But the end of the word was lost in a grunt and a heave as she pushed back into him, tilting her hips as everything contracted and pulsed, and then he matched her, this time grabbing her hips and pushing so deep that it was almost too deep, and then everything became slicker and faster and something hot ran out of her and down her leg as his thrusts stuttered, his body alternating between thrusting in and pulling back, and as he did, what was left of her orgasm ran through her like a shiver.
He pulled away and his cock slid out. A gush of cum came with it, running down her leg and into her fancy shoe.
She turned around, her back against shelves, and slid down. She realized that she’d sat in the wet spot but was beyond caring. She could clean up in a minute, and her clothes were at least dry and clean. Right now, she had to catch her breath and her sanity.
He slid down and sat beside her.
“I’ve never done that before,” she said. “Screwing a guy I just met, I mean.”
He smiled. “There’s a first time for everything.”
“Do you think it’s the first time that makes it so hot?” she said. “If we were to do this again next week, would it be as good?”
He ran a finger up her leg, up the wet trail and into the wet folds below her small patch of hair. “I have no idea,” he said. “But I know a way to find out.”
Hot Party at Amanda's
“You want a drink?” asked Greg.
Sarah shook her head. She wasn’t much of a drinker.
Greg pressed the spring-loaded clip on the hose running from the keg and filled a clear plastic cup two thirds of the way with beer. He took a drink. “Suit yourself,” he said.
This date was going badly. Sarah should have known better than to accept a date from a frat boy. She wasn’t the frat type. She also wasn’t the sorority type. She’d learned that freshman year, when Bella and Jane had done the whole sorority tour thing and had ended up coming home totally shitfaced every night and throwing up in the sink. Once, Bella had barfed in the bathroom trashcan even though there was no liner in it. Sarah had made her clean it up, amidst much bitching. The only way to do it was in the shower, and Sarah had complained about that, too. Nobody wanted to deal with Bella’s barf. Bella alone should have to be exposed to it.
“You want to dance?” asked Greg.
Sarah did like to dance, but what was going on in the crowded, run-down house wasn’t dancing. It was grinding against a bunch of sweaty drunk people, most of whom any given dancer was unlikely to be attracted to. She shook her head.
“You want to … uh….” Greg didn’t seem to know what to say.
“I’ll just hang out here,” she said.
“In the kitchen?”
She forced a smile. “I’ll work the keg.”
Greg frowned at her. He wasn’t getting the hint. She didn’t want to be a bitch, but this wasn’t her scene and she felt uncomfortable. She didn’t drink. She didn’t really like drunks. Even the smell of beer made her gag, and all she could smell in this house was beer and bodies. Greg was supposed to read her body language and her tone and figure out that he was supposed to take her home, but he wasn’t getting it. That was another reason she wasn’t into frat guys — they weren’t always the most intuitive about women. Greg was a nice enough guy, and he was pretty. He’d been hitting on her for weeks, probably because she had a small waist and nice boobs and because people said she reminded them of a short Elle Macpherson circa 1980s. You’d think it would be a complement, but more often than not it was obnoxious. The guys she was into cared less about glamour, and the guys she wasn’t into cared about little else. She could wear sweats and a frumpy hat and get hit on. She wondered if the real Elle Macpherson had to deal with this. But at least she had money to go with it.
“So…” said Greg.
He wasn’t going to get it. This was his form of being gentlemanly. It was sweet, but it was obnoxious.
Sarah decided to free at least one of them from this awkwardness. “Why don’t you go find Thad and Joe?”
“You don’t mind?”
“No,” she said, trying on the smile again. “I like working the keg.” Which was, of course, a total lie.
Greg smiled, almost made a little happy hop, and scampered off. He’d figured out he wouldn’t be getting any farther with her and had stopped trying. She at least had to give him that much credit.
