Dance Me Outside

This story is for Frances.

It was a true anomaly: one of those warm nights in March that almost made the winter seem like a distant memory. The scent in the air was all spring-alive and vibrant, even exciting somehow. The kind of something in the air that sends a shiver up a girl's spine: something was going to happen tonight. I could feel it.

It had been two months since I started dating the new guy in my life. For now, let's call him Willy. Don't ask me why I would choose Willy as a fictional name. It just seems appropriate. Unfortunately, Willy had to go off on business for the weekend and was probably on a plane right now, watching some bad Hollywood movie with a pair of earphones on-waiting for the stewardess to bring him another double scotch. I missed him already, but not enough to stay in on a Friday night. Pining over long distances has never been my strong suit.

I'm also not a promiscuous girl. Honest. I was just going out to meet my friend Claire for a few drinks. A girl's night out, if you will, and sure-I guess there would be some boys out there at the bar and one or two of them might be good looking enough to flash a smile or two, but I would never actually cheat on Willy. I'm just not that type of girl. Besides, there was no reason to cheat. Sexually, Willy did it for me. He engaged my fantasies and pushed my buttons and made me feel as sexy as a girl could feel. On top of it all, he was pretty easy on the eyes. And so when I was getting ready to go out it didn't even occur to me to "slut" it up. Not that I could slut it up even if I wanted to-I just didn't buy those kind of clothes.

I mean, I guess Willy had mentioned it a couple of times. Once, when we were going out for dinner with some of his work friends, I remember him asking me if I didn't have anything tighter to wear. "I want my friends to know what a nice piece of ass you are," he said jokingly. But we both knew it wasn't a joke. He was willing to accept my subtler fashion statements because at the end of the night he knew he could strip me down and have me and treat me like his whore, even if I was wearing a nun's habit. But I guess I knew the truth: every once in a while he wanted me to slut it up. "You got an amazing body, Frances. Show it off. Watching guys watch you is my second favorite thing to do."

I quickly slipped into a pair of jeans and a sweater, threw on a light jacket and was out the door by 10 o'clock.

The bar that I was supposed to meet Claire at was one of these dirty places that I guess you could call 'bohemian.' It's patrons were a mixture of artists and musicians, writers and actors, and intellectual-types who liked to play pool and cruise for one night stands. It's actually the same bar that I met Willy at back on New Year's Eve. The bar was divided into it's four distinct areas: bar, lounge, pool tables and dance floor. It also had a back patio and a couple of grimy bathrooms down in the basement.

When I arrived the bar was a bit crowded but I managed to find a free table, where I plunked down, ordered a beer and waited for Claire to show up. After about half an hour, however, Claire was still MIA and the place had become packed. Every table was overflowing with people and I had been asked more than a few times if the chair in front of me couldn't be used by someone else. I must have looked like a little island, stranded alone in the middle of a sea of 30-somethings, all trying their best to get drunk. Eventually enough was enough: Claire was still nowhere to be seen and I had to go to the bathroom. By leaving my table I would have to give it up.

As soon as I stood up, several guys looked over, coveting not me, but the seating I was about to offer them. That's when one guy asked me, "Are you leaving?" I wasn't sure what to say. "I'm waiting for a friend who hasn't shown up."

"Oh," said the boy. He smiled anyways and then looked around the room for plan B.

"If she's not here in 5 minutes, you can have it," I said.

The boy turned to me and with a mischievous grin, said "Have what?"

I smiled at his boldness.

"The table."

"Oh," he said.

I looked behind him and saw that his two friends were looking a me and trying to hear what their friend was saying to me.

"Are these your friends?" I asked.

"Yeah." He didn't even turn around to acknowledge them. His eyes had somehow gotten locked on mine and it made me blush. I tried to find someplace other than his feet cast my eyes, but only found his two buddies, smiling at me aswell.

"Do you think you can hold the table for me until I get back from the washroom," I asked. It was a bit cocky of me, I guess. Asking someone who wants a table to watch your table, but I figured a boy with a smiling-habit like his would be more than obliged to help a girl in distress.

"Sure," he said, and then-just as I was about to past him and go down to the washroom-he devised a stipulation. "But on one condition: you gotta dance with me when you come back."

I don't know if it was his smile, or my need to pee, or what, but I smiled back at him and agreed on his condition before walking off to the washroom. As I left the three guys to keep watch over my little island, I could literally feel six eyes staring at my ass. And when I say 'literally' feel their eyes, I mean it was like little kisses touching the fabric of my jeans.

In the toilet stall, behind closed doors, I pulled my jeans and panties down around my ankles and sat on the toilet seat-where I could help but notice that my pussy had become wet. Just from the smiles of three men in a bar, I wondered. I peed and then went back upstairs.

The seat was at the back, near the dance floor, and in order to get back there I had to get through what seemed like an entire prison of men-each one crowded against each other, trying to move to and fro, or just standing talking to other men. As I worked my way through it was inevitable that I had to brush past and wiggle against people and I could have sworn that at one point I felt a hand on my breast and at another point I felt a man crotch rub itself against my ass.

The air in the room was hot and the breath of others rolled off my skin and caused beads of perspiration to form on my neck.

After a good struggle through the crowd I managed to get back to my table which had been taken over by the three smiley men. As soon as I approached the table, however, they all stood up, ready and willing to offer me my seat again. But instead of sitting down with them, I just smiled and turned to the one charmer in particular and told him "I think I owe you a dance."

