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Hallowe’en 2 November 2, 2010

Posted by Leah in Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Fucking, Masturbation, Public, Random hookups.

I dress as a Greek goddess for the night. The costume is a white dress with a short pleated skirt whose fabric flows and bounces with each step. The top is form fitting, with its neckline dipping low to display considerable cleavage. (I went braless, as Greek goddesses do.) Braided gold rope encircled my waist. The material of the skirt is flimsy and translucent to light. The hem leaves two-thirds of my thigh exposed and covers my ass — just! — and only when I stand motionless. I affix gold ribbon to the sandals and vine it around my calves. A wreath of laurel leaves on my head completes the outfit.

This costume is indecent without hot pants underneath. Otherwise, I can’t help but exhibit my ass when I move. Only tiny see through panties cover my girl parts though. It is Hallowe’en. The purpose of this night is to get debauched.


A violinist in the orchestra is one of the show runners. She has convinced much of the band to come to the masquerade, and there are other groups present as well. The organizers of the festivities have rented a warehouse in the north of London. The cover for entry is steep, but the booze inside is cheap. I resolve to drink less than on Friday.

When I arrive, I don’t feel like dancing at once. I get drinks at the bar and find friends at one of the tables that ring the walls of the room. We nurse cocktails and talk about our days. I get ribbing for my choice of costume.

Musicians — even the amateurs like us — are incorrigible gossips. I am asked about my tryst with the clarinetist following the concert two weeks ago. I offer my imprimatur to my friend, and despite entreaties decline to produce any details of the encounter. We all giggle when he walks past and waves.


I am surprised to see Mike. He is a cellist. When I first moved to London, he introduced me to the theaters and the museums. Though he is perhaps thirty years older, he might be my closest male friend in the city. Marriage never suited him, though he has attempted the enterprise twice. He has no children and enjoys the bachelor life. I have told him about my promiscuity. This amuses him.

Mike invites me to dinner once or twice a month for no reason at all, or knowing that I can’t afford good seats, asks me to the opera and the theater. He flatters me by saying that he enjoys the company of clever and beautiful women. Though Mike knows that I am unlikely to refuse any proposition he makes, he has never tried. He informed me kindly that he prefers women closer to his age. The kisses at the end of a date land chastely on my cheek.

He dresses extravagantly as Frans Banning Cocq.


A fireman comes on to me. The conversation is banal. I am not attracted.

I am grateful to Eliza, who rescues me. Displacing the arm from my shoulder, I make my excuses and visit the toilet.


When I dance, it is with the Grim Reaper. I do not know who is behind this mask. But, goddamn!, does he ever know how to move.

The music delivers a driving, persistent beat. The rhythm pulses. I feel the bass notes resounding in my bones.

I grind my hips. The sway of the swinging skirt shows my cheeks.


I lean myself into him, embracing Death.

Fingers trace the line of the spine. He applies a gentle pressure at the depression at my back just above the tailbone. When I place my arms upon his shoulders to encourage his further explorations, he shifts his attention to the front. His hands grip my sides, and he rolls his index fingers below my breasts. I twist toward him, letting the hands cover my tits. He knows that I’m not wearing a bra. He stares down into the gap between my breasts. I pull the fabric aside to quickly flash him a tit, then cover myself again. He cups my breasts. He kneads them through the skeletal gloves he wears.

My hands stroke the front of his pants. I raise his erection.


We go outside, the Grim Reaper and I. It has rained earlier in the day. The pavement is wet. I arch my toes and lower my knees to the ground anyway. We are positioned between two cars and out of sight.

I tell him to leave his mask on. I don’t know who he is. I don’t want to know. He holds his black robe bunched above his waist. His jeans are zipped open and lowered to the knees along with red, white, and blue striped boxers. His cock is lean, but it has length. I place wet kisses on the glans and let my lips cover the tip. The penis stiffens in my palm.

To begin, I slide my fingers along the bottom half of the shaft and suck only the head. My tongue slides under the helmet, poking at the frenulum, while I splash saliva over the top. Death leans against the car. I look up at him and scratch his thigh. My tongue curls around the knob. I give the underside a series of quick licks, then bounce the glans softly off my lower lip. Concentrating on the front of the penis only, I make a ring with my fingers and drag them up and down rapidly over the remainder of the shaft.

The woolen gloves are gone. I like that he works his hand over a breast and tweaks the nipple while I suck. The blowjob becomes wetter.

Death responds with heavy moans when I lip the crown above the circumcision ring. I repeat the movement for half a minute, then give his balls the same attention. Turning my head sideways, I lick at the seam at the center of the scrotum. When, I suck the cock again, I take him in deeper.

He pulls the laurel ring from my head. Holding the robe up over his stomach with one hand, he brushes the other through my hair.

