Baked Peaches Pt 02 Party

Twenty minutes into the party, I realize I've made a big mistake. I'm so horny after what happened at my place I can barely stand it. My cock is on a hairpin trigger and every move I make threatens to set off a flood of jizz down my leg. I'm trying to socialize with people at the party to the best of my ability; but, mostly I'm trying to not spontaneously blast the inside of my pants. A stain like that would for sure create some kind of a scene.

All the while, you're floating from person to person, making everyone laugh with your infectious charisma. The steady sound of your laughter periodically escalates above the din of the crowd, each time raising the vibe of the place to higher and higher resonant frequencies of good times and joyous conversation.

Everyone is hugging you and saying happy birthday and you're happily hugging back and saying thanks. Having just been rocked by a huge orgasm, I'm happy you can fully focus on bro-ing down with everyone without the distraction of your typically unsilenceable, voracious carnal desires. As for me - that's a much different story.

Yeah, I think I played it too cool at my place, teasing you with my cock in your mouth but refusing you the opportunity to swallow my gigantic load. This is getting awkward. Like I said, I'm trying to stay cool...but you melt me. I need to cum in you...urgently.

Your outfit isn't making it any easier. We stopped back at your place before the party to get you some new pants. Not like you can show up to your birthday party with a pair of spandex shamelessly torn right down the pussy. Besides the basic social impropriety of it, it would draw too much attention to the fact that we are hopeless fuck bunnies who spend all of our time debasing ourselves on each other.

You know our friends don't give a fuck about social propriety, but when we're out, we like to act like we aren't always thinking about consuming each other. Exercising discretion and bottling up our lust in front of others only makes our thing that much more special, that much hotter.

At any rate, I'm struggling...hard. It's not like you to wear dresses, but that's what you chose. It's a brightly-colored number that screams "It's my birthday!" while tightly hugging your body in all the right places. Your heaving tits threaten to spill out of the top, but not in a slutty way. It's fun to be slutty but dress classy. Even though you like when I treat you like one, you aren't a prostitute and everyone can appreciate the delicate balance and beauty of your fashionable choice.

As for me, I keep resisting the urge to look at you. For the whole first part of the night, all lapses in conversation are filled by the throbbing awareness of the way your dress accents your unbelievable, heart-shaped ass. It's a work of art, a true assterpiece. How badly I want to get you alone, pull that skirt up over the cock-hardening curve of your butt and give your slutty pussy a stiff railing with a pillar of rock hard cock that could lift you out of the cute shoes you wore to the party.

But nope! This is the time to play it cool and do my best to forget about fucking you up your skirt. I try to focus on just having a good time...

It's not working.

My brain has literally been washed and rewashed with the memory of all our sexy times together and forgetting about you proves an impossible task. I eventually realize I'll have to take drastic action if I'm going to enjoy this party normally. It's simply not possible to socialize if my dick is salivating like a trained dog and threatening to burst through the seams of my pants.

A strict policy of avoidance is the only solution - you're just too hot to resist if you're near me. I intentionally just start exiting any room if you enter. Nothing obvious, just a casual cigarette on the porch or trip downstairs to another party zone if I happen to sense your fine ass approaching.

Slowly, my strategy is starting to work. Enough blood returns to my brain that I'm able to chat with everyone and I haven't thought about sex in at least fifteen minutes.

And that's when the plan fails. Though my vigilance never faded, sometimes things are simply out of our control.

I'm talking to Mike in the kitchen when the sound of your laugh stops me midsentence. Then, the dozens of eager footsteps. Everyone is congregating here to bring you a birthday cake and sing to you. I normally think singing happy birthday is lame but the spirit of this crowd sweeps me away. There's no missing the genuine adoration on everyone's face as they celebrate your very existence. God, you're so popular.

Everyone loves you and it's easy to see why. You smile and blow out all 27 candles like an absolute badass. Clapping and cheering precede a gracious bout of regal, yet-down-to-earth shower of thank yous from a legitimate farm princess. That won't be the only clapping tonight.

Again, I think about how dreamlike it is that just hours before, I was spanking you like a whore while you came on my fingers. It means so much to me that you asked to spend that special time after work and before your birthday party alone with me.

Brie cuts the cake and passes a huge piece to you, laughing. "Oh my, God. I cut that piece so big! I must be drunker than I thought. Oh, well," she laughs, handing you the plate and a fork. "Hope you didn't have dinner yet!"

