Catching Star

I couldn’t have missed the show. Star Leight was one of my favorite female vocalists of all time. Her leggy, dead-eyed stance gave me more than a few chills down my spine every time I watched one of her music videos.

Deedee, my best friend, resident blond super tramp and expert ball-crusher bounced in place, her boobs sproinging up and down after she’d stilled.

“So do you think we can get close?” She fluttered her eyes and I knew what was coming. “I just want to get close enough to see Jason.”

Jason was the bass player for Starlight, a funny little play on Star’s name. I shrugged and slid my fingers under my bra strap to make sure my shoulder tattoo showed. It was a pretty bluebird—custom work, done from a flash I’d picked out off the wall. Only mine had a skull head. The breast of the bird was almost the same color as my dark auburn curls, which I had pulled up off my neck in a large clip to show off my body art. Complicated, I wanted the ink to scream. Maybe I was complicated or maybe I was just like everybody else in the stadium.

We’d bought ground-floor tickets solely for the advantage of fighting and clawing our way to the stage because if we were up in the balcony seats, that wasn’t an option. Plus, heights scared the shit out of me.

People queued for what looked like a quarter of a mile, only to have to push and shove their way through the corridors of the building and secure their place for the remainder of the evening. The stadium was buzzing with anticipation and the noise nearly drowned out the opening act. A bear on a unicycle juggling bowling pins might have gotten a better reaction because they were crap. Deedee said about the same in my ear and we giggled together as we slipped through the crowd, and around sweating, heaving men and women, who in all their shortness obviously were about to miss the show because the tour didn’t supply ladders. Not me. I was five-foot-nine-inches and with the suede platform boots I was rocking, about six feet even. Not that I’d be mistaken for a man. Any man who could honestly look at me with my size C-cup tits, workout-toned little ass and curvaceous hips, and still try and tell me I was a man could get a size nine in the crotch.

Our sly approach toward the stage was thwarted as the crowd pressed in, packed tight. Our hot, damp flesh rubbed against each other  about twelve feet away from the stage. So close, yet so far away.

The lights dimmed as the noise orchestra of what the fuck gathered their stage dressing in shame after a lukewarm reception. Drums kicked in—steady, methodical. It was a rally for the audience and Deedee and I joined the chorus of voices screaming Star’s name.

The drums stopped, casting us all into stunned silence. A single spotlight switched on and I realized Star was standing right there, twelve feet away, clasping a wireless microphone to her chest like a wounded bird.

Deedee screamed and bounced, jumping up and down to see better, when a six-foot-or better idiot male positioned himself dead center. Star serenaded us as my wrath grew for the moron who stood in our way. He turned to look at me, and it occurred to me that among the cheering, Deedee had identified him as a ‘douchebag asshole’ and was more than not about to plant a pointy-toed knee-high boot up his gargantuan ass.

“Move, dipshit!” Deedee glared at him and gave him the finger, her cigarette neatly tucked between her first and offensive digit. Our target of fury growled something in return, but blessedly moved and I was entreated to Star’s goddess-like presence, face to face, for the very first time.

She was smaller than I imagined, possibly five-and-a-half feet or so, but with the stage elevated, I was looking up and she was looking into infinity, or so it seemed. She mouthed the words to songs that I’d played over and over in my own private space and I let myself be sucked into her spell.

Do you want to take me home, she trilled, reaching eargasmic heights and limit, and I couldn’t help but smile. She was sunshine on water, a lollipop in the mouth, but in the ears, syrupy-sweet and I followed her every move with my eyes as she prowled the stage. Stage lighting danced off the sequins in her corset. Her hair was short, shining, and covered one eye. It was black then revealed a blue sheen as the spotlights swept over her.

What was it like to be her? To be with her? I closed my eyes and swayed to the music, barely feeling Deedee bump against my shoulder from time to time as she joined the personal dance. Hands pushed into my back and by the time I opened my eyes, I was pinned against the stage barrier. I looked up and there was Star, beckoning me with one pearly, manicured fingernail.

“Come on up, luv,” she said, and reached for me. Strong arms lifted me up into hers and in a flash, I stood next to her on weak knees, heart thundering, feeling hers match most likely from the vigorous dance moves.

“We’re going to sing the next song for…” She leaned into me. “What is your name, luv?”

“Sandra,” I managed to squeak, “Cassandra.”

She gave a wry smile. “Cassandra, then. Right.” Her azure eyes swept the audience. Vinyl banners waved with her likeness and hand-drawn hearts next to her name. Someone called out her name. Another called out mine. Deedee, of course.

“This next song is for Cassandra here.” She nearly whispered into her microphone. “It didn’t have a name before tonight. With Cassandra’s blessing, I’m going to name it after her.”

