Impact 05: Pretty/Dirty

Just as we are walking in, he points his blacklight at our stamps and yells "first drink free!" Over the thumping music and smiles. Our stamps are little hearts.

Claire rolls her eyes and smiles at me as she pulls me into the dark loft; walls and ceilings painted black, it's some sort of performance space maybe. Bodies press us from all sides, rubbing against my legs and ass, jostling my arms, pushing me into Claire's back. I hold myself pressed against her as she pushes deeper into the strobing dark mass of dancers. At some point she decides we are far enough, maybe she feels the crowd is a little thinner here, or the music that much louder. She turns and we start dancing, her eyes glitter with excitement.

In the dark, under the strobes, the one thing I notice about where we've stopped is the crowd is mostly girls. Perhaps this is why she chose this spot. Young, strange faces watch us or don't; lithe bodies move and spasm. We are still in our date dresses, a bit out of sync with what the girls around us are wearing, but not horribly so. But as far as I can tell we are the only white girls. At first I feel self conscious, like an intruder, thinking of the unwelcoming looks we got as we walked in. But Claire doesn't seem to feel any such compunction. She moves with the music, her little silky shift has never looked smaller, more revealing. The straps fall off her shoulders, her hard nipples are all that holds it up. The hem rises up her thighs as her hips begin to grind and pump with the music. Knees parting and bending, she turns and twists, showing me her ass. Little more than a fitted slip, her dress is gathering around her narrow pinch of her waist and tight across the high, powerfully muscular swell of her narrow ass. She is impossibly sexy. The flailing of the girls around her seem to fall in line with her movements, taking from her energy and giving it back.

And her movements mold mine, sliding against me, gripping my flesh, her sweat running into mine, nails clawing at my skin. Her leg between mine so our bodies can press even tighter against each other, but also thrusting against my cunt. Her chin hooking my shoulder, her hands squeezing my ass, I ride the hard muscles of her thigh, my wet open cunt sliding smoothly against her flesh.

This isn't like the night we went dancing after the gallery opening. That night we danced together, maybe a little dirty. That night I'd been afraid of what might happen, afraid for her to see my shaved pussy; had so wanted her to see, to show her. That night she asked to watch me touch myself and we came together. Our interlaced fingers pressing into me.

Tonight she isn't holding back. Tonight she won't hold back. We'll go back to my bed and she won't have to ask and I won't be afraid. I picture Clair's fingers in my hair, pushing me down between her legs, her bright hazel eyes watching me eat her pussy. Not only am I not afraid, it's what I want.

Looking over her shoulder I can see we are being watched. Claire is being provocative, her movements, and mine as I follow her, aren't just sexy, they are sexual. The girls around us stare. Some of the girls look surprised, maybe even shocked. I don't care. My body draws itself as close as possible to Claire's body, tries to stay there as we twist and jerk with the beat, following as her lead becomes increasingly brazen and raunchy. A girl facing me smiles at me over Claire's shoulder, she is thin and beautiful, her moves are seductive. I smile back just as the rhythm and volume cycles up and suddenly we are all jumping and screaming and flailing violently against each other, the music and light exploding around us. I'm pressed by bodies and hands from all sides. Swinging my head, I see flashes of faces all around me. Each strobe of light a beautiful expression frozen for an instant of ecstasy - strangers, Claire, more strangers, so much pleasure.

By the time Claire begins kissing my neck I am fucking her, riding her thigh. I don't care that the girls are watching us, I don't care who's watching. I want them to see. I'm staring into the beautiful girl's eyes. I want her to watch me, what I'm doing with Claire. She looks turned on, excited by what she's seeing, but I wouldn't care if she was shocked and repulsed.

The sea of bodies we are moving in is just that, a medium of humid, sliding flesh. Claire's hands are under my dress, squeezing my bare ass. Her mouth covering mine, her tongue swirling around mine. I hear a high pitch cheer, presumably for us.

'Can they see my ass?' I wonder. Claire's hands are gripping me hard, lifting and grinding me against her thigh.

It doesn't matter. I am humping Claire's leg. My cunt sliding easily against her wet skin. That's all that matters. I'm losing control.

"HUH!"

"HUH!"

"HUH!"

