This night I’d gone out in my little black number as us girls decided to semi-posh up, rare for me to do but a change from jeans and layers. Not heels though, I rarely wear them. I don’t really like too, despite being myself not very tall. It was low ankle boots for me.
At well past the end of the evening long after midnight I decided it was time to make my way home from the university bar when a friend, a guy, offered to share a taxi, drop me off first then he’d carry on. How could I refuse, it was cheaper to share the cost. When we got there he offered to see me up to my room and walk the rest of the way back to his place being it wasn’t far away. Three flights of stairs later we were outside my door.
After much key-fumbling I fell through my door. Was I tipsy? Barely. I’m not a heavy drinker, haven’t got the constitution for it. I put that down to my diminutive size, although I am the right size for me, for my hands, and feet and arms and all other bits.
Once inside it was clear to me I needed to lie down, acclimatise once more to the change in altitude of the third floor. I giggled my way to the bedroom. He knew where it was having been here before, being friends and all, and sat me down on the edge of the bed. I didn’t really need this much help but it felt easier to go with it. He flipped my ankle boots off leaving me to unceremoniously ragdolledly (is that a word?) flop back on the bed, still in my little black number that isn’t that little, as with my height, it fits me right. It’s strapless, hugging, sits above the knee and has a long black zip down the back. Along with black mesh hold-up stockings, this was, for me, as poshed-up as I get without going full evening gown.
He slipped out of the room leaving me flopped and nudging my way like a weary slug (do slugs get weary?) up to the pillows confident I was no longer going to get altitude sickness.
A few minutes later he’d returned with a huge glass of water which I, as his insistence, obediently sipped. I offered him to stay, being quite late, and that he could take the sofa. He didn’t decline.
Meet Chris, by the way, whom I forgot to formally introduce to you earlier in this little traipse through my recollections.
Sidelight on, I neglected to remove any other clothing before curling up.
Time passed, as it does, perhaps half an hour, or an hour, hard to be sure when half-asleep I’d rolled onto my side with my back to him. Just then a hand, his hand, came to rest on my hip and began gently stroking through my little black number, or simply, my dress. I’d also caught his breath, I presumed was his being him and me were the only ones here, brush across my bare shoulders. He’d leaned over, eased aside my hair and gently kissed my neck.
At the very least this was disorienting imagining all the night had planned for me now was, simply, sleep. Understandably I wondered what was happening, what he was doing, although it was on the face ot it obvious, there was a tad bit of fumbling occurring. Despite my thoughts my body failed to react in any way other than do nothing and let it happen, being that despite it being both unexpected and uninvited felt soothing.
It seemed that each touch was turning into something more than simply random, more like caresses, I would say, first along my hip, then the outer thigh. It occurred to me to turn over and face him but his positioning on the bed close against me made this impossible.
It was like a dream, even though I knew it wasn’t. His explorations continued me, my hips, top of my leg, even the hem of my little black number. I was surprised to find myself surreptitiously aroused, possibly against my better judgement. I said he could stay, I didn’t offer anything like this. Plus, how can I be so horny and so tired at the same time?
We’d never been this way inclined as friends before, always purely platonic and physically nothing like this had ever occurred. His hands didn’t stop,. They felt like someone drawing me, using me as their canvas upon which to create a masterpiece. Not that I am comparing myself to one, far from it, feeling more about myself to be decidedly abstract, or perhaps if I was a piece of art, I’d be a doodle.
As my thoughts meandered, as they have a habit of doing, even under these circumstances, and grappled for any sense of focus he was no toying, is the only word for it, with the hem on my little black number, then my stockings, making a beeline along my thighs in an upwards and underneath trajectory now tantalising the top of my holdups. I was becoming a melting pot of emotion, inexplicable desires oozing from every pore and coursing uncontrollably across the surface of my skin unravelling me as it went, inspired by his touching.
Admittedly, this all sounds a bit over the top, and admittedly at the time these weren’t the words racing through my head, it’s only in retrospect, so you hopefully forgive my poetic license. After all, I was finding my emotions in slight disarray.