I drifted on the scent of jasmine and musk, laced with human sweat. Up that close, I could see perspiration dotting her lashes and streaming down her sculpted cheeks. Her body pressed to mine was damp, her grip around my waist firm and undeniable. Her eyeliner was smudged, just so and our breaths mingled as she sang the song that now bore my name.

I blinked, breaking the spell as she released me and I almost fell to my knees; her grasp had been that strong. I wavered, unsure if she was through with me but as she concluded her song, she stalked back over to me and pinched my chin between her fingers to brush her lips against mine. My insides shivered, and my pussy clenched on nothing, desperate for cock, fingers, or tongue. Was she leading me on?

“Wait for me,” she purred in my ear, away from the mic, so the crowd couldn’t hear. A sneaky wink and she whirled around again to dive into the next number. My pulse thudded in my ears and I stood there, feeling naked, hot and wanting.

When the show was over, the lights went out like a giant switch had been thrown, dowsing the audience in darkness. Still, they cheered and chanted her name but I couldn’t pay them much attention because her fingers were in my hair, tugging at the roots, destroying the hour of careful work I’d put in it to be…here.

Her mouth covered mine as she stole my breath. A slight tinkle of silver bracelets as her fingers traced the curve of my neck.

“I hope you don’t mind.” She grinned with perfect, white teeth before biting my bottom lip. “I’d like you to stay—come with me.” She gestured with a nod of her head. “Backstage. My room. Anywhere.”

“W-Why?” I stammered, glancing down at our fingers now laced together. She grazed my nipple through the thin fabric of my tunic, black, somewhat sheer—through the flimsy bra I wore, awakening my senses in ways males never quite had.

She laughed, and even that was musical. “Why? Why you? Must you ask?” She kissed me hard, backing me into the nearest wall. “You mustn’t ask why. Only how. When. Now.”

She took my wrist and laid my hand over her breast, kissing me again and my fingers squeezed the firm flesh. I moaned against her cheek. “God.”

Star pushed away from me without warning, tugging me behind her as if on a leash with a vice-like grip on my arm. I stumbled behind her as we navigated the labyrinth of the backstage. But we weren’t to stop there. We broke through the partying crowd to free air at the exit, a simple pair of beige doors and beyond that, the cool night air. I caught a cursory glance of Deedee chatting up the bassist as he leaned against the tour bus, which was where Star apparently intended for us to end up at.

“Tell me it’s all right.” Star grinned without answer, opened the door to the massive machine and motioned for me to step up and inside.

I turned to her as she came up behind me, her arms hot against my skin. “It’s all right.”

“Quite sure?” Star reached into the half-sized refrigerator and pulled out an opened bottle of sparkling wine. After pouring us both an overflowing, fizzy glass, she rolled the cold bottle over my shirt, chilling my breasts as she engulfed me in a heated kiss.

Her lips and tongue tasted of champagne and honey, though I didn’t know why, only that I liked it. Her flesh against mine felt right—real as we undressed one another there on her bus.

Her mouth was everywhere—on my nipples, my tits, my belly, and when she pushed me into the back room and onto what I could only assume was her bed, my pulsing clit.

I rose up under her, tilting my hips enough for her to scrape her teeth against the tender flesh and she locked her dark blue gaze with mine. The chain around her neck tickled the insides of my thighs and I threw my head back on the duvet, helpless to avoid responding loudly to her advances. I arched my back and wrapped my legs around her, clutching the bedcover. She thrust her fingers into my cunt and moved them in and out, her hot tongue sucking on my clit. She was French-kissing my pussy and when I looked down at her again and she lifted from her slurping to grin at me I laughed good-naturedly at her slick cheeks.

“Do your fans often?” My words rushed out and I reached for her shoulders, her face and hair as if to convince myself this was really real, that my idol was currently knuckle-deep in me, and was slithering up my body with little bites and licks.

She smiled and kissed me, her words sharp against my lips. “Do you want to know?”

I shook my head and she glanced up. “Scoot up.”

I did as requested and she pumped my pussy with her fingers until a deep groan escaped despite my attempts to stay quiet. “Fuck. Oh God.”

“Fuck,” she echoed and kissed along my jaw as my orgasm rose between us, a state of near-unconsciousness as my vision grayed from the rush of spiked endorphins. I was reasoning the moment. I needed to stop. I was fucking a stranger. A girl and…

She pulled her fingers out and licked them clean of my come before guiding my hand between her thighs.

“I don’t know what to do,” I whispered in her ear and she looked at me.

“Yes you do. Feel.”

She was so wet. Hot. Fuck. I bit my own lip and slid my fingers into her, massaging her clit with my thumb. She dipped her breasts to touch mine and her eyes fluttered shut.

“That’s it, luv. More.”

