Come on come on come on come on now touch me babe... Jim Morrison's voice strutted across the dancefloor like he was still among us. My dancing partner -- whom I shall call Ms White, a slim brunette with a huge smile and eyes you just want to dive into -- sang along, treating every word like a command, spinning around, and shaking her hips at me as if they were a commandment in themselves -- come on come on come on come on and touch me. How could I refuse? I grabbed on and pulled her tight, feeling her gorgeous ass bumping up against my crotch. For a few minutes, we were a lizard queen and king, we could do anything... And then the DJ played something more modern and our psychedelia trip was finished, but the thought lingered for the rest of the night as we danced together, come on come on come on...
We were new lovers, Ms White and I. Every touch still held a thrill -- is this really happening, with this person? We'd met online, on one of those sites that caters for people like us who shouldn't really be doing what we were doing if you catch my drift. We stole time together. Catching a few hours here and there in hotel rooms whenever we could both slip away unnoticed. Beautiful moments, but in some ways frustrating because we both wanted more. Lots more.
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Earlier that day we'd hopped a train and ridden for a few hours to Paris. We gassed the whole way, talking about anything and everything, right down to what Ms White was wearing underneath her loose shirt and tight jeans. I knew it would be matching -- she had a thing about underwear always matching -- the only question would be the colour or the style, and how wet I could make her panties by talking about how I was going to be tearing them off at the earliest possible opportunity. Other passengers must have overheard but that was all part of the fun.
We found our way our hotel in Montparnasse and as soon as the doors had shut in the elevator we were kissing and grabbing at each other, exactly as we would have if it was one of our steamy snatched afternoons. Instinctively my hand went straight inside that loose shirt and felt her incredibly firm tits, tweaking her nipples. She let out a little gasp and bit my lip. Then the lift binged and the doors opened. We laughed as another young couple -- all buttoned up in their polos and matching chinos -- waited primly to board.
"Going up," I said, pointing a suggestive finger in the air.
Polo man looked annoyed but Mrs Polo gave a little smirk as her eyes dropped to my jeans. I could read her mind: I'd already 'gone up'.
As soon as we were in the room we were onto each other again. I backed Ms White up towards the bed, backed her up some more, then lifted her with her legs wrapped around my waist and carried her onto the bed. Ms White's hand went straight to my cock, raking her nails along it through the denim. I kissed her neck and luxuriated in her perfume, going with it for a minute -- but I had other ideas.
On a normal afternoon we'd take time undressing each other but today I just went straight to her jeans. One button. A zip. Then plunged my hand down to where there used to be curls, but where now there was only a tiny landing strip of gorgeous dark hair. She was wet, of course, and more than ready to be played with. Her labia felt like they drawing my fingers in and guiding to me to stroke all the way up and along, probing in a little, until they reached her clit, pausing only to push a little harder and explore around, before going back to the bottom for another delicious stroke.
Suddenly her hand grabbed my wrist and thrust my arm down further. I knew what she wanted -- my long middle finger parted her puffy lips and entered her. She moaned like she'd been dreaming of it for hours -- which perhaps she had. I took it as an invitation to push a second finger in and thrust harder, hooking the fingers around and reaching for her g-spot.
Ms White had been telling me since our first date that she was a squirter, but so far I hadn't managed to set off the waterworks. And if she thought I was going to try there and them, she was mistaken. I had other plans.
I stopped for a moment to pull down her jeans and panties (they were a lush dark green, btw, my favourite colour), spread her legs wide, and replace the stroking finger with a stiff tongue. Ms White cried out in pleasure. Freed from their other duties, my fingers went back inside, hunting again for her g-spot.
Leaving her to swear at how good it all felt, I tweaked her nipples with my other hand and tightened the suction on her clit, bringing it out even more so I could flick it with my tongue.
'I'm cumming, I want to cum,' she cried. Ms White's a greedy cummer, she always wants it. And she'll get what she wants, but not until I say so.
I stopped everything.
'Keep going, keep going,' she begged me.