Over my waist he now travelled and unflinchingly onto my breasts. I flinched. His fingers wrapped around them through my dress and squeezed; or ‘fondled’? Or, is it ‘groped’? I’m not sure of the difference at that moment and am not sure either it matters here. I felt a blood-rush envelope me at that moment. I knew my body and mind were not in synch.
I attempted to, half-heartedly, I admit, brush his hand away but he was undeterred, now giving me even more attention here. Down he slid once again to my hips, my thighs, the hem of my little black number which hugged me well. It didn’t stop him edging it up slowly and surely exposing more of my legs, my stockings, and he didn’t stop until he’s managed to raise it all the way to my knickers. His breathing was deeper, warmer on the back of my neck; an air of uncertainty filled the room. A cusp had been reached, I felt, and maybe he did too but had said nothing this entire time.
I was torn between putting a stop to proceedings before it went any further and my out-of-synch body and mind unable to agree and arguing amongst themselves. Here was I in all this?
He rolled me onto my front, my face turned to one side, his hand still beneath grasping my breasts. The top hook of my little black number came loose, the sound of unzipping down the back. In between breaths he flicked each hook of my bra and it too came open. Half-exposing my back he tugged the dress away along with my strapless black bra, my hands now gripping the pillow. More warm breath, this time all the way from my neck down my spine, my weariness of earlier all but dissipated in a flood of unchastity, hunger and heat.
He’d found a weakness and was now exploiting it, taking advantage, a weakness to which I all too easily surrender.
My little black number came down further, as if with a mind of its own with some resistance but come down it did. Still on my stomach it was down to my hips, my bra having come away freely. Emotions were in freefall and flailing while my outside was calm but tense and increasingly letting my nature, the primal take me where it was taking me.
HIs hands were now washing over my bare back, following the way my waist goes in and comes out of my hips. I jerked to attention when his fingers went between my legs, teasing them inches apart to touch the dark blue satin of my knickers.
I knew by now I was lost to events having let it come this far, he’d successfully tapped into my inner imaginings, my wants, even though before I was unaware they were so close to the surface and aching to emerge with such blinding intensity.
More and more his touch found itself everywhere, as though by contact alone he was marking a spot. He urged me down again into the mattress, striding over me he pulled at my dress crumpled tightly around my hips hard enough to strip it from me completely down my legs and then it was gone leaving me face down in just my blue knickers and black stockings. He fingered the lace of them, their elastic, explored how tightly they covered my buttocks until deciding to pull them away, I could almost hear the fabric sliding against my skin beneath and picture him watching as they came away; such satin smoothness and all the more thrilling when someone else removes them.
He had me: I had him. Who had who?
I felt my legs urged wide, wider, parting fingers as his finger easily found their way into me. I was now slick with all this foreplay, my pink fold giving in to his onward progress. I knew how flushed I was, how moist I’d become. He spread them as he did and I gasped and hoped he had well-manicured fingernails. So smoothly he moved, one finger, and soon enough, two. Inside me they went and my hips moved with them, by now unable to retrain myself I was coaxed into his rhythm. Three fingers, I winced, he persisted, I breathed deep to relax. His fingers hooked around inside me and touched me there, there, again, there. My hips jumped and I found my voice, albeit no words, just a sound of surprise. It felt at once unwieldly inside me as well as bliss; this letting go, this release about to release. He picked up the pace with his fingers, twisting them this way and that. Up until now it had been so slow, so deliberate, and now there was a frenzy, a rapidity until without warning, as it sometimes can happen for me, an orgasm gripped my hips and drowned out all other inner noise, his fingers still insisting themselves into me, into me.
Muscles contracted, my legs recoiled, he held them apart, forced them so, I convulsed and broke into a sweat. Light-headed, I began feeling a subsiding, for once gratefully, as I thought my heart might just give out. His fingers came out of me and he put them to his lips, then to mine, I sucked them, tasted me; sticky, soft.