She thrust her hips as if she was a man, or I was a man, and she was riding a cock, or perhaps she’d never ridden one, I didn’t know. Her insides were slippery, felt like velvet and clasped around my fingers. A pre-orgasm thrill raced through my body and I thrust up into her, pumping her with my fingers much like she’d done with me. Her mouth dropped open and soft moans deepened into low groans as her come trickled over my hand. We crashed together into a hard kiss, teeth nipping tongues as she positioned herself asymmetrical between my thighs, one of her legs on the outside of mine while the other knee pressed against my aching cunt.

She dragged her tongue from my collar bone to my neck and pushed into me with all her weight in a rhythm like she was a man and was fucking me. The pressure against my clit was incredible and I clawed at the backs of her arms, desperate to cling to anything as she shoved me over the edge into another orgasm, our cries mingling in primal harmony as we came together. I no longer questioned what I felt because it was amazing—l light bursting through clouds of sexual repression.

She laid her head on my chest, her ribs heaving, breath sawing in and out of us as we stopped. Slowly, she slid to my side and we held one another.

“Did you enjoy the show?” She smirked and rubbed her nose against mine.

I nodded. “One hell of an after show performance.”

Star giggled and rolled onto her back, her gaze trained on the ceiling. “Thank you for the inspiration.”

“Is that why you chose me?”

She sighed. “You reminded me of me, for some odd reason.”

We rose from the bed to resume work on the wine, settling in the booth together, naked and not caring. I’d caught a star, although she wasn’t quite the twinkling sort I’d wished on as a child. She was more.

~~*~~

~ Annice Sands ~

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Copyright © 2012 Annice Sands

All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.

Flight Paths

We met at the check-in stand at the airport. She was one of those ladies I could tell had been pampered her whole life and I was just a plate tectonics engineer on the way to my next assignment. She turned to leave the station and our eyes met for just the briefest of moments, hers a gorgeous shade of icy blue. Full, pouty lips parted as she blew breath, as if frustrated. A muttered curse, layered by an accent. Around her slender neck, a string of pearls. I smirked and her eyes widened, as if she realized we’d been gazing at one another before she whipped her head in another direction. In a blur of expensive navy blue linen dress and brass buttons, she was gone. 

Fate would have it that we sat directly across from one another on the same flight with the narrow aisle separating us. I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye, not sure what had her so flustered. Sure, I hadn’t shaved in a week and my clothes were wrinkled, but she didn’t have to judge a man for it. Besides, I’d showered that day. I enjoyed my showers, the only sort of relaxation a man in my particular field could get. But my work was lonely at times, had been ever since I’d left the service. Probably before that. I didn’t remember. The long, jagged scar on my right calf was reminder enough. 

The flight itself was uneventful. My row mate, probably somebody’s grandmother, didn’t do much more than hog the window, block it with her pillow and eventually snore softly. After a while, her copy of Martha Stewart’s latest magazine slipped from her hands to the floor. Bored, I took to watching Miss Navy across the way without her knowing, which was a challenge because she seemed to sense it at times. She’d snap her gaze to me and I’d suddenly find the air vent interesting or fiddle with my seat. The source of my entertainment caught the stewardess’s attention on her next pass to whisper something in her ear. 

The flight attendant turned to me and leaned down to where I could only hear. 

“The lady on the other side of me says your constant staring is making her uncomfortable.”

I opened my mouth to object but she put a finger to my lips with a smile. “I suggest you find something else to occupy your attention.”

I was more shocked than anything else and nodded slowly. Chastised, I scowled at the back of the seat in front of me for the remainder of the flight. When the plane arrived at our destination, I didn’t wait for her to step out first but reached in the overhead compartment, dragged out my battered backpack and stomped out of the plane.

In the terminal, I stopped at the display to see when my connecting flight was supposed to take off. In place of numbers, only the word “delayed” showed. I groaned and started when I heard a small sigh to my left—Miss Navy, as I’d named the fancy woman that ended up everywhere I was that day. 

“You again? I’d think you’d steer clear of me after the shit you pulled on the plane.” I didn’t look at her.

“It would appear that I’ve been repaid for my discourtesy, sir. My flight has been delayed.”

“Three thirty-nine?” I turned and met her cool blue gaze again.

She glanced down at her ticket, as if to make sure she hadn’t been mistaken. “That would be the one. Looks as if I won’t be there in time for tea.”

“Tea, ma’am?” Of course. Her accent, which I could only assume was British.

A small furrow appeared between her perfect arched brows. “Mind your business. Perhaps an alternative?” She gestured towards the ticket counter and we walked over together. A skinny kid with an equally thin tie was manning the station.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Montgomery. The best the airline can do is promise to get you on a flight tomorrow evening.” 

The ticket clerk didn’t sound or look sorry, but an ice storm had detained the pilot and the Northerner was expected to blow over in twenty-four hours. No other airline had a connection to the small airport, which I already knew and why I had chosen the airline I did.

