[ad_1]

Helen, Vicky and I get to the club around 10. We’d been planning the trip into the city for a couple weeks, ever since Vicky noticed an advert online about the club’s “Goth Night.” I still have the collars and silk and lace gloves, a fitted black dress, along with the draconian makeup. But it’s been ages since I’ve bothered getting dressed up, and individual circumstance for each of the three of us necessitates blowing off steam.

Since Goth Night is Friday and we’re three hours out from the city, we decide to book a hotel for the weekend. Our plan may be a little optimistic: open the festivities by likely getting trashed, then recover quickly enough the next day to get in some sightseeing and justify the expense of the hotel. Saturday afternoon, we intend to hit the aquarium. I hope we make it but I have my doubts.

After checking in and a flurry of activity making ourselves ready, we leave Helen’s vehicle at the hotel and walk the couple blocks to the club. Vicky’s already complaining about her heels and I wonder how she plans on dancing. Most chicks have to be fairly drunk to be comfortable enough to say “fuck it!” and kick off their shoes to enable further drunken dancing.

I’ve got the little black dress on. It stops mid-thigh, dips low up top, has one long, flowing sleeve and the other just a strip of gathered fabric that drapes off my shoulder. The inside of the sleeve is green satin that matches my hair, makeup, and septum ring. There’s black beading and embroidery on the bodice. It’s tight enough to nearly be a corset, holding me erect and thrusting my breasts forward and up in a way that I can only characterize as “aggressively.” I’m wearing boy-cut lace panties and a matching bra but honestly, that’s more in keeping with the theme than expecting the effort to serve a purpose. I’ve left a bar with a new friend a time or two, but it’s generally not my style.

And it *has* been awhile.

Oh, and of course I have my combat boots on.

The club has a central dance floor, flanked on one side by a sizeable bar and at the other with a lounge area. We lubricate at the bar for the first couple drinks and people-watch for awhile. God, the ladies look fantastic! I’m feeling outclassed. I don’t let it bother me too much- I’m enjoying the view.

And to a certain extent, I’m enjoying the music. So far, most are songs that I don’t recognize and the sound production is of the quality you expect at a club, so I can not make out any of the lyrics, but.. it *sounds* good. Music I can definitely move my body to for the next several hours. Occasionally, I can feel the bass reverberating in my chest. Infinite flow of eye candy, far from infinite flow of over-priced drinks.. I feel the tension in my body begin to ease. I’m starting to move in place, undulating from side to side subtly, standing before my drink at the crowded bar.

I laugh out loud and finally appreciate cyclic trends when I hear the opening guitar strains of “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” I feel the same look of delight and recognition on my face as I see on Helen and Vicky’s. We toss back our drinks and beeline for the dance floor.

The press of bodies on the bar side feels way too close- quarters, so I lead the girls over to the less crowded lounge side. I’m feeling the music and lost in enjoying the song (read: shouting) with my friends, so I don’t really take a good look around myself til the next song is halfway through. We are fully primed and working our bodies like slutty vampires.

That’s when I see him.

A young man sitting in a low leather armchair backed up against the wall. His eyes travel up the wall opposite him: perusing the decor, I guess. He heaves a deep sigh. Poor guy looks exhausted. He holds a short drink glass in one hand and with the other, he reaches up and loosens his tie, releases the top button of his shirt. His eyes shift and I think he’s looking straight at me.

I jump like I’m caught watching him undress and hastily turn away. After some time, I forget I’m carefully not looking at him and he catches my eye again. He’s sitting at the edge of his seat, elbows on his knees, chin propped on his hands. He’s pushed his sleeves up. Something interrupts his reverie or he comes to some conclusion. Straightens up. Reaches again for his drink and settles back in his chair.

I’m watching his lips on the glass when his eyes shift to me again. I feel the blush in my face and can even see my chest and the tops of my breasts reddening. The first time was innocent, I just saw him doing what I was doing: trying to relax. Nothing to be read into the innocuous act of unfastening a button. Nothing to be.. imagined.

But the second time-

The second time, I was watching his mouth.

I extravagantly nonchalantly avoid looking at him.

