Sandra's Friday Night

Sandra saw the look on Jen's face before she even put down her phone, and a sinking feeling went into her stomach. The fun "girl's night out" was officially kaput. First Liz, then Michelle...now, the last friend left in her foursome had a look on her face that the night was over. It wasn't even 10 p.m.

Jen winced as she looked at Sandra, seeing the resigned frustration on her friend's face. "I've got a puking kid at home..." she started, then cut off the bad news, and shrugged. "Let's at least have one more drink before I take the next train, ok?" It was peace offering. Another fun night out of supposed freedom had been derailed by the bullshit of useless spouses and responsibility.

Sandra cut her off with a shake of the head. "No, no...it's fine. You need to go. GO. There Will be other nights out, someday...when our kids are all in college or jail." She gave a wane smile.

Jen looked at her, and Sandra saw the look. Jen, more than the other two, definitely DIDN'T want to go home, either. Sandra had actually been relieved when it was just the two of them left, because the wet blankets were gone and she knew that there was a decent chance of a fun night. Instead, her last ally was getting pulled away.

"Do you want to walk out together?" Jen asked. "We can try again in a few weeks. Sandra, I'm sorry." Sandra knew that she was. Grabbing her drink...maybe the 3^rd? 4^th? Not enough yet plenty, she said, "Here's to next time," with mirth in her voice. The purple cocktail disappeared.

Jen laughed a bit at her theatrics, and followed suit. "We'll get 'em next time, really..." her voice trailed off. Sandra and her both knew that neither wanted the night to end. "Let's go. At least we get to skip the hangover, right?" Sandra laughed quietly, in response to the saddest of silver linings on what was supposed to have been a "fun" night out.

They trudged out of the door of the club, pushing past other people that, Sandra ruefully noted, were just arriving. They reached the street, and Jen turned to her. "Train is that way...where did you park?" Sandra tilted her head the other direction. "A few blocks that way. Sure you don't want a ride?" Jen shook her head. "It's 40 minutes out of your way, I'm good."

They briefly hugged, and Sandra set off. It was a nice spring Friday, warm weather, and there was that early spring buzz of energy in the air. She could see the streetlight up ahead that indicated the turn that she should make to get to the parking garage, but she found herself instead drawn to every restaurant and bar that she passed, filled with people and energy. Doors opened and she would hear laughter and music inside. It's not even 10 o'clock! She thought to herself.

Suddenly there was a scent in the air, the unmistakable whiff of a cigarette, a smell Sandra knew, was decided different once a few drinks are involved.

Sandra looked for the source of it. Leaning against the side of a alley, underneath a small sign, she spotted her potential nicotine provider.

He was tall, a bit gangly, even. Not slouched against the building but relaxed, enjoying his cigarette. He wasn't dressed up but not dress down, just jeans and some nice shoes, a collared shirt and a thin leather jacket. His hair looked like he didn't put any effort into it - dark, not slicked back but far too perfect to have required no attention. It was the look of someone who put far too much work into trying to appear as though no effort had been involved.

Sandra knew this guy, or a hundred others like him. She smiled to herself...she was going to get her cigarette. Bumming a cigarette off of a drunk girl, difficult. Off of a man? Child's play.

She walked up to him, making sure to square her shoulders back and show off her low-cut top. "Sorry to bother you, but...is there any way I can bum a smoke?"

He glanced over at her, quickly, and then, looking away for a second, started to fumble in his pocket for the pack. Then he stared at her again, and smiled a bit. She saw him go up and down, up and down, and Sandra knew that she was being check out. Not even discreetly, just an open appraisal of her. Wanting the cigarette, she tolerated it -- it was almost amusing, in a way.

The guy was in his mid-30s, she guessed. Perfectly normal looking, maybe even handsome, he reminded her of so many mistakes, good and bad, that she had made in a former life. How many times had a shared cigarette involved a guy that looked exactly like this one?

His eyes were glued to her chest, and Sandra knew, even if it was his last, that a cigarette in his pack was as good as hers. She smiled, and batted her large eyes a bit more at him. His eyes went from her chest, to her pretty face, and back to her chest. It's still easy, she thought to herself.

