Visiting an Old Friend

I don't see her for a month.

It's excruciating. Having a weekend full of the best sex of your life, followed by a month-long dry spell with only text messages and the occasional Facetime call to keep you afloat, is not a punishment I would wish on anyone. But it's also a month I have to plan.

Her flight arrives around 8:00pm, and I'm at the airport to pick her up. I've teased her all day with texts and pictures, wanting her ready to pounce on me the moment she arrives. I picked out my outfit days ago: a short skirt, of course, with heeled ankle boots and a tight sweater, no bra. My long, wavy hair is pulled into a low ponytail, and I wear it over my shoulder. When I got ready earlier, I imagined her grabbing me by the ponytail and pulling my head back to expose my throat, and had to steady myself against the bathroom counter.

Don't get too keyed up

, I told myself.

It'll be hours yet til you see her.

And now it's just moments. Her flight has arrived. I fidget nervously as I wait in the terminal meeting area. My phone buzzes in my purse, and when I open it, she's texted me; she must have just turned her phone back on after landing. "Are you wearing panties, slut?"

I smile and slip my phone back into my bag without replying. Two can play these games.

When she emerges from the glass doors of the terminal, I am struck again at how damn attractive I find her. Her hair has grown a little — she hasn't shaved it since I saw her last — but it still sits close to her head, soft and blonde. She's in a thin white tee shirt that hangs off her shoulders and makes me think of the tight abs I know she's hiding beneath it — those same abs I remember her flexing, slick with sweat, as she fucked me. Black jeans, a big wristwatch, boots. She sees me and smiles and I give her a little wave; she drops her carry on and grabs me by the waist, pulling my hips into hers and bending me backwards for an intoxicating kiss, right there in the terminal. I feel weak at the knees.

"Hi," she murmurs with her lips against mine.

"Hi," I murmur back, and push her away, my hands on her chest, the straps of her sports bra creating ridges under my fingers. She gives me a little pout when I move away from her.

I bend over and grab her carry on and start walking toward the exit, and she jogs to catch up with me, grabbing her baggage back with a huff. "I'll carry that, thank you." As we exit the terminal into the dark night, she smacks my ass with the flat of her hand.

The cab ride is long — we chat casually, she tells me about her flight, I tell her about my day at work, her fingertips creep slowly up my thigh. Every time she gets to the hem of my skirt I swat her hand away, and after the third time she does it, she looks at me and gives me this tiny whimper. I just smile back at her and, after checking to make sure the cab driver isn't looking in his rear view, I slowly pull my sweater up until my bare breasts are exposed.

Her sharp intake of breath gives me the satisfaction I need and I drop my sweater back down.

When we pull up in front of the apartment building, she's looking at me with this dark impatience in her eyes, like I'm a forbidden treat that she wants to devour. She grabs her bag from the back, I pay the cabbie, and we walk up to the front of the building. When I key in a code to the directory, she mutters, "You've gotta be fucking kidding me."

"Hey, it's me," I say to the intercom.

"Come right up!" comes the fuzzy answer over the speaker.

I haul open the heavy front door and gesture for her to enter before me. She gives me a look that could kill.

As we wait for the elevator, she asks, "So where are we and why aren't we at your apartment?"

I laugh. "You'll see."

The elevator doors close and we're alone in there, and she's on me in a rush, behind me, pushing the front of my body up against the wall. The hip-height rail on the elevator wall forces my ass out and she slams her hips into me. She wraps my ponytail around her hand and pulls gently, nipping at the back of my neck. "Where — are — you —

fucking

— taking me?" She thrusts her hips into mine to punctuate her words.

I whimper and pant as she humps into me. "You'll see." I'm soaking wet now, tingling everywhere she touches me.

The elevator

dings

as we reach the seventeenth floor and when the doors slide open, we're both a little flushed and disheveled.

By the time the door opens to my knock, we're looking put together again. There's a burst of noise, many voices talking at once, and then a chorus of hellos.

