if the groom was quick we could hit a few clubs and find another lad eager to please a nympho milf. I got called that a couple of weeks ago, by the way, and I did like it, maybe as much as Roger did.

He came back and took my hand, and led me across to the lads, which I took to mean it was all arranged, but it wasn’t. The groom, it turned out, was desperate for a private viewing and a private anything else I wanted to allow him, but the key word was private. He was due to marry in a week, and didn’t want any joker sending snaps of his stag night to his bride to be, especially if it involved another woman.

Rog and I agreed he was right to be suspicious. Stag night lads will do anything because they think it’s funny, but when they wake up sober the next day it turns out not to be. Rog had said it could be just the three of us then, but even that was a worry, and he didn’t want to take the chance. Fair point, said Rog, and you couldn’t argue, though I was a little disppointed to lose a guaranteed quickie, to put it mildly, but then Rog dropped a little bombshell.

So as a wedding present, he said looking me right between the eyes, I said that as long as the minibus isn’t parked miles away and I keep the keys, he can have a private viewing.

If I’d been wearing knickers I would have soaked them on the spot. As it was the sudden swelling was a physical impact, and made me gasp a little. Rog is just SO clever at understanding my moods, and if we weren’t already married I would have proposed to him on the spot. I smiled my special smile at him and just said ‘okay then’.

As I spoke I felt a little dribble ooze out and start trickling down the inside of my thigh, which is wet, even for me. Suddenly realising I still had no idea which was the groom made it happen again. Come on then, said Rog, and a tall gangly lad started forward and said, hi, I’m…

‘Don’t tell me’, I interrupted, ‘it’s better not to know’. Yes, of course he said earnestly, and I thought banking, IT, accountancy. He looked lost without his suit, and tall as he was the jeans he wore must have been borrowed from his big brother for his night on the town. He was just the type to have been looking the wrong way the first time I showed them the pussy, and to have insisted on complete privacy.

The three of us headed for the door, me all squishy between my legs, so wet I thought they’d all hear it over the music, which wasn’t very loud, but loud enough. No-one notioced , of course and we trooped outside to find the rain clattering down like a movie scene. But the minibus was literally round the corner, and about fifty yards down the road. I was soaked through when we got there, but then I wasn’t wearing a lot to start with. Rog opened the door with the clicker and Captain Sensible slid it open, holding it for me. I motioned him in and turned to Rog. We haven’t done this for over ten years and I was almost shaking with excitement as he kissed me on the end of my nose, took my hand and helped me up the step into the bus, feeling like a virgin teenager on her first date. I actually turned and waved through the window as he slid the door shut, and watched as he walked away.

He waved without turning round. Knew I was looking, the smug bastard.

I turned to look for Captain Sensible and he’d very sensibly sat on the bench seat across the back, and with my pussy melting between my legs I made my way towards him in a crouch because of the low roof. When I got there I just pulled my skirt up with one hand, put the other on the back of his head and pulled him forward, leaning back so he could get his tongue on my pussy, but his nose kept getting in the way. Eventually I had to almost squat over him, and then he could reach, and I was rewarded with that silvery flicker of warmth and pressure that only a tongue can give you as it licks between your lips and presses upwards, not quite able to fill you and teasing with the promise of more to come when you can swap if for a cock.

He swapped his for two fingers, and I stood above hin with his face pressed sideways against my tummy as he finger-fucked me quite surprisingly hard considering his gimpy looks. So hard that within seconds I could feel myself swelling up until I thought my pussy would explode and as I yelled ‘don’t stop, don’t stop’, over and over again, he obeyed perferctly, and I had a shuddering 30 seconds of pleasure that buckled my knees and left me gasping for air.

When it was over, I let go of his head, reached down and unzipped his TK Maxx jeans, and rummaged around in his pants until I found his cock and pulled it out, long and thin, sort of in proportion to his body really, but hard as a rock and all gooey at the end. ‘Mmm’, I said, and sank down on it, swallowing it easily into my soaking pussy and I have to tell you that it felt good sliding between my lips and better and better the more of it went in. When I finally had my weight on him it reached all the way up inside me, and the end of it made big circles inside me when I rode him, squashing myself open on the base of it and feeling my wetness on his pubic hair.

