This story follows on from “Home Early on a Wednesday”. It may be helpful to read that one first to gain a little more understanding of the characters. Feedback is always appreciated.
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A month or so after our mid-week adventure, another Wednesday. This time, I don’t make it home early, in fact, this time I’m running late.
By the time I get home, she is already dressed to go out, impatient and anxious. My job is to stay home tonight and mind our already-sleeping son. She is going out with some friends.
She told me about it weeks ago. It’s a Christmas party of sorts, a bunch of friends she meets regularly are getting together for a small party, drinks and finger-food. It will be mostly other women her age, or older, and perhaps the odd husband or two. I can tell she’s been looking forward to it, something that breaks the routine.
I’m happy for her to go, and she did ask if I wanted to go with her. The reality is that I won’t know anyone very well, and she’ll have a much better time on her own, amongst her friends. And since we don’t have to try to make babysitting arrangements, the whole evening will be a lot less stressful.
I plan to stay at home, catch up on a little work, perhaps watch some television, if I can find anything worth watching.
She looks good as she leaves, wearing a short red skirt and loose fitting black blouse. She has put on make up for the occasion, the right shades to suit her tanned skin. I tell her how good she looks and she smiles.
“I won’t be too late,” she says. “I’ll probably have a few drinks.” This doesn’t worry me, she’s getting a lift and she rarely drinks much anyway. In fact, it has been a source of good-natured dispute over the years, that I have only seen her really drunk once. I have often hoped she would drink a little more now and then, to lower her inhibitions and relax her. She just doesn’t enjoy drinking enough, she says.
The evening for me passes completely uneventfully. As I expected there is nothing on television and at eleven I decide to go to bed. I’m a little surprised that she isn’t home yet, but I imagine she won’t be long. I leave a living room light on for her, turn out the bedroom light and am quickly asleep.
Some minutes, or hours, later a noise wakens me. It takes a few moments for my eyes to adjust and I read the clock. Just after midnight. I hear the distant thud of a car door, fumble of a key in a lock, heels on the wooden floor.
During the next few minutes, I drift between sleep and wakefulness several times, hearing her in the kitchen briefly, the bathroom, the door of our son’s room, the flush of the toilet. I fall back to sleep.
I wake up again and hear her softly calling my name from the bedroom doorway. I shake my head to clear the sleep away, concerned, trying to analyse what might be wrong.
“What’s up?” I stage whisper, into the darkness.
“Nothing. Just follow me.” She pads quietly down the hallway expecting me to follow. For a moment I debate whether to put on shorts and a shirt. I only have boxers on and I’m unsure what I might be required to do.
She bahis firmaları isn’t in the living room, nor the kitchen and for a moment I’m confused. Then I see that the front door is open. I’m sure she wouldn’t have left it open accidentally so she must be outside somewhere.
It’s a warm night, despite the fact that it is only early summer. There is a gentle breeze fluttering through the palm fronds high above me but the sky is clear with a half-moon rising. I step into the paved courtyard and see her.
She is dressed in almost nothing, a tiny, lacy, black G-string and matching bra, an underwear set she very seldom wears. For some reason though, what surprises me even more is her smile. She is smiling happily at me. I never expected to see her outside after midnight, in very brief underwear. But I could never have dreamed of her smiling about it.
She is standing in the middle of the moon-lit courtyard and I walk slowly to her, intrigued and uncertain. She holds out her arms to me and we hug. I quickly sense that she is drunk, quite drunk, I can feel her unsteadiness and see the pleasant detachment in her eyes.
“We’ve never done it out here,” she says softly, attempting to speak without slurring, and failing. “Let’s do it now.”
It takes me a few moments to realise what she means. I’m surprised, to say the least. I look into her eyes, trying to read her mood and judgment.
“What if someone sees or hears?” I whisper, as I feel my cock begin to harden at her suggestion. The sound of my voice seems loud in the midnight stillness, even though I know it’s not.
“We’ll be quiet. And if they see, well, they’ll get quite a show,” she says. She leans and kisses my naked chest. “But no one’s going to see,” she adds, as much for her own reassurance as mine.
“Are you sure?” I offer, hoping that she is. “You’ve had a lot to drink.”
“Well, you always say that I should,” she counters. Then, to end the discussion, she grabs my boxers, pulls them down and sinks to her knees in front of me. It stops any thought of caution in my mind.
She takes my cock in her hand, stroking slowly, then her mouth, running her tongue around the head. It feels incredible, not just the sensation of her mouth, but the sensation of the breeze, the night air, the moonlight, the danger.
I look down at her and she raises her eyes to meet mine. She takes me from her mouth and presses the heat of my hard shaft against her cheek and her chin and her neck.
“I’ve never told you this,” she whispers. “But I really love sucking your cock.” It is rare to hear her talk like this and my heart races as I hear the words. It turns me on even more to know how drunk she is as she says them.
“I love when you do it,” I say. “I can’t get enough of it.”
She laughs softly and returns the swollen head to her mouth, sucking hard, eyes smiling up at me. I moan softly and raise my eyes to the night sky.
She stands, her hand still encircling my cock. She kisses my neck and whispers, drunkenly, close to my ear. “Sorry, I just wanted you hard so you could fuck me.” She kisses me again. “But kaçak iddaa later, I’ll suck you again. And I’ll let you fuck my tits. I know how much you want to.”