You finish licking your lips and eyeing the cake. "Thanks! I had a baked peach but I'm definitely hungry enough to finish this cake!" you say.

Bries eyebrows raise. "Oh wow, a baked peach? That sounds so good! What made you think to bake a peach?"

You gesture at me. "He did!" you say. "And he put ice cream in it. It was delicious!"

"Yeah, putting some ice cream in it! Ice cream, we fucking...love you!!" Daddy cheers.

"That sounds so good right now and I'm not even hungry," Hailey volunteers.

"Can I get a baked peach some time, Bry?" asks Mike.

"Sure, there are three left!" I say.

Mike says "yesss" in excitement.

Everyone eats cake and jokes a little more about the baked peaches before gracefully switching topics and having a great time. We're so awesome at parties. We take mushrooms, pills and drink our faces off. I've never heard so much laughing. There was no doubt everyone in attendance was making memories.

As we get drunker and drunker, the pendulum I've spent all night pushing away swings back on me. Suddenly, I'm hornier than ever for you. There you are, across the room. In the last two hours or so, we haven't talked and hardly looked at each other. I like the tension in some ways but, gosh, you're such a good actress. Maybe too good. I would be the happiest man alive if suddenly you would give some sign of acknowledgement of the molten eruption growing between us.

Then...bam...holy shit. From across the room, you ever so briefly glance away from a conversation with Zoe and Shaun, casting a tempting eye in my direction. I look away coyly, but my heart starts racing. There's no mistaking that sly look from you. I know what's on your mind: daydreams of my cock, huge, throbbing and hard. My cock, spurting cum. My cum, filling your mouth, sliding down your throat. My cock fucking your face, your lips wrapped around my knob, my cum spurting powerfully on your lips, pooling on your outstretched tongue in thick long ropes, painting your cheeks, streaking down your chin.

Nevertheless, the party continues. At one point, we both go for drinks at the same time and end up alone in the kitchen. You open the fridge and grab two more drinks. As you pass me one, I know you want me to plant my hands firmly in the crack of your ass and massage your sizzling pussy but I wont. It's not our style. We like to let it sizzle.

We crack our beers together and I wait for you to take the tab off the top before tilting my can towards yours. "Cheers to 27," I say. The beers connect and we both take a sip. Above the rim of our beer cans, we make the mistake of chancing too long a gaze into each other's stormy eyes.

All notions of our style go out the window. In a completely bold and unexpected move, you reach out and grip me tightly by the collar. You pull me close. I am a deer, trapped in beautiful brown headlights. I'm not sure what to do, so I start talking awkwardly: "Thanks again for the pregame. It means a lot you'd want to spend some alone time with me before your par-"

You silence me with a finger on my lips. You smile quietly and drop to your knees, licking the bulge of my cock carnivorously through my jeans. "Oh..." I start, but you quickly stand and look me straight in the eye.

"If you aren't quiet, I'll stop." A devilish smirk spreads across your sexy face and you put your mouth up close to my ear. "There's no one on the top floor right now..." you say, planting a kiss on my neck before continuing: "and here, next to the fridge, we'll hear anyone coming up the stairs..." You kiss me again, lower this time. Then grab my cock firmly. "But we can't have any talking...or I'll have to punish you."

You drop down again, licking my jeans with rough, flat strokes of your tongue like a cat cleaning itself. The fabric of my pants gets double-penetrated by your saliva from one side and slippery cock fluid the other. I put my hands on the top of your head while your tongue traces the edges of my cock on my jeans. You suck the end of my cock and the denim hisses with your breath and spit. I'm stunned, standing there in a slack-jawed daze, probably drooling like a zombie from complete brain shutdown. Before long, there is a huge wet spot right on my thigh.

Suddenly, there are footsteps on the stairs - someone's coming up! Panic mode - oh my gosh, this is so obvious. There's a huge suck stain on my pants! The jig is up for sure. You rise from your slutty kneel, grabbing my beer and and quickly splashing some of it on my pants. "What are you doing!?" you say for the benefit of the stair-climber, handing me back my drink with a smirk. "I can't believe you just spilled beer all over yourself!"

"Oh man, I really like these pants," I say, playing along with your sneaky scheme, "well, no problem, it's just beer."