He held out the pack, it was halfway full. He smiled. Sandra went to reach for it, and he pulled it away, briefly. Ah, a clever one, she thought to herself. "What's it worth to you?" he asked playfully.

Sandra smiled, and reached confidently for a cigarette. He let her take one, and their eyes met. She noticed that his were dancing a bit with excitement, and her stomach did a small flip. Maybe Friday night doesn't have to end quite yet... "Someone to talk to out here while everyone else has fun?" she said, trying to sound flirtatious.

He nodded. "That's a pretty fair trade, ok." He took another drag, holding it in and again staring her up and down. The look on his face told her that he very much enjoyed the view.

Sandra held out her borrowed smoke. "Can I get a light, perhaps?"

He grinned, and shook his head. "Nope, a lighter is extra."

Sandra smiled back -- it was weak flirting, but it was a dance that she had done before and was rather enjoying. "Oh really? And what will THAT cost me?"

He looked at her closely -- he was actually pretty cute -- and leaned in. "You have to let me buy you a drink," he said.

Sandra laughed a bit -- he was forward, that was for certain. She shook her head and said, "Sorry, I have to head home after this. Anything else I can offer?"

He gave a fake wounded look at her response and said, "Nope, a deal's a deal. The cigarette is free. But the light, I need to be allowed to buy you a drink."

Sandra waved her cigarette at him in reply, as if to say, 'Cmon, just light it', but then she relented. What the hell, she thought, it's not even 10 yet. "So let me get this straight," she asked. "You'll light my cigarette but I have to have a drink with you?"

"Well," he said, "put it this way: I let you grab one of my precious cigarettes, then we talk politely, then you leave me sad and lonesome? Nope...let me buy you a drink after. That's my offer."

Sandra quickly did a bit of mental calculation in her mind. She knew that she should go home, but also knew that she had sworn up and down: don't wait up for me. Girl's night out. I deserve a night out. A REAL night out.

Sandra watched him, staring her up and down. She already knew that he liked what he saw...she had seen that look far too many times. But this time, she did the same. They sized each other up.

She had fought for this night out. Her friends had all gone home. But she wasn't done.

Sandra found herself thinking what a story this might be to tell. "Ok, fine. Deal. But I get to pick the drink, ok?" The man held up his arms a bit, as if you to say, 'be my guest'. He then pulled out a bic lighter.

"One drink..." she said with a smile, remembering that flirting really had never been hard for her.

They smoked mostly in silence, him waiting for her to finish, and then, as she exhaled for the last time, trying to look suave, he motioned towards a door next to them and said, "Right this way, to your cocktail, m'lady."

She laughed, and watched as he held open the door for her. Walking past him, she ascended down a few stairs and through a narrow hallway. She could hear the bass of terrible dance music, and wondered what sort of place she was about to enter.

Through a curtain, she found out. A large dancehall was in front of her, with strobe lights on the dance floor and lined with darkness around it, booths and tables. She couldn't even take it all in with the swell of people, and as she began to lose herself in the mesmerizing scene, she felt a warm hand on her elbow. It was the cigarette guy from outside, and he motioned to the bar, as if to say "What do you want?" She shrugged her shoulders and then said "vodka martini" loudly over the din, figuring it a safe call.

He walked away, and she stood there, soaking it in. this is the night out that I wanted, and it occurred to her that she didn't even know the name of the place. Oh well, she thought, might as well make the best of it.

As she waited for her drink to arrive, she glanced down at her phone. Numerous texts, one from Jen ("Caught the 9:55 p.m.!") and none of other importance. She had said that she'd be home late. She put her phone on silent and dropped in back into her small purse.

Her drink, and...date? Arrived. He handed her one of two martini glasses, and then, his hand now free, guided her over towards a far corner of the club.

Away from the dance floor, the booths and table area was dark, illuminated only by the light of a few cell phones that she saw scattered about. Almost purposefully dark, Sandra thought, and smiled. She was feeling mischievous.

Her new friend sat down, and she sat next to him. The martini glass was comically oversized, and Sandra made a mental note that this was not one, but probably three drinks. For courage, she took a large gulp, and then, another. Her new friend laughed at her speed. "Hey, you don't have to chug and run!" he said.

