Story: And she was…

Rebel has given the prompt of Traffic signs for the WickedWednesday this week:

There was no sign of the impending hazard, there was no indication of the dangers she faced, but if she was truly unaware of the potential for injury while doing her chosen pastime then she was incredibly naïve.

And she didn’t look inexperienced or naïve. She knew the score; she was dressed to achieve her obvious goal. The low-cut neckline, showing her impressive cleavage, was engineered for attention and designed to ensnare mens’ eyes. The short clubbing dress that ended a few inches short of her waist was deliciously tight. It promised so much, masterminded to encourage sly looks and free drinks. And the high heels that she tottered so convincingly on, holding her calves taut and firm, accentuated the length of her legs and brought her from five foot nine to six feet in height.

She was a clubber, but she was reckless; pacing towards the dance-floor with drunken exuberance and then running onto the polished dancing area with unnecessary zeal when her favourite song was chosen by the in-house DJ.

She slipped; her right leg sliding when her high heel skidded on a pool of spilt drink: an occupational hazard in any nightclub. She should have been more aware; she should have known the dangers on any nightclub dance-floor.

But she didn’t. She fell: her flailing body adorned with a yelp and a cry. She landed with a bump, her dress rising to reveal a white flash of lacy underwear. Her breasts spilled, and as no-one else came to her aid, my flatmate and I helped her to her feet.

She smiled and thanked us, mildly embarrassed. George and I bought her drinks, she flirted. All three of us did. We teased and laughed, making sexually provocative small-talk until the club started to close.

We left the venue together, my friend and I walking her through a small housing estate fondling her half-naked body, until she stopped at the quiet car park, turning to face us with a drunken giggle.

Her fingers loosened the belt on my trousers, her tongue slipped into mine: her mouth a potent taste of alcoholic strawberries. Her black dress bunched around her midriff by my touch, while her lace knickers were removed by George.

She giggled when she noticed and turned to face my friend twirling her expensive underwear as a premature trophy. My hands splayed her buttocks, gently caressing her soft, peachy ass to a vocal coo of satisfaction. Fingers slipped between her crack, and she leaned into George, my touch glissading over her wetness. A warm cry exuded from her lips as I pressed against the ridge; her legs squirmed obscenely.

I felt the heat of her arousal. The cool air swirled around us on the Summer night, as she leant over a low bollard, gripping the attached signpost of the wooden walkway as I danced along her slit, savouring the subtle moans of delight from her.

She pawed at George’s trousers as I rubbed her towards her climax. My fingers skated over her clit as my thumb delved into her sopping cunt. She mewed into the faceful of George’s prick, moaning as my sodden hand swept her into a vocal orgasm.

I lowered my trousers, unfurling a condom down my shaft as clubbers walked past; a couple drunkenly videoed us on their smartphones. I cared not. She gasped into George’s cock, sliding past her gag reflex, as my dick opened her. She rubbed her clit as I pushed deep, holding the tops of her exposed waist.

I gripped her skin, reddening her flesh under my fingertips as I thrusted deeply into the groaning slut. She squirmed and thrashed underneath me, enjoying my dick pistoning wantonly into her sopping pussy. I watched George squeal and come, his face a twisted mess of endeavour and pleasure. She spluttered as his semen squirted into her mouth as his groans echoed in the small yard.

I felt her cunt pulse as I approached my own point, closing my eyes as I concentrated on the lust inside my genitals. The sensations. The sounds and the deep feeling of wetness.

With barely a whimper, I could hold on no more and the waves of orgasm surged from within. I filled the condom, pressing my prick deep into her trembling body to enjoy the final pulses of her pussy.

I invited her back to our place; she declined. I discarded the lifeless rubber into the nearest bin and we awkwardly said our goodbyes.

And thought no more of it. Until George found a viral video on the net. Two men, screwing a babe underneath a roadsign.


Slippery when wet.

And she was.

Wicked Wednesday

Featured image from WickedWednesday; above image from Wikicommons

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  1. I, also, am a fan of “threeways”! This story sounds like lots of fun!

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