Alcove Sexual Escapades

Author's Note: This story contains casual, public, and anonymous sex with multiple partners, and interracial lesbian sex. Though parts are inspired by actual events, any similarity to any person, living or dead, is purely unintentional and coincidental, and everyone is over 18. I hope you enjoy it, and I always appreciate and welcome any constructive feedback you care to share.

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I don't know what angered me more: the betrayal or the hypocrisy. I suppose it doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things. My ex-boyfriend Leo was a total asshole either way.

But he and his asshole-ness are in the past now. Wiped clean. Flushed away. And his "last straw" shenanigans lead me to a fantastic evening of sexual awakening. Freed me. And opened a whole new world of libidinous pleasure. So, I suppose some good came from the bad—silver lining and all.

Leo and I had been together for almost a year. In hindsight, I recognize that I had fallen into the stereotypical "woman-in-abusive-relationship-but-doesn't-leave" situation. However, he was not physically abusive; he was psychologically abusive and a master of emotional manipulation.

Maybe Leo cared for me at some point, but I became nothing more to him than a possession, someone he could dominate and control. Over time, I withdrew and became introverted and insecure. I sought Leo's approval—or at least to avoid his disapproval—at the expense of my own happiness. Eventually, he convinced me I was not attractive and would be alone, desperate, and sad if I weren't with him.

Viewing the world through the veil of his irrational jealousy, Leo continually accused me of betraying his trust, "eyeing," and flirting with other men. Lusting after them.

But I never did. On the contrary, I actively avoided interactions with other men that might be perceived as flirtatious. I never strayed, never even playfully bantered with another man while Leo and I were together. Instead, I stunted my femininity and sacrificed being "me" to appease him.

Which made his betrayal all the more devastating. I returned to our apartment over lunch to pick up some files I'd been working on at home. Saw the coat. Heard the giggling. The familiar squeak of our bed frame. The sight of their naked bodies rutting. Screams, ultimatums, and the permanent ending of our relationship ensued.

I was alone. Ashamed, despite being the innocent one. I was royally pissed off. Sad. Lonely. Emotionally adrift. But free. As if a great weight had been lifted that was pressing me down. Suddenly I saw with clarity how repressed I'd been. And how it didn't have to be that way. I needed to get out, be free, be wild. Be me.

I called an old friend, Brad, whom I'd known since high school. Long before I was with Leo, Brad and I had a close, genuine friendship. We had occasionally hooked up sexually years earlier in college, but our friendship never evolved into anything romantic. Instead, he remained a great friend—we could talk about anything, including our romances or casual hookups. Unfortunately, we lost touch shortly before I met Leo, and we had had zero contact for almost two years by the end of my relationship with Leo.


Brad answered my call, and we fell instantly into our natural rapport as if no time had passed. I told him what had happened with Leo. Brad supported me, listened to me, and empathized with me. Finally, he asked what I needed and how he could help. I said I wanted to get out, forget, lose myself, and have fun without pressure, threats, or judgment. He suggested a night out dancing. It was the perfect idea.

I changed my outfit five times as I got ready to go to the club. It had been so long since I'd felt able to choose my own clothes and express my femininity without fear of judgment and condemnation. How sexy should I dress? I want to be attractive but not look like a slut—skirt and blouse, pants, or dress? I need to be able to move, and I'm not trying to pick up a man; just let loose and have fun with Brad. Finally, I selected a short black dress, one languishing in the back of my closet, unworn for years.

My dress had an angled bottom hem that hit just above mid-thigh on one side and above my knee on the other. It had several buttons down the front—adjustable sensuality—and spaghetti straps over the shoulders that provided secure support but showed lots of skin. It would not cover bra straps, and I didn't have a strapless bra, so I went without one after confirming that I could still get away with it with minimal jiggling. Finally, I chose dress sandals with low heels so I would be stable dancing.

I assessed myself in the mirror and gave a twirl to see how the dress moved. It fanned out nicely without lifting too high while showing plenty of my toned legs. I unbuttoned the top two—then three—buttons, revealing a fair amount of cleavage between my more-than-a-handful but still firm breasts. I opted to loosely pin up my long auburn hair, giving a soft feminine look that looked more casual than a bun or French twist but still left my shoulders bare. The dress showed the curves of my waist, hips, and butt without being overtly clingy. I was ready. I felt sexy. Terrified. And somewhat horny.

