Many thanks to Lancerlott for his help proofreading this story.
My intent for the "Briefs" series is to write short pieces on whatever scenario that comes to me.
-Tricia
*****
Saturday night at the "Who Cares?", out at the edge of town, is always a wild party. Everyone knows that it's a time and place where people come and experiment a little, dancing and hooking up with others with no guilt and no repercussions. I'm a regular.
Tonight, I'm taking a break from the dance floor, sipping a whiskey at a high top and enjoying the show. Straights and gays and bis, trans and cis and nongenders, married and single and poly people mix comfortably and vibrate to the deep bass and heavy drum. It's a glorious sight. My parents would be having seizures watching, but then again, they have seizures all the time when they think about their daughter's "lifestyle."
Then I see her come in from the side door. She is hand-in-hand with a tall man who she seems to be very comfortable with. Her husband, I assume. But, she's in her forties, bottle-blonde with generous breasts and equally generous hips and a less-than-flat stomach. Damn it, she hit all my buttons.
You don't get to choose what turns you on. Because if I could, I would choose other Latinas like myself, in their 20s, with mocha skin and skinny stomachs.
But that's not God's plan for me, apparently, because I always get wet for the middle-aged white women; especially the MILFs. Pillowy soft, dyed hair, and well worn is my kryptonite.
I see one of the waitresses, Gina, go up to them and take their drink orders and I intercept her on her way to the bar, a $20 in my hand. "Let me take them their drinks, Gina, darling."
She laughs, "I was wondering if you were here, Sarita. She's definitely your type." I cringe. Everyone here knows my thing.
"You got me, Gina. Can you let me take them? And add a Jameson's for me." I hand her another $20.
I watch as she punches in the drinks and wait for her to come back with them. My Jameson's, along with what looked like a pair of Patron shots. I like their style.
"If she's not into you,
cara mia
," Gina says, "Find me. You know how I feel about you."
I surprise her by kissing her on the mouth while I take the drinks from her. "I promise, babe."
I bring the drinks to the couple and introduce myself. "Hi, I'm Sarita. Gina asked me to bring these to you." The man starts to take his wallet out of his back pocket and I say, "No, they're paid for."
"Really?" She says with a gravelly voice that I hear right down in my cunt. "Who paid for them?"
"I did," I say without shame. I hold up my drink, "Skoal?" I ask. They nod and we all throw back our drinks.
He speaks, "And why did you pay for our drinks, Señorita?" Uh. Ugh.
I don't let that show on my face, though. "Because I want to dance with your beautiful wife."
He seems surprised. "I don't know...Mel, this seems weird."
She, Mel?, takes my glass and hands hers and mine to him and says, "Go get us another shot, will you hun? What are you drinking, Sarita?" Oh, bonus points for remembering my name.
"Oh, I'm definitely drinking what you're drinking."
"More Patron, then," and she grabs my hand and pulls me toward the dance floor. I can't believe my luck. This is going so well! "I'm Melinda," she yells as we step into the center of the music.
"Nice to meet you, Melinda," I say and pull her close and start to grind my body on hers. She doesn't back off at all. She dances well.
Hubby finds us with the drinks and we each take our next shots and throw them down our throats. I shiver with the alcohol hitting my bloodstream and lean forward to kiss my conquest. Her mouth tastes of tequila and her tongue pushes into my mouth, not allowing mine into hers. She's telling me how it is going to be. I have no complaints.
We break the kiss and her husband is standing there, just watching us. He raises an eyebrow toward Melinda and she looks at me, asking if she should share. "Sorry, no boys for me," I say.
"Your loss," she says, then turns to her husband and says something in his ear. I appreciate seeing him walk away.
Coincidentally, Gina is walking by at that moment and I ask for more shots, telling her to put it on my tab. Then I sway back to Melinda as a slow dance starts. She's wearing a knee-length cotton sundress with a halter neck. When I grab her ass to pull her to me, I don't feel anything under her skirt. Maybe there's a thong though. But hey, I'm not doing panty inspection, I'm just loving her soft wide ass. Her generous breasts, controlled by an underwire, press into mine, which are unconstrained by anything but my silken blouse.
Her hands are on my ass as well, controlling the dance, and fondling me at the same time. Our mouths come together again and once more she denies my tongue entrance. Instead she bites my lips
almost
enough to draw blood, making my knees weak. Then her tongue forces into my mouth, swirling around my own tongue in a way I'd never felt before. I don't know what she's doing, but I love it. Then I feel her lifting the back of my skirt and her hands are now resting on my cotton briefs. I feel her hands slide into them, her hot hands on my skinny ass.
We grind into each other as the beat intensifies. She pushes her thigh between mine, demanding that I rub my crotch against her leg. I am not the sort of girl to turn down that kind of opportunity. When the song ends, before the next really gets going, Gina appears next to us. "You girls as so hot," she says holding out her tray with four shots. I take the first and shoot it, then pull her forward and kiss her open mouth. Then I watch as Mel does the same.
Watching her kiss Gina only makes me hotter. Mel and I take our second shot and shoot them, this time kissing each other. I have the vague feeling of Gina walking away, disappointed. I would feel bad for her if I weren't feeling so hot for Mel.
Then we lose ourselves in the music and find our rhythm. She dances away from me and comes around, up against me from behind. I push my ass into her lap, enjoying the pillow of her breasts and belly up against my back. She reaches back underneath my dress and takes the sides of my panties, pulling them down my thighs. My top half is flowing with the music while my legs are constrained as she guides the damp cotton over my knees and then over my heels, one at a time. She grabs my hips and pulls me back against her. I have no clue where my briefs are.
I try to turn around, but she stops me, her hands on my hips holding me facing away from her. I feel the bite of her teeth on my neck and I shiver. Then she whispers, "I can't wait to taste you. But only after you taste me first." I usually take the initiative in relationships, but I can see that that isn't happening here.
Her hands slide up my side and then to my chest, her touch burning through my thin blouse. Her hands cup my tits. She catches my nipples between her outstretched fingers, clamping them, squeezing them hard, harder. It hurts so damn good.
"Oh, Sarita," she says from behind me. "I want you. I want to own you. I want to make you mine." Those are words that I am more likely to say than hear. My cunt is tingling. I feel so wet I wouldn't be surprised if I was dripping on the floor. But there's more.