It's Rhiannon coming up the stairs. She immediately notices the huge wet spot on my crotch. "Hahah! Oopsies!" she says "good thing we've got plenty more drinks where that came from! Just get another one and your pants will dry out before long."

Heh heh heh, you saved us with the perfect plan. Thanks to your quick thinking, Rhiannon didn't suspect a thing. Instead of it being obvious that you slovenly thrashed your tongue against my fucking-totally-ready-to-explode cock, it's just a completely believable beer spill on the previously suspicious spot.

We start talking to Rhiannon and I'm still trying to catch myself up back to normal. Not only was that so hot, but I now have another reason to jerk off to you. You see, they say the brain is the biggest erogenous zone - after that little spilled beer trick, I can tell your big brain is erogenous af. "Aren't you going to get another beer?" Rhiannon asks?

Cold air from the open fridge flows over my soaking pants and my straining hard-on, sparking a maelstrom of sensitivity down there. "Did I hear you say you really like those pants?" Rhiannon asks.

"Excuse me? Oh oh oh, yeah these are great pants."

She smiles and tilts her head. "Blue jeans?"

Someone calls you and you scamper off down the stairs, leaving me alone to deal with this. What makes a pair of jeans great?

"They fit really well. I don't know - I just like 'em."

Rhiannon holds that open-mouthed smile, indiscreetly eyes my outfit up and down, then shrugs. "Hmm, to each his own. Cheers!" We tap cans.

She takes a sip, then says "...and what's that on your shirt, there? It looks like you've drooled all over yourself or something?" I check. It does look like I've drooled all over myself. "Oh yeah," she says, "I can see the remnants of drool on your underlip and a bit on your chin." Satisfaction at putting together the cues to solve the drool mystery briefly touches her face before morphing to a different expression, something more...nervous. She's alone with a tall, strong man who's drooling and has a big wet spot on his pants. "Well, I'm going to have a cigarette, now," she states, with quite a bit of pep in her step as she departs the kitchen.

"Mind if I join you?" I call after her.

"No, no, I'm quite alright!" she cries. "Sometimes I just fancy a bit of alone time, you know."

I wipe my drool from my chin. Right.

***

Having barred me from smoking with her, Rhiannon left me no choice but to go downstairs into the beating heart of the party. Beer or not, everyone has a good laugh about the spot on my pants.

"Hey Bry, get a little excited up there?" Mike teases. He twists his torso to the music and arrhythmically grinds his lower jaw to an approximation of the beat.

"Wow, that's a big one! You must have been saving that orgasm up for days!" Chase laughs. His pupils are the size of dinner plates. How very perceptive of you, Chase.

"Oh, that's cum? I thought it was pee." Avery adds and the three of them yuck it up together.

"It's beer! I spilled a beer on me, okay? Why is it so bright in here? Aren't there any darker rooms at this party?"

"Hey, can you wrap those pants around my peach when you get home? It'll help to keep the moisture in." Questionable logic and not super funny but, for some reason, this absolutely slays us and we all laugh hysterically. Gosh we're on a lot of drugs.

The party continues late into the night. One by one, the many party-goers who aren't on tons of uppers peel away until it's only you, me, Mike, Brie, Chase, Avery, Zoe, Shaun, Daddy and Hailey.

You say you want to put an epic finish on this party with a trip to somewhere and I suggest the swamp because I know how much you like to wade through the water there. Everyone agrees and we leave Mike and Brie's apartment. Zoe and Shaun apologize but they have to get up early and it's quite late. On their way out, make an effort to say goodbye to me and Zoe is smiling suspiciously. Hmm...what is she thinking? Daddy and Hailey also suddenly start acting suspicious and say they need to go get something special for you and they'll meet us at the swamp.

Along the way, we stop for beers at Hi-Life. After we buy the drinks, everyone is filtering out of the store when you decide you want to go back in and get a sandwich. I wait for you while the others walk on ahead. You exit with a sausage and cheese sandwich and a big smile smeared on your face as we head toward the swamp.