Brad picked me up and gave me a hug. "Wow, you look sensational. Dumping losers suits you." He gave a disarming smile I remembered so fondly.

I swatted his arm playfully. "You're not supposed to say that . . . I think. Anyway, thanks, you look great. You haven't changed a bit."

Brad wore jeans and a button-down shirt that did nothing to hide his tight chest and broad shoulders. His dark hair was always just a bit unkempt—it gave him a carefree, unthreatening look that had played well with women, including me. His blue-grey eyes seemed to change with his moods, giving him a perpetual air of mystery.

The nightclub was busy, and the dance floor was crowded. As we entered, I felt the throb of the music, the bass reverberating through my body. The lights in the bar and table areas were dim. But the dance floor was shimmering with bright, colorful flashing lights, alternately highlighting and backlighting the jumping, turning, and undulating mass of bodies. 


Brad and I got drinks and surveyed the scene. I loved the exciting atmosphere, the energy, and the sexuality that permeated the air. Dancing couples, groups, and singles gyrated to the music. Some kissed, and many were grinding against each other, crotch to butt. I felt a mix of freedom, nervousness, and arousal. I was in my element, but without Leo looming like a dark cloud of judgment over everything I did.

I spun away from the bar and faced Brad. I backed up towards the dance floor, crooking my finger in a "come here" gesture as I swayed my hips. Brad grinned and followed me onto the dance floor like a cobra entranced by a snake charmer.

Brad grabbed my hand and twirled me—I felt the cool air on my upper thighs as my dress lifted. We danced several driving songs, sweat building, often laughing at an awkward move and occasionally smiling at a well-executed one. The crowd constrained our dancing to a small area, so we couldn't get too rambunctious. We were frequently jostled or bumped by other equally enthusiastic patrons.


We started to head back toward the bar when a favorite slow song came on. I stopped, pulled Brad into a close embrace, and began slow dancing. I pressed my body against his and felt my soft breasts compress against his muscular chest. I sensed more than felt my nipples harden with the contact. Then I looked up, and our eyes met. Our kiss was natural and spontaneous. Sensual and delicious. 


I gave a little smile and began gyrating my hips. Brushing across Brad's groin, I felt with some satisfaction a responsive bulge in his jeans. We kissed again, our tongues tentative and playful. I turned, pressed my ass against his crotch, and began grinding against his now significant bulge. A surge of warmth spread from my groin to my belly, and little electrical pulses rippled through my vulva. I felt dampness soaking my panties.


The music flowed through and around us, and the lights flashed dynamic designs across our bodies. It had been so long since I'd felt so feminine, attractive, and uninhibited. Brad wrapped his arms around me from behind, just under my boobs. I lifted my arms and linked my hands behind his head and writhed sensuously against his body. My movement caused the fabric of my dress to pull against his arms and brush across my erect nipples, sending waves of pleasure down to my groin.


The slow song ended. I turned to face Brad and saw my lust reflected in his eyes. We joined our lips as if on cue, tongues entwined, a primal connection. He slid his hands down and cupped my ass cheeks, pulling me against his now full-fledged hard-on. Finally, we broke, breathing heavily.


"If this is you just acting out, seeking revenge, or in a rebound, be careful." Brad looked at me with a blend of concern and arousal. "I'd hate to see you get hurt or do something you regret.


"I've been falsely and unfairly accused so long of lusting after other men; my sexuality has been devastated." I shook my head and breathed in, then exhaled deeply. "It feels like I might as well justify the accusations and do things for real. You've been so kind, so sexy, and safe." I met Brad's eyes. "Part revenge, yes, but more, actual attraction and a sense of freedom. I feel like myself for the first time in so long and feel safe letting go, knowing you're here, and you're you."

Brad nodded with understanding. "I can see that. You need to let go, have fun, and be crazy. Be the "you" I remember. Whatever you need, I'm here." 


"Whatever I need?" I said with a lilting voice, teasing and mischievous.


Brad nodded and grinned. "I like the new, old you." He placed his finger on my lips, ran it down my chin, then onto my chest and between my cleavage, swirling in a small circle. I felt a tingle in my vagina and caught my breath. He abruptly dropped his hand and stood back.

"And I need to hit the head—I've had to pee for the last half hour," Brad said. "You keep dancing and have a good time. And I mean it; you're here foryou, to have fun. Should I grab some more drinks on my way back?"


