Kate: Somewhere for a quick and dirty fuck against the wall

Kate: Somewhere for a quick and dirty fuck against the wall Kate: Somewhere for a quick and dirty fuck against the wall

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Summary

I wanted a skirt lifting, fly open, shirt pulled out, quick and dirty fuck against a wall so I could drag him back onto the dance floor and seduce him all over again.

Summary

I wanted a skirt lifting, fly open, shirt pulled out, quick and dirty fuck against a wall so I could drag him back onto the dance floor and seduce him all over again.

Content

Submitted: July 06, 2015

A A A | A A A

Content

Submitted: July 06, 2015

A A A

A A A


I went into the bathroom to put on my evening dress.

I needed to secure my breasts into place with Hollywood tape and that was the best place to see what I was doing and make sure it was neat.

I hoped the dress was OK with Chris. Corporate evenings are delicate affairs. You have to be careful to tone it right. Like the cocktail dress I’d worn last night, this one was more “red carpet, guarantee your photo in the paper the next day” in its showiness rather than a classical corporate dinner dance evening dress. Indeed, since it was a major label I’d only been able to afford because I’d bought it cheaply in a second hand fashion shop, for all I knew it had been worn by some young starlet at the Logies or some other awards night.

And you needed to be young to get away with this dress. A halter top, it plunged deeply at the front to well under the bottom of the breasts, while also dropping near vertically at the sides showing not just under-boob but, when your breasts were perky D-cups like mine, a tunnel right through below the breast line. At about the level of the bottom of the central plunge line, there was a back-tie drawing the thin clinging material into the lower chest under the breasts, accentuating their size while being completely unforgiving of anything other than a washboard flat stomach. From there it dropped to the floor, flaring just a little so that the split which ran down each leg from the hips tended to hang together rather than the seams separating into a wide gap. Still, the static in the material tended to draw a fold of loose material between your legs, highlighting your crutch.

There was no chance of wearing a bra. Some degree of stretch in the material and its diaphanous clingy unlined nature meant that your breasts were embraced at the sides somewhat. That combined with the judicious use of Hollywood tape gave you some chance of not having them fling out the sides of the dress as you danced. But that’s where perkiness was critical. Retaining saggy ones while dancing would be as hopeless as trying to hide the working pendulum on a grandfather clock by sticking a thin line of tape down the centre of the glass which covered it.

Of course, the words diaphanous, clingy and unlined when used in connection with a top also mean nippily. The warmth of the hotel might help, but mine reacted quickly to any arousal. They were going to attract attention and very likely comment.

At the back it plunged low enough to show the top of my bum crack; the thin line of the back tie being the only break to the expanse of exposed back flesh. A very low slung thong I’d bought in a blue satin material matching the dress was the only underwear you could get away with; but going commando was impossible given the side splits and likelihood of crutch peeks from that direction.

There is no doubt it was over the top. But Chris was young, good looking himself and a mere summer clerk in the organisation. I figured having a stunning girl in a drop dead gorgeous sexy gown was likely to do more good than harm to his credibility even if the room was going to be filled with much older people. I’d packed a more conservative but still revealing backup if he didn’t like it.

I walked back out to the bedroom to show it to him and was stunned by the Adonis in a dinner suit who stood there waiting for me.

Circling once slowly and then again fast enough to let the flaps which the side splits left draping from above my crutch fly up as they might if I was dancing, I asked… “Is the dress too much?”

In a way watching his cock tent out his pants even as I asked should have answered the question. But Chris’s brain gave a different answer to his cock. “It’s gorgeous. You’ll be the talk of the ball.”

“Yea, but is the talk going to damage your reputation?”

“I don’t think so, but I’ll happily take that risk.”

“I’ve got another dress if you’re not sure.”

“I’m sure.”

But actually, if arousal was a test of suitability, Chris was going to have to lose the dinner suit too. Sad to say, but I’d never dated a guy in a nice proper dinner suit. Even the school formal (prom for some of you) was more business suit than dinner suit; assuming you don’t count the purple ones and others in ridiculous colours and cheap materials. God he looked nice in it.