I am gasping loudly, but the sound is totally lost against the music. I'm trying to force myself to jerk and thrust with the beat, but my body is taking over. Clinging to Claire's shoulders, flailing, her leg jammed hard between mine. We are wet and slippery where we meet. I can feel the orgasm rising and all I care about now is cumming. The beautiful thin girl smiles at me and twists her hips.

"Jesus." I pipe, feeling my back stiffen and arch, my face turns up towards the black ceiling just as light and sound again explode above the crowd; hysteria.

"We never got our free drinks," Claire pouts.

We are standing in my kitchen passing back and forth our second pint of water. I'm taking greedy gulps as Claire watches me, her hand outstretched, waiting for her turn to drink. The water from the tap is icy cold.

"I didn't even see the bar," I say with a gasp as I hand her back the glass. She stares at me over the rim as she drinks. "What do you think they were serving?" I wonder, as I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.

"Red Bull and vodka," she gasps with authority before taking another long swallow.

The two of us are still soaked in sweat. Dark locks of hair are plastered to her face. We had danced until the music stopped and the lights were turned up. Had filed out and down the stairs jostled and pressed by the rowdy sweating crowd. I had lost track of the beautiful thin girl and the others. Maybe they had stayed behind. Steam had been rising off Claire's bare shoulders and head as we walked across the street from the party to my building. She had led the way up the stairs. Her powerful calves and thin ankles, her thighs - shining with sweat. The little dress clinging to her ass. I had watched the swaying oval of her beautifully tapered waist and perfect round ass, swinging back and forth as she climbed. Hips rolling with each step, the muscles of her cheeks flexing and relaxing in turn. The two of us hadn't said a word. Just the sound of our labored breath, the clicking of our heels.

"I'd stake my reputation on it!" she says with a gasp, handing me the empty glass.

"You have a reputation?" I ask, smiling, turning to refill the glass at the tap.

"I'm getting one," she tells me. "Especially the more time I spend with you."

"I don't know what you're talking about, I'm a good Catholic girl." I retort, gulping water almost desperately.

"I'm a good Catholic girl too!" Claire says, with a defensive pout.

"Somehow I think it's different," I tell her, wiping my chin, thinking of the Algerian and the Norwegians. I hand her the glass, smirking.

"Perhaps," she concedes with a knowing smile. "Do you still have your uniform?"

"Yes! Do you?!"

"Of course!" Her laugh fills the kitchen. "Do you have it here?"

"No." I feel myself flushing at the idea of wearing my school girl uniform for Claire. I take the glass from her hand and drink, trying to cover over my embarrassment.

"Me neither..." she says, sounding a little wistful, but she's staring at my lips. We've been talking about nothing, as if nothing is happening, as if we are just two friends drinking water and I'm not about to kneel and lick her pussy.

"Come!" she orders, turning off the kitchen light. "Time for bed."

Claire leads me into my bedroom by the hand, stopping in front of the window and turning me around. She unzips the back of my dress, smoothing her hands over the damp skin as she pushes it off my shoulders and down my arms. I start to cover myself, raising my arms and preventing the dress from falling, but all it takes is a small "tsk" from Claire and I drop them and shimmy out of the dress for her.

She unclasps my bra and reaches beneath my arms to slide her fingers over my bare breasts, cupping them, hefting their weight appreciatively as my bra falls to the floor. The lights are on and I'm nervously looking out the window. She is pulling at my nipples. But she says nothing, is watching me in the reflection in the window, her expression is bland. Are we still pretending nothing is happening? I can't tell.

I look through our reflections, at the outside world. The crowd across the street has dispersed, and the windows across the way are all dark, except for the loft where the party was, but it's empty, no one is there to look up at us. Still I can't help but imagine watchers as her hands slide down my belly. My breath is short and sharp. Her's is soft and regular.

"What happened to my panties?" I ask, turning to face her.

"I still have them," she says, her hand gesturing to the other room. "My purse. They're mine now."

"Ah, I see."

The funny thing is, I do. I like that she is keeping them, that she wants a trophy, like a high school boy. I imagine her driving with them hanging from the rearview mirror of her car - not that she has a car.

'Does Claire even drive?' I wonder, having no idea if she does or not.

"It's not fair," she tells me, smoothing her hands over and around my hips appreciatively, grabbing at my ass. My skin is damp, but hers is too.

"What's not fair?" I ask, standing on my toes as she squeezes and lifts, pressing our bodies together.

