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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit
material. If you do not wish to read this
type of literature, or you are under age
Eighteen, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!!
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Archive name: party.txt (MF, FF, voy)
Authors name: John B. (no address)
Story Title : Evening Out
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This work is copyrighted to the author (c) 1997. Please do
not remove the author information or make any changes to
this story. You may post freely to non-commercial "free"
sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites. Thank
you for your consideration.
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I don't know what you remember of that evening. You get a
faraway look in your eyes and there is a little smile that
curves the corners of your mouth when there is any
reference to it. I can tell you what I witnessed (and
did), but after all, this was your night, so the story
will be the definitive sense, whenever you choose to tell
it.
I suppose you were expecting another typically dreary
evening with the stuffed shirts when I invited you to my
department's annual party. The bland handshakes, the bland
talk, the typically rich food that the middle-aged deni-
grate and then overeat.
I am glad you let me help you shop for clothes. I love
your body, as you know, so I made a point of searching for
clothing that clings and smooth fabric that feels good
under my hand. You look good in most anything, but
less is more, so I planned to get you into something as
small as I could. And playing with you in the dressing
room at the department store was a bit of fun, aside from
the satisfaction of helping you look good.
I had to take a step backward when you opened the door of
your apartment. I flushed with delight. A little black
dress with pearls, but with you in it. Your ass curved and
your breasts swelled delightfully. The flaring skirt was
short enough to show most of your legs, all the way to the
middle of your thighs, and the top cut low enough so your
breasts were well exposed but still within the standards
of (what passes for) taste in Southern California. I was
happy to see you weren't wearing any stockings, only
sandals, for the evening was quite warm. You looked
gorgeous.
I wanted to make love to you right there in the hall, but
I settled for caressing the cool inside of your naked
thigh and kissing your neck. Did you notice the teenage
boy (you know which one I mean) across the hall open his
door to watch us? I saw the door close but not click shut,
so I think we were scrutinized for a while longer. He must
have gotten a good look at what was under your dress,
cause I lifted it up more than once. The silk panties I
picked for you were worthy of showing off, I thought, so I
raised your skirt to let your admirer have a look.
Did I go too far, there in the doorway? When I got hard I
just had to feel my cock against you. You made those
little sounds of pleasure that arise involuntarily when
you get turned on, so I figured I could forge ahead by
pulling down the front of your panties and slipping my
fingers through the damp forest that is your pubic hair
into your (by now) wet love spot. When I struggled to
unzip my own pants with one hand, I guess you saw the
virtue in restraint and called off any more play.
However, taking you to the department function in such a
state of arousal was part of my plan, although you didn't
realize it until later.
You seemed mildy surprised at seeing the dimly lit, tree-
shrouded restaurant. Not the salmon-house banquet room
this time. Fat fronds of great, rubbery plants hung down
above the walk and slipped over our hair as we entered the
hidden door. Inside, the light was so dim it took a couple
of moments for our eyes to adjust. It was just as humid
inside as out, so I suspected this was one of those dens
that was open to the sky, somewhere back within it's
corridors.
A pretty hostess led us downward through a musty hallway,
(a tunnel really) into a large round room, ringed with
tables, still darkly lit, where the rest of my co-workers
stood sipping drinks and smoking. You remarked to me that
the walls of this cavernous place seemed to be carved out
of the earth. Vines hung down from darkness, and I could
make out stars when I looked up.
Instead of the usual sounds you'd expect: classical music
or jazz, I discerned an almost inaudible drone, slowly
undulating but never quite ending. The effect of the whole
place was not eery, but protected, private and sensual.
Here's when you may have gotten some looks you didn't
expect and heard some comments made to me that you may not
have understood. Like, "Is she the one you mentioned?,"
and "Oh, thank you for bringing her, Tommy," I remember
you giving me a quizzical look when Sally Moore, the cool,
dark-haired professor of linguistics, came up to you a bit
too close and looked right into your eyes saying, in-
directly to me, "Tommy, you deserve tenure. And I deserve
a treat."
Did I get you drunk? I can't answer that. I was not above
the act, but I think you wanted to be drunk anyway, so I
didn't push you too hard. It's very easy to drink more
vodka than one intends, so I just didn't hold you back.
You might accuse me of trying to subvert your sexual
soveriegnty, for taking away your power of choice.
We ate, we drank, the droning music was turned up and
people danced closely. As my fellow academics fell under
the spell of the place as we did, we began to see hands
roving over breasts and between legs. Long kisses.
Couples: students and faculty, men with men, women with
women, groups clustered in dim corners.
You started to teeter a bit in your chair. Friends of mine
came over to meet you. Steve, the English Lit TA, sat
between us and passed his hand up your thigh and beneath
your dress. You smiled at him and didn't make a move to
stop him, although he explored there for a couple of
minutes.
I remember Chris and Dan, the gay couple who work at the
department office, sitting on either side of you, telling
you intimate jokes at which you laughed deliciously. The
mood of the room became dreamy, like opium must make you
feel. Clouds of smoke and humidity, the smell of sensuous
perfume and perspiring bodies. My head was beginning to
spin a little.
Aaron Devoe, the tall, slim academic dean whom all the
straight women and the gay men wanted to fuck but whom few
had, came to our table and deftly slipped his right hand
into the top of your dress then gently released your left
breast. He caressed the nipple very gently between his
thumb and forefinger while talking into your ear. I
believe you had your right hand down the front of his
trousers.
I watched you cross the room (when you got up to pee) as
Donna Jackson, the reserved but lovely black administrator
whose slender waist and full breasts I always admired,
wrapped her arm around your lower back and pulled your
hips snugly to hers. She talked with you like that for
several minutes, slowly smoothing the fabric over your
bottom.
I was glad that you were welcoming all advances equally
and with pleasure. You even made a wry understatement to
me at one point. "Friendly group, Tom."
You were in the restroom for a good while. Then Sally
Moore and you emerged together, holding hands. Your dress
was twisted around your waist, and neither of you were
wearing lipstick any longer. There was a startled look on
your face. She pulled back on your arm before releasing
you to the larger room. You stepped toward her. The two of
you kissed langorously for a whole minute, toungues deep
within each other's mouth, tight in each other's arms.
I knew the rest of the night was going to be more than fun
for both of us.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Kristen's collection - Directory 2