Hen Party Interlude

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Your friend nudges you in the ribs. You glance at her to see her staring at the front door of the bar. Your breath catches a little as you see me standing in the entrance, head and shoulders above anyone else, casting my eyes around. Our eyes lock. I start striding towards you, pushing effortlessly through the crush of people.

You turn your back on the rest of the hen party as I arrive at your side, and you look up, up, up into my eyes. The fingers of your left hand intertwine with my right, and I swing it round your back and press you into me. You tilt your head to one side as I bring my free hand up to the nape of your neck and we kiss. Slowly at first, gently, then more urgently my tongue enters your mouth and yours mine, intertwining.

We break off for a deep breath and I cast my eyes around the periphery of the bar. Spotting a doorway that might lead to privacy, we start threading through the crowded bar, though the pulsating music, through the shouted conversations, me in the lead, our hands locked together. In the clearer space near the door I pull you in tight and wrap my arm tightly around your waist, my hand on your hip, and we crash through the door.

We ignore the chorus of squeals from the line of women washing their hands, fixing their makeup, standing talking. The door shuts behind us muffling the oppressive beat of the music, but we’re already striding across the bathroom floor, trying door after door until the last door in the line swings open and we enter. We are already kissing again as ataşehir escort bayan I slide the bolt across, with none of the tentativeness of our previous kiss.

I sit on the seat and you straddle me, your skirts hitched up to your waist, facing me, kissing, our hands caressing, searching, pressing, cupping. My left hand finds the clasp of your bra and twists to open it, as my right is up inside the front of your dress, across your tummy, finding the wire and lifting to hold your breast, my palm brushing the nipple.

Sitting astride me in the cramped confines of the cubicle, you feel the hard bulge behind my zip pressing on your pubis, and you start to slide yourself forwards, backwards, a precursor of the rhythms to come. You feel my hands working around your immaculate body to force your dress higher, exposing your freckle-peppered alabaster breasts fully for the first time. As one hand cups your left, your eyes lift to the ceiling and you let out an involuntary gasp as my lips enclose your areola, my teeth sink into the base of the rock-hard nipple, my tongue flicking the tip.

Seconds pass, hours maybe, and you can stand it no longer. You stand and bend to unbuckle my belt, open the button, pull down the zip. My cock bursts free as your expert hands wrest it free from its final layer, hitting you on the cheek. It’s my turn to gasp as your mouth closes around the tip, the tips of your teeth glancing along the shaft as you pump your head once, twice, deeper. Impossibly it seems to have escort kadıköy gotten harder in your expert care.

You step up and back, unzip your dress and let it fall to the floor with your bra entangled. You count your blessings you wore stockings as you twist the lace of your knickers to the side, and step forward, remaining standing. I look up into your face, and see your upper lip curled in a sneer of lust as I return my gaze to your expertly trimmed bush. You brace both your hands on my broad shoulders in anticipation of what comes next. Pressing with both thumbs, I expose the inner folds of you, my stiffened tongue first teases then envelopes your clitoris, strumming it rhythmically, momentarily darting to catch some juices from lower down, never straying too long from its task. A minute, no more, and your legs almost give way as you come, waves crashing over you as my mouth teases the last enjoyment from it, a loud “Oooohhh..” escaping your lips. You lean your elbows on the shelf behind me as you recover. You’ve got more work to do. No-one’s finished yet.

Gathering yourself, a deep breath, you look down and find my pulsating cock waiting for you, wanting you, needing you. With a slowness gifted by the hours of squats in gym class, you lower yourself, pausing as my glans stretches upwards to search for your outer lips, finds the opening, then forcefully down onto the shaft, deep, deep inside you. Our breath quickens as you start thrusting yourself up and down, using the full length of the shaft maltepe escort as you find your rhythm, working yourself up and down the pole, feeling every inch inside you.

Unbidden, a moan enters our panting, getting louder with each thrust as the passion, the lust blocks out our surroundings completely. The warm feeling enters your loins, different to before, as the thrusting quickens towards it’s now-inescapable conclusion. One more push, two more, and your limbs shake, their previous strength lost, as you come in waves, rolling over and over, distantly realising that hot feeling within is me, spurting, coming at the same time, together in our ecstasy. You collapse onto me, spent.

Somehow, we both remember to breathe again. My cock, so tight before, slips out, flaccid. Some quick cleaning, you’re almost respectably dressed again, except for the lace knickers, had to be flushed. One more deep, long kiss, my hand searches out yours, and snick! the door is unlocked and we must step back out into the harsh lights and mirrors. A round of applause greets us, two girls you vaguely remember from the bus pause in the middle of their lipstick reapplication, their eyes widening in the mirror as they realise who has been providing the soundtrack.

Giggling to each other, we run to the door and burst back out into the cacophonous bar, still holding hands. We push through the press of people, this time you leading, but our grip gets weaker, our fingers losing contact, and I’m gone, lost in the crowd, back into the night from whence I came. You stop, look back, puzzled. There’s no sign of me. Had I been there at all? Was it all a dream?

Later, leaving the bar with your friends, you realise it was no dream as the cold night reminds you that you are no longer wearing any underwear…

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