It is my turn to laugh as we hug. It occurs to me that she probably knows a lot of the fantasies I have about her. I hold her tightly and feel my cock pressed against her warm belly and her breasts pressed against my chest. “Where?” I say. It seems unlikely we can do it standing up in the middle of the courtyard. Especially given the state she is in.
She looks around briefly then smiles at me and nods towards the carport. “I always wanted to be fucked against a car.”
I step out of my boxers and guide her over to the car and we lean against the driver’s door kissing, hands exploring. Her arse feels so soft and smooth and my fingers slowly trace down the line of her G-string. She groans and reaches for my cock.
She smiles at me, a drunken but very sexy smile, all inhibition gone. I love her. I love her like this. So different to her everyday self, yet still herself. I realise that the alcohol has unleashed the bad girl in her, the woman she has perhaps wanted to be but never had the courage or self-confidence to become.
She moves to the bonnet (hood) of the car and sits on the cool metal. She parts her legs slowly, knowing I will watch, knowing I will be unable to take my eyes away. I want to please her, meet her needs in any way she desires or commands.
“Tell me what you want,” I say. Usually when I ask that question in the safe predictability of our bedroom she says she isn’t sure. Or she says that she wants to be kissed. Tonight, though, she is sure. Tonight she wants a lot more than kisses.
“Lick me. Take my G-string off and lick me.” She pauses, looking at me. Then, very softly, she says, “Lick my cunt.”
She has never used that word and it sends a burst of adrenaline through my body just to hear it from her lips. I peel the G-string from her slowly as she allows herself to lie back on the smooth steel. I lean to her, taking in the scent of a woman, a heady, powerful aroma that triggers a new wave of desire in my male brain. The G-string I toss aside, careless with it now that its task is completed.
The taste of her is wonderful as a glide my tongue patiently along the length of her vagina. She is wet, a wetness that I have rarely had the privilege of in the past. It is a wetness that tells of pure lust, female lust, when all rules and niceties are stripped away.
She purrs softly as my tongue flickers against her clitoris, the barest, lightest touch that makes her arch her back, wanting more. I lick her again, more slowly, setting alive the acute sensitivity of her pussy lips. She moans, as I hoped she would and I reward her by plunging my tongue deep into the soft, private folds, deep into the wet smoothness of her beautiful cunt.
Her fingers run lightly through my hair and for a moment I think she will push me away as she has so often in the past. Tonight, though she pulls me closer, wanting my tongue in her, over her, teasing her.
I lift my head and look at her face. She smiles and kaçak bahis pushes a few errant strands of hair from her eyes. I continue to look at her, lowering my tongue to her clitoris, slowly circling, seeing the effect it has. She closes her eyes, still smiling, as this new pleasure courses through her, hands falling to her breasts, gently cupping them through her lacy, black bra.
I tease a little less and pleasure a little more this time. My tongue performs slow, pressing circuits of the hard little bud of her clitoris. I trail my fingers up her thigh and finding the wetness, enter her with deliberate slowness. The two fingers fuck her gently, deeply, the sound of them inside her a soft, erotic addition to the muted noises of the warm night. Her hips rise to meet my fingers as my tongue continues its measured work.
She raises her head to watch me, to see the source of her pleasure, to complete the erotic picture. As she watches, I take my fingers from the liquid heaven of her pussy and offer them to her. She takes my hand and holds it close to her face, breathing in the sweet perfume of her pussy. Then she licks my fingers, kisses them, sucks them, tasting herself.
“I love the way you taste,” I say softly, and to prove it, lick her once more. I feel her shudder and see her hands pull the bra away from her breasts. She urgently takes her nipples between her fingers and massages them.
“Please,” she says, voice wavering, “I think I’ll come if you keep licking me while I do this.” Her fingers rub her breasts and lightly tug her nipples. I lower my head from the sight and tongue her harder. I circle her clitoris with tongue and lips, almost constant pressure on the very centre of her pleasure. Her hips are raised from the hard coldness of the metal, seeking the wild dance of my tongue. Her breathing is now a rush of moaned exhalations.
Without warning, her body tenses, as if frozen momentarily in the throes of pleasure. Then, the full force of her orgasm sweeps through her body and she quivers as the ecstasy overwhelms her. Her fingers pull at her nipples with greater intensity, her back arches once again, her mouth is open in a silent scream of triumph and her eyes see me, yet are unseeing. Only her pleasure exists and I observe the moment in quiet awe, the sweet taste of her still on my tongue.
Gradually, the waves of orgasm recede and she looks at me with renewed focus. She pushes me away and slides from the car’s bonnet. I assist her to stand, which she does cautiously, the combined effects of sex and alcohol making her unsteady.
She appraises me for a moment, leans close and kisses away some of her own juices from my lip. We smile at each other, two lovers discovering themselves and each other.
“Let’s go inside.” she says. “Fuck me on the table.” She unclips her bra and removes it, turned away from me. She hands it to me and says no more, entering the house with surprising, smooth grace for one so drunk. She knows I will follow.
I notice her G-string, draped over the side mirror of the car, as if placed there carefully. I consider removing it. Instead, I smile to myself and carefully place the bra over the mirror as well, before following her inside. For a moment, in the doorway, I turn and look back once more at the night, wanting to remember it all, yet knowing that more is to come.