This story was inspired by a real event that I was told had happened at a leavers' party.
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Every year in the middle of July, on the last night of the term after the exams have all finished, the final-year students at the High School where I teach hold a leavers' party for themselves at one of the clubs in town. By this time of year the vast majority are over 18, so they are able to book one of the night clubs and, strictly speaking, since they have officially left the school that afternoon, there is no need for any teachers to be there; a couple of the younger ones usually go along to be the "official" representatives.
Last year the Head asked for volunteers and so I found myself putting on my party dress and looking forward to a moderately boring evening in the company of a group of people 10 years younger than me who would probably all have too much to drink. My opposite number was one of the English teachers, David, who is discreetly gay and is entertaining company, although not my first choice to spend the evening with!
I thought I would stay until about 11, then get back home for a reasonably early night. By lunchtime the next day I needed to be at the airport as I was going to Australia for 3 weeks, to stay with friends that had emigrated a couple of years before.
The venue was 'The Back Street Club', so named for its location away from the main hub of the town and a popular haunt for the 18-25 set, primarily due to its live bands, good dance floor, moderate drink prices and the Back Street Back Room - actually a series of twisting corridors and small rooms in the old building, that provides little nooks and alcoves, all liberally screened by randomly hanging curtains, that with their dim light and background music make it perfect for some discreet kissing, fondling and outright groping.
After the buffet, and a long chat with David, I found myself standing near a corner of the room close to the dance floor, carefully nursing one too many drinks, watching the others dancing and having a good time. My eyes kept being drawn to one particularly handsome young man that I had never taught, but knew as one of the Rugby team from when my ex-boyfriend had been his sports teacher and I had done the girlfriend thing by attending their matches. A few times I saw him eyeing me up, then the next time he looked straight at me, followed by a deliberate appraisal of my body, with his stunningly bright eyes meeting mine afterwards, a wicked gleaming smile making no apology. He started to walk over to me and I smiled back my tacit agreement.
We made some small talk, avoiding the night's taboo subject of the recent exams, then he asked me if I would like to dance with him.
"Yes," I said, before my brain had worked out a polite refusal, and before I knew what had happened his warm firm hand had pulled me onto the packed floor.
He was a good dancer and after an initial glance around, establishing that nobody had taken any particular notice of us, I was enjoying the band, the music was making me flow with him. Dancing usually starts to arouse me, and this time it was more intense than normal despite my slight apprehension over being with him. Or maybe because of it.
I was just starting to think I was getting carried away when the band stopped, announcing they were having a break but they would play some recorded 'smoochy' numbers for a while. The lights went down low.
"Perhaps you'd like to dance these with a friend?" I enquired, almost unwillingly.
His response, "No, I want you," should have made me stop and think, but instead I moved towards him as he opened his arms. The music began and I found that after the first minute, when I was slightly reserved, I slowly cuddled up against him, swaying with his movements and pressing myself closer. As we danced I looked up at him; he inclined his head so our lips were almost touching; I didn't pull back, so he kissed me lightly until his mouth opened, then our tongues entwined and I hugged him tighter, tilting my head slightly aside as the passion rose in me.
We continued kissing for a long time, as his hands moved slowly down to by bum, the heel of his hand pressing whilst his fingers started slow circles against the material of my dress. In a quiet part of the song I heard someone close by quietly say, "he's feeling her up," and I knew they were speaking about me, but the drink and touching had made me bold, so I put my hands on his waist and lightly caressed him there through his shirt. He broke the kiss, then nibbled my ear, slowly working down my neck and back to my lips as I moaned and responded to the eroticism of the moment.
Two songs played out back to back as we were consumed with each other in the darkness. He had moved us over to the side of the room and gradually turned me so that my back was to the wall, then he slid his hands down, then slowly up again, this time under my dress, pulling it up at the back and touching my bum cheek through only my flimsy knickers. My own hands mirrored his, moving down to his hips, below the level of his shirt, then up again, inside it, to touch the bare skin above the waistband of his trousers. This spurred him on and he pulled my hips in towards his crotch, his hands quickly moving up above my knickers to my bare waist, then in the opposite direction down inside them so that he was now caressing bare skin. I could feel my knickers being pushed down at the back as his hands stroked me, rolling and bunching them up into a line of material.
If he pushed them any further they would be falling down. Then his fingers started to move round to the front, slowly pushing them there too, then moving into my hair. I groaned out loud when his fingers brushed briefly almost down to my wet lips. What was I going to do, I wondered. I would have to stop him...., or not, or go further. I was still just rational enough to consider stopping it at that moment. All the time we were still dancing around and I realised we had moved a long way across the room from our starting point. When I looked just behind me I saw the arched entrance to the Back Room. That was it, he had manoeuvred me there for a purpose.
He saw that I had realised and smiled at me, wickedly, then cupped my hairy mound in his hand, wriggling his fingers against my clitoris, slowly and deliberately stroking them into my waiting lips, kissing me at the same time, it was so erotic, but at the same time he was giving me time to stop him. I was poised on the point of no return, I could take a deep breath and push him away, no real harm done, now or never.
The fingers stroked into me again, then he began to ease my knickers down my legs, all the time looking straight into my eyes, watching my reaction.
"You're not going to stop me?"
When I looked back at him, he could see I was consumed by lust, in thrall to the emotions surging through my body. He looked back at me, I glanced down, saw and touched the physical evidence of his desire.
My heart raced, my mouth was dry, my voice quiet, and I spoke the single word he waited for, "No". A single word that told him what he wanted to know, that if he got Miss Wilson in the Back room, she was almost certainly going to let him fuck her.
I was pulled through the archway into the deeper darkness beyond, round the corner out of sight, as he gave a final push, propelling my knickers down my legs so that they fell to my ankles, where he scooped them up, stuffing them into his pocket.
It was almost too dark to see, inside the Back Room. We moved quickly past vaguely moving forms, past a young woman with her head thrown back, her breast exposed dimly in the wan light, and somehow found an empty alcove, partially screened by a long curtain.
I had felt the hardness of his cock pressing against my belly in the other room, had just pressed my hand against it through his trousers, but now I touched its bare skin for the first time, exploring its length from his balls to the tip inside his trousers, feeling the slippery fluid there that was ready to ease its way into me. I was completely open to him now, wet, and he pushed two fingers deep up inside me, kissing me deeply as we swayed together. The other hand snaked up my body under my dress, crushing my breast inside my bra. Then he changed tactics and reached down from the top, sometimes making me lift up to my toes with the other hand that was pushing in and out, in and out, as I moaned and pressed my cunt onto his delicious fingers.
One pearly white tit was engulfed in his hand; then his lips were on the nipple, sucking, nibbling, pulling. I was slowly squeezing his cock, stroking up and down its length.
To my right there was a long-cushioned, low, bench seat.
"No, don't stop," I groaned with frustration as I was emptied of the probing fingers, then he loosened my bra and pushed it up over the top, so that both breasts hung down free, nipples aching to be teased.
I undid the clasp of his trousers and unzipped them. His cock poked out of his pants, rigid, massive, ready to take me.
He sank down onto the bench, his back to the wall, and I stepped astride him, my thighs spread wide each side, my hand still gripping his cock, guiding it in towards me as I placed the tip at my body, holding it at my lips for a moment, toying with him as he strained upwards, trying to penetrate, to bury the shaft deep inside me.