Sandra looked at him and put on a smile. This was fun, she realized. "Sorry...not trying to be rude, just a bit thirsty." Their legs were touching, and now Sandra felt his hand resting on her bare leg, above her knee. Still innocent, she thought, with the potential to be dangerous.

"No problem," he smiled. "Just wanted to get comfortable." It was nearly pitch black where they sat, even after her eyes adjusted to the darkness. His hand traveled up her leg, and curious as to how far he's try to push it, Sandra did not protest.

Sandra felt his hand snaking underneath her skirt, and she almost giggled at how utterly bold her new acquaintance was being. A hand was placed lightly against the bare skin where her hip folded into her derrière, and she felt fingers slither in between the elastic of her underwear and begin to insistently tug.

He couldn't possible mean to do that, could he? She knew that he did, and as unsurprising as it was...it was still surprising.

"No no no no no..." she whispered at him, a wry smile crossing her face even as she said it. He continued, now reaching his fingers between her legs. Even as she wrapped her thin hand around his wrist, he ignored her words and ran his fingers up and down the thin cotton that covered her womanhood.

Whether from the chemicals coursing through her body or the risqué situation itself, his touch felt damn, damn good. Sandra continued to breathe, "no...no...no..." quietly with each rhythmic movement of the hand sliding in between her legs, but she suddenly had every intention of letting him proceed with his attempts. Curiosity killed the cat, she supposed. After the fifth or sixth pass up and down, she fell silent. Her grip on his wrist fell away, and she felt her legs part. I don't even know his name, she thought to herself, but he was bold -- very bold. She relaxed, her body slumping to the side, into his, and let the rhythm of his movements take over.

She felt his breath, hot on her neck, and then his nose brushing into her short brown hair, his lips nearing her ear. "Just relax, might as well have some fun..."

The words rang in Sandra's ears, and she allowed her brain and body to agree with it. She had already yielded to his advances a bit, and she knew he would probably grew bolder still. As her new friend continued to stoke the growing fire in between her legs, she felt his other hand travel up her leg, pulling on the flimsy elastic band of her panties. He pulled it down, until it stretched underneath her, and in one smooth motion, switched his hands, his left hand now rubbing between her legs, his right pulling down on the other side of her panties.

His hand stopped its ministrations, and he whispered, "Lift up for a second...let's get these out of our way." Without even thinking, just wanting the feeling to continue, she did as she was told, awkwardly lifting herself to her feet, and she felt her panties being stripped away from her, finding the floor. She went to sit back, but a hand held her up, and she heard the sound of a zipper behind her. Surely, he wasn't...?

She felt the back of her skirt being lifted, and two strong hands pulled at the sides of her hips, urging her to sit back down, now on his lap. She did so carefully, somewhat fearful that it was not only her clothing that had been removed...

She found his legs pushed together, his intent no doubt that she should sit on his lap, perhaps even straddle him, but instead Sandra sat daintily on the edge of his lap. She smiled...not that easy, buddy. In response, she felt him pull her back, nearly lifting her onto him. His hands gripped underneath her thighs, and she felt the air against the exposed dampness between her legs.

Her mind swimming, everything happening so fast. It didn't seem real. She felt the tug of war between her desire and her nervousness, her skirt flipped up in the back, her panties somewhere on the floor. Everything was happening so quickly, and Sandra was mildly alarmed to find herself pulled against a warm bump, and she realized that, pressed between her and his shirt, was his erect penis.

Her eyes darted around the dark club before them -- had anyone noticed? At other tables she could see furtive movement in the dark, probably couples opening groping one another in semi-anonymity. No one on the dance floor, grinding away in a meat market to the pleasant bass of the music paid them any mind. This place was dark on purpose, Sandra thought to herself, and there was little question that anything that she allowed to happen, would be lost in the haze of the club's energy.

A pang of confusion swept through her for a moment, similar to the feeling that she had when briefly agonizing over her decision to follow her new friend into the club rather than head home, but now further down the path. Sandra didn't have to make a decision yet, but every moment that she stayed involved, she knew from past experience would make stopping that much more difficult. As her brain churned she felt his hand return to its intended spot between her legs.

