A Summer Night Out

The hot and muggy summer day became a warm and muggy summer evening. Leaves on the elm tree hedge cupped upwards in anticipation of rain. Birds searching for a bedtime snack hopped slowly across the yard. Doors shut against the heat of the day opened to allow the slightly lower evening temperature to cool the houses. Even if the stars could have shone through the cloud cover, it was too early to see them. Full dark, during the summer, doesn't happen until after 10 pm. It was only a few ticks past 8 pm.

She was naked, still damp from the shower, and in a tizzy. She lay down on the bed, spread her legs, and began smooth shaving her pussy. The drone of the razor was an aggravating noise.

"What should I wear?" she asked as she put away the razor.

"Something sexy and revealing," I told her. "Something that is easy to take off."

She began pulling outfits from the armoire and closet. I didn't consider any of them suitable for the outing. Some were too long. Others were too short. Some seemed too complicated and some of them I simply didn't like.

She tried on a summer dress that buttoned from the bottom to the top. It had a slightly V'd neckline, but one that was not plunging. The hem struck her just above mid calf. I told her to unbutton the first two buttons. It revealed the swell of her succulent breasts, but didn't expose them. I asked her to undo the bottom three buttons. After having her walk, and then sit, I decided a fourth button needed to be undone.

It worked, and it worked well. It was sexy. It was hot. It was demure. She stepped into a pair of high-heeled sandals. Her calf muscles rippled as she swayed back and forth across the room. I whistled my appreciation.

"How should I wear my hair," she asked, "down or up?"

"Put it in a pony tail," I told her.

I went outside, opened the sliding doors on either side of the van and removed two of the back seats. After setting them on the porch, I went back to the van to see if I could slide the rear bench seat a notch or two further to the rear. It doesn't adjust. As I was closing the van doors, she tossed two thick, soft blankets on the floor.

"The floor is hard," she grinned.

It was almost 9 pm. I pulled on my socks and boots, slapped my left hip pocket to make sure I had my billfold, grabbed an extra pack of cigarettes and said, " Let's hit it, baby." We climbed into the van, buckled up and backed out of the drive. We weren't supposed to be there until 10 pm. Although it was a 40-minute drive, I am wont to build in a little emergency time.

We tried to make small talk. After a few miles, we lapsed into a comfortable silence; each of us lost in the maze of our own thoughts. She looked good. In fact, she looked great. The necklace and earrings she had selected went well with her outfit. She had used just a touch of lipstick to accent her sensuous lips.

A few weeks previously, we had placed an ad on one of the Internet adult meeting sites. The response had been almost overwhelming. They had also been almost overwhelmingly ignorant and ill advised. There is no shortage of men that think the sight of a hard cock sends a woman into a fit of passion. That never ceases to amaze me.

Regardless of how carefully we had worded our ad, most of the respondents did not display even an ounce of intelligence. They seemed to be operating on the emotional level of a desperate, hormonally-charged, clueless and deprived, 14 year old boys. Fortunately, "almost all," doesn't mean "all."

Jim's letter gave the impression of someone who spoke English as a second language; thus, wasn't at ease writing in English. He had said the right things and included a clothed picture. After we had exchanged a few letters, he offered his phone number and we called. He had a pleasant, French-accented speaking voice. He seemed to be relaxed, at ease, and a gentleman. We agreed to meet at a restaurant to see what happened.

The last vestiges of twilight faded into dark as we pulled into the shopping center. I backed the van into a parking space about 50 yards from the restaurant. There was only one other vehicle parked nearby; probably an employee's car. Jim recognized us when we got out of the van. He walked over to meet us. He was about 5'10" tall. His hair was black with flecks of gray. He was slender and looked fit. We shook hands and exchanged in the pleasantries strangers exchange as we walked.

The hostess asked if we wanted a booth or table. At that hour, there were few diners. I indicated a booth in the corner that offered a modicum of privacy. Jim, sitting across the table from us, ordered a beer, I asked for coffee, and she chose ice tea.

I could tell from looking at his eyes that he found her attractive and very desirable, but there was no outward display of that desire. It would be easy to think the sexual tension would have almost hung heavily in the air. Such was not the case. We were three people, two men and a woman, becoming acquainted.

He was on his last hitch before retiring from the military, had been married and divorced. He had shared custody of his 12 year old son. He didn't know what he wanted to do with his life once he retired. We gave him a thumbnail sketch of our lives.

"Do you need to check on your mom?" I asked her after a time. If she answered yes to the question, I knew she wasn't interested in taking the meeting any further.

"No, she will be fine," she answered.

