Our Story Ch. 05

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I see him at a club. We hook up on the dance floor.
2.9k words
4.59
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2

Part 6 of the 6 part series

Updated 06/08/2023
Created 07/18/2017
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That third day you fucked me on every room, surface, and orifice until my insides felt bruised and raw and I begged you to stop. Then you fucked me one more time, long and slow, making me come over and over before coming inside me one last time. As I got dressed for the first time that weekend you told me to let you know when I made it home. I left soon after that, your come running down my thighs and my body relaxed despite the pain. That goodbye on your porch stairs was the last easy moment I had with you.

It's been two months since my weekend with you. The pleasure soaked weekend where you made good on every claim you'd ever made to me. Especially the last one.

I couldn't walk right for over a week, had to make up a lie for family and co-workers about a pulled back muscle so they'd stop telling me to go to the doctor.

I definitely couldn't touch myself for a good three weeks, even though memories of our time together combined with my sore and sensitive ass and pussy never kept them far from my mind. I went to bed sore and frustrated every night but even the slightest brush of my fingers was too much. The memories played back in HD quality every night while I silently, desperately, waited for a call a text, anything, despite all the lectures and and reminders and promises I made to myself.

You were better than most, calling me that first night and asking how I felt but the conversation was stilted and awkward. When we hung up, I cried, knowing this was the end.

The few texts you sent after that were sporadic and generic at best. I was almost relieved when on the sixth day, I didn't hear from you at all. By the twelfth day, I stopped looking for your name on my phone.

By day twenty, I was pissed at myself for still thinking every time my phone vibrated it was you, so I went out, found a fairly attractive man who was funny and sweet that I couldn't stop comparing to you, and fucked him to spite myself. He was just as sweet and considerate in bed, he even made sure I got off once. But he didn't stretch me past the point of pain, and he never once tried to touch my ass or make me deep throat him. I deleted his number as soon as he left, feeling worse than before. You really did ruin me for other men.

I knew you had moved on and who could blame you? So I did my best too. But you had set the bar ridiculously high, the thought of being disappointed by these new standards was disheartening.

My friends were fed up with me me by this point as well. I was distant and hadn't gone out with them and they didn't understand my sudden desire to stay in instead of meeting men. I hadn't planned on telling them about you, though if I had they would have high fived me, poured me a drink, and demanded all of the juicy details. But maybe that was what I needed.

When I met up with them six weeks after our weekend, I couldn't do it. The bar was too loud and crowded and our story didn't need that many witnesses. I did, however, flirt with some men at the bar, and made a big show of exchanging numbers with one of them. Maybe he would be better than the first guy.

He wasn't.

A week later, my friends showed up at my place with carbs and alcohol, declaring they wouldn't leave until I talked. So I did, after getting good and buzzed.

They squealed and swooned and cussed me out as I told them everything, then declared we were going to go to a club that weekend and get over you.

As they say, the only way to get over someone is to get under someone else.

I'm trying to go with it, but don't have high hopes. Clubs are too crowded and loud for my tastes but my friends mean well so I tel myself to suck it up for a night. Maybe I'll meet someone. But every man that grinds up on me or touches my body, feels wrong, despite the encouraging smiles from my friends.

After yet another disappointing dance ends with my too drunk companion sloshing alcohol on my shirt, I make my excuses and went to the bathroom to clean up, dotting at my shirt with a wet paper towel. My buzz was gone, my feet were aching in the torture devices my friends called shoes, I had a headache from the too loud base, and now I smelled of alcohol.

I straightened my hair over my shoulder and pulled the door open.

"There you are," the drunk guy from earlier slurs. "I thought you went home without me but you waited. Ready to go?" He takes a step forward, hand reaching for me. I must have danced with him at some point, but I have no intention of going home with him.

I dodge his hand but he has me cornered. My heart is racing. "No, I don't think so."

"You playing hard to get after grinding on me all night like you want it?"

He's bigger than I am, somewhere close to six feet tall but lean, not terrible looking at all except for the attitude. Judging from the sunglasses on his head despite the late hour and the Abercrombie clothing, he's a douche. I back away again, my back hitting the wall. Trapped.

My eyes dart wildly for an escape route but you have it blocked. Should I lock myself in the bathroom? "I'm sure you're terrible in bed but girls keep faking orgasms for you and now you're convinced you're some sort of sex god, but I was just dancing. I'm not interested."

I try to wiggle past back to the safety of the crowd because of course the bathrooms are deserted right now. He grabs my arm and I spin, trying to twist myself free. "No! Let go!"