I called my boss while I watched her stand ramrod straight at the counter and ask the exact same questions I’d just asked. I shook my head. Stubborn woman. But damn, she was gorgeous. I ended my call and waited for Miss Navy to be given the same grim news. What did she want with Tennessee anyway?

She came back, looking pretty crestfallen, so I offered to buy her a drink. She took one longing glance back at the display then looked at the floor and gave assent. 

The bar at the airport was packed, with nothing left but standing room, so I called a cab to take us someplace else. The frustration at being so close to her light, rosy scent was getting to me so I told the driver anywhere nearby. That’s how we came to stand in the parking lot of The Flight Path Gentlemen’s Club. 

“Now, you sure you’re okay with this.” I glanced at her at my side. She held her chin high and eyed me.

“Of course I am.”

“You do know what a gentlemen’s club is, right?” I held the door open for her and she walked in before me. The look on her face as she took in the place told me she very plainly had no fucking idea. I couldn’t tell if it was the neon, but a deep blush seemed to creep up her cheeks and she dropped her gaze to the ground. 

Our waitress came up with platform heels and suspenders which pretty much made up her costume. “Sit anywhere you like,” she said with a wink. I grinned at her but stopped short when Miss Navy clutched my arm.

“I’ve heard about places such as these,” she said over the Poison track blaring out of unseen speakers and looked around. We made our way through the fairly dark club and Miss Navy selected a table farthest from the stage.

She sipped champagne. It was expensive, sure, but I could afford it. I didn’t think she knew I could. I guess she was used to being able to read people.

“You never told me your name.” I tossed back another shot of whiskey.

“Elizabeth Young, and yours?”

I smirked. “You can just call me Grant.”

“You’re a strange man, Mr. Montgomery.”

By the time we finished in there, Elizabeth had definitely loosened up a bit. After two glasses of champagne, she laughed for the first time since we’d met. Further talk revealed a woman pent up under societal expectations.

We rented rooms in the same hotel so we could get rest. Fresh from the shower, I had just wrapped a towel around my waist when a timid tap sounded at my door. Not thinking much of it, I answered the door.

Elizabeth stood there in wait, face flushed like she was frustrated over something. I grinned at her.

“Well this is a surprise, Mrs. Young.”

“It’s only ‘Miss’.” She scanned the room behind me then met my gaze. “It’s a bit of an embarrassment, really.” Her bottom lip rolled out in a bigger pout. “My zipper appears to be jammed.”

I opened the door wider to let her in then closed it behind us. “The zipper on your dress? What about the buttons on front?”

She shrugged. “Merely decoration.”

Which meant she was wearing one of those sheath-style dresses that if the zipper didn’t work, it’d be hell getting out of it. 

 “Well, let me look at it.” I turned her around and she lifted up her hair to expose her nape and, more importantly, the broken zipper. “This dress important to you for any reason?”

“No, why?”

I answered her by pulling the teeth of the zipper apart, jerking up the pull then forcing it back down. “Because you’re gonna need another one.”

She buried her face in her hands and her bare shoulders shook. I tore my gaze away from the delicate indentations of her spine. “Are you alright?”

“I’ve been nothing but dreadful to you, Grant, and you’ve been more of a gentleman than most I’ve seen.” A strawberry blond curl drifted over her shoulder.

“I’m just being polite.”

She turned to look at me, clutching her ruined dress to her body. Tears shimmered in her eyes and stained her cheeks. “You’ve been far more than polite. Why?”

I shrugged. “Well, you’re...a lady. A damn pretty one at that and”

Elizabeth closed the distance between us and laid a hand on my chest. Her fingers curled over my skin and I felt a stirring behind my towel. Slowly, I dipped my head to catch her lips with my own, just a brief brush. I blinked.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have.”

She answered me by pulling me down for another kiss, this time with tongue. Her mouth was sweet and her lips incredibly soft. “But you did.”

She let her dress slip from her fingers and fall to the floor around her feet. I took her arm as she stepped out of it. 

“You sure you’re not just a little tipsy there, Miss Young?”

Her gaze was unwavering. “I’m quite sure, Mr. Montgomery.”

We kissed again, equally hungry now that I was confident she wasn’t just drunk and horny. My fingers traced her soft, luxuriant skin as I nuzzled her neck and the source of that scent that’d been driving me mad since we’d left the airport.

I dipped my tongue into the hollow at the base of her throat, lifting her pearls with two fingers. Her hands drifted to my sides with a light touch and loosened my towel, which joined her dress on the floor.

“Now why,” I said as I dotted kisses up her neck and along her jaw, “would a lady like you be interested in somebody like me?”

Her eyes were closed but fluttering. Her breath was hot against my chest. I was unsure of how to proceed or even if I should. I flicked my tongue over her earlobe. “Tell me, Miss Young.”

