“I wonder if Matt remembers that night?” Jen thought to herself as her fingers slipped inside her knickers. “That night I was fucked by another guy, while Matt was in the room next door?”
Matt was downstairs on his computer, working. Jen was upstairs on the bed, wanking. She had been with Matt for over a decade, since they’d met at university. They were still great friends, but the sex had fizzled out years ago. He was always too busy or too tired. So she found herself frequently in this position, horny, alone in the bedroom, wishing she was in another position, with Matt’s cock inside her, but having to make do with her hand, her fingers, her fantasies, her memories.
That particular night was featuring quite frequently at the moment. A party at her place, a few weeks after she’d first met Matt. A two-storey house in the suburbs that she shared with five friends: three girls, two guys. She couldn’t remember what the party had been for, but she remembered the night very well. Jen closed her eyes and slid her fingers into her cunt.
Jen had been single for a while. A few on-off flings, but nothing serious. Matt intrigued her – a smart guy, slim and bespectacled, often quite serious, but with a knack for making her laugh. She knew he’d be there that night, and she wanted to test the waters. See if he’d bite, so to speak.
She’d planned it quite carefully. Had her hair cut and dyed a couple of days before: dark red-brown, quite short, showing off her neck and shoulders. She knew the right outfit too: the underwear, the skirt, the top.
Late afternoon on the day of the party and Jen was in the mood. She spent an age in the shower, getting clean for getting dirty, not sure if she was washing or wanking, enjoying her hands idly roaming across her soapy arse, her slippery fingers exploring her cunt, but somehow resisting the temptation to actually come. Hopefully, that would happen later.
Post-shower, getting dressed was a performance too, if only for herself. Cherry red, bum-hugging, lacy shorts, a matching bra; admiring herself in the mirror. Then a tight-fitting, plunging, short-sleeved pale green top, a slightly flouncy, dark green, calf-length skirt. All finished off with ankle-high black boots. It wasn’t often Jen felt like this, but she knew she looked good.
This was confirmed almost as soon as she left her bedroom and walked the short distance to the kitchen.
“Fuck me, Jen,” said her housemate, Nicky, who was eating pizza at the table. “You look amazing!”
“Thanks, hun,” grinned Jen, slightly coyly, as she opened the fridge door, grabbed her first drink of the night, and sat down opposite Nicky.
“Anyone special in mind?” Nicky asked, as Jen leant across to steal a slice of pizza.
“Maybe,” Jen replied. “Let’s see what happens.”
An hour and a half later and the party was warming up. Plenty of people in the kitchen, as you’d expect. A fair few in the front room, where the music was playing; others milling about in corridors, stuck in conversational traffic.
The doorbell rang, and Jen was nearest, so she walked down and opened the door. It was Matt, and a trio of his friends – two she didn’t much care for, and a third she didn’t know. “Come in,” she said, and reciprocated his half-smile in what she hoped was a knowing look, but might just have made her look like she was already half-cut, which, to be fair, she was.
Jen’s social confidence was often a facade built on rapid consumption of cider or vodka, and tonight was no exception. A large bottle of the former and two double shots of the latter, and she was away. Dancing, flirting, laughing, strutting.
The difference that evening was that her drunken confidence was underpinned by something real. She *knew* she looked good, she *knew* Matt fancied her, and she *knew* something would happen. She moved differently when he was around, trying to be somehow coy while offering herself to him, feeling her knickers riding up into her arse as she danced, and hoping he could sense that they were his to remove.
And then ataköy escort it all seemed so close to actually happening. The front room – the music room – had briefly cleared a little. Everyone had gone to the kitchen for more drink, and suddenly there were only half a dozen people dancing, and it was one of Jen’s favourite songs, and then Matt tried to change the record!
The CD player was at shin level, and he bent down to press eject. Realising too late what he was about to do, Jen almost leapt on him, trying to stop him, and failing. But in doing so, she half-accidentally knocked him to the floor, and wrested back control of the music, and put her track back on.
From his prostrate position, Matt grabbed Jen round the waist, and pulled her onto the ground, laughing, and rolled her roughly to one side, just to try and get his preferred music playing. And so it went on, for perhaps a couple of minutes, a ridiculous tete-a-tete over two indie rock tracks.
And then Jen’s housemate Nicky piled in, and Matt’s mate Chris, who wasn’t bad-looking either, started helping him and it was a kind of wrestling disco, and at one point Matt briefly but unequivocally placed his hand on Jen’s arse, and surely this was now foreplay.
And then they were sitting side-by-side on the floor, and Matt said “I’m just off to grab another drink. Don’t go anywhere,” and Jen assured him she wouldn’t. So he wandered off and Jen sat there, grinning to herself, thinking it was only a matter of moments before he’d return, and they’d make small talk for a while, and pause, and look at each other, and she’d lean in to kiss him, and that would be that.