He was a little hesitant at first, so I rode him quickly and made myself cum, clutching him against myself and squashing his face into my red Lycra boobs as my pussy gripped his shaft and squeezed him over and over again.

When I’d stopped yelling he looked up at me curiously. Did I make you cum? he asked, and when I said he certainly had that cheered him up no end, and he started to be a lot more active, bouncing me on his knees and trying to fuck me instead of the other way around.

That was nice too, and it was also what I’d wanted all week, and strangely the fact that Roger wasn’t there, but had given me these private moments with a strange young man, knowing I was going to let him fuck me was suddenly hugely exciting, and the next thing you know I was cumming again, head back and howling, and after that he was very pleased with himself indeed, so pleased that he positively erupted and what felt like gallons of hot cum splashed inside me, long, hot spurts that made his cock quiver as he delivered each burst, and he was gripping my boobs through the Lycra, as he strained to get the last drops out.

He went a bit quiet afterwards, so I kissed him and told him it was lovely, and helped him dress, and then I just pulled my hem down and we ran back in the rain holding hands, like we’d been on a date.

Rog was smiling as we went up to the lads at the bar, raindrops glistening in my hair, dark wet blobs on my dress, making it stick to me in a rude but very appealing way, I thought

How was it then, he asked and I kissed him noisily. ‘Fantastic’, I said breathlessly, ‘amazingly different because you weren’t there, but still amazingly horny because you’d given me to him’. I think he could tell I liked it. I kissed him again. ‘Clever you’, I told him ‘I’m so glad you’re my hubby. You do lovely things for me’.

Well, he said, yes and no. I could see the look in his eye and my pussy lips quivered slightly. The Best Man said that since he arranged that on your behalf, he thought you might do him a little favour too. I said I thought you probably would. Without knickers to squash it all up, I can feel my pussy a lot better and as Rog spoke I could feel it opening up, feel the cool air across the hot wetness inside. Quite obviously there were parts of me that wanted to do the Best Man a favour. ‘You know me too well’, I said.

I didn’t promise, Rog said carefully, because I wasn’t sure if you’d want to go back with him by yourself.

I gasped, I know I did, a little intake of breath as my pussy squeezed itself together, gripping on a ghostly cock. Hot wet sticky bubbles were oozing between my lips. Some of it was Captain Sensible, but mostly it was me, moistening round the edges ready for another fuck. ‘You don’t mind?’ I asked him, watching his face. No, he said, I think it’s exciting. Makes a change. He smiled, and took my hand, and went to pass me to the Best Man, who was balanced on tiptoe about a yard away, waiting for the verdict.

‘Before I go’, I said to Rog, ‘don’t arrange any more’. His eyebrows lifted. Two’s enough? he asked ‘It’s not that’, I said, and he breathed a mock sigh of relief and wiped his brow. ‘If the doormen see me going outside with a dozen blokes one by one we’ll be in trouble’. He knew from experience that they notice these things and get suspicious. They say it they take precautions in case it’s a girl in trouble, but really they think you’re a hooker and want you off the premises. We know because about seven years ago was caught quite literally with my pants down, up against the back wall of a club in Brighton with only the third in quite a long queue of young men waiting at the bar for a turn that never came.

But the Best Man had my hand now and was pulling me to the door. I followed him, and ran out in the rain alone – that was a funny feeling, because I’m so used to hubby being there, making it safe and now it was all new and different, and judging by the heat between my legs, double or treble exciting. Clever Rog, again.

I squished all the way to the minibus, and when we got the door shut the Best Man just laid me on the back seat, dropped his trousers and with no preliminaries, hardly even a kiss, pulled up my skirt and fucked me rather hard with an average-size cock for about five minutes. It’s a good combination, and he made me cum very loudly before he flooded into me, a long whiplash of hot spunk, and as I revelled in the feel of it inside me I started cumming again myself. Perfect.

He was dressed before I’d pulled my skirt down, and this time he wasn’t bothering to hold my hand as we ran back through the rain. What a gent.

Clustered outside the club under its big awning, Rog and the rest of the lads were watching us splash towards them. You’re right, he said, as my heels clattred to a stop, I didn’t want to start a parade, so we thought we’d all come outside for a ciggy. He was beaming again, and I had to think for a second before I understood. I promise you, when I realised what he meant I had a small but definite orgasm, and the contractions in my pussy squeezed little drops of cum onto my thighs.