I hear the voices of people having a smoke. The parking lot is dark. But his head is visible at least as a shadow. The risk of being discovered giving head excites me.

My knees scratch over the asphalt as I suck him harder. I drive my face at him, sinking lower and lower, breathing carefully through my nose, swallowing with my mouth to suppress the gag reflex when the glans presses up against my throat. Except for the hold of two fingers making the skin at the base of the cock taut, I have him fully embedded. The glans never leaves my mouth as my head bobs over him.

I look up and wonder at what he sees. A woman dressed up as the huntress Artemis is sucking the Grim Reaper’s cock. The mythologies are confused. The hood is drawn down. He throws his head back. Even in the near darkness outside, the veins in his neck stand visibly in relief. The grip in my hair tightens. The mask still covers his face, and I wonder if this is a man I know in a different context.

The pressure of the hand on the back of my head makes me look down again. I bob my head faster now. Lubricated with saliva, the cock sinks easily into my throat. The fingers now have a hold on his balls. I tug them. The tip of my nose smashes into his groin. The hair is matted down. I smell the maleness there. His movements acquire a charge. The robe is wedged against the car. He cups the sides of my head, and he holds me down when I have him in my throat.

Because I don’t want him to come just yet, I pull the cock from my lips and lay kisses on his thigh. I bring the sac forward with the press of fingers in back and drag my tongue over each hemisphere. I push the testes against the skin and suck on them. The tip of my tongue combs through his pubis. I use the point to lick over his groin. I poke at the eye. The precome has a viscous texture. Death tastes of salt and brine.

I make my tongue flat and drag it along the underside of the shaft. I mouth the sides. I hold the cock in my two hands and drop kisses over the top. I coo to the erection. Death looks down at me, and he moans.

Gripping my hand around the shaft, clenching the fingers tightly, I fellate him again. My thumb rubs along the bottom of the shaft. My tongue depresses in the middle, the front raising against the heavy knob. I bring my bottom lip up and tighten the seal. Filling my mouth full of saliva, I wash it against the mushroom knob. My head moves from side to side. I rotate my mouth slightly. I go up, and I go down. It goes on.

My hand tightens on his thigh. I suck him with no hands, starting with my lips on the glans, sinking down nearly to the bottom. My head twists as I take him down my throat. I descend until the lips rest against his balls and flick my tonguetip at the lip of the scrotum. I do this several times just to satisfy myself that I can swallow all of his length. Mostly, I work the upper two-thirds of the shaft. With the penis implanted in my throat, my lips nibble on the skin before reversing direction.

I go faster. He drives his pelvis at me while I suck him with obvious intention. One hand pushes off his hip. The other is splayed against his belly to balance myself. My cheeks hollow with the suction they deliver. Glancing up, I observe that his eyes are shut. His fingers shove at the back of my head. When he tells me he is going to come, I fight his grip and pull back from his cock. Tilting my face up, spreading my jaws, I extend my tongue to cushion the glans and jerk his shaft to completion.

Death dies the little death. He grunts and spews. The shaft trembles in my fingers. His come doesn’t shoot out with any velocity: it merely dribbles from the aperture. I push the thick glans against the roof of my mouth to collect the spendings. My tongue swirls round and round. The erection diminishes in my fingers.

I swish the semen in my mouth and swallow. I clean up the mess of saliva I have left on his cock. My knees are painted with dirt when I lift to my feet.


The man with whom I depart is not the man I blew. I hope the Grim Reaper remains a stranger to me.


Inside, I dance mostly with my female friends. We laugh and we drink and then dance some more. When I take a break around half past one, I sit with the clown. He is our pianist. I find his long fingers enchanting.

The conversation is flirtatious. He likes my costume. I have been horny ever since the blowjob outside sometime before midnight. We are having drinks in a dark corner. I take his hand and place it over my skirt. I spread my legs and push the hand against my pussy. I belatedly notice the ring on his finger when I do.

“You don’t have to,” I assure him. “I will apologize, and this won’t happen.”

He wants to.


He retrieves a change of clothes from his car and washes off the clown makeup in the bathroom. I clean up as well and say my goodbyes. Mike gives me an enormous hug and a knowing wink and admonishes me to have fun. The pianist — his name is Vikram, and he is a physician — takes us to a hotel.

Vikram is in his late thirties and looks as he should: fifteen years older than me and naturally tanned. I am bundled up in a trenchcoat that reaches to the knees and look perfectly decent. But the desk attendant knows why we want a room sometime after two in the morning. She develops an attitude. I wrap my arms around Vikram and lace my fingers over his waist. I place a kiss over his jacket where it falls at the shoulder. “I wish she’d hurry up. I can’t wait to get you into bed,” I stage whisper.