Her lips parted slightly and her tongue darted over them before she opened her eyes. “Must there be a reason for everything?”

Our mouths collided in a hard kiss and we nipped at each other’s lips. I didn’t need to answer her. Her fingers dug into my cheeks as she bit my tongue gently, those blue eyes never leaving mine. She gripped my hair and licked my neck before unfastening her bra. I licked my lip as her breasts came into full view for the first time, perky. Fucking beautiful.

“You taste like nothing I’ve ever tasted before.” Her fingers slid down the back of my neck before resting her hand on my shoulder. “Wild. Free.”

I raised my eyebrows. “You’re describing me or a mustang out in the desert?”

“Just shut up and make love to me.”

I backed her towards my still-made bed and we collapsed together with me on top. I rolled one of her pink nipples my fingers as I sucked the other. She tasted like vanilla, or cotton candy, I couldn’t decide which. Her skin was perfect, smooth. I tugged at her nipple with my teeth and she arched her back underneath me. Her breasts weren’t big or small, palm-sized and just more perfection. I slid my hand down her side and shoved her little light blue panties down over one hip, following the motion with my tongue down the center of her flat belly. How old was she? Where did she come from? My cock was rock hard, anticipating that first thrust inside her. 

I kissed beside her navel and pushed my thumb into her pretty trimmed pussy, which incidentally matched the hair on her head. She was definitely a lady and it was hard not to feel like I was violating some unwritten code of conduct. She gasped and bit her lip as I stroked her slowly, still planting kisses along her body, down to her thigh. Her pussy looked too good to pass up so I removed my thumb and put my tongue there instead to dip into her sweet honey taste, causing her to whimper loudly. Her fingers clutched at the bedspread, white-knuckled. I raised my head to catch her watching me intently. 

“Don’t stop,” she whispered.

I plunged my tongue deep as I could into her and shook my head side to side, knowing damn well what a little soft face scruff could do. She gasped and writhed beneath me, pushing my face into her pretty little cunt with a determination that continued to drive me farther toward the edge. I lowered my body along her legs, feeling the silky brush of her calf against my raging erection and groaned into her. She echoed my sound and threw her head back. Her pussy clenched as I slurped at it, pumping two fingers in and out for extra sensation. She cried out as she came and that throaty sound was a siren’s call. I dragged my tongue back up her belly and to her mouth as I thrust deep inside her. 

Fuck, her pussy was tight and hot like a Texas summer, making me growl into her neck as I rocked us with my strokes. She drew her nails up and down my back in erratic movements as we dissolved into a series of grunts and moans, with our bodies moving together being the only louder sound. She was so wet and her hungry little nips on my shoulder inched me further into mind-blazing oblivion. Every kiss, every breath was flame on my skin. Sweat slid between us as she rolled her hips and met my thrusts with movements of her own. My breath felt like Mojave wind sawing in and out of my burning lungs. I didn’t want it to end. I wanted to stay wrapped up inside her velvet cunt for as long as I could. I rolled us over so she was on top of me. She squeaked as her own weight impaled her on my dick and looked at me with wide eyes. 

“Dear God!” She moaned and rocked back and forth on me, rubbing her pussy against my pubic bone while my cock filled her. 

I smirked and bucked up into her, making her cry out again. I palmed her breasts as she rode me, slow at first but increasing in speed as she came closer to orgasm. Her pussy clamped around my cock again and again and I nearly bent double, it felt so amazing. My balls tightened and I gritted my teeth, determined to keep it going just a little more. Waves of pleasure thundered through me and I shivered. The sight of her bouncing on my cock was more than I could bear. I could’ve launched her through the ceiling with the pressure behind my release. My dick jerked and pulsed inside her and her pussy answered it with a constriction that left me light-headed. We finished together, as if on cue. She clasped her hands with mine as she shifted her hips on me a few last times, milking me dry. I panted like a driven racehorse as she lay on my chest. 

“Tell me, Grant...”

I blinked and stroked her back, liking the tingling in my cheeks. “Hm?”

“What exactly is it that you do? For your work, I mean.”

I licked my lips. “I help study the movements of the earth.”

Elizabeth let out a girlish giggle and I pulled her up. “What’s so funny?”

She shook her head and lay down on me again. “I find humor in the fact that you seem to make the earth move on your own.”

We slept together, spooned in my bed that night and the next day until she received confirmation that she had secured a new flight. She didn’t want to tell me much about herself or where she was going but as we parted ways back at the terminal, she kissed my lips and smiled. 

“Perhaps someday our flight paths might cross again.”

Look for Annice’s next short story in November 2012!

~~*~~

~ Annice Sands ~

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Copyright © 2012 Annice Sands

All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.