"Sounds good to me," I smiled and bit the corner of my lip.

Within seconds after Brad left, a handsome Latino man approached and, with a slight bow, invited me to join him in a dance. I took his hand, and we moved onto the dance floor, the fast beat of the music propelling us onward. He was an excellent dancer, and I felt elated and controlled as we spun, twisted, bopped, and brushed against each other. I flirted seductively and outrageously—we laughed and had fun. He responded playfully; I presumed he knew I was with Brad and that I wasn't seriously trying to seduce him. After the song, he thanked me and left. I felt warm, aroused, and exhilarated.

Before I even turned to leave the floor, another man stepped up and started dancing in front of me, his hands offered in invitation. His vivid blue eyes and warm smile were enticing. I placed my hands in his—they were strong and solid—and we danced. Several times he spun me into him, and I pressed against him—I liked pressing against him. Then he put his hands on my hips, and I circled my pelvis, breathing heavily. I could feel my pulse increasing and heat rising in my cheeks, not just from the exertion of dancing. My arousal, already high from Brad and the first dancing man, swelled, sharpened, and permeated throughout me.

"You're so beautiful, so sexy." His voice was husky, and his aroma reminded me of woods. "I love the way you move, the way you feel.


I pulled away a little, smiling. The crowd jostled us and kept us close. With the tip of my tongue on my upper lip, I rolled my shoulders sensuously as I danced, my eyes locked on his. The man's gaze darted between my eyes and my chest, and I felt a wave of pleasure knowing he found me attractive and sexy. My confidence was building, and I felt our mutual attraction. Our eyes met, and I lifted my chin, lips reaching toward his; a kiss seemed natural and inevitable, and I wanted it. The anticipation of tasting each other's lips spread warmth in my belly.

Suddenly, I jumped and squealed in surprise as someone grabbed my ass from behind. And not by accident; they squeezed my whole butt cheek under my dress like testing a melon, even slipping a finger under the elastic of my panties. I turned with some difficulty in the crowd to challenge the pervert but didn't see who it was. I looked around, slightly peeved.

"Are you ok? What happened?" Mr. Blue-eyes asked.

"Some jerk just grabbed my ass. Shit. Did you see anyone, see anything?"

He shook his head. "Sorry, no. I was only looking at you. I don't know who did it. There are so many people in the dark, moving fast."


I nodded. "Yeah. Well, not your fault. But man, what a mood killer." I looked at him with some regret. "This was fun, though—while it lasted at least." I glanced over and noticed Brad pressing toward us through the crowd with two drinks. I turned back to Mr. Blue-eyes and smiled. "So . . . well, I've gotta go now anyway; you have a good one." I touched his shoulder. "Thanks for the dance." I broke eye contact and looked toward Brad.

He followed my gaze, saw Brad approaching, then looked back at me with a mischievous grin. "Same to you. Be good . . . or not." He winked at me and moved away into the crowd.


Brad handed me my drink and smiled. "Looks like you've been having fun. So good to see that. And hope I didn't interrupt anything." He looked over my shoulder and followed the back of Mr. Blue-eyes. "I was serious when I said this isyour night. I have no claim on you—if you want to let loose and hook up with someone, you should. I'm great with anything. Were you into that guy?"


"Of course not, dope. We were just dancing, having a good time." I instinctively deflected, based on old habits; Iwas into that guy.

I realized that Brad genuinely looked out for me without a trace of possessiveness or jealousy. That attracted me to him more than any smooth lines or dance moves. This is my great friend—he'd be as happy if I left with someone else as he would spending the night with me. Well, maybe not just as happy. At least, I hope I'd have just a little edge there.

Looking around, I shook my head. "One thing did just happen that was pretty dickish. Some guy—or girl, theoretically—groped my ass. And I mean, really grabbed and squeezed me, not an accidental bump or brush. But, unfortunately, I couldn't turn quickly enough to see who it was because of all the people; someone behind me who blended into the crowd."

Brad's reaction shocked me. "Did you like it?" 


"Of course not, some perv going around grabbing girls' butts! Why would you even ask that?"

"Well, it reminds me of a classic sex story scenario—a girl gets felt up in public anonymously, starts liking it, and ends up having a sexual encounter."

I paused, my curiosity holding my annoyance momentarily at bay. "What are you talking about? What story?"

