My preference is for stories are all about the sex rather than with vast amounts of background, so this is in that vein. The plot is based loosely on a story I read many, many years ago; I don't recall the author or title. I'd love to say this happened to me but that would be ludicrous: the scenario is a sexual fantasy and not meant to be completely realistic.
I was nineteen years old and in my first year at university. Away from home for the first time, I had joined a number of societies and clubs, largely in order to meet new people and make new friends -- particularly female friends. My fellow students and I were free from the shackles of parental control; hedonism was the order of the day and I quickly found that any fears I may have had about sowing my wild oats were unfounded. I was lucky enough to be possessed of a certain charm and no little good looks, and the callow virgin I was at the start of the academic year had, nine months later, transformed into an experienced and, dare I say it, expert lover.
In late May, the debating society of which I was a member was holding its end-of-year dinner party, a somewhat fusty occasion held in the grand hall of the college and requiring attendees to wear formal attire. To be truthful, it wasn't really my kind of event. I hadn't actually attended any of the debates over the course of the year and was only going because I'd been persuaded to by my friend Charlie, who had his eye on a girl who was a leading light of the society.
Come the evening of the event, I was somewhat annoyed when Charlie told me that his hangover from the previous night of excess meant that he wasn't going to be coming after all. I considered dropping out myself, but as I'd paid £30 for my ticket and gone to the trouble of hiring a dinner jacket, I decided to go along. I fully intended just to stay for the dinner and grab my money's worth of booze, before heading back to the hall of residence for a night watching television and perhaps a solitary and unenthusiastic wank.
At around 8.15pm I arrived at the party and found my place at the table, marked by an elegant place card. Most of the other guests had already arrived; looking round I recognised a few faces but there was no-one I'd call a friend or even a close acquaintance. Next to me, on my right, was a corpulent and slightly sweaty fellow who grudgingly noted my attempt to introduce myself and immediately went back to regaling his companion with talk of how he would be joining his father's investment bank after graduation. I resigned myself to an evening of boredom, and hoped that the expensive wines on offer would go some way toward relieving my ennui.
The seat on my left was as yet unoccupied. I looked at the name on the place card:'Lady Lavinia Rogers'. "I hope she does," I thought, but couldn't help but feel disappointed, as she would no doubt have the kind of equine features that my then-prejudiced mind associated with the nobility and what's more, would consider me to be the kind of dreadful oik more suited to cleaning the ancestral ovens than being engaged with in conversation.
Some minutes later the Lady arrived, and immediately I realised that the first of my fears was misplaced -- wildly so. She was stunningly attractive: slim and lithe with hair of a deep auburn shade, that fell in ringlets about her face. And that face! Mouth, nose and eyes almost perfect in form and yet with an other-worldly hint that denied any blandness that that perfection might imply. A smattering of freckles danced across her cheeks and an impossibly cute, but slightly enigmatic smile played across her lips. She wore a dress, which appeared to my untutored eye to be made of silk, burgundy in colour, with thin shoulder straps. My eyes, controlled almost entirely by my libido, noticed that she didn't appear to wearing a bra, but then she had the kind of small but perky breasts that rendered such support unnecessary.
I stood to introduce myself. That smile again, this time with a hint of flirtatiousness?
"I'm Lavinia. Awful name. You can call me Roj," she informed me in unsurprisingly posh tones.
"Very pleased to meet you Roj," I replied, "I'm John," and with that opening gambit, we sat down and started talking.
She, it turned out, had no more interest in formal debating than I did, but her father had been president of the society and his father before him, and it was therefore considered compulsory for her to be a member. Her family was minor nobility -- apparently she was 317th in line to the throne. My suggestion that we plot together to bump off those ahead of her, one by one, was met with more grace than it deserved, and indeed after very little time we were chatting away like long-lost friends. No doubt the food was of Michelin star standard and the wine like nectar but it passed unnoticed, such was the intoxicating liquor of her company. To my pleasure, it was clear that she was as much as enthralled by my company as I was by hers. This was confirmed while we waited for dessert: I felt the touch of a stockinged foot on my leg, and saw that smile flicker across her lips yet again. This time the flirtatiousness was unmistakeable.
"That was you, wasn't it? Or should I be making a move on my neighbour to my right?" I asked, pointing my thumb at the portly banker-in-waiting.
"Why don't we skip dessert, pop outside for some fresh air, and you can find out?" she answered.
I don't need to be asked a question like that twice, and less than a minute later, we were standing outside in the evening air. The street in which we stood was bustling with throngs of revellers and tourists taking advantage of the early-summer warmth, but we were oblivious to them. I looked into her mesmerising azure eyes, held her by her waist and pulled her strongly towards me. Our lips met and we kissed passionately.
Time seemed to stand still. Continents could have formed and re-formed, mountains could have been thrown up and eroded back to sand; I wouldn't have noticed. The taste of her lips was exquisite, the touch of her skin so soft, the feel of her breasts as they pressed against my chest so erotic, that my cock began to spring to life almost immediately. As she felt its hardness against her stomach, her breathing became more hurried, and her embrace tightened around me. Then she pulled her lips away from mine.
"Let's go back to my house," she said, insistently. "My parents are away this evening and we'll have the place to ourselves."
"Your wish is my command, my Lady," I responded -- rather calmly, I thought, considering how rapidly the events of the night had unfolded. I turned round and hailed the first cab that came past. We slid into the back seat and she told the driver our destination, which was a street in one of the more upmarket neighbourhoods in the city.
"Lovely evenin'" said the driver. I began to reply, but got no further than "Certainly..." before Roj had once more clamped her face to mine. I noticed in the rear-view mirror the driver rolling his eyes and smiling. "I'll be as quick as I can", he laughed.
But Roj had no ears for him. Our kissing became yet more passionate, making my cock harder still, so that it strained against the fabric of my trousers. As if she sensed this telepathically, she moved her hand down to touch it, and I almost exploded there and then.
She pulled away from our kiss and moved her mouth to my ear.
"In a few minutes, this is going to be inside my cunt," she whispered.