I grabbed his arm for support, and looked up at him, still breathing like a marathon runner. Okay? he asked, and I said ‘oh yes’, rather more enthusiastically than I probably should have done. Right then, he said, and held out my hand to the group of lads. Who’s next? he called softly and as three stepped forwards together he just gave my hand to the lad nearest me, and patted my bum. Off you go, he said, and try not to get wet.

I was still smiling at that when I climbed into the minibus and headed for the back row of seats. I sat down and was pushed flat by a long, deep kiss that pinned me to the plastic while a hadn pushed up between my legs and two fingers thrust inside me. I was going to make some smart remark like hello, my name’s Lucy, what’s yours, or something, but all I could say was ‘Mmmmmm’ and ‘Aaaaah’ and a bit later ‘Ooooooh’ while I fumbled with his belt and zip and got hold of his cock. ‘Come on then, I breathed in his ear, fuck me, just fuck me’ and he clambered on and did exactly that.

He got terribly frantic when he was about to cum, jerking around spastically, totally out of control, fucking like a mad dog in the movies, which was exciting, and making me cum too, but then it popped out at the critical moment and there were blobs of spunk landing all over the place, my dress, my face, my pussy, everywhere. Sorry about that, he said, and started zipping himself away as he shuffled to the door and disappeared into the rain.

After he’d gone I thought about the others waiting there, nine more of them stood under the awning pretending to keep the smokers company, and one by one they’d slip away to the minibus where I was lying on the back seat waiting for them to arrive and gettheir cocks out. I was touching myself, I realised, and my pussy was bubbling, ready for the next one to arrive, and the one after that, and the one after that….

It was an odd time, the wait in between. Nothing to do except lie and wait, and it would be easy to think better of it and change your mind. I have never gone out looking for a group of guys, but when it happens it just sort of happens quickly and you’re surrounded by cocks, there’s always one in your pussy and one or two waiting, there’s no time to think about it, and anyway you’re on a permanent high from being constantly fucked, so you don’t even think about changing your mind.

But tonight I had several chances to think, and change my mind if I wanted. Each time a lad finished, dressed and walked away, it was a couple of minutes until the door slid open and another one was there, cock at the ready. If ever there was a time I could have changed my mind it was in that two minutes, but being honest, I never even considered it till afterwards.

Instead I lay there in the dark dribbling cum, my pussy aching for the next one and wondering what he’d be like. Instead of frantic non-stop fucking it was kind of calculated, deliberate, and as sexy as hell and just what I wanted. And strangely, the fact that Rog wasn’t watching made it different enough to scratch the wicked itch that had been bugging me all week. I was doing somehing new, and a bit risky, and getting fucked silly as well.

I had them all, eleven in total, not twelve, and because there were long gaps I was able to keep count myself. And it took a while too. Most of the twelve were average size and average duration, but there was one guy with a big, thick cock who made me glad of the breather while I waited for the next one, and there was one who kept pulling out just when he was about to cum, as if he was planning to fuck me all night. The fourth time he tried, I locked my legs across his back. ‘We haven’t got time for all that’, I growled and started to fuck him myself, rolling my pelvis and feeling the head of his cock sliding deep inside me as my pussy slipped around the shaft, my right hand massaging the cum out of his balls, and in no time at all there was a lovely warm feeling inside as he emptied into me.

I have to say that I think they all lasted longer than they would have done if they’d been watching each other and waiting their turn, but even so I don’t suppose I was in the minibus for more than a couple of hours. And when number eleven left, number twelve had been wairing outside and came in, but it wasn’t number twelve, it was number one – the groom again.

Your husb... he started to say and then found it a bit too difficult under the circumstances and started again. Roger wants to know if you’ve finished now?

He looked at me, waiting, and I smiled my answer. My hubby had won a medal tonight and now he was on his way to a knighthood. ‘The question is, have you finished’ I asked, and reached for the belt round his jeans, because I knew he wouldnt be there asking that question unless his cock had grown back. It had too, tall and straight and hard, springing upright when I pulled his jeans down. I opened my knees and guided him into me and he felt good, filling me with length and weight, and I just love the feel of a fresh, hard cock when my pussy’s used and full of cum. He was very serious again to start with, but he soon got into the swing of things. After he’d made me cum (all his own work this time) I pulled him out and bent my head, and sucked him, licked him and swallowed him and sucked him, and before you knew it he was splattering my throat with sticky blobs, and I swallowed it all down, licking him clean when he’d finished.

