Loose Weekend (Friday night)

Turning to Jon, she saw that he was still leaning against the wall breathing heavily, with his erection barely subsiding. "That was fucking horny," she said to him almost matter-of-factly. "I'd better go," she added. Jon was speechless, beyond a nod and a slightly disappointed "Right... See you...", so Ali strode down the alley and into the street, turning in the direction of her flat.

***

Alison made much slower progress on the way back to her flat than she had earlier in the evening, when she'd been heading out to the bar. Her sensitive pussy was gently pulsing with afterglow, and she could feel Jon's come drying on her buttocks and thighs. She still felt horny, but the sway of her hips had departed now she'd got what she wanted. Her strappy high heels still made her feel sexy, but she was no longer strutting her way along. Jon had been pretty big and dealt her some rough strokes, so walking felt a bit different right now.

Just as when she'd been heading out to meet Nick, she got a few looks from guys passing her on the street. This time though, she wasn't so keen on their attention. She knew her hair and clothes were messed up, and her face still felt damp from what she'd done for Jon. Worse, there were obvious marks at the knees of her stockings where she'd knelt on the ground in the alley. She guessed she looked as trampy as she felt, and hoped she didn't bump into anyone she actually knew. She tried covering her cleavage a bit better, but in this top it wasn't easy. It seemed to take ages to reach her flat, the scrapes and clacks of her heels on the pavement tracing her slow progress back home.

When she finally arrived, Ali slipped inside furtively and turned on the light. It was only then that she saw the full state she was in.

Her black party shoes and stockinged calves still looked exquisite and classy; but the laddered and torn knees of her stockings, her ruffled tartan skirt, and the dried trail of come on the back of her thigh told a different story. Her tight, pastel green top was wet with her own sweat and clung to her breasts, her still-hard nipples making little ridges in it. There was a wet stain on the flimsy material, too: Jon must have leaked come onto it when she'd been on her knees.

Her plum-dyed hair was tangled, and one of her cheeks actually had dried spunk on it, just where she'd concentrated her dark blusher. Her lipstick was mostly gone, some of it smudged across her own face. Her mascara and green eye shadow were still in place, but somehow that just made her look more sleazy.

Alison looked herself over in her mirror, half expecting to feel remorse. She'd gone out looking cheap and tarty, and returned looking like a used whore. But it wasn't guilt that she felt building up insider her.

First it was satisfaction. She'd got what she wanted physically, and she'd proved her point about no-ties sex. She'd been used on her own terms, and she'd loved it. She remembered how Mike had watched her with her legs draped over Jon, stared at her with his young, lustful, envious eyes...

Then it was excitement. She felt her pussy, still wet and aching with pleasure from Jon's cock, moistening once more as she thought about the alley, remembered the sound of him slapping against her arse, the eager way she'd taken that rough fucking...

She felt so cheap, so aroused, so fucking horny all over again! She'd been a real slut tonight, she'd loved it, and boy was it getting her off...

Ali threw herself delightedly onto her bed, running her hands over her torn and stained stockings and feeling her sore, bare ass. She had no underwear on, it was all in her handbag - chosen specifically for Nick and then ripped off eagerly for a stranger in a dark alley. The tightness and aching in her pussy was gone at last, the frustration she'd felt before just an unpleasant memory. She felt loose and free again.

Ali pinched her hard nipples through her flimsy top. As she played over in her mind how she'd put herself about in the bar, the way she'd looked, how dirty she'd felt, the way men had looked at her, the obvious way she'd flirted... her hand slid under her short tartan skirt and between her parting thighs. She'd got what she wanted, but now it was what she'd done to get it that was turning her on.

Two slender fingers filled her pussy, pumping hard, both punishing and rewarding herself for what she'd done. Her horny squeals echoed around her bedroom well into the early hours. She thumbed her clit as she felt her own body with her free hand, the come on her ass and face, the holes in her stockings, the fading taste of Jon's cock in her mouth as she moaned and writhed in her soiled outfit.

After wailing and shuddering her way through a final orgasm, Alison fell asleep on her bed, one hand still between her legs. Since coming in from the street, she hadn't even removed her shoes. This was one Friday night she just hadn't wanted to end.