Last May I went to visit my sister in India, for six whole weeks. It was great fun but I missed my fiancé - we aren't accustomed to spending so much time apart. He had to stay in England while I was off gallivanting. I should say that I have Indian heritage - my hair is coal-black and my skin coffee-coloured; my eyes are dark and I'm medium height with a physique that attracts attention.
Anyway, I returned to London one Friday afternoon in early June. It was unusually warm. I dropped off my bags, showered, rested, and then got ready to go out to meet him - James and I had agreed to meet up with some friends in town. I thought we might stay in a hotel. I had missed him so much.
I have so many outfits - Eastern and Western - but I knew which item to wear on this very special occasion: one of James's all-time favourite dresses: it's a bit slutty, but it's so pretty too - a mini-dress that clings to my body with an elastic snugness that leaves little to the imagination. It's made of lycra. Lycra is so soft and stretchy. It's black with a pretty green flower just above my tummy. It is a halter-neck, held up by a green bow that's tied behind my neck, and it is backless - I can't wear a bra with it.
So on this night, feeling jet-lagged and tired but aching to see my James, I caught the underground to Leicester Square wearing this little dress.
With my sexy dress I also wore black tights and little black boots, but still, as I waited for James and his friends outside the station, I had several boys approach me. Some asked me for a light, others asked for my number, others commented on my dress, others blatantly took photos - pretending to be snapping something else.
Most of the boys were south Asian - eighteen year old boys with their eyes and pants bulging, other more timid, older Indian men stealing glances while their wives or girlfriends were distracted.
All of these boys had their eyes trained on my breasts - I should have said that I am a twenty-eight years old with legs and a chest that are, shall we say, admired. Because I'm petite with dainty shoulders and arms and hands, my boobs seem bigger than they are - they're just a C cup. I felt conspicuous, but also aroused - I love being enjoyed and stared at, within reason, and I could feel my body trembling, my breasts enlarging and aching. My arrogance was gigantic - I longed to see James. I was impatient for drinks and dinner to be over so he and I could go to bed together. It'd been ages. My body wanted his.
I suppose I do know what those bad boys were going to do with the photos they'd secretly taken of me - look at me later on their mobiles, zooming in on the indents my nipples have made, zooming in on my bare neck and back. The dress was very hot, but more than that, after six weeks in India, I was toned and tanned - no junk food, no booze, just sun and heat and celibacy. I felt firm. I felt trim and fit and horny. My hair was thick and black and luxurious.
James and his friends finally arrived - ten minutes late - and we dined at a nearby restaurant. There was James, his friends Michael, David and Katie, and me.
I felt a little under-dressed, but James was so pleased to see me; we talked no end, drank many cocktails, and afterwards the five of us went to a bar, where we talked, danced a little and drank a few more cocktails and some wine. David and Katie are a couple, so Michael mainly spoke with me and James. Several times I saw him glance down at my chest, when he should have been looking into my eyes - but I don't blame him. When you go braless boys eyes do linger long on one's roundness.
By the time we'd finished partying it was almost one o'clock; the last tube home had been missed; but Michael offered us his spare room.
Michael is one of James's oldest friends - he's tall (6 foot 2), a bit chubby, aged 42, American, and has a small flat in Camden Town that he shares with his wife, Cynthia. We drunkenly, thoughtlessly got a cab to his and agreed to spend the night there.
Michael didn't get on very well with Cynthia - they'd been married a long time and had tired of one another. They only had a one bedroom, so James and I had to take the living room sofa. We saw Cynthia briefly, exchanged pleasantries, had a cup of tea, and then retired to our respective quarters. Cynthia is a rather grumpy woman - pretty - slightly plump with bobbed brown hair.
James and I lay together on the sofa with a duvet and a pillow and felt like teenagers again. We giggled. We whispered. I stripped off my tights and James took off his socks and trousers - we then waited a respectable amount of time before we began kissing - maybe thirty minutes - then James started nibbling my neck, my bare and bony shoulders, my mouth again, stroking my hair, my sides, my face...he was hungry...then he took off his t-shirt; he looked nice, solid and strong - he was only wearing his boxers now: we continued kissing, trying to be quiet, trying to control our lust. I licked and nibbled his chest, his tummy. I teased down his boxers and stared at his hardness - James was fully erect.
I kissed the tip of his cock, sucked it, licked the sides like a lolly, and then moved my wet mouth down to his testicles. I kissed them gently, parting his legs and licking beneath his balls. He loved this. He moaned. I stroked his cock up and down as I did this. But I didn't want to over-excite him. Not yet.
I sucked him for a few seconds then knelt before him, arching my back. In the semi-darkness, by the light of the window, he determined the plump curvy ridges of my dress-clad figure, the rise and fall of my 32 C breasts, pressed and imprisoned inside the lycra. He could also comprehend my quivering, anxious, impatient longings.
It was awkward on the sofa - there wasn't much space - but I hastily whipped my knickers off. I felt wet and warm between my legs. I would have done anything at that moment to feel his cock inside me. I lay on my back.
His finger is inside me. We kiss. He moves his bare body down and opens my legs wider, kissing and fingering between my thighs. It's sensational, but frustrating. I move his head up to mine, we kiss and I feel the tip of his cock on my pussy lips. "Push" I say and he does.
Oh wow. You can't imagine the pleasure and relief, slowly, slowly, inside, deeper, deeper and I say "Oh gosh deeper...James...I love you," out loud. "Mmmm," I continue, "all the way inside, then out, yes darling..."
