When we first sat down – and for close to an hour after that – we were the only patrons choosing to perch at this long bar. Most who came in sat at one of the many tables on the next tier or gathered around the serving bar on the other side of the club. I bought drinks, which we quickly downed, and then went for more.
By the time we were halfway through the third round, Ashley had acclimatized to the place and, owing to the near absence of anyone in our section, was being quite receptive to my taking advantage of her barely clad state. I induced her to stand next to me, which, owing to the height of the bar stools, placed her head at a particularly comfortable height for kissing, and her butt at a particularly comfortable height for fondling. Not coincidentally, her cunt was at just the right height to press into my cock as she stood between my open legs.
I could’ve fucked her there, in public. (I wanted to do this with her, one day: the ultimate exhibition.)
We kissed. We pressed.
It was one of those nice long kisses. When she was in the mood, she had no problem closing her eyes and ignoring the rest of the world: kissing me like we were alone on a deserted beach. I sensed her slipping into this mood, and let my hands caress her body through the thin veil of The Dress. I reveled in the delicious contours of her hips, the inviting cleft of her buttocks, as I stood there quaffing her fusillade.
I could no longer contain myself, nor could I let her be contained in The Dress. My caress wandered off the bottom edge of The Dress and onto the warm flesh of her thighs; I brought my fingers together in that enigmatic void where cheek meets cheek, thigh meets thigh. I gave her a two-handed squeeze, the kind that lifts and separates.
Our kiss continued without a discernible break in mood; if anything, our long connection became a little sloppy. I released my grip on the bottom of her bottom, and slowly let my hands glide upward, only this time keeping my hands in full contact with her bare flesh, carrying the hem of The Dress higher and higher, angled on my thumbs.
I hiked The Dress up, inch by cautious inch, until it was around her waist; I had free rein to roam over the full expanse of her naked ass. We continued to kiss as I continued to caress her bottom, until she yanked The Dress down to a more constrained disposition. For the first time, one of the waitresses had appeared out of nowhere to take our spent glasses away. Her approach took us by surprise, and our reactions were too late. Thanks to the mirrored wall, the waitress had gotten an eyeful. She was stoic about it – just took our glasses and asked if we needed anything.
“No,” I said, “not just now.”
Shortly after this, Ashley, flustered, suggested we take a stroll around the club. I’d mentioned that Pd noticed a couple of pool tables on the opposite side. The vision that leapt through my mind, like a possessing demon, of her leaning over a pool table in The Dress, was enough to make me run, not walk, to the tables. When we got there, the tables were occupied by regulars – you could tell by the way they handled themselves they were regulars; and I’ve learned in the past one doesn’t butt in on regulars unless one is serious about the game. We walked on by; I was somewhat disappointed.
Ashley whispered, “People are looking at me.”
We returned to our places and, except for more bar runs, we remained planted there all night. We could’ve danced, but we didn’t feel particularly moved by the music; and we were having so much fun with each other that we just hung out. We spent about half of the time in a kind of sit/stand/ prance combination, with me sitting on my stool and she standing between my open legs, wiggling to the music, constantly rubbing part of her body against my constantly stiff cock.
In this position, I could keep one hand permanently forged in her mysterious void, maintaining a couple inches of her bottom to peek from under the hem invariably. Every once in a while we’d kiss and I’d give her a two-handed butt hug, briefly exposing more rear, and just a few times (the viewing pleasure crowds and those foreign eyes) hiking the dress to her waist again for a particularly satisfying feel.
As the dance floor filled out and the evening began, people would earnestly come up every once in a while to the walkway behind us and make requests to the DJ. Except for the occasional guy who’d lean against the back wall of the club, making use of the mirrors from some distance, this trickle of traffic constituted the main audience for our cautious exhibition. Ashley did not take meticulous note of these people (as long as I was not getting too far out of line) and, the way she stood, she wasn’t in position to heed any reactions. I, on the other hand, was. There were numerous evident times that the bit of bottom I kept exposed was heeded, and with it the fact that my hand was in firm contact with said resource.
The mirror abetted considerably in this regard.
One case in particular – there were several young women in their early twenties hanging out in a clutch somewhere below us; I’d seen them on the dance floor. One of them came up to make a request, and seemed to notice our intimacy; she did so discreetly, out of the corner of her eye, granting us a degree of public privacy.
What followed, however, was rather different. Apparently, these girls were acquaintances of the DJ. Shortly after this young woman returned to her crew, all three returned and entered the DJ’s booth. Rather than talk to the DJ, they came over to the edge of the booth right above us and struck apparently nonchalant positions. One of them sat with her hip on the edge of the booth, while another leaned with both elbows on the edge. The third stood behind the two. The two in front, at least, had a clear view of our interactions.
It was clear enough to me why they were there, so I took that moment to snag a kiss from Ashley and cop one of the bigger feels of the evening. We kissed and I ran my hands down her back, hooking The Dress on my thumbs at the upstroke; I retraced my steps up to the small of her back, giving her ass a nice firm squeeze on the way, then letting The Dress fall back into place. I didn’t dare watch these young women as I did this; but as soon as we broke our kiss, the trio immediately returned to their seats, confirming in my mind, at least, I’d given them what they came for.