He smiled, of course, and then came and led me out onto the dance floor, which was about half-packed with mostly couples dancing to the dj's ambient grooves. While we were dancing the smile-guy said almost nothing, and out of pure nervousness I started asking him questions.

"What's your name?"

"Christian," he answered.

The most polite thing that he could've done at that point would have been to ask my name in return. But he didn't. Christian, as I was going to find out, was the complete antithesis of politeness. And that smile on his face: that smile wasn't the smile of a Christian, that smile belonged to the devil.

After a few moments of nothing, I decided to give it another go.

"Are you from Toronto," I asked.

"Yep," was his short reply.

Just then the mood changed a bit as the dj switched tracks and the beats became more jungle and the samples were distinctly pornographic: a woman's moaning, the sound of slapping flesh. All in all, the music wasn't anything out of the ordinary, but with me dancing with a silent stranger in a packed bar on a Friday night, well, it wasn't without it's eroticism. As the beats took control of the vibe in the room, the smile-guy began to move closer and within a few seconds I could feel the bulge in his pants pushing toward me, rubbing against my crotch. His hands on my lower back, circling, eventually strayed lower until he had my ass cheecks in his hand and he pulled me against him-grinding with his bulge and breathing on my neck. And although I wasn't resisting, there was an acknowledgement inside my head that this was going too far. However this could be classified, it was starting to feel lie I was cheating on Willy. At the same time, however, it felt so good. His cock must have been rock hard at this point, because all I could feel is it straining toward my-through his pants and mine, as if trying to rip out and push inside me. His lips started moving down my neck and his hands were searching the crack of my ass, spreding my cheeks apart with every grind he gave me. The whole thing was so intoxicating that I hadn't noticed his two friends had joined us until one of them started rubbing against me from behind-his bulge as stiff as the first one.

At that point I don't know what came over me, but I had to reach down and feel that bulge for myself. I grabbed at it through his pants and felt it's size and-more importantly-its hardness. Then the third steps into the circle and kissed me right on the mouth, his tongue pushing into my throat and me-slutty little me-sucking on it desperately...wishing it was his cock.

All of this was swirling and swirling around me. My pussy was throbbing, needing to be touched. My mouth hungry for them. My skin, taut and nervous, sensitive to every motion and every caress of their roaming hands. I felt drunk and high and horny and utterly without god to guide me back to safety.

At some point I close my eyes and didn't open them again until I felt my jeans being ripped from me. Large hands pulling at the fabric and-as if in one fell swoop-I was standing, barefoot and only with my panties on-in a small corner of the bar, surrounded by the three guys and about four more men who had come to watch. I looked at all their faces, smiling, and their eyes glued to the damp stain in the crotch of my panties. I was embarrassed and suddenly ashamed. I looked for a way to get away from them, but they had me backed into a corner, off to the side, in a little cubby area with a couple of chairs in it. No one could see me but them. The rest of the bar was too crowded and too busy with dancing to notice me.

At some point I heard one of the men say "Look at the wet spot in her underwear." Another said, "This slut is fucking soaking for it." And then, almost in unison, the eight (maybe nine) men unzipped their pants and pulled out their long had cocks and started stroking them.

The guy with the smile wasn't smiling any more when he came up to me and grabbed me. "We're going to fuck your pussy hard," he said and then turned me around and forced me against the wall so that my ass was facing him. His large hands reached down and he tore my panties off me and threw them to the ground beneath me. I tried to turn around and reason with them, but got pushed back and within a second felt his large cock force its way deep inside my pussy.

I screamed out, but no one could hear me. And then the thrusting began. Long hard thrusts where the tip of his cock hit what could have only been my g-spot, over and over and over again until my eyes began to water and my screams of resistance became purrs and moans of absolute pleasure. The smile guy fucked me like that for almost three minutes straight before pulling out unexpectedly.

I stood against the wall, my ass naked to the world behind me, wondering somewhere in my mind what Willy would think, or what Claire would say if either one of them happened to stumble in and see me like this: wanton and waiting for another stranger's cock to enter me from behind.

Before I could count to three, there it was. A new cock, pushing into me and thrusting as hard as it could, hitting that same spot that made me cry out "Harder, harder. Fuck me, harder."

In the middle of it, one of them came up to me and got between me and the wall. His cock throbbing in his hand, I leaned forward and took his 8 inches into my mouth and hungrily sucked on it until his come filled my throat. And so it went, two guys at a time...each one fucking me and then moving forward to empty themselves in my mouth.

Each one of the whispering in my ear as they fucked me, "you like that don't you? Tell me how much you love my big cock, you dirty slut."

"You dirty little slut," echoed and echoed in my ears as they filled me and pumped me and made me cum again and again while passersby could easily see me, or stop and watch and point at me. My panties lying ripped into shreds at my feet. My jeans thrown over the back of one of the nearby chairs. Anyone who was on their way to or from the back patio could see me, see the slut that I had become.

"Say it!" the smile guy ordered, when he came back to fuck me a second time. "Say how much of a dirty whore you are."

I felt the length of him thrusting in and out, stretching me open and make me wail, Between moans and screams I finally managed to muster it:

"I'm a dirty little slut, I said.

Truer words I have never spoken.

The end.