Wet Pt. 01

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I see her at a party. It’s dark inside and she’s hard to see with all the flashing colours, but the light is attracted to her skin and her hair, and the way she moves. I’m barely through the door and she’s made an impression on me.

She’s wearing a skimpy little dress, black and shiny with thin shoulder straps, so into the music she’s dancing unselfconsciously, all arms and legs and swirling hair. I try to listen to my friends and concentrate on what they’re saying, but my eyes are drawn away to the dancefloor as she comes and goes and my mind is filled with images – her shoulders, jutting and shaking, and that lovely long neck, jugular showing, the little bumps where her collar bones push at the skin, blonde sheeny hair catching the light and emphasising all of her moves.

I see flashes of glossy red lips, and bright, sharp teeth. I see her shapely thighs changing their look in the strobes as they turn and move with the rhythms, and her deeply sensual body, flaring hips that flow into a just right waist, a little bump for a belly, like she’s just showing the first signs of pregnancy, and these cute little tits jiggling, all hinted at by the dress rather than flaunted. She’s a candle lighting up my imagination. She’s dreamy.

I try everything to get closer, even a trip to the dancefloor. Our eyes meet, once, twice, and I’m looking for sparks, but I can’t read her face. Whenever I try to get closer she merges into the dancing bodies and I can never quite catch up with her. I think she’s with her girlfriends, I haven’t seen a man anywhere near her other than in passing. I give up for the minute and go to get another drink, contenting myself myself with little glances.

I’m worried that she might leave so I keep half an eye on her and get chatting. I get mildly drunk and I’m enjoying myself with a woman called Sarah at the bar. She’s nice, friendly, but there’s no chemistry, so we’re just two drinkers having fun.

I see the dancer arrive at the bar over her shoulder. She’s with a man now, tall and well built, but I can’t see his face. She climbs up and perches on a barstool to talk to him and I catch a teeny flash of white from up inside of her dress. I carry on chatting and laughing with Sarah but the glimpse excites me and the dancer keeps catching my eye. She’s drunk and a little sloppy so her body is relaxed and natural looking, and while she’s talking her legs open and close slightly and I catch more flashes of her panties now and again.

The man she’s with is standing and keeps blocking out my view. He leans against the bar and she’s slumped down on the stool, elbows up on the surface, and she starts opening and closing her legs in a pretend languid, absent minded rhythm, giving me looks to make sure I’m seeing what she wants me to see.

So I’m staring, admiring her long, muscular thighs, all the way up inside her skirt where I see the white panties again and again until I’m transfixed, my mouth watering, no longer hearing the woman I’m with, and I look up to see her face and she’s staring right back at me. The man turns to see what she’s looking at and I return my attention to Sarah, but for what remains of the evening I feel the dancer looking at me every now and then, and taking her time over it.

It’s closing time. Everybody’s leaving and I’m at the cloak room getting my coat. On the way past she stumbles into me, drunk I guess, and clip clops in her heels along the corridor and out, her man in tow. She has that reeling drunken urgency a woman gets when she’s had one too many – or when she’s eager Antalya Escort for sex. My nostrils cling onto the smell of her, a waft of something expensive and subtle, utterly womanly. I see her hand pushing at the glass doors and she flashes an eye my way and she’s gone.

Sarah’s gone home with a girlfriend so I’m left alone. It’s raining and I get a taxi. During the ride my eyes fall out of focus and I imagine the man taking off her clothes, peeling them away slowly, and her kissing him. I picture her lips, all puckered up and glossed, sliding over his, and their tongues showing here and there.

I imagine his hands feeling all over her body, his fingers pushing down inside her white panties, and her kneeling, and licking, and sucking on him. I imagine her bending over and sliding off her pants, his swollen throbbing cock, pushing into her pussy, stretching her dripping wet pussy lips wider, open, sliding in and out of her… The passing streetlights sparkle orange on the rain spattered windows.

I get home and reach for my keys and I feel silk. It feels nice but I’m taken by surprise and I jerk my hand out of the pocket. I push it back in and explore the feel of whatever it is with my fingertips.