Brad took my hand and guided me down the corridor towards the restrooms and kitchen, where the music's thumping was less prevalent, and we could talk more easily. He pulled me close and leaned in so I could hear him. "It's a general plot scenario that can be pretty sexy when well-written. I read something like it for the first time in an old Penthouse Forum magazine I found as a kid—part of my dad's porn stash." He laughed. "Of course, he didn't know I'd found it."

I looked at him, cautiously intrigued. "Ok, so, not really interested in hearing about your dad's porn habits. In the story, what happens?"

"Well, there are many variations; the devil's in the details. It starts with a girl alone in a crowded place—a train, crowded dance floor, concert, bus, a sporting event—it could be anything. She is crowded so much that she is pinned and can't move. She feels a hand on her leg and thigh—but she can't turn to see and doesn't want to scream or say anything. Reasons and details vary. Anyway, she ends up liking the touching and responding despite her misgivings and struggles. The hand slips under her panties, fingers her. Maybe the finger is pulled away—she misses it—and replaced by a cock. She pushes back and gets fucked—lots of 'can't believe doing this' and 'can't believe I like this' thoughts. The guy finishes and pulls out, disappears. After she finally can turn around, she can't make out who it was, doesn't see anyone. Or sees someone who it might be, but not sure. Usually, that is the end; the interaction is the story. Sometimes it is a prelude to a more complicated story."

Brad paused and looked quizzically at me. "You ok?"

I took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and shook my head. "Fuck, that is hot as hell." My pussy pulsed in syncopation with my breathing.

He looked at me with raised eyebrows.

"No, really, that idea of having sex in public, secretly taken, the whole thing is just . . . mmm, I can picture it. I'm not kidding; now I'm really horny."

My arousal was reflected in Brad's eyes, which were alight with lust. We moved closer, breath hot on each other's mouths, then mashed our lips together. Not a tentative, tender, or chaste kiss—instead, hungry, urgent, demanding. I grabbed his hand and started to pull him into the women's bathroom, the scene playing out in my mind as if we were in a romantic film.

"What are you doing? We can't go in there." Brad pulled away, chuckling, breaking the spell.

I glanced at him, then at the bathroom. Stood aside as a woman came out and squeezed past us, giving us a judgmental look. I smiled sheepishly at Brad. "Guess I got caught up in the moment."

Brad nodded, his eyes dancing with amusement.

I looked around. My body was trembling with lust. "I think we might need to be somewhere—well, less restricting." I bit my lip, then gave him a quick peck. "See you in a minute. I've got to do some 'resting' in this room here." Brad smiled indulgently at my corny phrase.

I leaned against the sink in the women's room, breathing heavily. I checked my makeup in the mirror with my crotch pressed pleasantly against the edge of the counter. I subconsciously wriggled my hips so that my clit felt the movement. My clit pulsed, and my vagina tingled with arousal. Damn, I'm so horny. What's gotten into me? I would have fucked Brad right here in the open if he'd followed me in.

"It's not like in the movies, honey, where a couple bursts into the bathroom and has a quickie." A woman stood, laughing, next to the other sink.

I started at the sound of her voice, my musings interrupted. I looked over at the woman. A stunningly beautiful woman. Medium-brown skin, braided black hair, full lips, and a smile that lights up a room. She wore a body-clinging silver and black dress with patterns in the fabric weave that shimmered in the light. Low cut to accentuate her full—clearly braless—breasts, thigh high, very sexy. Her dark chocolate eyes twinkled in amusement, and her white teeth contrasted with her darker skin. Shit, can she read my mind, or am I just that obvious?

"This is real life, and you just can't bring a man in here and fuck—most women around here are not quite that liberated."

"Yeah, well, um, sorry about that. I'm just worked up tonight and got impatient."

She contemplated me. "Well, if you're that horny, you could try the Alcove."

"What's the Alcove? I don't know what you mean."

Her eyes twinkled. "Ah, the not-really-a-secret Alcove of the Club DuPont." She leaned in as if she were telling a secret. "Off to the side of the dance floor opposite the DJ, there is an area behind the lights. I suppose they store equipment there, or maybe it's always empty. It's dark back there, and no one can see in from the dance floor because of the lights shining into their eyes. It's wild—public but secluded—you can see out, see everyone on the dance floor, but they can't see you." She pursed her lips, half smiling. "Some like to sneak back there and get it on—like the thrill."