We are at the home of one of my friends from college, where a bunch of our old school acquaintances are getting together for drinks. She looks around and recognizes a few faces, but I introduce her anyway. "You remember, from college?"

"Oh my GOD, you didn't tell me you were bringing along a surprise!" The hostess chides me. There are about seven people over — a few of the girls from college that we used to party with, and some husbands. One woman has her wife there. I don't imagine for a second that I'm fooling anyone as to why I have the most gorgeous butch in tow, and the surprised look on her face probably speaks volumes as well.

The hostess pours us drinks and we settle in to chat. The conversation is good, different groups breaking off to chat about different things, music playing in the background. Two hours pass this way, as we reminisce and enjoy each other's company. I don't talk to her the whole time, but every time I look over at her, she's holding her own, chatting with old friends or the guys they brought with them. And every time I catch her eye she gives me the most dangerous look. It's a very you're-in-trouble-next-time-I-get-you-alone look. I sip my Aperol spritz and smile as I think about how much I'm torturing her. I sit on the arm of the couch and make sure she can see my bare thighs from her spot at the kitchen table, where she chats to someone's husband.

She finally corners me as I'm coming out of the bathroom. I wash my hands, check my hair, and when I open the door, there she is, her body blocking my way out. She rushes me back in and locks the door behind us, her face close to mine, her hands sliding on to my ass. She pulls me into her and bites my jaw. "You little minx," she says, her voice low and dark.

"Mm," I respond. "Having a good time?"

She kisses my neck and throat. "Oh, yes," she whispers against my collarbone. "Nothing I'd rather be doing." Her hands move down my hips to the hem of my skirt. She yanks it up and exposes my ass, and softly runs her fingertips over the smooth skin there. I get goosebumps.

She releases her grip on me and gently turns me around so I'm facing the bathroom mirror over the sink and counter. Her hand moves up to my back, and she pushes me forward until I'm bent over the counter, my ass out. She slaps my bare ass hard and I let out a little yelp.

I reply to her, panting with desire, "Glad you're having a good time. I think I'd like to stay a lot longer. It's so nice to catch up with old friends." She spanks me again, this time on the other cheek. Then, all I can say is "Unnnnh," as her fingers quest between my thighs, where she encounters the sopping wet crotch of my g-string.

She hooks her fingers around it and pulls it out from between the cheeks of my ass. I feel her knuckle brush my asshole, and then she yanks up on my underwear so they press tight against my pussy.

"What are these?" She asks, her breath hot as she leans over me to say it right into my ear.

"My panties," I whimper.

"I thought I told you not to wear any when you see me."

"Oops," I pout at her over my shoulder. I'm baiting her, and it works.

She grabs my panties in both hands and pulls, tearing them off of me. It's too much. My pussy sends a drop of moisture down my thigh; she scoops it up with her thumb and licks it clean. She's just gotten down on her knees behind me and pushed my legs open with her hands when we hear someone try to turn the door handle.

"Ooh, sorry!" comes the voice on the other side of the door. Then they knock, for good measure, so we really know they're just standing there waiting. I give a frustrated groan and hammer my fist against the marble countertop.

Fuck

, I wanted her mouth on me. Instead, she stands back up, pulling my skirt back down over my hips for me.

She drops the scraps of my underwear in the trash can, we unlock the door, and we try to rush out before anyone notices we were in there together — leaving a bewildered wife-of-an-old-friend staring after us as we hurry back to the party.

About half an hour later, I'm on my third or fourth drink, and she disappears on to the balcony. It's warm inside, and after a few minutes I follow her out there, stepping out into the cool night and pulling the sliding door closed behind me. Inside, the party is loud, but the sound is muffled once the glass shuts it in. There's no light out there, just the ambient light from the apartment filtering out, so we get a great view of the city spread out before us.

She's smoking a cigarette, and it flares in the dark as she inhales, casting a red light over her features. I wrinkle my nose. "I didn't know you smoked," I say.