Let your fantasies run away with you . . .
And perhaps it was all bullshit and they didn’t see anything, and they didn’t care one iota about us.
Among the rest of the house was a trio who’d caught our eye for most of the evening: two women in striking red dresses hanging out with one guy. At first we thought they might be two lesbians, the way they were intimate, but they never danced with each other; they took turns dancing with this guy, and occasionally all three danced together, never with anybody else. The dresses were pleasing to the eye: they were skin-tight with deep scoops in the back, laced together. And identical. Eerie. One of the two women danced more than the other, and had a tantalizing way of dancing with her feet rather spread apart so her dress would creep higher and higher as she danced. She would let her hem creep right up to her butt and pull it down to mid-thigh again. A nice tease, I thought, and it all added to another mystery. Eventually the other of these two women came up to the DJ’s booth to make a request. I took the opportunity to ask her what the story was with the two identical dresses. Her answer was a shrug, a pucker of lips.
“Name?” I asked.
“Nicole,” she said.
While we talked, she clearly looked my wife up and down, with just a little heat behind the eyeballs. She then went into the DJ’s booth. From my position I could see her doings in there, and I knew that when she came out she’d be in perfect position to get a direct view of my wife’s ass. I pulled Ashley to me for one more deep kiss of the evening, raising The Dress to her waist as I watched with one eye for our mystery woman to head for the door. Sure enough, here she came, just in time to see Ashley naked from the waist down. I quickly dropped The Dress on seeing her appear, but just a fraction of a second too late to avoid flashing her.
By the end of the night, my mind turned seriously toward capping off of the evening. When we arrived, I’d scouted out the parking lot for a nice secluded spot,
but the lot did not lend itself to this at all. It was well lit, all spaces in easy view of the bouncers; and it was off a major street with plenty traffic. It was also very cold.
We bundled ourselves in our coats and headed for the door.
“Who’s driving?” she asked, because we were both fairly buzzed.
“I am,” I said. “You are going to be otherwise occupied, my dear.”
“I am; oh?” – wicked grin from her.
“You are,” I said.
We made our way to the car, and took up our familiar position on her side of the vehicle, me leaning against it, her leaning against me. We both looked around for a while without saying anything, then I broke the silence.
I said, “Here’s the deal. I’m going to go around to my side of the car, start the engine, and get the heater going. Then we’re just going to stand here for a while, let things warm up. Then we’re going to stand here a little longer and wait for an opportune moment. Then we’re going to open the car door and put your coat inside. Then, when you feel the coast is clear, I’m going to strip The Dress off you and let you get into the car naked.
She didn’t say anything, just looked around.
I didn’t say anything, just looked at her.
“Mmmmnnnnn,” she went, “okay . . .”
I started the car and let it warm. We passed the time kissing; she huddled close to me and I wrapped my coat around her as far as I could. So we waited, and people came and went from the club; a car or two near us left; another came and parked. Two bouncers and the doorman milled about the club entrance in easy view, and a jobber was making rounds of all the cars, putting little fliers under the windshield wipers.
Enough time passed that I expected the interior to be warm; I checked, and it was. Now – a matter of opportunity. The jobber was starting to work his way back toward us. The three club employees continued meandering. Two people were getting into a car about three spaces away. What to do? With no improvement in the situation evident, the deciding factor was the jobber getting closer. Ashley finally said, “Oh, let’s just do it!”
I opened the door; she threw her coat inside. Without a second look, she slipped The Dress over her head and threw it inside as well. One very quick naked peck and hug, and she dove in behind her fabric. I ran to my door and also got in. In the twilight of the car’s interior, she looked flushed.
Head to toe.
In preparation for the ride home; we pushed our seats back as far as they’d go; I had her recline her seat back to forty-five degrees. Then I took my liberties. She resisted some, suggesting we should get on the road, being a little concerned about spending too much time naked in an active parking lot; besides, the jobber might make it to our car. I agreed, but pointed out that, on the road, I’d have to keep both hands on the steering wheel, and I wanted to spend a little time enjoying her predicament. She understood and laid herself open to me as I let my hands and lips roam uninhibitedly over her body – for a minute.
Then we moved out.
The traffic light at the main road was red. I loosened my own clothing, allowing my cock to breathe. The light changed, and as I merged onto the main road my naked wife took my naked cock in her naked hand.
We were on surface streets for a while before reaching the highway; this meant a certain amount of starting and stopping and turning on well-lit streets. She pumped me softly until we settled into the steady ride on the main stretch of dark highway that’d take us most of the way home. On that dark road, I settled into a comfortable, legal speed, putting on the speed control, and let her know I was ready for her. She adjusted herself into a semi-fetal recline across the front seat, head in my lap. She gave me a couple of teasing kisses, then took my cock into her mouth.
To receive this from my wife, her body buck-naked like that, was inspiring. I was in no particular hurry. I drove quite a while, enjoying the experience.