I walked up to him and, sliding it inside the coat, traced my finger down from his collar bone and across the chest; enjoying the feel of the smooth silk of the shirt as it clung to his muscular bod as concurrently I felt my crutch moisten in desire and watched his cock almost burst the fly of his pants.

With a finger flirtatiously on his shoulder I pivoted around his body, admiring the suit close up from all angles; and especially the way it conformed around his tight little butt. Just as I lifted my hand off his shoulder to let me complete the circle around him, I was struck by an impulse. Sitting on the bedside table was a packet of condoms. I grabbed two that had spilled out and as I came around the front again slipped them deeply into his side pocket; letting the back of my hand stroke the full length of his rigid cock as I pulled it out of his pocket. Why we might need them when the function was in this hotel, I didn’t know. But better to be sure than sorry.

Hand in hand we talked animatedly as we took the ten minute walk across the full length of the sprawling hotel to the ball room in amongst the conference suite Chris had spent the day in.

Predictably, the dress did attract attention. During the pre-dinner cocktails it was amazing just how many guys decided a selfie including me and Chris – with me placed prominently in the shot – was a really good idea. In a rare quite moment Chris said he’d never had so many people pointedly join the circle we were talking in to engage him in conversation, even if they did then turn the conversation to draw me in.

The women were more upfront; just walking into the circle and asking Chris to introduce us.

Chris added he’d love to have me as his wing-girl during the conference sessions tomorrow to help him with networking. I declined, but not because I didn’t enjoy his company or wouldn’t have liked to help him.

This was not a night for me to play the bimbo – even playfully as I sometimes like to do. I suspect a lot of them started out thinking the body (and dress) was all there was to me, asking me what I did and visibly arching backwards when I answered I was studying medicine. So I was quite pleased when the conversation could warm to more meaningful topics. I even knew more than they expected about their profession.

Sitting to dinner slowed things a little, although every time Chris got up to talk to someone or attend to nature, his seat was instantly filled by some hopeful; one often hard to dislodge when Chris came back. Several times I needed to chase them off with a pointed (if still charmingly delivered- of course).. “I think Chris might like his seat back now..”

While the distraction of sitting at dinner had suppressed the constant feeling of arousal that I’d had been with me since I first saw Chris in the dinner suit, it returned with a vengeance when the music started and we got up to dance. I’m told I do a pretty good line in seductive dancing; flaunting my breasts and butt in rhythm to the music and generally gyrating under the eye or in the arms of my dance partner. And when like tonight I’m wearing a dress capable of being thrown into a teasing pantie view flick, I’m not scared to use it.

But I’d forgotten just how well Chris danced too; almost giving me back some of my own prick teasing medicine. I’m used to being able to judge by a quick look at their crutch just how powerful effect my dancing is having on a guy as they struggle with suppressing a public erection even as they enjoy watching me or being in my arms, secure in the knowledge whatever effect I’m feeling is well hidden from view. But here tonight, that security about my arousal being invisible was slipping away.

Even with his coat now hung over the back of his chair, just the way that shirt draped over his body and his butt and crutch moved in those pants was giving me a major case of the hots. To a point that’s good. It’s the way a date should be.

But I’d gone way beyond that; way beyond a subtle dampness in my panties to the feeling of a wet, stickiness permeating my inner thighs as my crutch throbbed with desire. My breasts felt swollen, straining against my dress, stretching the material to an unnatural taughtness. As looking down I could see my nipples rising; miniature erections of my own, in this warm room all too clearly proclaiming my desire and their reaction to rubbing against his shirt.

When we danced arm in arm I had to fight back a need to forget the music, forget the expected decorum of even a lovers dance as I wanted to just drop my crutch heavily down onto the thigh brushing lightly between my legs and majorly pash him; all the more so as I felt his own arousal pushing into my stomach; its firmness surging every time the movement of our bodies caused it to glide across the fabric of my dress and the yearning flesh underneath.

