A little over two weeks later, I still hadn’t fully recovered from my harrowing bronchitis, but my coughing fits were down to a manageable frequency. I also figured I probably was no longer too contagious, so when the next night out dancing dusked (as it obviously couldn’t dawn), I felt good enough to go.
It was already 8 PM when I joined the others for a peaceful before-party at their flat. I’d offered to drive again, mainly because it’d keep me from spending a fortune on drinks, but also because I genuinely wanted to feel useful. Consuming less alcohol would also just be plain healthy, although I was far from becoming a teetotaller, either!
My friend had been a bit distant during the two weeks leading up to that night, so I didn’t know quite how to act in his company. However, he behaved as if nothing were amiss, even insisting I wear my fishnet tights to, and I quote, “look like a hooker.” He asked his ex’s partner to play the “game of colours” with him, the one which consisted of inking the gaps in my tights. He won again and proceeded to compose a whole small mosaic on my thigh.
When we finally left, we were six in total, which meant we had to take two cars. I expected two passengers, but through some meddling from his ex, my friend and I found ourselves alone. He was buzzed, and we talked a lot between driving instructions.
As we neared the venue, he was speaking vaguely about his multiple sex friends, which led him to ask how I’d feel if he turned me on only to sleep with another girl that night. I must add he was already quite handsy at that point, to which I didn’t object in the least. I first replied I had no right to mind anything he did as he wasn’t “mine,” but he insisted on an honest answer, and I wound up saying it’d bug me. I forgot to add that this wouldn’t have been the case had he not begun touching me first.
We finally got out of the car to join the others, a small bottle of alcohol hidden in my thong. While we queued for the venue, I became increasingly antsy as I watched a few people being searched by security. The flask wouldn’t have been hard to find by any measure, sticking out like a boner under my short skirt. I must’ve looked quite comical trying to “discreetly” shove it into a better position, afraid it’d wind up sliding down my leg – but it didn’t, and my adrenaline rush had been for nothing.
We met up with even more friends and settled onto the dancefloor, which was already full of hot bodies. A girl none of us knew came by to cool us with her fan, but she mostly just gave us a whiff of her pungent body odour, almost making us gag. Both my friend and I have a strong sense of smell, which is why it’s important I love his as much as I do.
As we danced, he again touched me quite a lot, including between my legs. He asked whether my thong was absolutely necessary when I was also wearing a bodysuit and the infamous fishnets, and as soon as I had to pop to the loo, I laboriously got rid of my underwear. This earned me not only a sly smile but also our first kiss of the night (and definitely not the last one).
Given some of our comrades were smokers, we went in and out of the venue throughout the night. A couple of them had also taken drugs, and we “babysat” them the best we could, especially those who were having more extreme reactions. The smoking space outside was horribly well-lit compared to the inside, but at least it allowed us to keep an eye on the ones who needed it.
Still, my friend and I found ourselves together on the dancefloor again, where he took me in his arms and bit my neck so hard I believe my brain stopped registering the music for a second. As he let go, he looked at me, amused, saying my pulse had gone through the roof against his lips and tongue.
I expressed my surprise that he still desired me so much when he obviously had so many other partners, and he launched into a list of the reasons that drew him to me. The first were superficial: that I was a foreigner, a tall brunette, and a “banger;” the second were personal: that I was a friend, someone whom he cared deeply about; and the third apparently counted triple: the fact that I simply turned him on very easily.
We were as much apart as we were together that night. I danced with the others, but also alone, and around 5 AM, I finally started feeling tired. I found my friend, and he told me I should leave and not stay for him, which mostly made me feel he was trying to get rid of me. I still considered the idea but went and sat down for a while instead, enjoying a brief chat with a stranger, then with my friend’s ex, whose high was finally wearing off.
The short break definitely gave me a second wind, but we left around half past five anyway, as everyone was getting a bit worse for wear. I’d promised to drop off a girl on the way, and we headed together to the car. I asked my friend’s ex (our de facto “leader”) how I’d get to their flat – where I’d strategically left my overnight bag –, to which she replied, “well, he’s riding with you, you’ll use his keys.” Life can be so simple!
My friend was still quite buzzed and drunk when we climbed into my car, and as we bantered with our other passenger, he didn’t shy away from flirting with me, either. After we’d dropped the girl off, he got wonderfully handsy again. Like once before, he had me bend down at red lights to blow him, then urged me to drive until he’d tell me to stop.