He shoves me into the wall, and only a last minute reflex keeps my nose from being broken. "Let go!" I yell but it's muffled by the pounding bass. I struggle, wriggling, kicking, but it's not doing any good. Bile rises in my throat when his hands touch me, worming under my shirt. And then he's gone, cussing as he falls backward into a wall.

"I thought I heard my friend tell you she wasn't interested." I freeze and then slowly turn around, hands shaking as I fix my clothes. I have to be hearing things. It can't be... it's you.

"Good luck with that cocktease," he mutters before storming off and disappearing into the crowd.

My mouth goes dry, my eyes taking you in, my body heating up. "Thanks," I say lamely, licking my lips. "I should go rejoin my friends. They're probably wondering where I am."

You nod. "Are you ok?"

The seemingly sincere question pisses me off. You don't have the right to ask me that. I keep my voice polite. "I'm fine, thank you. Fancy meeting you here."

Now that the adrenaline is fading, I'm too aware of you. My body remembers how good you feel, heating up and getting wet.

Your eyes narrow at my tone. "I'm celebrating a buddy's birthday. I didn't think you were the club type."

I give you a tight smile. "I'm looking for some fun. My friends dragged me out and I need a distraction from their drunk giggling. Is your buddy single? I could probably give him a nice birthday present."

You growl and the hair on my arms stands up. Heat pools low in my pussy when you stalk toward me, closing the distance between us. "He won't fuck girls I've had first. He's worried they won't feel him." Your voice is entirely too smug.

My breathing picks up and I try not to smell the spice of your cologne lightly mixing with sweat. The combination is going to my head, making me drunk on you. I keep my eyes open, gaze on yours. We only agreed on a weekend. If you want more, you'll have to make a move.

I watch you argue with yourself, wondering if I'll get attached and clingy and then make your decision. My body stiffens involuntarily, bracing for the worst. And then you lean in, lifting me up and wrapping my legs around your waist, my back supported by the wall while our mouths meet, tasting of hunger, desire, and liquor.

"You been fucking anyone else?"

I let my hands roam your torso, wanting to be skin on skin. I arch an eyebrow. "I don't see how that's any of your business. Have you?"

You smirk and grind against me, letting me know you're ready if I am.

My hand snakes down between us, cupping you through the denim of your jeans and then tugging on the zipper.

"Here? Don't you want somewhere more private?"

You sound game and I shake my head, kissing your jaw. "This hallway is deserted." If anyone cared to look or came down here we were caught, but for the most part, we were still fifteen yards from the edge of the dance floor and the hallway was fairly dark, lit only by a few dim lights.

"Are you ready for me?" Your hands are more insistent, tugging at my dress, moving my body so you can feel me.

"Feel me and find out." Your hand is hot and firm against my softness. I writhe, needing more than your fingers teasing me through my panties.

You give it to me. I'm soaking, and the fact that you ripped my panties off my body and stuffed them in your jeans makes me wetter. I caved a few weeks back and bought one of the biggest dildos I could find online. I've been using it every night. I'm more than ready for you.

Your mouth covers mine, swallowing my scream as you thrust deep and without warning. Even the toy doesn't compare to the real thing stretching and owning my pussy. My body slams against the wall with the next thrust and I claw at your back, hips bucking, begging for more.

Your mouth moves from mine, biting my shoulder as you pick up the pace. "You have been fucking other guys. Any of them compare to me?"

It's hard to form a coherent thought. "No. Bought a massive toy instead," I gasp in between thrusts. I'm already close. "Average men don't satisfy me anymore."

Your smug laugh vibrates through me and your rhythm picks up, fingers digging into my hips. "How about something you'll never forget."

I pull my mouth from your neck from where I'd been kissing your throat. Despite exceeding every single one of my expectations, I can't hide my skepticism. "It's going to take something huge to top that last fantasy fulfillment." The one I still got off to, where you chased me through your house, tackled me, and fucked me roughly on the floor.

It was perfect.

Your lips tug into a smug half smile, the one that makes me wet and clench. You groan, then abruptly spin and walk towards the dance floor. Every step bounces me on your cock, sliding me up and down in a small, teasing motion. I'm so flooded with pleasure that our destination doesn't process until you're slipping and swaying through the crowd. Then, I start struggling, which only makes your hands tighten further. "Everyone can see us! Go back!"

"No one is paying attention to us unless you keep thrashing like that." Your voice is low and insistent in my ear, and your hands pull me against you, grinding and moving with the beat.