Karen got away with an orgasm on the dance floor. Could I? Could I just encourage his thigh to be brought higher and press harder into me and rub myself up and down on it until I was released from this irresistible desire? I was tempted; tempted to a point I found hard to fight against. But Karen had been waltzing with Greg, the dance’s natural rise and fall movement and requisite placement of Greg’s leg deeply between her thighs offering more camouflage for what she was doing. Plus she was in a less judgmental environment than this corporate event.

This would be far more obvious.

Still?

But what about Chris? He was getting very handisy himself; starting to cross the line from dance appropriate contact to little more than a sexual grope.

No; we need to fuck.

Sure we could go back to the room, but the night was still young and there several hours of mutually seductive dancing we wanted to share. Anyway that’s not what I needed. I wanted a skirt lifting, fly open, shirt pulled out, quick and dirty fuck against a wall so I could drag him back onto the dance floor and seduce him all over again. But here, in a hotel with security cameras watching every nook and cranny, in the middle of a corporate function, where can you do that? This isn’t like the school graduation ball where you might be able to sneak around the back of the tuckshop block for a quickie (hey, don’t judge – I didn’t, but I know others who did). Hell even the toilets are going to be too crowded to contemplate.

One thought occurred to me arising from an innocent observation I’d made as we walked down the hall towards the ballroom and lingered outside over pre-dinner cocktails. I put my mouth to Chris’s ear so he could hear me over the music without me shouting it to the world. “Do you want to find a dark corner?”

He nodded; all the invitation I needed to drag him by the hand off the dance floor and out of the Ballroom. To the left was the corridor which led to the rest rooms, reception and ultimately back to our room. To the right was the corridor to the conference breakout rooms; a dead end corridor with the lights now turned off.

I pulled Chris to the right; slowing down and walking arm in arm less purposefully, hoping to convince any watching security guard in the CCTV room that our intentions were a little less desperately carnal than they were. We ambled down the corridor as it got darker and darker – leaving ever further behind us the light spilling from the ballroom area - passing a number of sponsor’s stands as we looked for a nook or cranny to make out in.

Chris spotted it first. A sponsor’s desk set up against a small protrusion out from the wall framing the secured entrance to one of the breakout rooms. The desk was bare, the promotional material having been removed for the night except for a two metre high banner set up on a tripod behind the desk. Between the banner and the wall behind, there was a space.

With a quick glance behind us to ensure there were no first party observers, we slipped behind the banner; trying to look as innocent as our frisky, lustful selves were capable of.

In an instant Chris had me pinned against the wall. As our tongues wrestled, Chris’s hands fumbled to gather up the full length of the material of the front flap of my ball gown, while I fiddled clumsily with the fly of his pants. When I’d got his fly opened it was clear there was no way I was going to be able to extract out of it the giant rigid cock my hand  zeroed in on; necessitating another clumsy fiddle – this time with the button holding up his pants When you’re in a slightly tipsy, randy hurry these things are worse than bra hooks!

With my folds of skirt now held up by the pressing together of our stomachs and Chris’s pants starting to slip down his legs, the attention of both our hands turned from outer wear to undies. In a single movement I found the top of Chris’s erection, wrapped my fingers around it and slid them down its full length; in the process pushing the waistband of Chris’s undies to under his balls. At the same time I found myself desperately groping with the reversed fingers of my other hand to extract a condom from the pocket of a pair of pants now hanging off his upper thighs.

In the mean-time a couple of Chris’s fingers had done an initial exploration of my crease; running across the now slippery wet material of my thong and pushing it against the throbbing clit underneath and in the process drawing out a groan of pleasure so deep and long he might have thought I was cumming on the spot.

Encouraged, Chris drew aside the narrow strip of the thong and started sliding his fingers back and forward. With one hand around Chris’s cock, I had to pull my tongue out of his mouth long enough to use my teeth to help the other open the condom packet; leaving me then trying to pull the condom out of its wrapper and sheath it over his cock single handed. That is actually a well-practiced routine, but today I was severely distracted by Chris’s fingering of me. As I tried to concentrate on the task he was reducing me to a continuous stream of suppressed moans and “ohhs” until I had to give up and simply surrender myself to the effect he was having on me.

