1. Not A Word To Grace


    Date: 3/23/2017, Categories: Straight Sex, Author: Lupus, Rating: , Source: LushStories

    teeth. Her small, soft hand reached down and her palm pressed against my crotch without warning, rubbing gently up and down. Her giggles subsided to a beautiful purring sound while our eyes stared into each other. “You’re cute,” was all she cooed as her hand wrapped around my shaft. Before I could respond, she leaned forward and I was engulfed in the scent of whisky, vodka and marijuana. She mashed her lips to mine and kissed me deeply, sliding her fingers through my hair and incessantly rubbing at my growing cock while our tongues danced. Our lips peeled apart – mine quite reluctantly – and her giggles returned in earnest. She licked my lips and blushed deeply. She said nothing as she slipped off my lap, pressed a slender finger to her ruby lips and slinked back into the crowd. I watched her go, feeling disappointed. I glanced at the bottle in my hand and shrugged, following her advice and throwing the bottle back. The burn was not quite as intense as before and I found myself appreciating the lingering flavours. I scanned the room for anyone I might know, but the faces were all new to me. People danced in the centre of the room to the pounding dubstep that filled the house and almost shook the plaster from the walls. I could feel my organs tremble under the relentless bass. Against my will, I found my body moving to the rhythm as I drunk more and more. The chairs around the walls were piled with people on top of people. Men sat on the seats while drunken women lounged ...
    across several laps. Skirts and dresses were hitched high to expose a multi-coloured assortment of panties and even – in some cases – a noticeable lack of underwear at all. Giggles filled the air as much as the lingering cloud of smoke while stray hands, of both genders, toyed with all and sundry. Across the room, my eyes spotted the swaying figure of the drunken blonde. Standing on her own, hands above her head, she swayed and danced in a world of her own. Her body began to contort and rock to its own beat and rhythm. She was beautiful. I found myself staring at her, just admiring the sight. She danced and twirled her way across the room, brushing people as she passed, entirely oblivious to them all. At last she bumped solidly into a tall man with dark hair, bringing her back to her senses. Seeing him turn towards her, she didn’t hesitate to take the joint from his lips and smile. Running her fingers down his chest, she twirled away again as she took a long, slow drag. He turned back with a laugh and a shake of his head, letting her continue to pirouette around the room in her glorious daze. Watching her, still sipping at the decreasing bottle of amber courage, I realised I was jealous of her sweet delirium; the total bliss of oblivion that washed over her and ridded her of anything but the music she allowed to course throughout her body. Minutes or hours could have passed as I lost myself in the sight of her. At last, she danced in my direction again, seemingly drawn to my ...
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