Once Greg was gone, Sarah sat into a molded plastic chair and resigned herself to this being her Saturday night — playing keg monkey for a bunch of obnoxious drunken frat boys who would probably spend the evening ogling her. She couldn’t even play it down. She’d worn a short skirt, a nice white blouse with a fair amount of cleavage, and high heels for her date with Greg. Boy, had she miscalculated the mood of the evening.
“Woo!” came a voice from one of the rooms. “Do it!”
Keg stands, possibly, she thought. There had to be kegs throughout the house. At a party like this, you couldn’t always be counted on to make it to the kitchen, so you needed oases of inebriation.
The kitchen was in the middle of the house. Greg had scampered off toward the front of the house, to her right. There was a second large room to her left — probably a rec room or family room in the house’s intended floorplan. She wasn’t sure what was back there because she and Greg hadn’t made it that far. They’d waded through the sweaty, smelly, churning crowd to make it to the kitchen, which was mostly empty except when someone needed the keg. She’d seized on the kitchen as the least among frat party evils.
“Yeah baby!” came another voice. It came from the room to her left, where a different wing of drunkenness seemed to be raging.
She rolled her eyes, breathing deeply.
I’d rather be studying, she thought. And she didn’t like studying at all. That’s how little she wanted to be here, and she found it ironic that this was what everyone in the house had been looking forward to all week.
“Use that tongue!” came another shout.
That got her attention.
She stood up. As she walked toward the door to the back living room, her heel caught in a crack in the linoleum. Stupid fucking party.
She reached the doorway to find the room mostly packed, but with room around the edges. Everyone was clustered around something at the other end of the room. She tried to look over the top, but couldn’t see what it was. She was too short, even in heels.
Sarah skirted the knot of people clustered around whatever it was, making her way to one side of the group. Several fists were in the air. Several people were hooting. Beer sloshed, and she stepped back just in time to avoid a gusher down her front.
She still couldn’t see what it was, but she’d heard some interesting verbal tidbits, including, “Rub it!” and, “That’s right, baby!”
She came around to the side and found a gap in the crowd where a set of stairs led down into the basement and up to the second floor. She took four steps up onto a small landing and, once up higher, could see what everyone was looking at quite clearly without having to strain past anyone.
Amanda Bellings was sitting on the couch with her man of the week, who Sarah thought might be named Mike. They were kissing and running their hands all over each other.
Of course.
It was a fair-sized school with a decent number of students, but Sarah wasn’t at all amazed to see that the focus of attention was Amanda Bellings. Amanda was usually the focus of attention because she managed to pull off a strange combination of sophisticated beauty and slutty hotness. There were rumors about Amanda’s past that made Sarah blush. Sarah sometimes had trouble talking to her, and that was hard because they were in the same literature study group and, in Sarah’s mind at least, were fairly good friends. She would be willing to have Amanda to her parents’ house for dinner … as long as Sarah’s brother wasn’t going to be there, too.
Amanda was wearing a blue button-up shirt. It was the kind of thing a man would wear, but Amanda, of course, made it look hot. On
ly the bottom button or two was still fastened and Amanda’s bra — a brilliant white against her tan skin — was clearly visible, down and past a small blue flower between the cups that was stationed over what seemed to be a front clasp.
Sarah’s vantage point put her slightly above the crowd, close enough to see everything that she decided she didn’t really want to see. Mike or whoever had his hand inside of Amanda’s shirt, rubbing her left breast over the bra. His mouth was on hers. His other hand was behind him, but Amanda’s hands were exploring as well, with the frontmost one moving slightly, high on his leg.
The crowd had given them about five feet in which to fondle each other and stood behind that imaginary line, cheering for them to go on.
Sarah felt several things rise inside of her. One was a new level of disgust with frat culture. One was a sense of vicarious shame, because Amanda was a friend and was embarrassing herself — and seemed like she might just keep embarrassing herself further. Amanda was probably drunk, but that would really just grease the wheels a little bit. Amanda was an exhibitionist even when sober. Sarah had once watched her flash passersby through a window.