The streets were still dark, although the streetlights hadn’t been switched off. We parked on a quiet stretch and got out of the car, only to move to the back, which was one more new experience for me. For a taller lady such as myself, it wasn’t the ideal place to explore each other, but I was so horny I didn’t care.
We didn’t actually fuck, but a lot of action still took place between me continuing to blow my friend and climbing on him to rub against his cock. By this point, I’d gotten rid of my fishnets and underbust corset, and he lowered both my bra straps and those of my bodysuit to free my breasts. That way, he could also work his mouth on me, and I still loved his lips, tongue, and teeth on my sensitive skin.
It wasn’t until my legs began slightly cramping that we decided to take our little party to his flat. By this point, dawn had reached us, and although we were now more visible to anyone, my friend forbade me from covering up as we returned to the front seats, all giddy. He set a rule: at each red light, I’d have to blow him, and at each green light, he’d continue to stroke me. There were a ton of both on the way, and I couldn’t decide which of them I preferred.
As we finally parked in front of his building, I started pulling up my bra and top. It was still so early that other pedestrians were less than sparse, but since I wasn’t drunk, I could hardly discount the few passing vehicles. My friend, however, had other ideas. He again – and unabashedly – told me to leave my bare breasts as they were, just as he was to do with his cock. He did reconsider after seeing an approaching bus, and authorised me to cover myself up with my tiny bag until it’d driven far enough. We half-ran to the door, exhilarated and, to be fair, exhausted.
Our companions were still just about awake as we stumbled in, so he at last gave me permission to pull up my top while frantically zipping up his fly. We stopped by his ex and her partner, who were snuggled up on the couch, and my friend made a humorous offhand comment about our “pit stop.” We bid them good night and headed for the bathroom; we were now smelling as strongly as the “fan” girl who’d delighted our noses at the start of the evening.
It was ecstatic to wash off my sweat, and even more so to see my friend join me in the shower. I don’t think I’ve much described him throughout this whole series, but with his pale skin and startlingly expressive, dark brown eyes, he was very pleasant to gaze upon. His way of still looking back at my face and body with appreciation, his eyes losing focus as they landed on my mouth in anticipation of a kiss, was equally attractive.
After teasing each other for a few minutes under the refreshing stream, we towelled off and went to his room. We’d talked about desirable positions, and I reminded him of one by lying on my back, my head hanging out of the bed. He was quick to plunge his cock into my mouth, moaning in appreciation despite the difficult angle.
To my surprise, he also bent over me and buried his face between my legs, giving me a taste of his “lingual” skills. I should’ve known that a guy who kisses so well would also excel in the art of cunnilingus, but it was more amazing than I could ever have expected. Had I let him go on, I doubtless would’ve managed to cum!
Unfortunately, my neck and jaw had other plans. The angle had been difficult to begin with, and they couldn’t take it anymore. I laboriously got to my hands and knees, to which my friend reacted by pulling me to the edge of the bed and fucking me from behind.
Despite the late (or early) hour, we went on like that for what felt like aeons. In the end, however, fatigue caught up with him, and his erection waned before he managed to cum. He mused, “It’s weird to be so turned on but not hard”, before collapsing onto the bed and falling asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.
I only caught a few hours of sleep, but as I finally cuddled up to my friend under the light seeping through the shutters, I was greeted by glorious morning wood. It would’ve been a pity to let it go to waste, so after some teasing, I climbed on him, already (or still) wet.
Once again, he whipped me around quite a bit, involuntarily contributing to my inability to reach an orgasm myself, but I didn’t mind. I loved feeling like a sex doll, a thing at his disposal. Our tryst ended with him sitting on my upper thighs and shooting ropes upon ropes of hot cum over my upper body, some landing on my face and in my hair.
Once I’d stopped laughing about his powerful release and cleaned myself a little, he pulled me into one last hug and finished waking up. We chatted about this and that until we had to get out of bed. I can’t even remember whether I washed my hair or if I left his cum in it, but I definitely went home smelling of him again. I was only starting to worry my presence at these dance nights was keeping him from encountering other potential partners – although he was clearly managing just fine elsewhere, given his “collection” of girls. Be that as it may, I wasn’t ready to give up on our fun just yet.