After he’d gone there was silence apart from the rain, and I lay there wondering how many were left and how many had gone, and wondering … the door openened and Rog was there. Been having a good time? My dress was screwed up in a ball beside me, I was naked, shiny with sweat and smears of cum, and there was a dribble of warm creamy glue leaking from my pussy. With the interior light on it was all suddenly noticeable, and I realised that the seat was a mess, shiny wet with cum and my juices, and there were blobs of spunk still trickling down the window beside me.

‘It’s amazing’, I said. ‘So different to when you’re there.’Perfect, he smiled, and traced the lips of my hot and sticky pussy with a fingertip. Some of them have gone on somewhere already, but there’s still seven or eight left. I’ll tell them not to leave shall I? He was already half out of the door, not waiting for an answer.

I was still smiling as one of the lads climbed in, and though I’d seen him (and been fucked by him) before, I didn’t recognise him. But he took my smile as a greeting and smiled too, but then he would, because I was lying naked with my legs wide apart, two fingers deep in my pussy. ‘Come on then’, I said, or something like that, and when he pushed his jeans down it was the boy with the big one, so I just had to have a suck, and when I thought it was ready I gave him a kiss on the tip and a kiss on the mouth, and spread my dress on the floor, knelt down, leaned on the slimy seat and let him do me doggy. He didn’t rush, just went steady and non-stop and fucked me stupid till I came and came and came and I was still screaming when he finished with a loud shout and a sudden burst of hotness inside me.

We thought John was never going to finish said the next one, and I had to tell him I knew the feeling. Still rather shaky and breathless, I went back to lying on the bench seat and let him get on top and fuck me briskly, but not for much longer than he had before.

After that I lost track of time, lost count of fucks and cocks and faces, but there came a moment when the lad inside me slid a finger in along the top of his cock and crooked it upwards, searching for the elusive G-spot, which doesn’t really work for me, but it wasn’t the first time it had happened this evening, or the second, so I guessed this was his third visit to the minibus.Which made me feel very slutty indeed, so of course I came at once, and he probably still thinks he hit the spot.

When we talked about it later Rog said later that there were eleven the first time, eight the second and four stayed for thirds. They made John go last the third time which was perfect for me because somewhere in the second eight I’d reached that peak where even with the gaps between lads I couldn’t stop cumming, and the more cock I got the more I wanted and the more I needed, and it was taking less time and effort to make me cum

After John left Rog appeared and said that was the last of them. The lads want to go on somewhere for a drink he said as he helped me drag what was left of my lovely red Lycra dress over my head, and then I was hugging my clever, clever husband, kissing him with the cum of a dozen lads dribbling out of my pussy and trickling down my thighs, and just then an old bloke climbed into the driving seat, saw us having an amorous snog and said don’t mind me lady and gents, I seen it all before, it’s like bloody Caligula back there some weekends, and started the engine.

We were laughing as I sat up straight and snuggled against Rog, Then one of the lads sat next to me, put his hand on my knee and looked at us both, a question on his face. Rog smiled, I shrugged, and let my knees fall apart, so his hand dipped down between my thighs, and two fingers slipped easily inside me. They felt strong and hard and I opened my thighs as wide as I could in the space we had available so he could reach deeper.

Then someone closed the door, the interior light went out and in the comfy orange darkness of the street lamps, whatever his name was slid off the seat, knelt between my legs and replaced his fingers with his cock, and we had a bouncy little fuck on the way to another club, me whispering ‘come on come on come on loud enough for most of the lads to hear’, and finally cumming with my hand over my mouth and him gasping oh fucking hell in my ear as he spurted for the fourth time in about three hours. Teenagers, eh.

They wanted us to go in with them, but my dress was ruined and so was I, so as soon as they knew they’d been let in they lent us the minibus to get home, and while old Bill the ancient cabbie whistled cheerully Rog explored my bruised and dripping pussy with careful, tender fingers. I love the feel of it when it’s been used, he whispered, and I love the feel of all that cum inside, and promptly filled my mouth with his own.

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