The third thing Sarah felt was interest in what she was watching.
It had been a boring night. This at least broke the monotony. And sure, she wouldn’t stay and watch, but at least she’d be able to say that something interesting happened tonight. She might even get some ribs in on Amanda the next time they talked.
Of course, she wouldn’t know what exactly to say to rib Amanda unless she stuck around to see how far it went, and she couldn’t do that. For one, it was just kind of gross. For two, she didn’t want anyone thinking she was into that kind of thing. And for three, Amanda was a friend. You couldn’t watch your friends make out. It was awkward. It was … weird.
Yet she found herself sitting down. It was an old house with a lot of neat architectural features that were now being befouled with beer and vomit, and she’d realized that there was a small alcove behind her on the landing. Her grandfather’s house had something similar. His had been for an old-style phone. Back in the day, you’d sit in the alcove and make your call. She wondered if this was the same.
You should put a stop to this, she thought. But what was she supposed to do, chastise Amanda? She would do whatever the hell she wanted and nothing less. That was just how it was. You should leave.
But maybe she’d just stick around a little bit longer. Just to see what came next.
On the couch, Amanda’s hand found her boyfriend’s crotch and began slowly rubbing.
Sarah felt a bolt shoot through her. She’d figured she was going to watch a makeout session, but Amanda’s hand on his jeans … there … took it to a different level. This had become sexual. But surely it was just petting.
Mike responded to her touch by using deft finger movements to unclasp her bra, which clasped in the front. The bra must have been tight or Amanda’s breasts had swollen from the attention, because they actually bounced out, the left becoming plainly visible in the open V of her shirt.
Sarah turned her head involuntarily, self-censoring something she felt sure she wasn’t supposed to see. This was Amanda. Amanda.
But when she looked back — because she couldn’t not look back — she couldn’t help but admire the breast she could see. It was firm and high and pink. Her nipple stood out, clearly erect. Then Mike’s hand covered it, cupping the breast and rubbing the nipple.
Sarah wondered why she was admiring her friend’s breasts. She decided she must be the kind of person who appreciated beauty wherever she found it, no matter how unlikely the source.
And she was still sitting in the small alcove, having made no effort to leave.
“Take it off!” someone shouted.
So Mike, ever willing to please, complied. Amanda’s shirt and bra dropped to the floor, and then both of those beautiful breasts were in plain view. The crowd raised its glasses and gave a cheer.
You shouldn’t be watching this, a voice inside of her said.
But if that was true, why was it that her underwear suddenly felt warm and too tight, and why did the breeze from ceiling fan that made its way under her skirt feel so nice?
Holy shit, are you getting turned on? Are you seriously getting horny watching two people make out in public? Are you getting turned on watching your friend make out in public?
Well, she could answer that last one. The girl could have been anyone. It was the display that was a turn on, not the fact that it was Amanda, with her breasts that looked every bit as good out of a shirt as they looked in one.
Or not. Not a turn on. She forced herself to stand up.
On the couch, Amanda’s right hand moved off of Mike’s crotch and lifted his shirt. Then she pressed her palm against his lower abs and then slid it down into his jeans.
The crowd’s noise doubled, and a few more people came in from the kitchen.
Sarah realized that she was sitting again. What was worse, her legs had parted slightly.
All of her attention had thus far been on the show on the couch, but now Sarah looked around the crowd. Most of the people in the room were in the group in front of the couch, drinking and cheering and hooting, but a few had moved back against the walls. Then she realized that of the people at the edges, most were girls, and most of them were sitting, more or less concealed unless someone chose to turn and stare right at them. Two of them had their hands down the front of their jeans, the top button unbuttoned for access. They each seemed to realize that the other was there, and seemed to have decided that there was no harm in touching themselves if the other was going to do it, too.
