As a dancer, I've always found mention of the "Strictly curse" to be rather funny (for any international readers, in the UK we have a competition called "Strictly Come Dancing", and the "strictly curse" refers to the fact that at least one relationship will usually be ruined by the celebrity's participation in the programme). My boyfriend and I are active dancers, in fact it's how we first met, and I would now be loathe to let him dance with anyone else for long. No matter how committed, it's too emotional, too raw and too passionate not to eventually lead to an affair.
One of the perks of staying in the city in which you went to University is you know where all the good clubs are, and you can now afford to buy drinks in any one of them. It's a bonus that my housemate, Clara, is also still around.
It's a Friday night in mid-September and having been working three weeks now, am overdue a night of de-stressing. The life of a new graduate is a harsh one, and so I'm also overdue some real alone time with my boyfriend. I've chosen my favourite party dress; a body-fitting white number cut at mid thigh and mid-boob, with sleeves. It's also my boyfriend's favourite. My white blonde hair is down, straight and mostly under control. The club is an old converted river boat, like the kind you'd expect to find plying the Mississippi rather than tied up in a smudgy corner of a British city quay. You can hear the music beat half a block away, and by the time you step into the main saloon it's beating at your soul.
We grab a small space on the increasingly packed-out dance floor and get lost in our own worlds. The music stops you thinking about much other than what's in front of you, and the alcohol washes that away as soon as you blink. All I can see is my boyfriend, and before long he takes hold of me and we dance together. We do all kinds of dance together, but few of them work in a club when you're squeezed up against hundreds of other drunken students. We settle on an odd mash up of salsa and making out which becomes increasingly physical as the night goes on.
It's almost two when we half stumble through the doorway and start kissing up against the wall in the hallway. After a few tries, I manage to kick the door properly shut. My boyfriend's hands are out of control squeezing handfuls of my perky ass, and the slight dip in arousal as we sat respectably in the back of the taxi is gone. My nipples are pressed hard against my dress, and that's nothing to do with the slightly chill to the midnight air outside. I don't know how long we make out for, but eventually my desire for him overcomes my desire to kiss him. For a moment I'm rubbing my hands over his back, and then I'm rubbing the bulge in his jeans. Lots of fun happens down there.
"Upstairs?" His voice is electric. I'm pulling him behind me within a second. His arms slip around my waist, holding me back whilst they slip up to my breasts and squeeze hard. His lips press against my neck and cheek and I hear myself murmur. The urge isn't going away, if anything it's stronger now, so I break free.
I drop back a few steps on the stairs, since her dress is riding high enough for a pretty nice view. At the top of the stairs she turns to wrap herself around me and we kiss again, narrowly avoiding falling back down them. I take the lead then, pulling her the few steps to our bedroom.
Like the rest of our rented house, we decorated the bedroom carefully. Of course I say we, when really the credit has to go my boyfriend who has much more of an eye for these things than I do. There's an old fireplace opposite the bed with a mirror above forming a centrepiece, with wardrobes either side. Opposite the door, the window looks out onto our small slice of England and out over the city rooftops. It's a view that's surprisingly captivating at times. Now is not one of those times.
We pause to lock lips just half kneeling on the bed, but my attention is with my hands unbuckling his jeans. That done I slink out from his grasp and turn around to kneel on the bed, stretching my arms in front of me and sticking my ass in the air. He isn't far behind me, and my dress has now ridden up so far that it's easy for him to pull my panties down to my knees. Delicately I balance on each knee so he can pull them off, and symbolically toss them across the room. I slide back so I'm on my hands and knees as I feel his hand touch my slit. As it's the fading of the summer bikini season I still keep it shaved smooth and so I'm extra sensitive to his touch. I hear him murmur amusement feeling the wetness there, and stick my foot out to hook him closer. His hand rubs across carelessly and then I feel his lips probing my slit.
I tease her opening first, with my tongue, pushing gently in and out. I then move down to find her clit and tease it from its cover. She trembles and I slide my hands up and down her thighs, running my tongue back and fore between pussy and clit. I don't have much patience to stay long, but she tastes good.
He pushes me over, pinning me to the bed by holding my arms above my head. We kiss, fooling with each other as he teases me by putting off the moment. Still holding me down he kisses the side of my neck and then all of my shoulders he can reach. To me, each is a little pinprick to my arousal and I feel another wave of wetness released.
When he speaks, his voice is deep and husky. "You want my cock?"
I murmur, hoping I can retain some dignity by making it sound somewhat non-committal. Three seconds later it's undermined when he pulls the front of my dress down enough that he can suck one of my nipples between his lips.
She has a habit of choosing little lace bras when we go out which undoubtedly make her look wonderful, but provide absolutely no cover to her nipples when she gets cold or, more usually, horny. I lick circles around her areola, about two fingers wide and flushed red. She wants me to take her dress off, but it's not time for that yet.
I reach for his hard manhood and rub it up and down as best I can. When he moves back to kiss me I can reach better, and roll his balls around between my fingers.
"Turn over
,
" he whispers. My heart starts to race in anticipation and I do as he asks. He takes hold of my hips so I kneel up and hear another involuntary murmur as his hands slide forward and then back. Again his hand rubs up and down my slit and sends waves of pleasure rolling up my back and into my brain, where they seem to amplify in intensity. I moan his name, and then gasp in a deep breath as the head of his cock pushes against my slit. One of his hands is running across my hips holding him against me. I consciously relax and breathe out feeling his shaft slide inch by inch into my pussy.
We both have quite a high tolerance to any bad effects from alcohol, but whereas it mainly affects my balance, she tends to get tipsy and lose control of her normally set emotions -- something that makes evenings like this a lot of fun...
He's not wrong. His hands are back on my hips now he's starting to thrust in and out. A sense of relief and satisfaction washes over me first, followed by another burst of desire as he moves faster. I feel kinda dirty still wearing my dress but sink into the character it's defining for me. I rock back and fore to meet him whilst stretching my arms in front.
The pressure on my cock lessens as she straightens her back but remains intense.