Perfection

 Content Advisory - A one night stand to remember - M/F intercourse




I was twenty-four-years old when I found the perfect cock. At the time I didn’t realize it; hind sight is a wonderful thing. Little was I to know, the appendage I met one balmy summer evening in London-town, would be the epitome of its kind; the standard I would hold all other members up to, for the rest of my sexual years. Had I suspected the fact I would never again come across (on or against!) a penis of such magnificence, I may well have taken better note of the man attached to it.


It started innocently enough one hot August afternoon. Deskbound, my fingers flew over the keyboard, my boss’s disembodied voice droning direct into my ears via the Dictaphone headset. Outside my window, it was one of those rare, magical cloudless days, where the sun shone its benevolence upon the pasty faces of working convicts, who had escaped the walls of their workplaces.


Mid-afternoon, a quick inter-office e-mail and a furtive group text called for a massing of like-minded souls in the garden-bar closest to the office. Well, “garden bar” was a euphemistic term for a pub with a few tables outside, but in the back streets of Covent Garden, beggars couldn’t be choosers.
A quick glass of chilled Savvy in the sunshine, turned into a quick couple of bottles by the time the sun went down.


It was an evening for that rare hedonistic breed: young professionals with no commitments, no-one to answer to, no-one to be responsible for. People who could happily ignore the past and future and seize the present with all the passion it deserved.
As the wine went down, the ashtrays filled up and the surrounds of the bar began to sound more like a barnyard with the hysterical cackling of women and the boozed up bellowing of blokes - the alcohol loosening tongues and inhibitions.


“Shots!” I cried, and the crowd threw back the last of the Savvy and aimed their intentions at the top shelf. The blaze of the tequila burned a trail down my throat, igniting a fire of enthusiasm in my belly, jet propelling me toward the dance-floor. I became part of the heaving throng. Strobe lights flashed over thrashing arms and legs; shoulders shimmied and pelvises gyrated as each dancer abandoned themselves to the pure joy of moving.


Entranced on the dance-floor, I’d not noticed the departure of my colleagues or friends until the harsh fluorescent house lights were flicked on with brutal efficiency at the end of the last song. Squinting against the startling brightness, my ears ringing in the unexpected quiet of the emptying bar, I blundered back to where I’d stashed my bag and coat, scanning the space for a familiar face.


Unlike me, all my mates had remembered that the penalty of missing the last tube home is either an extortionate cab fare or the ignominy of a night-bus ride into the suburbs with all the other late night degenerates - neither a particularly appealing mid-week option for a girl on her own. Chewing my bottom lip, I weighed up my options.


“Hey Lucy.” Swiveling toward the voice, I regarded a guy shrugging his way into a suit jacket. “Looks like we were abandoned.” I blinked owlishly at him, frantically trying to put a name to the unfamiliar face. He was taller than me, with a mop of dance-tousled brown hair. His coffee colored eyes twinkled, sensing my anxiety. “I’m Sam, Ben’s mate – we met outside, earlier…” His voice tapered off as he gave my mental faculties time to catch up and remember the encounter.


“Oh God, of course!” I threw him a bright smile, belying the fact that despite desperately straining my brain, I’d absolutely no recollection of meeting him. I wasn’t even sure who our mutual mate Ben was meant to be either. “Great night, eh?”


He threw me a rueful grin. “Yeah, but I suspect tomorrow morning, I won’t be thinking so.”


“Tell me about it. I’ve still gotta get to Wimbledon. I spent my cab fare on tequila shots,” I grimaced. “Seemed like a brilliant idea at the time but now I’ve gotta try and track down a night bus.” Abandoning the damp heat of the bar for the cooler air outside, I panned my gaze up and down the road. “Which way to Leicester Square do you think?”


“That way.” He tilted his head to the left. “But…” he hesitated. “My flat is only a couple of minutes away. You’re more than welcome to crash and catch the first Tube in the morning if that’s easier.” His hands were thrust deep in his pockets, his gazed fixed on me.


I was by no means naïve. I knew accepting his proposal would mean putting out. I wasn’t generally in the habit of heading home with strange men, but then again nor was I a puritan. He knew Ben – I just wished I could remember who the hell Ben was. Weighing up the options of “ride on bus” versus “ride on bloke” decided the matter in a nanosecond. Fluttering my eyelashes in mock coquettishness, I accepted his invitation with alacrity. He crooked his elbow and sliding my arm into the gap, the two of us ambled up the street, heading toward Soho.


We strolled in companionable silence. Wending our way through the grimy narrow back streets of the West End, I wrinkled my nose at the overpowering aroma of stale urine and fetid wheelie bins – the familiar stench of too much humanity, squashed into too small a space. The thoroughfares were still teeming with people, despite the lateness of hour – the underbelly of London’s populace, who slithered out under the cover of darkness: the sex-workers, the drug dealers and those seeking to purchase their wares. And then there were the people like us - those falling out of pubs and clubs, and into dodgy kebab houses or chip shops to assuage booze fuelled hunger. Others paired off, racing to find a place of privacy to subdue hungers of a different kind.