As Sarah watched, two of the other girls around the edges gave sidelong glances at the two with their hands down their pants. The two girls watching the others were quiet, almost meditative. It was a huge difference from the riotous demeanor of the crowd.
They’re horny.
And now that they saw the others touching themselves, the two girls fell back, somewhat more out of obvious view, and began tentatively touching themselves over their clothes. One was wearing a skirt. Her hand went up underneath it and vanished. Her eyes closed. Her mouth opened.
On the couch, Amanda’s hand came out of Mike’s jeans. As the crowd hooted, she used both hands to pull off his pants and underwear, freeing Mike’s erect penis. Amanda’s hand went to it and began stroking its length.
Oh my God, Sarah thought. This is going to go all the way.
It was a strange, out-of-place thought. You could make out in public. You could grope in public. And if you were sly, you could even screw in public. What you couldn’t do was to screw right in front of a crowd. Someone would always stop that kind of thing even if the people involved didn’t come to their senses. It was intensely taboo. But here it was, and nobody was stopping it.
She’s going to rub it and rub it and maybe suck it or sit on it and won’t stop until he cums.
The profane voice in her head was strange, but welcome. She didn’t use those words out loud, but saying them in her head made the experience more intense, more real. She could see it in her mind — that cock in front of her spurting thick strands of milky cum all over, and all out in the open while people cheered. And Amanda would cheerfully smile and make it happen.
Sarah’s hand was under her skirt, inside of her panties. Two fingers straddled her clit. She was intensely wet, and had, she admitted, stopped caring. Around the edges of the room, at least four other people were playing with themselves. It would be hard to see her up here, back in the alcove. There were probably countless more that she couldn’t see. This was hot, she had to reluctantly admit.
Amanda’s hand worked Mike’s cock up and down, up and down. His hands cupped and caressed her perfect breasts. He leaned down to lick and kiss them. The crowd hooted.
Amanda was wearing a skirt, too. She almost always wore skirts. She took her hand off of Mike’s cock long enough to hike the skirt all the way up, revealing a pair of white panties. Mik
e immediately reached up and hooked a finger under the waistband of her panties and pulled them all the way down until they were at her ankles. From where she was sitting, Sarah could see that Amanda was totally and completely shaved. Her outer lips were round and tight, swollen and starting to open in anticipation. From the shine of the overhead lights, Sarah could see just how wet Amanda was.
Without standing up, as discreetly as she could, Sarah slipped her own panties to the floor, then pocketed them. Should anyone come too close, she could easily stand up and escape. She hiked her own skirt up, and the cool room air now playing against her pussy gave her a thrill. She realized just how close she was to coming … and just how dangerously cavalier she was about whether or not she overtly went for it here, so close to so many people, where they could turn and look and see what they shouldn’t see.
Mike’s fingers moved down and slid frictionlessly inside of Amanda. Her mouth came open, and even over the crowd, Sarah could hear her gasp. Amanda’s hand moved faster on his cock. Then she bent sideways, and Mike’s cock slid into her mouth, between her full, red lips.
The crowd hooted. Sarah looked to the girls she’s seen earlier — those reluctantly horny few around the room’s edge who had allowed pleasure to override their normal social filters. Those wearing pants had unbuttoned them further, their hands buried deep. The one wearing the skirt had hiked it up as both Amanda and Sarah had done, and her hand was a blur. One pretty blonde girl in jeans had abandoned all pretense, sliding both jeans and panties down to her ankles and working her fingers into and out of a very wet pussy in what would be plain view had anyone turned around.
Seeing the last actually turned Sarah on as much as the action on the couch. To see someone driven to such intensity as to ignore a huge social taboo? Oh my god.
Sarah’s eyes closed. She slid a finger deep inside, then pulled it back out and rubbed her fingers rapidly over her clit. Now she was the one in plain view, had anyone chosen to look. And she simply didn’t care.
Filthy Dirty Normal, Volume 1 Page 4
