More ickystuff
I imagined we were out to Club West. You looked gorgeous, as always, in the white ensemble I’ve drooled over many a time. I had impulse to dress up, black vinyl coat, black flowing skirt, the wicked boots, and black eyeliner.
The curious thing about the Club was that it had a Club Risqué atmosphere, only not as openly sexual. Couples of any gender furtively stood together in the dark corners, the decoration was more lavish with velvet and black silk, and dim lamps that flickered like candles. The music wasn’t deafening but rather than pounding upon the eardrum, merely surrounded it with sound comfortably.
You watched me move. You watched my body flowing in the darkness, barely catching any light. You watched my hands and the sway of my movement, waving and pulsing with the rhythm, as though I were casting some strange spell. You didn’t feel like dancing. You took a seat, instead, in the corner to watch. Perhaps you don’t realize that distant surveillance has an effect on me too.
I look over when I feel your eyes, and turn to watch you watching me, with eyes clear and catching the light, a thumb supporting your chin and a finger stroking your lips, almost like an invitation, a summoning. I walk towards you, the coat sweeping. “I feel sexy. You know I do,” my movements seem to tell you, along with the stalk of seduction. There is that electricity between us, black and white, man and woman, dark and light.
“Hello, darling,” I greet you as I stand before you. “Hello,” you whisper softly with a smile, and reach a hand up to cup a hip in your hand. A small smile comes to my lips as your hand crosses over the slope of my belly and lightly feathers down my loins. I know you’re discovering there is no disturbance in the flow of the fabric. You know, as you glance up at me with desire in your eyes, that there is nothing beneath that skirt. You open your mouth to ask but I lean down and press my mouth against yours in a soft kiss that tastes a little like coffee and lip-gloss.
Your hand flits to my face and gently runs down my jaw, soft throat and onto the triangle patch of skin on my chest. Smiling a little as I kiss you, I guide your wrist so that your fingers slip underneath the coat. You moan a little from deep in your throat when you realize there is nothing there as either.
A few tables away, another couple is a few paces ahead of us, already a mass of tongued kisses and layers of fabric flitting away, while still trying to remain relatively clad; they are a shivering mass of moans and panting, made very soft because of the music. Before us, dancers pulse on, while other people sidle up to each other with seductive glances in drug-like speed.
You guide my face back to yours and kiss me with a heated passion, a tongue that comes to dance with my own, and darts in and out of my mouth as though suggesting what you wish to be doing to me. Oh god, how I’m melting. I kiss you with a sizeable appetite of my own, flicking at your tongue and stroking it like I’d like to be doing to your cock, which I feel hardening beneath me. Tearing my face away and panting slightly, I look around. You selected a good place with your back to the wall in the corner partially sheltered by cushioned chairs and tables.
“Undo my zipper, darling,” I suggest, with a smile on my face, as I guide your hand to fondle the v between my legs through the fabric. Since I don’t seem hesitant, you smile a little with pleasure and reach up, tugging the zipper down enough to reveal swelling breasts. “Such a tight coat,” you murmur, slipping a finger inside and flicking gently at a already hardened nipple. Your finger retreats for a moment to reach behind me, and coax me forward onto your lap, facing you, helping me hike up my skirt in the process. Your finger then returns and slips a breast out to suck on a nipple, teasing it with your tongue, swirling circles around, then nipping at it lightly.
Your other hand, however, slides underneath my skirt and begins to tease the little nub there, my clit. It retreats only for a moment and presses a finger into my mouth where I suck on it, and lick at it greedily, making your finger warm with the heat of my mouth, before you withdraw it and use the wetness clinging to it from my mouth on my clit. I moan, flopping forward and begin teasing at your ear with my tongue and unbuttoning your shirt with my hands to tease the nipples in return. My hips begin to rock on your lap unintentionally; I can’t help but whimper a little and gasp as I tongue the soft places of your ear.
You slip your finger further down and began tracing the chasm between the lips of my pussy, seeking the secret canal. Mm, but in between the lips, there is a thriving and quivering wetness that clings to your fingers as though the wetness itself could pull that finger up inside of me to fuck until I come.
You pull back your face to grin at me, with that smoldering look on your face, having felt for yourself how wet I am, and withdraw your finger, and, looking square at me, you run your tongue up your finger in a long, slow lick. I’m panting, and the gesture only has made me wetter.
I kiss you hungrily before I get unsteadily to my feet… my knees don’t seem to want to work, and so I slide down you, pulling up your coat almost like a tent around me as I crawl under the table. You feel your pants unfasten and peel back to expose your hardness. And then you feel a hot, wet tongue press against the head of you, and soon a whole mouth, teasing and sucking and sliding against your hard cock. You lean your head back, your breathing quickens.
“Are you all right?” a voice asks from the aisle. An inquisitive stranger stares at you. You smile, half dreamily, half in agonized pleasure, and nod your head. “I’m fine,” you say, your voice is husky. I hear that note and it only makes me wetter. Your voice is so strained and throaty, God, it’s almost ecstasy just sucking on you.
I continue until your hips are buckling slightly before I climb back up when I feel you pulling, when I feel you ready. I pant "Fuck me now," hotly in your ear, swiftly tugging at your pants and mounting you while wrapping my skirt over us. "I'll fuck you any way you want," you breathe back, full of anticipation I can taste in your voice.
A song comes on, a heated and sensuous song, where slow or fast grinding would be the dance method of choice. Though you and I are grinding in a completely different context. My pussy is hot and clenching at your cock, slowly pulling up and plunging down. You are so deep inside me, my chest, bursting at the zipper is rubbing up against yours, skin on skin, your hand underneath and rubbing at my clit as we pulse and writhe together. I throw my head back as one of your hands grasp my hips and intensify the rhythm, updownupdownupdownupdown, and I’m being taking higher. My breath has stopped except bursting out in ragged gasps, you are breathing in gasps, but still manage to pull me down for a thirsty kiss.
I moan, and whimper, cupping your head in my hands and sifting my fingers through your hair and gripping at your shoulder. My body is getting tighter, and you moan low in your throat. I break away, my hips rocking as they slide up and down your cock- Mm, it’s so hard- and we’re pulsing so hard against each other. I’m so tight with your cock rubbing against the walls of my pussy and your fingers wetting and rubbing at my clit. “Oh God, Oh God, I’m coming!” I moan and gasp, and feeling you pulling me down faster send me over the edge, and my body tightens and releases in that glorious orgasm that draws a long, weak “Oooooohhhhhhhhh,” from the depth of my throat.
A moment later, “Oh my god, Oh my god…” you mumble over and over before I feel more hot wetness inside of me as you clamp my hips to you and shut your eyes. We freeze, clinging to each other, breathing together as the music slows.
“You’re so beautiful,” I presently hear you murmur in my ear, your voice is soft and breathy- I feel you pulse inside me. “You’re dead sexy,” I reply, stroking your face. After a brief collection of ourselves, tucking in and zipping up, you take my hand. “Dance with me?” You ask, and draw me close, not really waiting for an answer. I don’t mind, because you hold me close, letting me snuggle close against your chest.
What naughty children we are.