After she’d waited five minutes Jen thought it was a bit weird, but time was always misbehaving at parties. Ten minutes passed, though, and now Jen was pissed off. She got up to go and find him. And there he was, with the lads in another room, armed with his new drink, but playing computer games.
“Well fuck him, then,” Jen muttered to herself. “Or not,” she added as an afterthought and stomped into the kitchen. Annoyed, drunk, horny, she was going to shout at someone, or spill someone’s beer, or fuck someone, possibly all three.
And then she spotted Chris again, the friend of Matt’s she didn’t really know, seated in a corner at the kitchen table, chatting to a couple of people.
He was shaven-headed, bearded, and in a very tight-fitting white t-shirt that proved he was really rather fit. Not skinny like Matt, a bit shorter, a bit stockier, but definitely fit. Vaguely, when they were pop-wrestling in the front room, Jen had noticed this, but at that moment it hadn’t mattered. Suddenly, with Matt gone, she saw an opportunity presenting itself.
Without further thought, she moved across the room, round the table, and slid down onto Chris’s knee. He was mid-conversation with the guys standing by the table, but without skipping a beat, he slipped his hand around Jen’s waist to hold her there. She put her arm round him, and swigged heavily from her cider bottle.
“Any more wrestling planned for tonight?” she said softly in his ear, and he turned to face her.
“Never say never,” he smiled, and moved his hand from her waist down onto the top of her arse. Unlike Matt, he kept it there. Jen slid onto his lap a little more properly, and immediately felt the bulge of a stiffening dick through the fabric of her skirt. He felt good, he felt big; Jen knew immediately this was the right move.
Her heart beginning to race, Jen necked her drink, then turned back to Chris.
“My room,” she demanded. “Two minutes.”
Trying not to look too eager, Jen got up, walked out of the kitchen and back to her bedroom, stepped inside, and closed the door behind her.
Lifting up her skirt, she pulled her knickers down and cast them aside. Jumping onto her bed, Jen’s hand quickly moved between her legs and she lay there wanking, getting wetter, wanting to come but waiting for Chris; imagining his cock. Then she heard the knock. Jen jumped up, then paused to compose herself. She walked to the door and opened it carefully, bakırköy escort just to check it was him.
“Come in,” Jen smiled, and stepped back just enough to allow Chris to enter the room. She closed the door behind him, pushed him back against it, and straightaway they were kissing, kissing, kissing, Jen grinding herself against him, her hands roving wherever they wanted, but mostly just cradling his head; Chris’s hands doing whatever they could, but mostly exploring her arse.
Jen lifted Chris’s t-shirt up and over his head. Nicely toned chest, she confirmed, distantly. Then down, hurriedly unbuttoning his jeans, hands under the waistband, inside his briefs, and hungrily forcing both down in one go, briefly pretending to ignore his not-quite-rock-hard cock, but very quickly clocking the truth of what she’d felt, sitting on his lap. Jen knew it was going to feel so good inside her.
She knelt down to remove Chris’s shoes, his socks, his jeans, his shorts, and suddenly there he was, naked, with Jen crouched down before him. She felt like a worshipper, and laughed, and kissed his feet. Then she slid her hands round to the backs of his legs, up onto his calves, moving upwards again, her fingers feeling the way.
Jen didn’t look up yet, but let her fingers lead, up over his knees, onto his broad, firm thighs, reaching up to touch him, and as her face explored the smoothness of his inner thighs, her fingertips found his balls, then insinuated themselves a little further upwards, and swiftly wrapped themselves around the base of Chris’s dick.
Her fingers encircling his thick shaft, Jen sat up on her knees, her mouth only a moment behind. Chris was oh-so-hard now, and Jen almost shuddered with delight as she slid his dick between her lips, tasting him for the first time, exploring the ridges of his manhood with her tongue. She shifted her position again to get him fully inside her mouth, her saliva beginning to lubricate him, the fingers of her right hand working up a steady rhythm, squeezing him, teasing him, testing him.
Her left hand, meanwhile, moved over Chris’s torso, roaming across his thighs, his stomach, his arse, exploring a new territory, enjoying the contours of his naked body whilst her mouth enjoyed the flavour of his dick. Her cunt was aching for him.
Chris began to moan quietly. His hands held her head in place, his fingers beginning to grab at her neck and her hair. As great as it felt, Jen knew the signs, and gently eased his dick from her mouth to look up at him.
“Don’t,” she said, sliding his hot, hard shaft back into her mouth again, as fully as she could, all the time maintaining eye contact with Chris.
“Come,” she continued, repeating the move, tasting a new sticky saltiness around the head of his cock.
“In my mouth.”