I held his cock in the fingers of one hand, wrapped the other around his butt and drew him into my thigh while I spread my legs, sunk down onto his hand and let him work his magic. Now sloppy fingers slid up and down against my clit, penetrated into my core to extract another flood of juices and returned to pleasuring my clit again. With his other hand Chris had ripped the Hollywood tape from my skin to push my gown aside and expose a breast. Then he lifted up its flesh with his spare hand and sucked into his mouth the nipple, areola and a fair bit of the breast itself, swirling the nipple around his mouth with his tongue while his lips caressed the surrounding skin.

Chris’s cock seemed to throb in my hand each time I slid my fingers over the top to gather up the copious pre-cum oozing from its head and combine that with the sweat of my palms to lubricate the action of my hand as I brought it up from in contact with his balls to over the tip and back again. Yes it was saying to me in that way a guy’s cock communicates its needs that it wanted to be inside me; that it wanted to spray Chris’s seed against my cervix and pump it into the very depths of my body.

But it had to wait. Already deep down in my crutch an orgasm was forming like the first spawning of a tornado; building, building. It unleashed itself. Ripping through my body, causing me to lose control and emit a barely muffled prolonged moan of pleasure as my core clamped itself on Chris’s fingers. Once, twice, I released my bodies grip on them only to spasm back against them again, all the while holding Chris’s head against my breast in a suffocating hold.

Now with an urgency born of need, I sheathed Chris in the condom and brought his cock towards my opening, moaning again as I slid its length through my crease as I guided it towards its long awaited destination where he would satisfy my need to have him fill my body. Arching my hips out from the wall I encouraged Chris to drive it home, pushing against him until I could feel his balls between my thighs and the base of his cock pressed into my crease where it touched up my still wanting clit.

Chris had been patient; giving me my release first. Now it was his turn to unleash his passion. Encouraged by me, he pounded my body against the wall, my arched out hips bringing him up against my clit with every thrust. Knowing that, Chris gave a little grinding movement at the end of every thrust, changing a mere blow to my clit into an incredibly stimulating rub.

Exerting himself, Chris started grunting loud enough that I felt the need to put my hand across his mouth least we attracted attention; an action that brought us both to laughter even in the middle of our carnal lust. Chris was never going to last long; there’d been too much of a build-up for this to be some sort of long slow fuck.

As he came he drove himself fully in. Even through the condom I could feel his cock pulsing as he emptied his seed into me. He’d brought me so close to a second orgasm I couldn’t stop. As his body went through the spasms of his climax, I pulled his crutch hard against mine and ground it around in small circles; bearing down against him looking for that final little bit that would push me over the edge.

Even when Chris got to that moment of exquisite sensitivity guys get post climax where any further stimulation walks such a fine line between pleasure and pain that they try and withdraw, I could let him go, still grinding against him as I pulsed my core down on the remains of his slowly softening erection.

And then OMG, there it was, a beautiful body filling orgasm that left me sunk down in is arms.

Of course, when the lust has been satisfied and the body drained of its carnal needs, there comes that moment when you realise you’re now just a pair of slightly naughty dishevelled young adults; when you need to tidy yourself up and get back to the party, hoping to hell no-one noticed you.

As we separated Chris’s now flaccid condom covered cock flopped down against his pants; the ball of cum at the end of it hanging like a tennis ball in a stocking. He decided the easiest way of dealing with it was to tuck it in like it was and make a visit to the loo on the way back. Me? As my dress draped back down as our bodies came apart I did a quick check down to make sure there was no external signs of dampness. Short of a fresh thong there was little I could do about my soaking undies other than slide them back into place and hope they’d dry now that my body wasn’t flooding them with juices; even if they might be a bit stiff.

My top I pulled back over my exposed breast so I could try and stick down in place again. Hollywood tape is not terribly forgiving of the sort of bodice ripping stuff we’d just got up to. Yes it stuck, but it was hard to get it to sit quite as neatly. And as to the question of whether it would hold my tits in next time I swung them around on the dance floor – we’d find out soon enough.

Then it was back to the dance floor to stir each other up all over again.


© Copyright 2017 joanmcarthy. All rights reserved.

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