I draw out a pair of bunched up silky white panties and open them up in my hands to look at them, all damp and shiny, with a little red cherry embroidered on the front, the words cherry baby in red fancy writing. With my other hand I find my keys and I take her panties inside.

I stand in the hallway and look at them, and I remember back to her stumbling into me by the cloak room. She must have fumbled them into my coat pocket. I rub them with my fingers and look at them. I raise them up to my face, inhaling gently. I smell her perfume, and the deep, tangy must left on them by her moistness. I press them gently up against my nose and lips, and the feel of the silk on my skin starts me off getting turned on.

I open the panties out and find their crotch, and I hold them more firmly against my face, drawing her scent deep into my lungs, and I lick slightly, with the tip of my tongue, at the front. Her taste is in my mouth.

I imagine her there in the hallway, down on all fours, her arse angled upwards, her slim fingers sliding around to hold herself open so I can feast my eyes on her. She’s all wet, her fingertips slick and shiny, and her gaping pink hole glistens in its hairy little nest. She’s looking back at me, staring, breathing hard. She licks her lips.

I’m salivating, and I close my eyes and lick and suck at the panties in my hand, my penis swells and grows big and hard, throbbing with urgency. I unbutton the front of my trousers and take it out, still standing there, in the hall. My dick’s hot to the touch, and I run my cold fingers up and down the fleshy shaft. I breathe her, in through the soft fabric, and I feel for the quivering head, drawing back the foreskin and gripping myself more firmly, I masturbate, fast and hard, and before I come I run the sliding silk around my hard on and draw it lightly over the throbbing tip, over and over, slowing to prolong the ecstasy.

My eyes are tight shut and I’m seeing her, dancing, her arms and legs picking up the coloured light as she moves, flashes of teeth and eyes and hair, then on all fours and her pussy is shining and open like a hungry mouth, and I’m pushing into her, easing my way inside her warm, wet, tight little tunnel, and as I grasp the silky panties firmer around me, brushing them up and down my aching hard shaft, feeling Antalya Escort Bayan their caresses against the undersides of the enlarged shiny glans and running them across my balls, my breathing stops and my penis swells to an impossibly large size.

I’m groaning from somewhere deep inside, god knows what the neighbours must think, groaning and moaning and panting, and thick wads of warm cum gush out of me and splash all over the hall floor and onto the clothes around my ankles. I gasp in air and stand there shuddering, milking every drop of semen out of me until I’m emptied, clinging on to the part imagined, part remembered images I have of her in my mind.

I clean up, and put on some coffee. I wash, and brush my teeth, and I take her panties with me when I go to bed. She has cast a spell on me. I lie in the darkness and breathe in her most intimate scent until sleep comes.

The week passes slowly and every evening I feel the agony of longing. The memories possess me and I’m driven to the bedroom to look for her panties in whatever part of the bed they were last abandoned. I’ve kissed and licked and chewed at every last trace of her scent until it’s faded away and now I feel cheated and forlorn. She obsesses me.

I try to picture her face and I see shiny lips, and white teeth, but her eyes elude me, always hidden away by her hair. I close my eyes and strip slowly, imagining her hands inside my shirt, her fingers pinching at my nipples and squeezing my chest, working their way downwards, unbuttoning my fly. Every night I lie awake with her panties clutched around my penis, their silkiness sending shivers through my stomach and my balls and I masturbate, sometimes slow, sometimes hard. And every evening I press them to my face and search for her scent in the material, mingling with mine.

Friday comes, and after work I visit the gym. I work hard and tone up, building up a concentrated sweat on the rowing machine, uninterested in the looks the women in their skimpy little gym outfits give me. At home I shower with the heat on high and allow the steaming water to ease out all of the knots. I brush my teeth thoroughly, put on nice underwear and smellies, and head out alone, taking a taxi back to the club.

I try not to get my hopes up. For all I know she’s struck up a relationship with the man she left with that night. They could be going steady by now. Something to eat, followed by a couple of drinks in town, followed by…

The club is jumping. They’ve got a big name dj in from America and he’s rocking the place with smooth mid-tempo house music, all sexy female vocals and mellow chord progressions. Women crowd the dance floor and while I’m waiting for my drink to arrive I scan the dancefloor hopefully. It’s 9.30 and there’s no sign of her. I look at the women dancing and admire a few of the beauties, out there, strutting their stuff, but nothing captivates me the way she did, nothing comes close. She’s bewitched me, and cursed me to a period of intense fantasy and nightly, unquenchable arousal – her panties her charm, her lock of hair.

