STORY TITLE After The Party
AUTHOR Jonathan P

DISCLAIMER:- The following text is sexually explicit and contains depictions of sexual acts that have been classified by the surgeon general as potentially dangerous and unhealthy. You must be a broad minded adult to read the text, and you must not make this text available to minors or to any person who does not wish to view it. Unprotected sexual relations with unknown partners is hazardous and we urge the use of condoms and safe sex at all times.

Lisa and I worked together at the same large company. I was in Engineering, she was in Marketing, and we were both involved on the same big product effort. We flirted using eye contact and occasional banter, sometimes with mild sexual innuendo. I was married, and she was apparently steadily dating another guy in Engineer, Malcolm, who happened to be Asian. Lisa had a trim body, with narrow hips and medium sized breasts, long dark hair and dark, twinkling eyes.

Over time the flirting got more explicit between us. Lisa told me that she was hosting a party in two weeks time at her apartment, a sort of open house thing for work friends and non-work friends. She made it clear that Malcolm wouldn’t be there, as he had an overriding family commitment to attend, and she wondered if I could come to the party without my wife in tow. “And you can stay for awhile, after everyone leaves, and help me clean up,” she said – with a smile.

Attending without my wife wasn’t too difficult to accomplish. It was a Friday night, and my wife was in grad school and had a midterm the following Monday, so she was happy to have me go to this “work party” and give her some quiet time to study. “I might be late,” I told her. She didn’t seem to care.

Lisa’s apartment was jammed with what seemed like 40 people, munching on chips and dips, pretzels and carrot sticks, drinking beer and wine. By midnight the last person left, and Lisa and I were alone the clutter. “My roommate is spending the night at her boyfriend’s,” she assured me as we made some progress on the mess.

Before long, we were sitting on the 70’s apartment shag carpeting in front of the gas fireplace with its flickering fake log, leaning against the couch, and we were both feeling the effects of the evening’s alcohol. I was buzzed, and Lisa seemed even more so. No time like the present, I thought, and I kissed her, and she made it clear that she wanted to be kissed. A few minutes later we were horizontal on the floor, making out with unbroken wet, sloppy kisses, and a few minutes after that my mouth was between her legs, her pants were off and flung to the side, and I was tossing her panties on top of her pants.

And then I dove in. Lisa had a nicely trimmed growth of soft, black pubic hair that framed a puffy mound and already pouty pretty pink inner labia. I licked and slathered until her pussy opened wide, all slick and dark red, ever so succulent. Her scent and her taste got me rock-hard, and her constant little guttural noises emerging from her throat got me with a serious need to fuck her, right then and there. I curled two fingers up inside her and that only ratcheted up her noises and her squirming hips and her little clenches around my intruding fingers.

I went for it. I sat up a bit, and Lisa’s heavy-lidded eyes clung to mine as I unbuckled my pants and I worked them down to my thighs. Her tongue wiped across her lips, and her eyes dropped to look at my upward-aiming erection, and her hands followed. “Nice,” she said. One of her thumbs smeared my precum in a circle on my cockhead. Then her eyes closed and her head relaxed back onto the floor. Yes, she seemed more buzzed than I was, and I was definitely feeling buzzed.

I repositioned myself on top of her, and she kept her gentle hold on my cock. I managed to work my pants off one leg, then the other, then I moved closer to her, hovering my chest against hers. Now I could kiss her again. Lisa’s feet hooked behind my calves. She began to diddle her labia and clit with my cockhead. Her eyes were still closed. Her mouth was in this tight little ‘O’ and she was breathing quickly.

Lisa’s hands had me aimed at her opening, and I pushed my hips forward just enough to perch right there at the entrance, right where you can feel the woman’s heat and sense the promise of that warm, smooth slickness that lies within. Her eyes opened. “I have a diaphragm,” she murmured. She still had one fist around my shaft, giving me little squeezes that I responded to with my own twitch. “But I don’t need … maybe I don’t … it’s okay.”

Her hand relaxed and withdrew. Now both of her hands were holding my hips, and she began squirming her own again. I pressed farther, slipping another two inches inside. She began to pant, pulling on my ass, and rocking her hips upward. Another inch, another, and then the rest of the way in one firm, deep thrust that pinned her hips to the floor and had her gasping. I was thinking about Malcolm and the stereotype of small than average Asian penises, and wondering if all that was true and if part of her attraction to me was my larger cock. I was thinking about what Malcolm’s reaction would be if he arrived at the door and had a key to let himself in.

Then I stopped thinking about Malcolm and thought only about this woman I was on top penetration with stretching circles. Stretching up, stretching down. I wanted her to feel my stiffness, to feel the size of my cock, even if it was thoroughly average. Lisa’s eyelids fluttered and she gasped, she moaned, and opened her legs up and held onto me and let me stroke her, thrust into her, fuck her.

When I would speed up, her hands grabbed me tighter and she told me, “Don’t come. Not yet. Don’t come.” I tried my best to do what she asked, but the inevitable ending was on the horizon. I could feel my involuntary twitches. I was losing control.

“Where?” I asked her. I was onto the steady, deep thrusting. That wouldn’t last long. She was juicy, and I could hear the clickety-clack of her lubrication on every instroke and outstroke.

Her eyes opened and focused on my face. “I don’t know,” she murmured. Her eyes closed again, and her hands palmed my ass and her hips found my steady rhythm. “Do it,” she said. “It’s okay, do it.”

And I did. She was either too drunk to climax, or too tired, or too nervous, but I was none of those things, and I suppose I also didn’t care at that point. I just gave up on control and let it go, speeding up for those final deep, plunging thrusts and, with my own gasping groaning moan of pure pleasure, just buried my cock inside her delicious creamy clutch and let it fly. They were long, glorious spasms of white heat, and Lisa held her hips up and motionless, bit down on her lower lip, kept her eyes shut tight, and took it all. After three big juicy spurts I felt her clench briefly around my cock, then relaxed as I spurted again, then she clenched again and held it through my final few weaker and weaker pulses.

And then I was done. Lisa was a limp rag, her eyes opening halfway, breathing irregularly. I slipped out of her vagina, and looking down I could see strands of white as I pulled back and sat upright. I watched her kegels clench, and a hint of semen appeared. She reached a hand between her legs. “Oh shit,” she sighed, “Help me up, okay?” I helped her to her feet, and she waddled to the bathroom, her hand still cupping her mound.

When she returned a few minutes later, she was wearing panties. “Are you okay?” I asked. “Is it okay?”

Lisa shrugged. “I think so.” We embraced, and she kissed me. “It was worth it.”

I left her apartment a few minutes later. And no, she didn’t get pregnant. At least by me. She quit the company six months later, married Malcolm, and I was told she had a baby with him – six months after they got married. I’m guessing the baby looked like him. And I’m guessing he didn’t like the diaphragm, either.