Sandra pushed her decision off, which she knew deep down was the same as making the decision.

She felt his prying fingers return to her now-exposed mound. What's the harm, she thought, the dangerous mantra spreading through her. Might as well enjoy myself. Her Friday night was already off the rails, and Sandra felt old, buried instincts coming to the surface, like a friend that she had forgotten existed.

She knew her predicament, had lived it many times, and strangely felt comfortable in this uncomfortable situation. The dark confines of the booth that she was in had its own rules, and though it had been awhile, she knew the game and was more than happy to play it, at least a bit.

Sandra lifted herself up, and, surprising herself with her own boldness, reached behind her and grabbed the cock pushing against her backside.

It was hot in her hands, thick, stout. Oh my God, this thing is NOT small.

Her benefactor groaned in appreciation. "You like it?" She responded by squeezing it, acknowledging its presence but no more.

Sandra pushed it down, and lowered herself back down. She felt her outer folds rest against the shaft, and shuddered, just a bit. This is insane, she thought. She was now openly taunting this man, to do whatever he wanted with her.

Sandra realized that this strange new cock could be inside of her, so very easily. Or perhaps not so easily, she thought, noting the girth of the thing that she now sat on.

Her friend's fingers returned, now tracing small slow circles around the hood of her clit, and she felt her wetness growing as he teased her hidden pearl.

So close... a moment away from orgasm, both from the touch and the danger. But he removed his fingers. Sandra let out an audible moan of frustration. "Please...I need to cum..." her voice trailed off. Had she just said that, out loud?

"You will," he whispered in reply, "you will. But not yet." She shivered at his words.

She felt his hands slide underneath her thighs, running from under her knees until he was cupping her rear.

Sandra knew what was coming next. She had lived it, it excited her to no end, just the fantasy. But now it was reality. "No..." she whispered, "Not that, I can't..." Deep down she heard her lie and knew that she most certainly COULD do that. But decorum insisted that it not be so simple, didn't it?

"Shhhh..." he responded and began to lift her off of the thick shaft that rubbed against her mound. Sandra closed her eyes as she felt his thick tip brush against her lips.

"No!" She whispered again more loudly, born of not wanting to make a scene or draw attention to her situation. A familiar feeling grew in her, like a long lost friend - the intoxicating mixture of doing exactly the wrong thing and the most natural thing...Sandra knew deep down what was going to happen.

She felt her arousal growing. Sandra could fuck this man, this stranger. She knew it. And in the moment, she had never wanted something more.

This can't be happening, her adult brain cautioned her. I can't just have SEX with this man.

Another thought crossed her mind. Yes, I CAN.

Just relax," he reassured her. "It's going to feel so good..."

She felt his hands release her rear, and she found her outer lips pressed against his thick head, her wetness rubbing against it. One hand wrapped around the bottom of her waist, holding her in place, while the other returned to the soft folds between her legs.

His fingers found their mark right away, and Sandra found her hips swaying as he gently stroked her tiny nub back and forth, and with each movement back and forth she could feel the tip of his glans rubbing against her folds. It was a quiet, intimate dance that she had taken part in many times, though this time felt deliciously different.

She felt an orgasm approaching, a dull roar inside of her ears that drowned out the cacophony of noises in the club. She felt her breathing quicken. And then, suddenly, he pulled his fingers away.

Sandra groaned in frustration, and rocked her hips, urging him to continue, but at least getting some mild relief from the tip now nestled within her folds.

"Please," she whispered, "C'mon, I need to cum..."

In response his hands again reached under her lap, and lifted her up, slightly, his cock tip sliding further into place. Sandra knew she should stop him but also knew that she would not. The drinks rushing through her bloodstream and the frustrations of a monotonous life made the decision easy, obvious.

The simplest thought crossed her mind: I want this.

Then the next thought: I need this.

His hands returned to where they had been, one wrapped tightly around her waist, the other, to the aching burn between her legs.

She felt his cock head trying to widen her out, knowing its intended destination, and encouraging it mentally, coaxing it to its destination.

He softly stroked her again, up and down the length of her exposed slit. Up and down, up and down. She felt her climax building, and she could feel her lips were parting, preparing to accept him inside of her.