She shrugs. "I don't, really. Only when I'm really fucking stressed out. I bummed this off whatsername."

I lean back against the railing beside her. "Stressed? I've got no idea what you could be stressed about." I arch my back, emphasizing all of my assets: my taut, flat tummy, my breasts, the delicate collarbone I know she likes to kiss and nibble.

She makes a noise in her throat and takes another drag, looking over at me, her gaze running up and down my body. "You'd better be careful," she warns me.

"Mm, why's that?"

She takes another drag of her cigarette and flicks the cherry over the balcony, grinding the butt against an ash tray to put it out.

Then she's on me.

Her mouth tastes like smoke and nicotine, but somehow I like it on her. Her mouth is hot and hard and insistent as she kisses me, and her hands move up my body, beneath my sweater, over my ribs, until her rough palms are rubbing against my hard nipples. She uses her body to push me back until my ass hits the patio table, bumping it into the wall behind it, and then she cups her hands around my ass and lifts me up an inch or two so I'm sitting right on the edge of it. Her leg pushes between my thighs to open them. We're in the corner of the balcony now, no longer visible from inside the apartment unless someone comes right outside.

When her fingers dip against my wetness, I gasp out, "Yes," and then she's fully inside of me, twisting her fingers up to curl against my most sensitive spot. There she holds me, her thumb pressing against the outside of my vulva, flicking against my clit. She isn't thrusting. She stays inside of me and pushes my clitoral stimulation meter higher and higher, one flick at a time, and then rolls the ball of her thumb against my hood. A guttural sound escapes my throat.

"What do you want?" She murmurs to me.

I whimper in response. She pulls her fingers halfway out of me and I moan at the loss.

"You have to tell me what you want," she says, and I can see her wicked smile glinting in the low light on the dark balcony.

I try to thrust my hips forward to bury her deeper inside of me, but when I do she pulls out all the way. "Uh-uh," she scolds me. "Little sluts need to beg if they want to get fucked. Now tell me what you want." She growls the last part.

God

I love this.

"Fuck me," I whisper. "Please."

"Mm-mm," she presses her fingers against my wet entrance, but doesn't push in, and I jerk my hips forward again, but she pulls away. "Not good enough."

"Fuck me, please fuck me, please fuck me," I whimper, louder, and she presses her fingertips against my entrance again. I spread my legs wider, my bare ass on the patio table now, my knees pushed out as far as they can go. "Please fuck me. I'm your horny slut and I need it."

"And you can't wait, can you? Can't wait until you get me home, you have to get fucked right here, don't you?"

I nod and whimper again. "Yes. I need it now. My cunt is so wet for you. I need you inside me and I don't care who sees us. Please, please, please, please fuck me." She slides her fingers in then and I groan with pleasure. "Yes, yes, fuck me deep, fuck me hard," and she does. She slams her fingers into me and the patio table rocks under our weight, knocking against the concrete outside wall of the apartment building.

She gets about four strokes in before the distant sounds of our friends talking abruptly increase in volume as someone slides the balcony door open. "Oh, I'm so sorry, did I interrupt something?"

Her hand is out of me in a flash and I snap my legs closed. "Uh, no," she says. "Just having a smoke." I can see her cheeks reddening in the light spilling out from inside.

"All good out here," I call out from behind her, yanking my skirt down. "Just keeping her company."

We make our excuses shortly after and escape together, laughing all the way down in the elevator. The cab ride to my place is short, only five minutes or so, but she can't keep her hands off me the whole time, and I have my first orgasm in the back seat of the cab. She's down on her knees in the elevator up to my place, her face in my pussy and my hand on her head, and by the time my front door closes I'm already coming again. Later, in the small hours of the morning, in the dark of my bedroom, I lay between her legs and bring her to orgasm with my tongue and fingers. It's the first time she's let me do that do her.

When I wake up beside her in the full light of morning, she strokes my cheek and kisses me softly, then asks me, "how do you feel about threesomes?"