I wanted to bring things to a conclusion before exiting the highway. She sensed my progression; we escalated matters together. As a precaution I slowed a bit, enough so traffic overtook us. When I could see a stretch of empty highway behind us, I began to progress more vigorously toward my climax. The coordination of driving and getting head is a little distracting to the libido; thus I proceeded steadily. More traffic was beginning to gain on us. I could tell the next patch of vehicles was led by two pickup trucks; one which would pass us on the left, the other on the right. By the speed of their approach, I knew I could probably reach climax just about the time they would pass.
I had a brilliant idea.
I turned on the interior light.
I could now see my wife’s naked form illuminated in all her glory, her head bobbing up and down. I knew very well the occupants of these two pickups would also see everything Ashley and I had to show them. They gained on us slowly, the difference in our speed not that great. I watched their progress in my rear view, and managed to time my climax so I was pumping semen into Ashley’s mouth during the entire interval these two trucks passed.
It is not possible they did not see everything. And I mean everything.
Once I was drained, I turned the interior light off. I encouraged Ashley to stay in my lap, letting me go soft in her mouth. When she finally sat up, the headlights of oncoming traffic showed her face to be glistening with a mixture of saliva and come. As she slowly wiped her cheeks and chin clean, eating the come off her fingers with a glance my way, I couldn’t help but notice her soft expression: a happy, privately contented, self-reflective kind of look not really meant to be seen by others. I soon felt myself falling in love all over again, the lights of the freeway on her face. Our marriage is saved, I thought.
She remained naked as we drove home, putting on her coat when she left the car. We walked to our front door; she was huddled under my arm.
She asked me why I had turned on the interior light.
“Because I wanted to see you,” I said, kissing her hair.
Little Black Thing
What struck me first about Little Black Thing – it was made out of exactly the same ultra-thin, clingy, jet-black fabric as The Other Dress, and it measured exactly the same length as The Dress. Like both, Little Black Thing fit closely at the neck, yet had sleeves to the wrist, attaching like a full-body leotard from the hips up. And, like The Other Dress, Little Black Thing provided a delectable definition to the silhouette of Ashley’s breasts, yet flared just a touch at the hips; so rather than clinging to her lower cheeks, this one floated, playfully brushing her curves, rather than grasping.
Like The Dress, Little Black Thing ended a tad below the edge of her butt; and unlike The Dress, the hemline was free to flit loosely about. Although The Dress fit close enough so the fabric had a tendency to ride up now and then, its hemline was pretty much captive to the movements of her legs, hugging closely; the only unintentional view granted by The Dress were peeks associated with sitting and standing, or unprepared creeping.
On the other hand, the hemline of Little Black Thing floated freely, and did not threaten to trail up. The fact it could swing loosely allowed casual motions and afforded occasional glimpses of still higher ground; for example, twirling on a dance floor, casual grazes with her chair or other people, static cling, and so on.
The fabric was transparent to a small degree, yet opaque enough so this subtle transparency was not apparent to casual observation. Whereas The Other Dress was at its most diaphanous across her ass, that mild transparency was due to the slight stretching of the fabric which was greatest around her hips. This was not so with Little Black Thing; its fabric was somewhat loose about the hips; the bit of transparency was subtle. In normal light, it appeared to be murky; however, against a bright backlight, the looseness of the fabric at her hips allowed the outline of her form to stand out clearly, causing a greater sense of transparency had the fabric clung closely to her frame.
Impulses. I came across Little Black Thing by chance and purchased it on impulse, not having any particular immedia
te plans, designs, or scenarios. It also happened by chance that I found a great place to summon it for a début.
It was a hotel. A grand hotel. A colossal building, with a cavernous two-storey lobby, Romanesque and Gothic, slightly French provincial furnishings and statuary in alcoves for just a scanty Grecian touch. If it were not for the massive square columns in two rows down the center, the lobby would’ve been a large open space, almost the size of a basketball court; however, the columns broke down that space into smaller elements with a slightly more intimate feel. Opposite the entrance, at the far end of the lobby, was a wide staircase making its way up to the first floor. In between, about a third of the way through the lobby, sat a grand piano. In any other room this piano would appear to be a massive fixture, but under those mammoth columns it looked lonely.
The overall lighting in this place was variegated, depending on the schedule of events. When parties or conferences were scheduled, the lobby chandeliers were brightly lit, bringing off a bustling, rather palatial air. On off nights, the lights were kept low, invoking a darker (and erotic) mood.
On one side of the lobby was a passage to conference-sized chambers; on the other side, passages to smaller rooms, a bar, and a small restaurant. Five-star, I heard. The theme of dark light and colors continued in these lesser side chambers. The tavern was saturated in dark wood, with a long, horseshoe-like bar dominating the center of the room. It was surrounded by high black leather stools and a few towering tables. The street side of the bar was café-like, with a few ordinary tables and chairs in front of extremely tall windows, statuesque lengths of glass teetering on their sills like Amazonian legs in stiletto pumps, appropriately under-dressed in short café-type curtains that do little to shield the bar’s patrons from inquisitive streetwalkers.
The Mammoth Book of Erotica presents The Best of Michael Hemmingson Page 6