Let the bitch stew.


In the hotel room, we undress with alacrity.

He has no condoms in his pants or in his wallet. I look inside my clutch. “We can fuck twice,” I count.


He has me lie on the bed. His kisses start at my belly and descend to my cunt. His mouth covers the opening of my pussy. The tongue slides over the slit. The breath from his nose strikes my bare pubis. My hand presses lightly on top of his head. I twist the graying hair while his face slides from side to side. He extends the tongue over me and licks the labia. The nub of the nose rubs across my skin. I run my hands over his forearms. I comb his hair. My knees are upright on the bed. My feet arch from the mattress. My pelvis raises as I seek to improve the angle. Vikram sucks my cunt. He holds my hip and squeezes my breasts. The point of contact acquires a torque as he rotates his face. The tongue focuses on my slit. It pokes in and out. The touch on the clitoris remains incidental for the moment.

I have been wet for hours. My panties were moist when I removed them. The dexterity of his tongue amazes me. It presses the right spots, between the lips, just inside the opening. He attacks the clit at last with his lips. My head rolls on the pillow. I clutch at the sheets. His hand presses over my belly while I squeak with pleasure. I wriggle my shoulders and bring my hips up. My back arches like a rainbow. The grip of fingers tightens in his hair. My thighs squeeze the sides of his head. The orgasm bursts over his tongue.

I take heavy breaths as I recover. I giggle.


I want to suck him, but he tells me that his cock is hard already, that he can’t wait. He slips the condom on.

Vikram is on his knees when he enters me. His hands grab the backs of my thighs. I bend the knees and tilt my buttocks off the mattress, raising my pussy to him.

The moment of penetration is exquisite. I am wet from the cunnilingus. The nerves inside vibrate with potentiality. The latency is made real when the cock muscles through. The flesh parts and collapses back against the shaft. The cunt is tight inside. The muscles are slick. I feel the friction on the walls of my vagina acutely. I compress him. We moan in counterpoint. It is a fugal harmony.

When the cock slips out, he slaps the head over my cunt and slips it back inside momentarily. Bringing it out again, he pokes my clitoris with the knob. The head slides across the tender nerve endings. The contact makes me come a second time. This orgasm is small, but no less satisfying for that.

When I place the cock inside me again, Vikram pulls me backward by the thighs. The length of the penis sinks into me. As he bounces himself on the mattress from his kneeling position, I flail my hips at him. Feet anchored to the bed, I grind the pelvis down. My head swivels with the pleasure of the sex. I hold his thigh and squeal.

The sex is etched in memory. The surrounding details are vivid. I notice the nearly inaudible buzz of the heater, the clean smell of the sheets, the soft lights, and the plush mattress. Clothed in sweat, I find the air bracing on my skin. He smells like lust.

We switch positions. He lays down horizontally, and I straddle the cock. The fullness inside feels different now. I control the angle of penetration and clench about the shaft. He holds me by the hips. In time, he takes over. I spread my hands and prop my weight on his chest as his thighs pump up at me. I hear the distinctive slap of skin striking skin. My pelvis gyrates as I bounce over his groin. My pussy impales herself over his cock. Vikram moans an occasional bass note. The sounds I make are higher pitched and feverish.

An especially vigorous movement means that his cock slips out of my cunt. I tease my pussy lips over the side of the shaft. Vikram sits up. We exchange gentle kisses. I hold his chin while my lips revel in his taste. The breath we share is sweet.

Vikram fucks me doggy style. His hands hold my hips as he rocks his body into me. I list back and forth on hands and knees. I like the steady deep penetration from behind. Hand between my legs, I touch my clit. I rub his balls.

Vikram moans eloquently. And then his cock convulses. He laughs when he completes, and I join in the chuckling.


We sleep, saving the last condom for morning. I rest in the cradle of his arms when slumber claims me.


Around eight, he wakes me with his kisses. I raise one leg over his side, and he threads his between mine. His fingers touch my pussy from below. The penis is warm against my thigh. Reaching between our bodies, I stroke his cock to hardness.

I lie on top of him while he fucks me. His hands hold me below the breasts. He kneads my buttocks. The kisses are unending.

I want to feel his weight on top, so we roll over in the bed. I press my thighs against his hips. My feet wave in the air. He fucks me hard. The cream from my pussy turns the condom white. I claw at his buttocks, the nails leaving my mark on his skin. My tongue stabs into his mouth when he comes inside me.


When he drives me home, I have my dress in a plastic bag. I am naked under the trenchcoat. I haven’t sucked Vikram’s cock, so I ask him to park the car and let me. His third orgasm offers little semen. He fingers my cunt during the blowjob. The thumb flicks at the clit.

The night finishes at nine-thirty in the morning.