Free ride home…

8 min read

photo: SexArt

Her flatmate had had too much to drink. It was nights like this that made her grateful she didn’t drink much. How did people actually pull in that state? Did men find that attractive? That level of intoxication? Did it make the prize easier to get? The more drunk the female, the easier it would be to get into her knickers? Hmmm. She was pleased she wasn’t that way inclined. She liked being in control of her emotions and her body. Liked to know that she had full ownership of her actions without the influence of half a gallon of gin to skew her senses. Besides, fucking someone felt so much better when you could really feel every touch, hear every noise, appreciate every minute of passion.

And of course, being designated driver was a bonus when you knew taxis would be few and far between. It was bitterly cold and the bars were jam packed with rugby supporters who had just watched their national team be thrashed at Murrayfield and were mixing with the mass of visitors who had flocked to the city to enjoy the sport and culture.

Being a student in this city was good fun. Always plenty to do and see. She loved living here. At 20 years of age, she was drawn to older men. Boys her own age were immature. Cringey. Older men were the way forward. Knew how to treat a woman. Knew what to do with their hands. Their mouths. How to hold a conversation. But tonight wasn’t a night for flirting or sex. She wasn’t really in the mood. For once. Tonight she was quite happy babysitting her friend and making sure she didn’t end up shagging a howler or an arsehole! Not that her friend would pay much attention to her in that state. She had a mind of her own.

As they walked along George Street, Lauren — the flatmate — suddenly announced that she was desperate for a pee.

“We need to go into this bar Claire or I’m going to piss myself.” Claire, the sober one, rolled her eyes and followed her down the steps into the tiny bar which was bursting at the seams with a sea of blue and white rugby tops. Mostly men. Oh goody, she thought sarcastically. Just what she needed. Testosterone fuelled blokes.

Lauren made her way to the toilets and Claire stood by the bar and waited to be served. She ordered a lime and soda and managed to secure a bar stool. What a find on such a busy night. Her legs thanked her as she shuffled her more than ample bottom onto the seat — she had worn knee high boots with stiletto heels that she could barely walk in. The things you do to try and make your legs look longer! The barman plonked a tall glass full of syrupy green liquid in front of her and demanded £2.80. He was quite cute but probably not much older than her. He wouldn’t do. Far too inexperienced.

Lauren returned and ordered a vodka and Diet Coke. She was thin, leggy and had no boobs. Everything Claire aspired to be. Claire was 5ft7 and had curves in all the right places, but she envied women with no tits. Imagine being able to go out without a bra on. There was no way her 34DD’s could cope without some support! In any event, whether she liked her body or not, it never seemed to deter the opposite sex and she would often find herself being chatted up on nights out. What a bind.

Twenty minutes had passed and Claire decided she had had enough. It was home time. Her bladder was full to bursting and she shouted to Lauren that she was off to the loo. Lauren managed to prize her mouth away from the lips of a bloke who looked like he was a model and told Claire she may be gone on her return.

“He’s absolutely rampant and has a hotel room just along the road. And his cock feels massive through his trousers. Would be a waste not to put to it good use,” she slurred. Claire gave her a kiss on the cheek and told her to be careful and text her as soon as she was at the hotel, confirming hotel name and room number in case he was a dodgy bastard.

Lauren giggled. “You’re such a goody two shoes,” she replied. Little did she know!

As she squeezed her way past the crowds of drinkers, Claire slipped and fell full force into a dark haired man who was sat at a table with a couple of companions. She was mortified and apologised immediately. He looked up and smiled. She was taken aback by how gorgeous his eyes were. She was big into eye contact and this guy looked straight at her. The most stunning blue eyes she had ever seen. A slight look of Hugh Grant about him but much, much hotter. Fuck, she thought. I’d like a piece of him…

In the toilets, she popped a piece of gum in her mouth and spritzed herself with her favourite scent — Calvin Klein Euphoria. A quick once over in the mirror after a generous coating of high shine lip gloss and she was ready for home — but not before another quick chat with the handsome dark haired stranger she had encountered just moments before. Her clit puffed up at the thought of him and she wondered if anything would come of their meeting? Only one way to find out… She adjusted her bra, making sure that her cleavage was plumped up under her figure hugging low cut top, and emerged back into the bar.

Her eyes immediately met his, and she casually wandered back towards the bar. He stood up almost before she reached him and asked her if she was ok after her wee fall. She blushed and thanked him for checking on her. He offered her a drink. Gulp. He was talking to her. He must be interested. She could feel a dampness pool in her knickers. He was quite drunk but that didn’t matter. He was still able to hold a conversation and the eye contact was on another level. This could be interesting, she thought.

A full hour had passed and it was clear that they enjoyed each other’s company. The conversation flowed. He worked in IT. He was 14 years her senior, but didn’t look it. Slim, nicely dressed and well spoken. He told her he was recently single but that things were still a bit messy. He was called Nick. She’d never been with a Nick before. Their eyes were locked on each other the whole time. A few nervous smiles and awkward brushes against each other’s bodies. She longed to shove her tongue in his mouth. To taste him. Thrust his hand down her knickers and let him feel what he did to her. Straddle his lap and grind herself into his crotch. Feel his mouth all over her tits. But she sat, composed and disciplined. She didn’t want to scare him. He didn’t need to know she was a bit of a nymphomaniac. Not yet anyway.