My heart began to beat a little faster as my erect cock pulsed against the fabric of my blue jeans. A small shot of adrenalin raced through my veins. "Go to the bathroom, take off your panties, and bring them to me," I ordered. I stood up to allow her to slide out of the booth.

She hasn't worn panties since she was in her late teens and hadn't worn any that night. There was, however, a pair in her purse. She knew that my instructions were intended to serve a two-fold purpose; allowing me a few minutes of private conversation with Jim and to subtly increase the aura of sexuality.

We watched her sway across the floor until she disappeared around a corner. I told him that, when she returned, I was going to have her sit next to him so they could become a little better acquainted. If everything was still meshing well, we would adjourn to the van to let nature take its' course. I also let him know that I intended to play the role of voyeur, rather than participant.

She returned to the table and handed me a pair of filmy, lacy, white panties. As she waited for me to get up, I slid them into my hip pocket. "Sit next to Jim," I told her. He stood up and she slipped into the booth.

There was an ever-so-slight blush on her face. She leaned against the seat and placed her hands slightly behind her back in a pose of openness and submissiveness. My mouth became suddenly very dry. I took a sip of coffee and yearned for a cigarette. Her erect nipples were two dimples against the fabric of the dress.

Jim placed his left hand on the softness of her leg and stroked it. With each stroke, his hand slid ever higher. My feet were touching hers and I felt her spread her legs a little wider to accommodate his searching hand. Her eyes widened. I knew Jim was stroking a very wet and willing pussy.

"Why don't we pay the tab and take this elsewhere," I suggested. Neither one of them appeared to be adverse to the idea. I reached for the tab. Jim beat me to it.

It was fully dark when we walked out of the restaurant. The temperature had dropped to a comfortable level, taking with it some of the humidity. The parking lot was all but vacant. The pale yellow streetlights reflected off the heavily-tinted side and back windows of the van. I beeped the doors unlocked and crawled in behind the steering wheel while they stooped into the back. After lowering my window slightly, I adjusted the rear view mirror to allow me a better view.

They looked at each other for a few moments. He tentatively slid his hand inside her bodice to cup her breast. She put one arm around his shoulders and began to stroke his arm and chest. With agile fingers, he unbuttoned two more buttons on her dress, pulled the fabric open to expose her soft, white breasts. Lowering his head, he began to lick and suck the left nipple. His tongue sought out the hollow of her throat and the sweetness of her neck. Both were breathing hard.

I felt a large surge of adrenalin race through me. It was so strong, I felt its' coppery taste in my mouth. For a moment, a very brief moment, I felt a twinge of jealousy. I breathed deeply, and then took a drag off my cigarette. The head of my engorged cock felt damp against my leg.

She began to rub and squeeze his hardness, still encased in denim. She lifted her hips as he pulled the hem of her skirt upward. When his probing fingers reached her pussy, she sighed and opened her legs more widely. She groaned when he found her clit. His fingers gently explored the slickness between her lips.

Jim knelt on the floor between her legs. She slid to the edge of the seat as he lifted and spread her legs wantonly. As his tongue tasted her sweetness, his fingers continued to probe her wetness. His index finger, well lubricated with her juices, found its way to her puckered hole and he began to insert it into her ass. She quietly stopped him. For reasons of our own, anal was not on the table.

His head bobbed as he assailed her pussy. He sucked her clit, licked her lips, and probed her vagina with his wet, warm, talented tongue. Her moans grew ever louder as her excitement increased. Her eyes found my eyes in the mirror and locked on to them as though to share the pleasure she was feeling.

The atmosphere in the van was heavy with eroticism and sexuality. I reached out with my mind and tried to feel what they were feeling. An hour ago, they had been total strangers. Now the man was on his knees, in a van parked in the middle of a city, voraciously devouring her pussy with an eager tongue. Her juices smeared across his smoothly-shaved face. Moans of mounting pleasure and passion resounded in his ears and gave testament to his skills as a lover.

Her moans reached a crescendo. She stiffened, her legs began to twitch and, for a brief second or two, she held her breath as she climaxed. His ministrations slowed, but did not stop. Slowly, softly, gently, he began to bring her back up that steep slope that leads to nirvana.

After she climaxed a second time, she took his hand to pull him up to the seat. She opened his shirt to run a wet tongue over his chest and abdomen. He groaned as she licked and nibbled at his nipples. She unbuckled his belt, unsnapped his jeans, and then slowly slid down the zipper. Reaching into his white shorts, she extracted his cock and began to fondle it.