“I’ll do my best,” Chris exhaled, looking down at her. Keeping a firm hold of his cock with one hand, Jen slowly stood up, pressing herself against him, grinding her way upwards, hoping her quivering legs wouldn’t give up beneath her.
Face-to-face again, Chris leant forward to kiss Jen deeply, forcefully, his tongue thrusting into her mouth, Jen offering him a taste of himself.
Chris’s hands moved back onto Jen’s arse, groping her through her skirt, pulling her against him. Jen’s hand still clasped his dick, now pressed against her belly through the fabric as they kissed.
“Does he know I’m knickerless?” she thought. “Does it matter?” She was, and oh-so-wet, and he would find out soon enough.
She lifted her arms up and Chris wrestled her top off. Kissing frantically now, Jen felt him unclasp her bra without skipping a beat, and discard it. Chris grabbed Jen’s newly unveiled tits, briefly, but his hands had more important business, and quickly moved round onto her bare back, and down, slipping under the waist of her skirt.
“Oh, hello,” he muttered into her ear, kissing her neck as his hands found no underwear, only bare, grabbable, arse.
Jen just laughed, pressed her hand into his chest, pushing Chris against the wall as she stepped away from him, and sat down on the bed, shimmying herself backwards away from him. He stepped forward and she shuffled back again on the bed.
Shoulders pressed back into her pillows, she grinned at him as he stood proud at the foot of the bed, and she started raising her skirt, inching it up her legs. She still had her boots on, and she briefly pushed them against his legs, pretending to thwart him, still smiling as she unveiled herself.
And then Jen was lying before him, knees raised, skirt bunched up, legs apart, cunt offered. Chris grabbed her boots as if to stop her escaping, and moved onto the bed to pursue her; his cock thrust forwards like a lance.
It was predatory, almost, and Jen loved it. “Don’t make me wait too long,” she thought.
Approaching her on the bed, Chris moved his head between her legs, his mouth quickly embracing her clit and her slipperiness, his fingers eager to explore her, but Jen barely allowed him to stay there.
“Come in,” she ordered him, and Chris sat back for a moment, cock thrust skywards, and shoved her skirt up around her waist. Jen spread her legs again, as wide as she could, waiting to feel that big, beautiful dick against the opening of her cunt.
Remembering it now, her fingers increasing their rhythm, Jen wondered distantly about that night. If it had been Matt readying himself to fuck her, as she’d expected, she’d have made him wear a condom, not wanting to give herself to him too easily, too fully. But for Chris, she didn’t care. Any interruption might have been a mood-killer. Of course, it helped that she’d just got an implant – 99% effective, apparently – that made everything so easy. Two bonuses: one: no more periods; and two: no delays for fast-fucking one night stands. You could let the guy think that you simply *had* to have his cock, and the only issue with intravaginal ejaculation was the wet patch on the bedsheets.
Jen was oh-so-ready. Chris moved in to where she wanted him, legs between hers, cock pressed against her groin, and she pulled him down on top of her, hungrily reaching for his dick, manouevring herself beneath him, guiding the head of his dick to the slick lips of her cunt, reaching round to grip his arse and then suddenly, gloriously, he’s inside her and filling her. Three, four strokes and he’s found his rhythm, driving fully into her cunt, and she knows it won’t be long, and hopes he’s the same, and he’s so hard and so deep, driving against her and into her.
“Come,” Jen demanded, gasping, in time with the rhythm of his thrusts, “inside.” Another thrust, “me.”
Chris’s rhythm increased. Jen wrapped her boot-clad legs around him, felt the sweat of their bodies lubricating their movements, and pushed her hips up against him, grinding her clit as he drove ever-harder, ever-faster into her,
“Come. Inside. Me,” Jen exhaled. She was so close. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold on.
Chris was driving into her, hard, hard, hard, fast. “Oh,” she gasp. “Fuck,” she stammered. “Come! Inside! Me!”
And as Jen began to come, she grabbed Chris’s arse so hard, her nails digging into his flesh, and tried to hold him there. Hold him fully inside her, the fullness of having her cunt so deeply and deliciously filled with his cock and – a fraction of a moment later, at the height of her own orgasm – with his explosive cum, in burst after burst after burst.
On her bed, in the here and now, her fingers a poor substitute for Chris’s wonderful dick, but immersed in a memory so erotic, Jen bucked and writhed through a self-administered orgasm, faintly hoping Matt would suddenly come in and find her like this, and react; get hard quick and pounce on her; take her to where she wanted to go. But he didn’t, of course, and the cumming was hers alone, and after the pleasure, it inevitably began to fade.
Still, as she caught her breath, Jen’s mind began thinking of the next time. There was plenty more to enjoy from that night with Chris. He had fucked her again twice, and Jen’s accidental mid-night discovery that Matt had crashed out in the room next door, had only served to intensify the last one. That reminiscence, however, was for another time…