I leaned against Sam’s solidness, steadying myself against the forces of tipsiness and high heels on cobblestones. I hadn’t started the evening looking for a shag but now there was almost definitely one on the cards, the butterflies of nervous anticipation fluttered low in my belly.


“Here we are,” he said stopping beside a non-descript door jammed between two cafes which opened up into a steep set of stairs. Our footfalls echoed in the narrow stairwell as we tromped up two flights. With a jingle of keys and the creak of a door in desperate need of oil, we entered the gloomy interior of Sam’s flat. He flicked on a light, revealing a small but tidy living area, boasting a battered leather sofa and a large TV. The heat of the day, trapped within the confines of the shut up flat, promptly assaulted the two of us as we stepped through the entrance.


“Jesus, it’s as hot as hell in here,” Sam commented, ripping off his jacket and launching himself at the lounge windows. He threw them wide open in a vain attempt to catch a passing breeze. “In summer we swelter, in winter we freeze, but the rent’s reasonable and the location’s amazing.” He threw me an apologetic look.


“We?” I asked, peeling off my own jacket, stepping out of my heels and falling onto the couch.


“Oh, me and my flat-mate Nick. He’s at some sort work conference up in Manchester.” He hesitated for a moment and added, “Actually, he’s the one who’s great pals with Ben – they went to school together.”


I smiled weakly. Ben? Ben? Who the hell is Ben? Evil, evil tequila!


“Can I get you a drink of something?”


“Water would probably be a good idea – I’m already scared about how I’m gonna feel tomorrow,” I giggled.


“A sensible idea, Madam. Your wish is my command.” He gave a mock bow and exited through a door. Hearing the rush of water splashing into glasses, I guessed the door led to the kitchen. Reappearing, Sam handed me a tumbler of water, which I dispatched with almost indelicate haste. His lips quirked with amusement as he sat beside me on the sofa. I caught a spicy waft of aftershave as he reached for my empty glass and placed it on the floor.


“I was thirsty.”


“I could see that.”


His gaze locked with mine and an awkward silence stretched between us. I swallowed, trying to squash my nerves, unsure of what to do next. My heartbeat was bumping along at a much greater rate of knots than normal. Sam placed a hand on my leg, his forefinger tracing a lazy circle against my thigh. Prickles of anticipation raced from the point of contact, all over my body. I swear my heart skipped a beat or two.


“Come here,” he said, his voice low. “Let me kiss you.” Sliding closer to him, a warm arm skimmed behind my back, pulling me close. I focused on his full lips, my own parting slightly in anticipation of contact. At first he was tentative. Moving gently, testing the waters, seeing how much I could take – how much I would take. My senses were full of the spice of his cologne and the faint hint of beer and cigarettes.


I lost myself in the magic of that first kiss, my breathing deepening as I pushed up harder against his torso. My hands drifted up the side of his neck and into his hair, hauling him deeper into the kiss. A small moan bubbled from my throat. Thrusting my tongue deep into his mouth, I parried with him, urging him on. Needing no further encouragement, he lowered me down on the couch, his kisses bruising. Slipping lower, he nipped at the contours of my chin and neck, drawing shivers of delicious pleasure. Now I couldn’t hold the low moans escaping my lips.


The firm jut of his cock pressed hard up against my sex and I rolled my hips against him, trying to work up some friction. His eyes flew open and he paused, hovering above me.


“If you keep that up, things won’t last too long,” he said, his voice husky.


“Should we slow things down?” The wobble in my voice betrayed the intensity of my arousal.


“No fucking way. Let’s go for gold.” And with that he ground himself hard against my centre, the roughness abrading my clit, jolting my whole being with electric pleasure. Now his hands were everywhere. Pulling the tie on the side of my wrap dress, unwrapping me with the frenzy of an over-eager child on Christmas morning. Yanking down the cups of my bra, he exposed my already pebbled nipples to the intensity of his gaze and then imprisoned one within the hot, wet depths of his mouth. I arched into his mouth, holding his head as he suckled and swirled his tongue around the sensitized tip.


All the while our hips were fused. My legs spread wide, his cradled between them, dry-humping. Our pelvises moved with a will of their own, hell-bent on seeking release – frustrated and turned on in equal measures by the fabric rucked up between us. The irritation of the clothing proved too much and with a muffled oath, Sam pulled himself off me and sat up.


“Let’s lose the clothes, okay?” Nodding my agreement, I pulled off my dress and unsnapped my bra. Sighing as my breasts bounced free of their confines, I glanced up to see Sam doing a rapid shedding of his own clothing. His shirt, already a puddle on the floor, was hastily joined by his suit pants and a pair of boxers that had been being doing a very bad job of restraining his erection. And Holy Mother of God, what an erection it was. He stood before me completely unabashed, his rod standing proud from a thatch of dark hair trailing up to his navel. I‘d met the perfect cock.