Kneeling on the relative softness of a blanket, she slid his pants down to his ankles. Her tongue traced a wet line around the head of his cock and then up and down the shaft. His hips jerked as he noisily caught his breath. She palmed his balls then lightly ran her long fingernails over his length. With her mouth forming an O, she engulfed him and sucked him down her throat.

"Do you have a condom?" she asked, after allowing him a few minutes of unprotected pleasure. Unprotected sex is not an option.

He reached into his shirt pocket to extract a foil-wrapped condom. Jim tore the foil with his teeth, extracted the prophylactic, and handed it to her. She gave his bare cock another suck, and then slowly and sensuously unrolled the condom down the length of his steel-hard manhood.

The way she was kneeling blocked my view as she slowly bobbed up and down on his prick. I knew she was twirling her tongue with each stroke. I knew the wondrous pressure of her sucking. I could see him losing himself in the waves of pleasure that were washing through him. His eyes closed. He thrust slowly into her eager mouth.

She began to fuck him with her mouth. The sounds of wet slurping kissed my ears. I wished her dress was up around her hips so I could see her lovely ass. His hands reached out for her head. His breathing became a raspy moan as he began to thrust more forcefully against her friendly assault. I stroked my cock through my jeans, careful not to allow myself to cum.

His moans became a throaty growl. His body stiffened. His hands held her head tightly as he exploded and then went limp. She continued to suck him softly as his cock lost some of its hardness.

After a few moments, he opened his eyes, stroked her hair and sighed, "Thank you."

"Thank you," she smiled as she stroked him. "The pleasure was mine." She removed the condom and wiped him dry with a tissue. Giving his prick a parting kiss, she sat back down on the seat.

The three of us said our goodbyes outside the van. He and I shook hands. I thanked him for being a considerate gentleman. He hugged her, gave her a kiss on the cheek, thanked us for including him in our playtime, and said he hoped we could get together again. As he walked back to his car, I hugged and kissed her. I told her I loved her and that she was an incredibly sexy, sensuous woman. I told her that because it was true.

Long ago, I gave up trying to understand the whys and wherefores of my sexuality. I do know my libido feeds on a great variety of stimuli that runs the gamut from mundane to the more exotic. It is the pathway to orgasm, not orgasm in and of itself, I seek. I crave total consumption by desire and the eroticism of the moment. The roaring bonfire of carnality blazed white-hot. The beast within me raged in want of more pleasures that are esoteric. Where a stranger in a strange land could find such pleasures were beyond my knowing.

"Recline your seat a little bit and unbutton your dress," I told her when we reached the relative darkness of the highway. At slightly after midnight, traffic was light. The night belonged to the 18-wheelers. Exposing her to the view of an alert truck driver was exciting. The anonymity of the night was a friend.

"Spread your legs wider," I ordered, once she was bare. "Put them on the dashboard." She looked delicious.

"Masturbate." She began to rub her clit slowly with two fingers. I could see she was enjoying the sensations created by her rotating fingers. Those sensations were not building quickly enough to suit me.

"Faster," I told her. Her fingers began a dervish whirl. "Faster still. I want to hear your pussy squish." She began to fuck herself.

"Now tell me what you did tonight." My voice was almost harsh. The tone of command was unmistakable.

"I let a man touch my pussy," she breathed. "A stranger. He put his fingers in me."

"How did it feel?" I asked.

"It felt good, baby. He licked my pussy, too. He tried to put his finger in my ass, but I wouldn't let him. You told me not to." She was gasping with passion. Her voice was almost a little girl singsong. Her hips moved in rhythm to her thrusting fingers.

"What else did you do?" I demanded.

"Can I cum?"

"No. Keep talking."

She tried. The gods know she tried. Her passion is all-consuming. Her words were an unintelligible mishmash of moans. The only words I could understand were, "Can I cum," repeated over, again and again.

Orgasm restriction is a fun game. At least, it is a fun game up to a point. That point comes when the pleasure becomes ovary-twisting pain. Continued even further, the pleasure and the pain becomes a numbing absence of desire. I let her cum.

She screamed her release.

I put the van in the garage. She walked naked to the house. At that hour, the chances of being seen are close enough to zero to be considered zero. She fumbled her key into the lock and opened the door.

"Get to the bedroom and kneel," I told her. She almost flew down the hallway and into the bedroom. I slowly undressed in the living room and carried my clothes into the bedroom.

"Get on the bed." She did. "Lie down and spread your legs." She did. I put her knees on her breasts and climbed between her legs.

"Put it in." She grasped my cock and placed it in the dripping, sticky syrup of her arousal.

"Baby," I said, "if you want to cum, you'd better do it quick. I'm not waiting."

She did., I did, and we fell asleep in each other's arms.