I wanted so very much to touch myself, soothe myself with gentle strokes but he kept my arms on the pillow as once again in went his fingers making a familiar wet sound. With little time to regain any composure I felt my legs parted further. He’d taken up position between them now and before too long I felt something not his fingers touching my sex, my entrance, my cunt, now tender to the point of merely touching could set off another orgasm. No waiting this time he pushed into my still tight hips and kept pushing, a lot in, a little out, a lot more in, a little out, each push going deeper, more of his girth and length taking me further into a most unexpected night.
So sudden and yet not, so forceful and yet gentle too. He gripped my hips digging into his fingertips and just the once spanked my right buttock, then spanked me again. I was well beyond choosing which way this should go, my out-of-synch mind and body had decided for me: I was all the way in, just as he was all the way no inside me, going all the way to the ends of our demands.
I slipped one hand down to my groin and touched my clit. I had too. I rubbed as he fucked me, as we fucked, and I felt myself pressed over and over into the bedding. I had to touch myself while he was inside me, his bare erection feeling larger than I thought he would be. I imagined it inside me, leaving smears of precum in preparation for his final push which I knew would eventually come, and while he was inside me. I hoped.
Around his hand reached under me, grabbing hard at my breasts and pulling me as far back as my back would arch that way. Then one hand was around my neck. Gently it stroked and held and relaxed and contracted. He had large hands. I heard the slapping of his scrotum against my thighs; his movement were full and unhindered by my tightness now as the bed shook until I worried it might collapse. What would the student in the next room think? I could only hope they were away.
MY legs, his legs, our legs and thighs were soaking, the friction the heat we generated. He clearly had stamina and an amazing edging ability, I recognised from his breathing the moments he came to the precipice then pulled himself back, getting a grip and then moving once more, all without leaving my hips unpinned I reflexively pushed back against him to brace against the momentum and force of his excitement, his fingers now gripping more securely my neck, not as such restricting but enough to send an almost unbearable tingle down to the insides of my thighs, my soaking and punished thighs.
I grabbed at the duvet as once again my hips exploded inside with little mercy. I cum as he kept fucking without losing a beat, he spanked me again and I felt a small post-orgasm jerk me back, my heart a racehorse galloping towards that death-defying leap over an impossible hurdle. I felt his fingers encircle my neck as he slowed the pace but hardened the force with which he buried himself into me. He did it once, then twice, then again, accompanying grunts to my own, what sounded like clasps of breathiness. Involuntarily my muscles tightened inside, around him, almost too painful but I couldn’t stop them.
It had to be soon, I told myself, he had to cum soon.
Then with an inhuman sound he released everything that he’d been building up inside, not just cum, but emotion, turmoil, anguish, bliss, pleasure, pain, desire, as his flood flooded out of him and into me; and it came, and came, and still he come, ejaculating far more than I’d ever experienced a man give before, far more. It was flowing out of me while he was still cumming, warm and sticky as you’d imagine, as you’d know, but so much. Surely this must be three or four-guy’s worth of cum by now.
So much sperm and seed until I felt finally his last dying strokes, after which I expected to turn over and see his entire body shrunk to the size of a mouse by how much he released into me.
For a moment time stopped, the world stopped, the air stopped, all waited in anticipation. Our breath stopped, we were frozen, him still very hard and very deep inside me and in that single moment I had a final orgasm, unaware i had anything left but there it was, in all its body-wracking glory making me grip his penis so hard I heard him squeal, after which he softened and flopped out, along with a substantial amount of sticky white.
If I wasn’t already lying down I’d have collapsed, I did so inside, while he rolled onto his back beside me breathing so avariciously you’d think he’d been deprived of air for weeks. I was a mess, he was a mess. I couldn’t move from that position for ages, my body wouldn’t cooperate. I floated, dizzyingly so, almost out-of-body. I watched myself a brief moment, bare ass, face down, sweaty thighs, cum trickling out of me, and him, staring blankly with a huge grin and an appendage now substantially reduced in fieriness, volume and mass.
I had to laugh just at that moment. How ridiculous we would look to anyone else. How primal it had been and felt, from beginning to end. Now, all I needed to do was to find my legs, remember how to make them work and get to the bathroom without leaving a trail of his cum which seemed to still be trickling from me.
I may have to wear this little black dress again sometime soon, very soon.