I ride the music.

Vicky and Helen and I take turns fetching the odd drink, but mostly we’re writhing sinuously together. Or alone. Or with the other drunk dancing Goth girls. So many gorgeous women moving together, pressing closer, sometimes putting a hand on a hip.

Sometimes running down her own or another girl’s body.

Heat’s building in me and I’m thinking of him. My eyes are closed and my hands are slipping down from my shoulders, trailing across my breasts. I turn in time to the music and open my eyes to steal another glance at him.

He’s watching me.

I can feel the friction of my own touch against my nipples and he’s looking at me.

All my motion stops completely and I gasp. And it’s a struggle to contain the sound I make to something so innocent as a gasp.

Vicky seriously misjudges our balance and almost takes us both out when she staggers into me while throwing her arms around me. “What happened, babe?” she croons teasingly. “Batteries die?”

She spins me around so she can see what I was looking at. Oh, goddammit.

“Oooooohh!” It’s an insinuating, taunting sound. “Mommy see something she likes?” She snickers in my ear, gives me a playful swat on the ass, then releases me to further my humiliation by informing Helen. At this point I’m actually covering my face.

Vicky knows why I made that sound. What was happening in my body that made it hard to stifle.

I’m turning again, looking for a restroom sign to go splash some water on my face and hide, when he catches my eye again.

Still watching.

Arches an eyebrow. Smiles slightly.

There’s nothing taunting or derisive in it, he’s just.. smiling.

And he does have such tantalizing lips.

My hands begin to fall and a smile rises on my own face. This time when I can not hold his gaze and have to turn away in embarrassment, it’s much more slowly.

Like I was born yesterday, I think it’s over.

My dearest asshole friends are lulling me into a false sense of security. They know the mood’s broken and if they enact their plan now, I’ll just be the usual stick in the mud and refuse to play along.

So they wait.

We dance. We drink. We touch.

And then suddenly Helen leans across me and blares at Vicky “Hey!- ya remember The Rule?”

The Rule exists because I am historically no fun and not known to let loose. I agreed to it only because we were sort of going our separate methods in life and were likely to rarely get together moving forward. Basically since I never did shots when we went out or picked “dare” when we played Truth or Dare, when the three of us went out, I *had* to. Just once. One or the other.

“Nope! No, no! No shots. I’m already horny as hell and half drunk. I drink anymore and I’m turning into an ‘on the prowl’ cliche!” Helen squeals and Vicky chuckles malevolently.

“You’re so fucked!” Helen calls gleefully back over her shoulder to me.

I play back what I’ve said and watch in horror as they hurry over to the young man’s chair. He watches their approach and straightens up to meet them. They lean forward to speak to him, and though the proximity of my friends’ breasts to his face may be the least of *their* concerns, I feel a flash of jealousy. He inclines his head and listens to their feverish explanations for a few moments, then chuckles and lifts his hand. He begins to shake his head “no” when Vicky puts her hand on his arm, says something, then points back at me.

His brow arches, again: that little smile. Whatever he says to them as he inclines his head to indicate me, he’s looking into my eyes as he says it.

Oh my god, Vicky looks like she just stole hell out from under Satan and Helen’s giggling and rubbing her hands together as they make their way back to me. They both put their arms around my shoulders and have a good laugh at their Machievelian play.

“So, YOU, my dear,” Vicky pronounces smugly, “who is admittedly horny, claims to not be drunk, and is DEFINITELY not a cougar-!” Here she rolls her eyes theatrically and Helen gives me a loud kiss on the cheek. “Have to give that boy a lap dance!” And then they can not hold it anymore and are punching each other’s shoulders and laughing.

Helen stops cackling long enough to say: “Don’t worry, we did the hard part for you. He’s expecting you! Go get ‘im, Mama!”

Well, shit.

I mean there’s no way in hell.

I mean.. here? In a crowd of people I’ll never see again? In a place I don’t have to come back to? Dressed up, made up, sliding my body against a stranger’s, moving up and down him like he’s inside me.. Just some guy that.. Some guy..