"That you have such perfect breasts AND a perfect ass," she says matter of factly - again, as if nothing were happening, as if we were trying on clothes or preparing lunch, not stripping me bare in front of the whole city, as if she wasn't rubbing my boobs against her tits.

"It's too big," I tell her, thinking of the way it sticks out.

"Are you fucking mad?" she asked, a look of real outrage on her face, her fingers curling to claw my cheeks with her nails. "Have you never looked at yourself?!"

"Ow-wah!"

She releases me, takes a step back. Her cheeks are flush as her eyes glint with excitement.

"You threatened to behead a man for calling my ass fat."

"But you-"

"Seriously!" she says, slapping my ass hard enough to make a loud crack.

"EEP!" I call out and jump, more from surprise than pain.

"And these! They're magnificent!" she complains. I had moved my hands to protect my ass, but reach up to cover myself as she cups my breast in her palms. She pushed my hands away so she can see.

"They don't sag at all, and are the most beautiful shape, almost like pears. It's like you were drawn by my teenage self."

She reaches around my waist to squeeze my ass, pulling us together and lifting me onto my toes again. Her brow creases as she looks hard at me, staring at my lips.

"Et ta bouche, ta belle bouche," she says hungrily, biting her bottom lip.

I look away, feeling self conscious under the harsh glare of her appraising gaze. I reach for the hem of her little black dress hoping it will distract her and she releases me. She makes soft sounds of complaint as I jerk at the little shift with shaking hands. She lifts her arm and shows me the little zipper hidden in the seam along her side. The pull is a black tear drop. I lower it exposing a long slit of pale sweaty skin along her flank. With the waist no longer crimped I can pull the damp silk up over her sweaty hair. She is glorious in her lingerie, standing proudly for me and whoever might be looking at my window as I drop the damp dress to the floor.

"You can't go home in that," I whisper, as I guide her with a hand on her arm, turning her around. My voice sounds scared. "It's soiled."

"Maybe you can lend me something to wear?" she asks. Her voice is playful.

"You're soaked," I scold, as I unclasp her bra and she turns back around, facing me as I peel it off. It's black lace, diaphanous, just cupping the underside of her breasts - such a beautifully fragile little thing, so exquisitely made. I dream of being able to wear things like this.

"You like this, don't you?" she asks, as my fingers trail the delicate lace. "In French, it is called le soutien-gorge."

And she's right, her 'soutien-gorge' is exquisite in its own right. It perfectly cups her breasts leaving her engorged nipples framed, but fully exposed.

"Comme l'art," I murmur. "ou peut-être le porno..."

The corners of her mouth delicately curl in approval. I blush, thinking of how I should learn more French, of how happy that would make Claire.

Her skin glistens and her erect nipples shine, dark and almost oily looking. She arches and twists for me. I look down at her belly, admiring her underpants, they match her bra. "You always have such wonderful lingerie."

"My mother bought these for me," she tells me. "They were a going away gift."

"She has wonderful taste," I tell her, putting my hands on her hips.

Keenly aware of the show we're giving anyone still awake, I drop slowly to my knees to take off her panties. I hold her gaze as I lower myself. I can see her arousal clearly. Her eyes sparkle with her excitement. Claire's belly is rising and falling with her hurried breath. I wet my lips and she moans a little with delight, like she's been presented with sweets. She reaches out to touch the top of my head, fingering a lock of my hair. The gesture and the way she looks down on me are warm and full of approval. The small intimate reward a teacher might reserve for her favorite pet.

"My mother will adore you," she assures me, smiling down on me as I hook my fingers in her panties.

"You really think so?" I ask shyly as I pull the little garment off her ass and down her thighs. "She won't think I'm a loud, crass American?"

"No, not my Young Sarah," she says as I bow at her feet, looking down to free her from her soiled panties. I make a point of holding my face close, to let Claire see me examine them and smell them. They're sodden and stink.

"She will see what I see," Claire tells me. I imagine her mother seeing me now, like this, bowing before Claire, naked, holding her lingerie so close to my mouth, touching her gusset with my thumb. The idea of it burns me.

"I would like to meet your mother,'' I say, keeping my voice calm.

'Just two girlfriends getting ready for bed.'

But as I rise up I bus her soft little bush with my lips. I grip the back of her thighs tight and look up at Claire, lips parted.

"I'll try to make a good impression..."

Her skin is slick with sweat. She fingers my scalp, gulping air. It's been a long day and she smells strong. I put out my tongue, preparing to eat her pussy right here next to the window with the lights on. It's clearly what she wants, what she expects.

