by David Cain

One of those nights; a long loud erotic evening of drinking and carousing leading to a late night of teasing, fondling, arousing but ending in an exhausted crash before any completion could be contemplated. I hardly slept, tossing and turning with visions of tits and ass twisting seductively through my head. My hands roamed Silver’s naked sleeping body in fits of semi-consciousness, stroking her pussy, kneading her nipples and pressing my erection hard against her butt. She groaned in drunken sleep, similarly affected and equally incapable of furthering the feast we craved.

We had gone to a club to dance, shake our groove things. We brought our own booze because the best clubs can’t be bothered with liquor licenses and the endless regulations, rules and laws that govern the purveyance of distilled spirits.  We made a donation and promised not to tell. The curtain parted and we slipped into the sparkling darkness.

The place wasn’t crowded yet so we grabbed a table, poured some drinks and scoped out the buffet, full of the heavy food that kept sudden drunkenness at bay. The music thumped over an empty flashing dance floor. People streamed in, filling every bit of space. We rose and took the floor, ready to burn the inferno.

Silver wore a slinky sexy dress that was forever in motion, almost covering and almost displaying in slivers of fabric tossed and swung from hill to vale. I shook my hips, placed my feet and stretched my arms, finding the rhythms in Silver’s more educated styles, matching the bumps and grinds as though the distance between us was naught. A nipple peered into sight as Silver dipped a shoulder provocatively, snatching it away with a grin after recognition splashed across my face. I pawed at her bottom, traced her creases and twirled her body in a giggle and a gasp. We could feel it then, desire overflowing our brim, the wanting flushed through, so far from home, so far from bed, so far from a soft surface. So we danced, letting the pot boil, anticipation enrichening the sauce.

We returned to our table and guzzled a few drinks, more in need of refreshment than the buzz we received.

“Come on,” said the club’s owner, a dark meaty man in a shiny grey suit. “Come with me.”

He led us into a storage room in the back, shut off from the chaos we had been immersed in. Thick with smoke, a dozen people passed a half-dozen joints around the room. We joined the circle and imbibed in one blunt after another in a steady rhythm. Bogarting created a backlog, so it just didn’t happen.

Aside from the high and the pleasant company of partying potheads, the smoking room afforded a chance to talk. Free for a bit of the blare of the music, we met our fellow smokers, exchanged thoughts and opinions and plans for an after party. Laughter rang as dense as the cannabis smoke we swam in. People left the circle and new smokers joined in.

Later, much later, we climbed into a van, almost a bus, promising a ride to an after party. More than a little drunk and more than a little horny, Silver and I were ready to go, finding privacy in a situation that wasn’t private at all. Silver had taken off her panties long ago, so flashes of cunt grew frequent and more visibly aroused with each passing peek. I cupped a breast, squeezed a nipple and bit at her neck. The friends seated in front of us turned occasionally, smiled, laughed and jeered our shadowy public display of lust. Silver became still and quiet, silencing and preventing my advances until the people stopped paying any attention to us. Quietly, she put her head in my lap and tugged at my zipper. A bit of rustling, shifting and tugging eventually gained her goal and my cock met her lapping tongue. I tried to look nonchalant as she maneuvered her lips around my shaft but it wasn’t long before someone turned around with a “wow” and Silver put him away, less from embarrassment, more because our cramped quarters made it impossible to take things any further.

The party brought more drinking and laughing and drugs and music and teasing. “Just stay the night,” our host said when things started to slow down. “I have plenty of beds.” Silver flashed her ass with a flip of her skirt as we climbed the stairs, following our host. A hint of pussy led me onward and up. The bedroom burst into view and we entered as our host led another couple to the room next to ours.

We nearly fell into bed, stripping away our scant clothing in moments, falling into each other’s arms. Through the wall behind our headboard, giggles, squeaks and growls grew into the steady knock of wood against the wall. We laughed and listened and laughed and listened and promptly fell fast asleep.

We awoke with our hands on each other, caressing her cunt, stroking my cock, nuzzling and squeezing and kissing, oh the kissing. The night had melded into dreams into this moment, everything done in every way but the sex and now there was nothing else but the sex. I rolled over her and rolled her over me, pushing and pressing and licking and probing.

I climbed atop her and slipped in with a gentle steady thrust, hard meets soft, crossing the wave, sliding over swollen lips, releasing her gasp. The passion mounted and tormented, wanting and holding on, taking and giving, loving and needing. We rolled and stood and stooped and knelt and laid, oh how we laid. Every exciting moment of the night’s escapade replayed in our heads as the morning sun cut through a window to illuminate our coupling.  I wanted her. I had always wanted her. I still wanted her. I would forever want her.

We fell back finally, exhausted, rejuvenated, sticky and damp. Sometimes  morning is the best time of all.



By Lord Malinov

Power belongs to those who dare. Sapere Aude.

About David Cain

David Cain, literary author, bon vivant, rogue romantic poet - author of Witch, Song of Songs, Journals of Lord Malinov, Erotic Romances and others ...
This entry was posted in books, cannabis, dance, erotica, fiction, literature, literotica, personal, short stories, swinging, writing and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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