September 11
Dear Master,
I arrived in Paris a little late; almost midnight. My foot tapped impatiently on the worn linoleum, pausing briefly each time I thought my bag was in sight, only to resume. I eventually made my way to the taxi stand, bags in tow. The French flowed somewhat stilted from my lips; it had been a while.
I arrived at Gabriele's place at around 12:30 am. He greeted me with a hearty hug and a kiss on each cheek. I itched to run my fingers through his short-cropped brown hair; his smiling blue eyes elicited a curve up of my lips, green eyes alight.
He and James, an American friend, had settled in an hour earlier. The small studio fit the three of us comfortably, but I wondered where exactly everyone would sleep - only one bed and a very small couch! Conversation flowed over wine while we prepared for our night on the town.
I took no more than ten minutes to shower, change, and do my make-up. A slinky black halter-top covered my torso (but barely), skinny jeans clung to my hips, and black and silver sandals ensured that my feet wouldn't hurt before I was ready to go home. With each step, my long brown hair brushed my nearly bare back. Very light makeup. I looked good enough to eat. At least that's what Gabriele kept saying.
As soon as we walked in the doors I felt the techno beat pulsing through my cells. The place was packed even though it was after 2am because some famous DJ was spinning. (I think that's what the kids are calling it these days.)
We danced. Gabriele is one of the only men I let dance up on me, because he can do it without getting in my way. I need room to move!
I tried to engage with both of the guys so that James's stag status wasn't as painfully obvious, but he knew Gabriele and I couldn't keep our hands off of each other and waved me off every time.
After the wine, I was feeling very... loose and relaxed. I started sipping water as soon as I felt tipsy though. I wanted to remember the night.
Oh, how I danced. Closing my eyes, the strobe lights continued to flash across my pupils in time with the music flooding my veins. I moved. I didn't know if I looked good or bad; I didn't care. Those are moments I live for. Every molecule in tune with that beat. And I moved...
Gabriele and I became increasingly touchy as the night waned. We occasionally kissed, but only for a very short time. I've never been one for pda.
James eventually called an end to our excursion, though I could have danced until dawn. We stumbled into the night and hailed a cab.
Once we got to the apartment, I changed into a pair of boy shorts and a tight blue bra tank. I deliberately left off my underwear, sliding my fingers along my labia, spreading the hot moisture I found seeping out of my pussy. Boys aren't always good at using all of that delicious natural lubrication to make your clit feel delightful. Sometimes you have to help them out a little bit.
I was so wet. Each pulse of the music, each grind of his cock on my ass crack through my jeans, each stolen caress or pinch of my nipple had sent electricity straight into my hard, swollen clit. Now it felt like every bit of my pussy would burst with all of the heat radiating from its center. It had taken everything I had not to fuck him in a corner. If I'd worn a dress I might have. This is why I don't drink and wear dresses!
I quickly brushed my teeth. I thought that perhaps we could grope each other in the dark, given Gabriele's guest. I'd left my panties off so that he could have easy access. As turned on as I was, I knew I would cum so fast! Awareness that James was passed out across the room and might wake up to see and hear us made me even hotter. Imagining the back and forth in my mind of, "Is he awake?" and, "I don't care!" as I fucked myself into a frenzy on G's fingers had me panting.
By the time I emerged from the bathroom Gabriele had changed into a t-shirt and gym shorts; James was dead to the world on a foldout bed. I could see Gabriele's hard cock outlined through the silver fabric.
Yesss
.