After a minute, we find ourselves in a dark alley. I look at you in your birthday dress and I'm overcome. Fuck, you're hot. I take your wrist lightly, and you look at me, stopping mid-chew. "What?" you say around a bite of food. I step closer, pushing lightly on your stomach with my other hand so you're forced to slowly back up. You're smiling, from me or the sandwich or both I don't know. We both know there's no one around. Your back bumps against the wall. My hand moves down from your stomach to your waist. It lingers on your pussy, brushing it briefly before falling to the hem of your dress. My fingertips brush your inner thigh. In one fluid motion, I drop to my knees and raise your dress. The cool night air caresses your moistened pussy and I lean in.

My tongue travels slowly up the length of your vagina and my lips seal on your clit. I suck on it gently before I sink my tongue into your hole. You aren't shy, lifting a leg and resting it on my shoulder so your slutty legs are spread wider and I can have better access. On my knees in front of you, I hold up your dress with one hand, my head tilted slightly, mouth glued to you. You're so wet. I'm literally drinking your pussy, getting drunk on the taste and the feeling of you.

Before too long, you stop me. "We should probably go," you say. I stand, letting go of your dress, then wiping my mouth and savoring the taste. You raise up on your toes, put your arms around my neck and kiss me. "But that was so hot," you say. "When we get home tonight, I'm going to ride you so hard. I want your cum all over my body. You can fuck me any way you want. I'm your fuck-doll. Use me."

I groan. This is pure torture. Now I'm going to be in the same situation I was in before, pushing my boner down when no one is looking. Getting alone with you again feels like it's a million years away. As we go to join the others at the swamp, I drain the beer in my hand and open another. Alcohol is my last hope - the only possible way to maybe kill the pain of my blueballs right now. In my drug-and-alcohol induced haze, there is only one coherent thought which can penetrate my drug-induced haze...a single, undeniable fact: sometime while I was eating you out in the alley, your sandwich completely vanished.

The six of us sit on the swamp deck in a semi-circle, listening to music and pushing our alcohol-metabolizing abilities to the limit.

"Could you pass me another beer, Chase?" Mike asks.

"Sure." Chase reaches into the box of 12 bottles and hands one over to Mike, accidentally knocking over his own beer bottle in the process. The vestiges of the mostly-drunk beer spill through the cracks in the wood. In a sudden flash of devilish inspiration, Avery twists the bottle with a devious cackle, sending it spinning. Everyone's breath catches as we realize the Pandora's box she has unleashed...here we are, in 2021, playing an ancient game perhaps as old as human civilization: Spin the Bottle.

The bottle comes to rest, the narrow end pointing decisively at Brie. Avery wastes no time, leaning over to plant a big one right on Brie's lips and everyone is like wow, nice one Aves. "Your turn!" Avery says to Brie.

Brie spins and it lands on you. "Alright, nice!" you cheer. You and Brie share a good one and everyone catcalls and celebrates the hotness of it. I discreetly adjust my pants, checking for another wet spot. I can sense with my bro powers that Mike and Chase are also discreetly adjusting their trousers for comfort. Mike spins and it lands on me. Finally, Mike and I have an excuse to kiss. I spin and it lands on Mike. Okay, that's probably enough for me for a while. Chase spins, but it's a terrible spin and the bottle flies wildly off the deck into the water. Quick as a jaguar, you jump into the swamp to retrieve it. No litter damage shall befall the swamp creatures under your jurisdiction. The group decides the penalty for Chase's failed spin is to kiss all of us, which he does, one by one, with the dignity and aplomb that he is so well known for.

Finally, it's your turn to spin. I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel the slightest twinge of jealousy at the idea of you kissing Mike or Chase in front of me, but I don't need to worry. You twist the bottle fiercely. Glass sings on wood. Wouldn't you know it? When the bottle finishes its suspenseful wobble, it is pointing directly at me.

Our friends aren't stupid. Ever since the day after we first hooked up when you immediately told everybody about it, they've suspected something was happening between us. Still, no reason to overdo this. You lean in and press your full lips to mine, just a simple kiss on the mouth...except it lingers. You don't pull away. My heart always races when we kiss like this, and it's running a marathon now. We're both aware that this kiss is going on suspiciously long, but all of the restraint throughout the night has taken its toll on our willpower. You keep your lips against mine and time dilates, slowing down to nothing as I taste your mouth, the muted flavor of beer on your lips. Time passes...and still, you stay. In all my experience, one thing I've learned is never to end a good thing prematurely. I'm not sure what's on your mind...but I won't be the one backing down from this kiss.