I can not help but look at him now. He’s just watching me. Gazing intently. I can not read his face, but I can see it. See his eyes, feel them on me.

See his mouth.

I recognize the next song and wince. I close my eyes and my nipples are suddenly stinging sharply.

I AM fucked.

It’s “Closer.”

I can not hold back the slightest moan as I give in and my body moves over to his. He watches my advance, sets his drink glass, empty save ice, on the floor beside his chair. He straightens up and moves to the edge of his chair again and when I’m close, his hand takes mine. He’s reaching up for me and then his hands are on my body, his strong, warm hands are on my hips. They’re sliding up and it’s lifting the hem of my dress and I moan again as it lightly brushes the tops of my thighs. His eyes shift to my face at the sound and I stop his hands in a panic.

His eyes go to what’s directly in front of them for a moment. Then he looks back up at me. Oh, god, if I don’t move his handsome face away from-

I put my hands on his shoulders and push him back against the chair. My hands slide down to his chest and then I lift my leg and plant my knee between his and the arm of the chair. He’s sitting low enough, I wonder if I’ve flashed him.

Again he takes my hand and I step up and plant my other knee. I return my hand to his chest then slowly settle back til my ass barely makes contact with his thighs. Then I slowly roll my hips and flex my thighs so I’m moving back and forth and up and down against him. I lift my hair off my neck and stay holding its heat off me as I move up and down in his lap.

My eyes are closed as the music and my desire move my body. I shift slightly and as I come down in his lap I feel him growing hard against me and suddenly I’m wet. To think how his body is reacting to my dancing for him.. and then his hands on my breasts, squeezing firmly. I can not help the whimper that escapes me, but maybe it’s not an accident that the next time I come down on him, his cock is aligned right along the lacey seam of my panties.

I put my hands over his and press them harder against my breasts for a moment. I look down at him and he’s staring fixedly as they move under his hands. I lift up off his cock, leaning forward and the naked upswell of my breasts just barely makes contact with his jaw. He looks up at me with ravenous eyes and it’s all I can do to keep from spilling my breasts out of my bodice and into his waiting mouth.

So I turn around. I’m grinding my ass against his lap and the feel of his cock is driving me wild. I don’t want to just feel it pressed against me through our clothing. His hands return to my breasts and I lean forward so they’re out of his reach. His hands return to my hips and I roll my ass back at him. His hand slides down my dress over my ass and again begins to lift the hem. I let him watch my ass work under the lace of my panties. Then his hand cupping my cheek, squeezing roughly, making my ass jiggle. When he slips his finger delicately under the lace and begins to move inward to where I’m pulsating with heat, the wondered of what I might let him do to me, what I WANT him to do to me, right here in front of everyone, so alarms me that I spring up from his lap and make my way directly to the fortuitously located restroom sign.

I lock myself in a stall and curse myself for overreacting. I could have just exercised some restraint and I’d still be writhing up and down in the handsome man’s lap. And what must he be thinking? That I’m upset? That I wondered he’d done something wrong? I’m so overheated and my legs are shaking; it takes me a little while to be convinced I won’t stumble on my way over to make sure he’s alright.

But when I finally emerge, his chair is empty. I catch Vicky tracking developments and gesture at the chair, then shrug expansively. She points to the exit. I see her mouthing “Wait!” as I turn and head straight for it.

Outside the club, there’s a brightly lit semicircle from the club’s sign and a streetlamp, beyond which the darkness seems impenetrable. I don’t see him anywhere in the loose knot of people lingering at the entrance. I step off to the side, into the shadows. Might as well take another few minutes to cool off, not turn around and discover myself back in the same situation.

But it wouldn’t be the same. The spell is past. Those lips are gone.

I heave a melodramatic, rueful sigh and dig my phone from my bag to text the girls about what they want from the bar. Suddenly I feel his body against me, his cock on my ass again. One hand kneads my breast and the fingers close down firmly on my nipple. Thee other whispers along the skin of my thigh, finding the hem, lifting it. The hand trails inward, up my leg.

“Can I touch you now?” he whispers softly, and the feel of his lips on my ear makes me shudder.

NSFW: yes

[ad_2]