I drink, I have a dance, and I drink some more. A woman gives me the eye, smiles at me, but I see only the dancer, the pictures in my mind, of her, distorted by my imagination into overtly sexual images, pinkness, hairyness, wetness. At midnight I’m thinking of leaving. I need her panties, in my hands, in my teeth, touching my skin, and I’m heading for the cloak room with lust showing in my eyes and face when she appears.

She’s with Escort Antalya her friends, a little gang of them, all skin and fake tan, makeup and shiny little dresses – high heels. They’re good looking women, the dream team, sophisticated and dressed to kill, but I can see only her. She’s wearing a white top, kind of loose, hinting at the body underneath rather than revealing it, and figure hugging jeans so I see the shape of her thighs and her backside, and everything fits just right. Her arms are bare and I can see bronzed skin, reflecting the light, simple gold bangles jangling loose on her wrists. She has her hair tied back in a ponytail and I can see her face and her long slender neck.

They’re all pretty drunk and it’s funny watching them coming in, teetering on their heels and laughing. She sees me and she momentarily freezes. Her cheeks colour slightly and she flutters her eyelashes. She comes closer to me and I see her eyes, deep amber, big black pupils twinkling. Her lipstick is a subtle pink with a shade of gloss, her lips large and full, sexy curves. ‘Hi,’ she says.

‘Hi.’ Her friends pass by us in the hall, giggling, and I’m transfixed by those lovely amber eyes staring up at me.

‘Are you leaving already?’ she asks, and her teeth attract my eyes, so bright and white, small and neat, sharp looking and deliciously carnivorous. I think wolf, and as if she can read my mind she licks her lips and I glimpse the moist pink tip of her tongue as she slides it over her bottom lip. ‘Did you like my present?’

‘Like it,’ I say, ‘I loved it. Thankyou,’ and despite her taunting grin I hold her eyes. I can smell her, close to and real, and for a moment I’m tempted to close my eyes. She’s wearing a different perfume this evening, overwhelmingly sexual and deep, and I can see her chest where the little top opens out, bronzed like her arms, little breasts making a nice perky shape at the front and her nipples showing slightly where they’re pressed up against the thin material. I could drink her. Underneath she has on a black bra, straps visible through the top. ‘Would you like a drink?’ I ask.

She laughs out loud, ‘Jeez, what took you so long?’ and she takes my hand and leads me back through into the main room.

We drink and we dance and she tests me out by flirting some with other men on the dancefloor, but her eyes stay on me, and she keeps coming back and leading me over to the bar to get her a refill, and at leaving time we’re both more than a little bit tipsy. Outside the club she says goodbye to her friends and they all hug and kiss and exchange little looks and glances over at me and taxis carry them away. I hail one for us, me and her, and ask her would she like to come back to my place for coffee.

She gets up on tiptoes and her lips brush against my ear. ‘Mmm,’ she says, ‘Irish?’

I try to remember have I got any cream in. I think I have so I nod and say, ‘Irish.’

In the taxi she leans over and whispers, ‘Since you liked looking at them so much I thought I’d make a little gift of them to you,’ and she fixes those big amber eyes on me. ‘What did you do with them?’

I smile and look out of the window. I can feel her studying me in the dim interior light. ‘Tell me,’ she says. She puts her hand on my thigh and leans forward and fixes her eyes on mine. ‘Tell me,’ she says again, her mouth slightly open so I feel her breathing on my face and smell warm, sweet alcohol. ‘What did you do with my little silky panties?’

I see the taxi driver looking at us in the mirror. I smile at her and say, ‘I can do better than that,’ and she puts her head to one side. ‘I can show you, when we get in.’ She grins and nods, ‘OK,’ she says, and flops back in her seat, her long legs crossed so I see the deep curve of their undersides, a nice looking shoe dangling from a dainty little foot.

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