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"Really?" He quipped back quickly.
"Yes really."
"So you didn't really mind?"
"No, yes, look I didn't say that, I mean oh sod it."
"What, why sod it?"
"You're making me tongue tied," I stammered, realising this wasn't going at all in the way I wanted.
"Oh dear, sorry," Craig said, seeming to me to move a little closer.
Part of me wanted to move away, pick up the phone, lock the bloody club and rush away. Another part, I began to realise with quite some alarm, didn't. I was curious, intrigued, sort of interested in how this might pan out. 'Surely' I thought' I don't want that to happen again?' My mind was racing and I was confused as he leaned further forward. 'Surely I don't want him to go further, oh fuck.' I was thinking as he put his hand on my hip, moved his face very close to mine, smiled and said quietly.
"How can I stop that?"
I didn't know what he meant.
"Stop what?"
"You being tongue tied of course," he said one of his fingers slipping across the collar of my shiny track suit and softly rubbing my neck. I can't explain why, but for some reason that was one of the most erotic gestures I had ever experienced.
"Oh Craig."
"Oh Amanda," he smiled. "What?"
"I don't know."
"Don't know what?" He whispered, his hand sliding round my waist. I didn't and couldn't reply. "I know how to stop the tongue tied thing."
"How?" I asked realising our faces were just inches apart.
"Like this," he whispered, his hand moving up and pressing on the side of my face as he closed the gap between our faces.
We kissed again. Once more my lips were closed. I wanted to stop, I wanted to go, I wanted to finish this ridiculous activity, I wanted him to leave me alone, I wanted to be faithful to my husband and family, I wanted to avoid getting involved with a man and I wanted to stop this almost teenager making advances towards me. Wanting all those things, what did I do? I opened my lips. And I guess by that relatively simple gesture I accepted his request. Parting my lips was me effectively agreeing with him and accepting his need. Yes, by opening my mouth to him I was effectively saying to him that he could have me. He knew it and I knew it. We both knew now that he was going to fuck me.
What neither of us knew, though, was where and when. Those questions were answered in the most graphic, obvious and exhilarating ways possible very quickly.
He was tongue fucking my mouth and I was going with his every surge and plunge, even though much of me wanted to stop.
I was writhing my lips against his as equally strongly now as his were against mine, despite me knowing I shouldn't. But then I shouldn't have let him squash my breasts against his chest, thrust his erection against my stomach or put his hand on my bum. I should have stopped there and then. I should not have let him cup my breasts outside my tennis top, but inside the unzipped track top. And most certainly I should have stopped him slipping his hand inside my top at the front and up my skirt at the back.
But I didn't, something was preventing me stopping him. I simply couldn't. I was kissing him furiously and, or so it must have felt to him, hungrily, but that was how he was making me feel. My body was hungry for him, he had teased and titillated it primed and manipulated me and was now taking what I guess he thought was rightly his.
My tracky top came off and he pushed my top up. He was caressing my breasts in my big, tight sports bra and fiddling his fingers inside it right onto the tingling, sensitive flesh. At the same time his hands were on my panties, they were on my bum, inside the thin knickers and on the flesh of the two cheeks. He was rubbing and squeezing them. As he did those things he was also thrusting his erection harder and more firmly against me, sort of dry fucking me.
Any last vestige of resistance I may have had was now vanishing rapidly. The tiny bit that was left, for it still hadn't occurred to me that we might fuck right there and then, rushed out of the window when he took my hand, pulled on it and placed it right on his bare cock, which somehow he'd exposed. That was the last barrier removed. I was his now; I was putty in his hands.
His cock was awesomely big and welcomingly hard.
My panties were pushed down, maybe off, I didn't know. He lifted the hem of my short skirt and made me whimper as he pressed the end of his cock right against my clit. He was holding and squeezing both cheeks of my bum as his mouth ravaged my breasts and nipples. He lifted me up. I couldn't believe what was happening, my legs were wrapped round his waist, my back was pressed against the wall as his cock slid effortlessly into me. As we started to fuck our mouths clamped together so that scene from Basic Instinct where Michael Douglas shags the psychiatrist against a wall came into my mind.
Back to reality.
I was mortified at what I had done. I felt terrible over the weekend and couldn't bring myself to go to the club.
It was the first time I had been in any way intimate with a man since David some four years ago. But that was different for we loved each other. This wasn't love, this was pure lust. We had fucked because we both wanted sex, nothing more, nothing less. And that was something I had told myself I would never do. And on top of that I had gone with a kid, a fucking tennis jock at that.