She's still in her heels, and shuffles her feet wide, giving me entrance. Her thighs are wet against my face. She's hot against my tongue, the taste almost chokes me, but I feel a surge in my breast, almost like triumph as I lick her and she sways and jerks for balance, her legs are shaking with the effort to stay upright. I push my tongue into her and she buckles then catches herself.

She makes a small petulant sound and pulls me back.

"I can't," she whines, sounding winded. "It's too much. I'll fall. I can't..."

I stand and take her by the arms. Supporting her I lead her to my bed, letting her fall back onto the bed, feet spread wide on the floor. I kneel again to take off her shoes. Claire is up on her elbows, smiling at me as I do.

"Do you remember, after the gallery dinner, when I took off your shoes?" I ask.

"Very well."

"You were playing with your dress and I could see your panties."

"I was showing you my parties."

"I was very afraid," I tell her, remembering the thrill of kneeling in front of her, nervously stealing glances between her splayed legs.

"That I was seducing you?"

"That you weren't."

As soon as I free the first foot she pulls it onto the bed, bending her knee and letting it fall to the side, in a lewd display. Taking off her other shoe I kiss the sole of her bare foot before standing.

I turn to shut off the lights, but she stops me.

"No."

I turn back and look at her. The curls at the corner of her mouth are still there, but something in her eye is unyielding. She sees my eyes glance at the open shades. She shakes no.

"What happened on the dance floor?" she asks. "You almost fell."

'Did she not know?'

My stomach clenches with shame at the idea. I consider lying, telling her I had felt faint, but I remember the faces of the girls around us watching me, remember their smiles as we'd left. They'd all known. Claire certainly knows.

'She's playing with me,' I think. But she looks so serious...

"I came," I confess. She's looking up at me, her eyes narrow, studying me. My face feels like it's on fire. "I had an orgasm."

"In front of everyone. In front of all those girls..." she says, her expression opaque. I can't tell if she's shocked or amused. "I think Young Sarah is an exhibitionist slut."

The word "slut" rings in my ear, hearing her speak it, even though she's smiling, even though her voice is soft and kind, fills me with dread. Claire is staring. Her cheeks are flush, her eyes wide. She seems as surprised as I am. What did she see? Her expression softens.

"What kind of good Catholic girl does that?" she asks, tilting her head with the query.

"I- I-"

"Showing everyone what a slut you are!" she barks.

I feel tears filling my eyes as I think of the girls watching me, the looks on their faces, the way I made a spectacle of myself.

'I am a slut,' I think.

"I thought you wanted-" I start.

"My beautiful Young Sarah likes being watched cuming on my leg," she tells me, gesturing out the window, sounding almost cross. "So why not let them all see what a whore she is!"

The way she spits the word... I feel the color rise making my face hot. I'm not drunk enough for this, I'm not drunk at all. There's a trembling in my chest as I cross back to her. Crawling between her legs onto the bed it feels like something very immense and infinitely heavy is spinning out of control, or maybe giving way. Pressing my knees against the backs of her spread thighs, my arms bridging her body. I'm dripping wet, we both are. I dip my head until my mouth is just beside her ear.

"Your whore," I promise. "Tell me what to do and I'll do it. Anything you want."

"Your mouth," she whispers, our cheeks pressing together, her lips dragging against my earlobe. I pull back until I can see her eyes, they are hooded and clouded with lust, our lips almost touching. "I want your mouth on my cunt, Sarah. I want you to go down on me again. Eat my pussy."

I'm kissing her mouth as she murmurs her orders. My name fills our mouths. My tongue licks her lips as they shape the word "pussy."

Our tongues play and her arms wrap my shoulders, pulling me into a deep kiss. She moans, filling my mouth with a rich smoky flavor of ramps, red wine and cigarettes. I think of Minter's paintings, the obscenely large tongues, the beautifully painted lips, darkly freckled cheeks. But then, Claire starts pushing me down.

"Now!" she orders. "Do it!" she insists. And I do.

Traveling down her chin and neck; I pepper her with kisses. Only stopping to please her, hoping she will enjoy the feeling of my mouth on her body. I hold her clavicle between my lips. It feels so delicate and fine. I maw at her "beauty bone" for a moment, softly with my teeth, but Claire presses me to move on, using more force now.