It wasn’t the longest penis I’d ever seen but it certainly was the thickest. My eyes boggled and my lips opened in a slight moue of amazement as I reached out to touch it.


“It’s beautiful,” I murmured. Sam groaned as the softness of my fingers grazed the velvety heat of his shaft and he couldn’t control the jerk of his hips.


“Oh, God no –I’ve go to put it in you, Honey.” His pupils were dilated. His plea needy.


I felt a rush of wetness between my legs, soaking my knickers and I knew without out a doubt, all I wanted was him. Inside me. Now. Hooking my fingers into the side of my panties, I leaned over to take them off. In a flash he was behind me, while I was still bent. His hands cupping the weight of my breasts - his forefingers and thumbs, rolling my nipples. Leaning back into him, the heat of his body scalding me, I whimpered my pleasure.


Kneading my breasts and kissing the back of my neck, he maneuvered me to the back of the sofa, where he draped me gently forward over the leather – its smoothness, cool against my bare stomach. My ass was up in the air, my legs spread wide, trembling slightly, waiting for him to push into me. Grasping himself by the base of that beautiful dick, he bent his own knees and rubbed the blunt head up and down my pussy lips, coating himself in my juices. My groan of yearning was guttural and primal.


“Now Sam, right now. I want you inside me.”


I’d never been a great fan of Hokey Tokey sex. You know the kind “in-out-in-out-shake-it-all-about” sex. Usually, I was all about foreplay and taking time. But on this occasion “in-out-in-out” was all I wanted. Feeling every ridge of him as he pushed his thick girth into my wet depths was breathtaking. But even better was when he drew himself back, right out to the flared mushroom head, before plunging back in again. The wet sounds of our coupling and the rasping of our breath bounced around the walls and out the wide open windows, into street below.


Pushing my shoulder, he bent me even further over the back of the sofa, changing the angle of penetration. Now with each glide of his member he was hitting a sweet spot deep within me, a spot that no-one had ever managed to hit before. With each thrust, my need ratcheted up another notch. With each ragged inhale, I slammed my ass back at him, trying to catch that elusive promise of bliss and not quite getting there.


“Harder,” I bit out, glancing back over my shoulder. Holding nothing back Sam slammed his cock deep, his balls slapping up against my pussy, pushing me high up on to my toes. Again and again, he pistoned in and out. I grunted my enjoyment with each and every thrust. And with each sweep over that magic spot deep within me, I knew with impending certainty, this was going to be pleasure on a scale I’d never experienced before. I writhed and snaked under Sam like a mad woman, urging him on, mentally and physically grasping for release.


When my orgasm came, it overwhelmed me. Starting at my curled up toes and exploding right through my central nervous system like an electrical storm. My sheath clamped and pulsed around the width of him, with a life force of its own. I screamed. I wailed. I moaned. And finally I collapsed into a twitching comatose heap.


I assumed Sam came too. But the truth was after my own universe altering orgasm –I passed out.


It was the dry horrors that dragged me into consciousness the next morning. Sam lay sprawled over the bed, his face calm in sleep. Wanting to avoid the awkward morning after small talk, I slid from between the sheets. I guessed Sam had put me there, as I’d no recollection of getting there under my own steam. Gathering together my crumpled clothing, I dressed, headed into the kitchen and chugged back a couple of glasses of water. Using pen and paper found on the counter I scrawled a quick note: – ‘Thanks for saving me from the night bus. I had a fabulous time. Lucy x’


As I clattered my way over the cobbles toward the Tube station, I drew the coolness of the morning air deep into my lungs. It was obvious to anyone who cared to look at my wrinkled clothes, flat hair and smudged make up, I was doing the Walk of Shame. But I didn’t care. Each and every one of my muscles ached in a decadently delicious way, indicating I’d been subject to a night of the greatest carnal pleasure, and I shivered at the memory of it.


As is the way with most spontaneous drunken hook ups in big cities, I never caught up with Sam or his perfect cock again. Nor could I ever did work out who our mysterious mutual friend Ben was.




Being a practical sort of girl, I have never lamented Sam as a conquest that got away. Rather I have viewed him and his super shlong as one’s of fate’s gifts to those of us who are willing give themselves to spontaneity. Although, I have to admit, I can’t help but raise a quiet mental toast to him every time I drink tequila.




Join Greta here again on 19 May 2011 for another encounter of the erotic kind.




Greta has just released Erotic Liaisions - an e-book of six sexy short stories to tempt, tease and titillate.  Get your copy at Barnes & Nobel
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Copyright © 2011 Greta Goddard

All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.

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