The bell rang for last orders and looking around, Claire realised that the place had quietened. Only a few stragglers left. They had been so deep in conversation that she hadn’t noticed that Nick’s friends had abandoned him and now they were all alone. This made Claire a little anxious. Here she was, sober and with this stranger who she barely knew. He seemed nice enough. Quietly spoken. Gentle in his manner. The most gorgeous face she had laid eyes on. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t a fucking psychopath.

As they emerged onto George Street, Nick turned to Claire and asked her how she was getting home. He knew that she was sober but hadn’t realised she had the car which was conveniently parked around the corner. She rifled in her bag and removed the car keys, dangling them before his face.

His eyes lit up and he grinned from ear to ear. “Bloody magic,” he said. “A free ride home!”

Claire smiled and asked him where he lived. Thankfully he stayed only a short drive from her flat and so she dutifully offered him a lift, and they made their way to her car. She warned him that she was hard as nails and that if he tried anything dodgy she would batter him. He laughed hard. They seemed to get on. The whole time she longed to sit on his face and grind her clit deep into his mouth. Drown him with her juices. But he could never know this. She had to be on her best behaviour.

The five minute journey to Nick’s house was interesting. They never stopped chatting and Claire’s heart was pounding in her chest at the thought of what might happen next. She longed to park up somewhere quiet, walk round to his side of the car, open the door, drop to her knees, undo his zipper and take his cock in her hand until it was nice and hard. Wrap her mouth round it and suck and suck and suck until he burst his load, hot creamy cum filling her mouth. But she liked him. She didn’t want to fuck things up. Men didn’t like easy women. They weren’t girlfriend material. Girlfriend material! Ha. You’ve only just met him, she thought. Claire would need to calm down. Her brain had a way of getting carried away with itself.

As they pulled up opposite Nick’s flat, Drive by The Cars came on the radio. Claire loved eighties music and this was the perfect song to end the night. “Who’s gonna drive you home… tonight,” filtered softly through the car speakers and they both laughed at the irony of the words.

Nick slowly turned towards her and flashed her his gorgeous smile. Her pussy exploded and she wasn’t sure she could contain herself much longer. Thankfully for her, he moved his face towards her and with one hand pulled her head towards him. His mouth felt incredible as their lips met and his tongue probed her mouth. A salty alcohol-laced breath filled her mouth and nostrils and she let out a long whimpering moan. Was it too soon to place her hand on his crotch and see if he was as turned on as she was? They continued to kiss for what seemed like an eternity. His hands travelled downwards towards her breasts and his thumbs circled her nipples through the stretchy Lycra material. He worked her hard, excited nipples until they were sore. She was close to climaxing but couldn’t let him know. She didn’t want him to know how hot he made her. No. Keep him keen. Keep him on his toes. Make him want more. She groaned. He groaned.

He took her hand and placed it on his crotch. “Feel me,” he said. “He likes you.”

His cock was stiff and she started to wank him through his jeans. The kissing faltered as it became clear there was much more on their minds than mouths and saliva and eye contact. But she would not fuck him. Not on the first night. She would make him wait.

She removed her hand from his groin and undid the button on her jeans, unzipping herself to allow her hand to travel deep down into her panties. She was soaking. She took her middle finger and thrust it inside her pussy, making sure he watched her the whole time. He wasn’t smiling any more and was repeatedly muttered the words “fucking hell” over and over.

Claire was good at putting on a show. And Nick was a great audience. She fucked herself for several minutes, his eyes flickering between her crotch and her eyes. He placed his middle finger in her mouth and she sucked on it hungrily as she continued to play with herself. She was so aroused. She was absolutely ravenous. But she wouldn’t be fed tonight. This was just a warm up for what was to come. She removed her finger and placed it into his warm wet mouth.

“Taste me,” she pleaded. He gasped at the taste of her salty, slippery fingers. He couldn’t believe how wet she was. For him. It was all for him.

Claire knew now was a good time to wrap things up. She had planted the seed for a re-run. She hoped desperately that he would ask for her number. Hoped desperately that she hadn’t fucked it up. Come across as too keen. They continued to kiss and she was ready to break away and wish him a goodnight when he muttered the words, “You can’t leave me like this… you need to finish the job surely?”

His words flicked the switch and her insides erupted. There was no going back. Without warning, she unbuckled his worn leather belt, undid his zipper and removed his cock from his damp boxers. The smell of pre-cum hit her as she lowered her head and took the full length of his shaft in her mouth. Up and down, she worked his pulsating veiny cock with all her might. Long hard sucks intertwined with teasing playful flicks of his fat helmet. He tasted delicious. He grunted and moaned and before long issued her with the obligatory warning that he was about to climax. She smiled to herself and prepared for the mass of fluid to hit the back of her throat. Within seconds, her mouth was full and she swallowed down hard. Not one to waste a drop. What an insult to men. She never understood women who spat. Amateurs.

He sat back in the seat, deflated and spent. A small smile on his thin lips. Tired but satisfied eyes. He leaned forward to kiss her as the 4am news radiated through the speakers. They were both exhausted and it was time for bed. He took out his mobile and asked her for her number. She obliged. Of course she did. This was what she had been waiting for. This was only the start of their fun. He knew there was better to come.

As she drove home along the deserted streets, she couldn’t wait to get home and fuck herself into a frenzy. She could still taste his cock. The saltiness of his saliva. She could smell his aftershave on her. And she hoped that one day soon, she would be hearing from her older, blue-eyed man. The one who had been lucky enough for the “free ride home.”

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