Fred thought that it was really kind of Stu to invite him to his flat-warming party. They got along well enough at work; they'd both joined the tech firm at around the same time - Stu fresh out of college, Fred after a successful first career at another company, now looking for a new challenge. They'd landed in the same team, and struck up an unlikely friendship. It didn't seem to matter that Fred was old enough to be Stu's father; they trusted each other - Stu appreciated Fred's breadth of experience, and Fred respected Stu's drive and determination to understand all the new frameworks and tools that were coming out.
The backpack was a little heavy; a box of beers and a couple of bottles of champagne turned out to weigh more than Fred had expected. But he'd never be so rude as to turn up empty-handed. It was just a short walk from the Tube, and the early evening air was cooling. Fred ran his hand over his salt-and-pepper beard, brushing away an itch.
The flat was a new build, out in north-east London, practically Essex. A bit of a trek from home, but Fred remembered the horror tales Stu had told about trying to buy the place, so congratulations felt in order - he wouldn't have missed this for anything, wanted to celebrate with his friend. He remembered what it had been like, moving into his place with his then fiancée. Happy times. He was a few minutes late, but he pressed the intercom, and Stu buzzed him up to the 5th floor.
Not so late, it turned out; it was just Stu and Joe there. Some of the friends had cancelled, others would be along later. So they popped some beers, sat around taking shit, with X-Factor being projected against one wall, muted.
They were nearing the end of the second beer, having demolished one pizza already, when the buzzer went again. Over the next half-hour or so, several couples and groups arrived. They all clearly knew each other well; Fred felt a bit like an outsider so was happy to nurse a beer and introduce himself to people as they wandered his way. With such a young crowd he'd expected to feel a bit of a loner, but - as in the office - he just acted as himself, let his wry and slightly dark sense of humour show, and they warmed to him. It didn't feel awkward at all.
///
Heather looked down at him as she knelt astride his waist, his cock buried deep inside her. Such a beautiful man, she'd just had to take him one last time before leaving. She was late, but no fucking way was she giving this cock up before they'd brought each other again. She bounced on him, driving her tight cunt over his long hard length, slapping her clit into his pelvic bone. He held her tits in his rough hands, mashing them, as he growled and cursed at her.
Come for me, you bastard, and bring me off. She could feel the sweat running down her back, her legs tiring. He sat up, took one nipple in his mouth, and fed. She threw her head back, tossing her hair aside, and let him ravage her. He had one hand in her hair, the other reaching down her back, cupping her arse, finger stroking into her crease and probing her butthole.
She was so close, but she needed more. She climbed off, knelt on the bed, arse high and tits on the mattress. He knelt behind her, slapped his hand across her arse, then ploughed roughly into her from behind. This is what she needed. His fat cock stretched and pounded into her, balls slapping her clit with each thrust, cunt filled with his meat. He had a filthy mouth, calling her a bitch, a dirty whore, ordering her to take him. She flicked at her clit as he drove into her, smothering her face in the pillows, as the pleasure tore through her and she clamped around his pulsating cock.
The fire warmed her whole body, and she collapsed to the bed, quivering. He looked as if he'd passed out from exhaustion. She glanced over at the clock. Shit, it was after eight already; Stu was gonna be so pissed.
Wiping herself off with his duvet, she dragged her ripped skin-tight jeans over her legs; her thong lost in the flat somewhere. She found her bra, thank god - she was far too blessed to be able to go without - but her blouse was ruined, an early casualty of last night's passion. She grabbed the dude's shirt and tied it up under her tits, and made for the door. "See ya, lover," she called back.
She didn't even know his name.
She met Mo and Sahar at the entrance to the Tube. Sahar looked pissed off. "Where the fuck have you been?"
Heather smiled. "I got tied up with that guy from the club."
"Literally, I'll bet," Mo replied. "You've not even been home, have you? Slut."
"Guilty as charged," she admitted. "Come on, we'll be late."
///
More people were arriving all the time. The latest trio made it about a dozen twentysomethings in the flat, drinking and laughing. Stu introduced Fred to the new friends, whom he said he'd met at college. Sahar was an Indian girl, coffee-coloured skin and long black hair. Mo was of middle-eastern origins, a smartly dressed young man with a wide mouth. And there was Heather - white, heavily tattooed on the extensive amount of skin on display, purple hair up in a bun. Eyebrow and lip piercings, and when she spoke Fred noticed her tongue had been done as well.
I wonder if she's got any more, he thought to himself. The shirt was tied tight enough, and the ripped jeans practically painted on; you'd think you'd be able to tell. Do try not to stare, you old letch, he thought.
Stu wandered back in from the kitchen, champagne bottle in hand. "I think that's everyone," he said, "so let's christen this place!" He popped the cork, denting the plaster ceiling slightly, and splashing a jet of bubbly straight onto the carpet. "Oops," he said, clamping his mouth over the bottle; that just resulted in foam jetting out of his nose. Choking, he handed the bottle over to Mo, who took it back to the kitchen to grab some flutes.
Another drink later, and someone had pulled YouTube karaoke videos up on the big projector, and fished out some Rock Star microphones. Joe was leading off with a particularly bad rendition of Sex on Fire. The gang yelled out the chorus; Fred stood to the side, singing along to himself. He did love a good bit of karaoke.
"Let's get some classics going," Stu said, calling up a playlist and hitting random. Fred expected some Beatles, maybe the Beach Boys... But first up it was a Spice Girls track, properly cheesy. Then he realised - this might be retro for them, but to him it was just music, the stuff he grew up with. But at least that meant he knew most of it; even the awful stuff. Especially the awful stuff.
But it was catchy, and he found himself singing along; group numbers with the others, and he gave his best Ricky Martin a spin.
Enjoying himself immensely, he didn't notice the time, until it was too late to do anything about it. He caught up with Stu in the kitchen. "I'm not gonna make it in time for my last train," he admitted.
"No worries man. I made up the spare bed for ya. It's cool. Here, have another beer!"
"Cheers!" He texted home to his wife to apologise. He'd catch all kinds of shit for it tomorrow, but since there was nothing he could do about it now, he decided to enjoy the rest of the evening.