"Oh," I squeak, nails digging into your shoulders. "But my ass. Anyone can see it."

One of your thumbs brush my clit and my back arches as pleasure burns through me. "I've got you covered. No one will see a thing. Now come for me."

I blame the weeks of radio silence, my frantic nightly fantasies of your body on mine again for my response. I've never done drugs, but I feel like a junkie that's quit cold turkey, only to relapse again. And the high is so much better for the time apart.

Like before, you don't stop, just keep moving, fucking me through one orgasm, your speed changing with the beat of the next song. I want to feel you come undone. With pleasure building inside me again, I almost forget where I am I'm so caught up in the feel and taste of you...

Until I feel a body brush against my back and I freeze, twisting to see a couple that might as well be fucking right next to us. I scan the people around us, but none are staring, all are focused on their partners.

Something loosens in my chest, probably the rest of my inhibitions, as I start to really move, using your shoulders for leverage. I'm sure you could have grabbed my hips and changed the pace, but I'm enjoying controlling the pace, dropping and rolling my hips with the beat.

Other dancers brush against us, but this time, I get a rush of excitement with each touch. They have no idea.

You notice of course, how I moan with each touch. "You like fucking me in front of strangers?" I bury my face in your shoulder to muffle a moan, but you can feel my frantic clutching, the sudden wetness. "I bet you'd fuck me right on that stage over there and let anyone watch. Would you let strangers touch you?" I shake my head, unable to actually deny you out loud. You thrust harder, faster, caught up in our shared, new fantasy. "Liar."

That one word sets me off and I clutch you tightly, tears suddenly pricking my closed eyes as you twitch inside me. I try to focus on the waves of pleasure instead of the fact that I'll have to let you go in a minute.

When the song ends, we're the only two standing still on the packed dance floor. My entire body is still humming, and I want to end this on a high note, not like last time. The music is too loud for talking, so I tap your arm three times.

Your grip tightens, cock flexing enticingly inside of you, but I know if I stay, I'll go back to your place, maybe fall asleep. I can't wake up in your arms again and have to leave. I don't have it in me.

I dare to look up at you as you slowly, tortuously, carefully slide me down your body, hiding your cock as it slips free. You pull my dress back into place and tuck your still hard cock away. On impulse, I pull your head down to me, but with my lips against your ear, I don't know what to say. "Thanks."

Fuck.

Thanks? How stupid is that? That one word doesn't even begin to cover the emotions bouncing around my chest.

Cheeks burning, I spin away, but you grab me. I don't have to emotional or physical strength to fight you. Maybe I am an addict and you're the drug, even though I know how bad you are for me. "Going somewhere?"

"Home."

"Someone waiting for you?"

Do you sound jealous? I can't afford to hope so. "Just an early morning. It was good to see you. Shouldn't you get back to your friends?"

"The tab is on me. They don't even know I'm gone."

"How generous." I shift in his grip. I have to leave before my willpower dies. "I need to go."

You frown and a wave of disappointment washes over me. I hate it. "I'll walk you out."

"I can manage."

Your hand doesn't leave the small of my back as you steer me through the crowds. "There are drunks everywhere and you've already had one bad run in. I'll walk you out."

Since we're at the door, arguing is a moot point, so I shut my mouth until we're on the sidewalk. My ears are ringing in the sudden relative silence of the city and I'm glad we're not talking. Nothing is going to make this any easier on me. You'll probably go back in there and take someone else home.

That thought ignites a little of my anger at my pity party, so I suck it up and manage to smile at you as I open my car door. "Made it safe and sound thanks to you. Now I'm going home."

Your hand stops on the door frame before I can shut it and I look up. For the first time, you look a little less confident than usual and my heart freezes in my chest. I can't bring myself to make you spit it out.

"Look," you start, rubbing your hand on the back of your neck. "I don't usually do this, but I think we should see each other again."

"Really?" Yes, I'm probably pathetic. And desperate.

You nod, your eyes dark with desire again. "Yes. You have my number and I'm back in town for good. Call me whenever you need an itch scratched. Knowing you, you'll be calling tomorrow."

I laugh with him as he shuts the door, but his offer taunts me.

How soon until I can go back?

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AnonymousAnonymousover 5 years ago
delicious but sad

I put myself in the girl's shoes, and somehow reading this makes me feel...

pathetic. But so, so wet. How can you feel pathetic and turned on at the same time? Nice job on the mindwork.

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READ MORE OF THIS SERIES

Our Story Ch. 04 Previous Part
Our Story Series Info

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