Pulling at a gig

You didn't really feel like going out tonight, but you'd paid for the bloody ticket. Your frugal ethics force you into putting on a tshirt featuring the keyboardist's side project, a moderately short skirt and some big stompy boots (avoiding broken metatarsals). It took effort to drag yourself to the venue, but after a couple of Jack ‘n’ cokes (a teenage indulgence you allowed only occasionally) and the surprisingly good support act, your mood had improved. Most of the crowd were horrifyingly young, but he caught your eye, though he didin’t resemble the sleek, vain types you usually go for. His hair was long, auburn and extremely thick, giving a leonine appearance, added to by his green eyes and sharp cheekbones. He had a small beard, similarly red, jutting from his chin, and long but not connecting sideburns. His lower lip was pierced, and he wore a leather jacket. He hadn't taken it off in the cloakroom queue, as it was pretty cold in the venue. You didn't mind though. You like a man in leather. You heard his voice as he softly spoke to the attendent, hardly catching his words, but melting at the soft, dark sound.

You positioned yourself close to him. Normally you spend a gig deciding which member of the band you want to fuck most, but you made your mind up quickly this time (the bassist, pale, shirtless and skinny with bulging biceps and a curiously attractive way of grimacing when playing the hard bits) and kept your eyes on him. A couple of girls, who looked suspiciously young to be holding the pints they were slurping kept pushing back and forth. "Make up your bloody mind" you muttered, and he turned and smiled. Those forest green eyes make you feel calm and still inside. In spite of the heat and noise, you feel like you had dived into the Atlantic on New Years Day.

The gig was fucking excellent. One of those nights you remember forever, even without having him take your hand and dance with you, before wrapping himself around you for the rest of the show. You dance from the hips, and feel his approval of the endless figure eights you trace around his body with your pelvis. You can feel him rubbing back, and feel a little panicked at the realisation that you're grinding with a perfect stranger. He claps and cheers with you, chanting with you when you reedily try to start up a chant.

After the gig, he takes your hand so as not to lose you in the crush. Egress can be hard for a claustrophobe. It's kind of reassuring to have a hand to hold, and to know there’s somebody protecting you. Suddenly you're both outside in the startlingly cold, fresh air, and you are facing him. Gazing into his cool green eyes and feeling that sense of calm again. Then he kisses your hand, grins cheekily, introduces himself as Matt then guides you swiftly down the street away from the crowd.

You give him your name, and smile up at him shyly. Your hands intertwine as you walk slowly with each other, at first chatting awkwardly about the gig, but then blossoming open under the warmth of your mutual attraction. You find yourself outside an office building. You look at him quizzically.

"Fancy coming in for a coffee?" he asks, rolling his eyes a little and smirking at the last word. You hesitate for a second, then slide his hand, holding his key card, through the electronic swipe lock.

The office is obviously not his alone, as shown by several chairs and posters advertising varied tastes in games and sports teams.

"Are you sure everyone else is gone?" you murmur through a sudden attack of soft, almost shy kisses on your lips, cheeks and nose tip.

"Don't worry," is his somewhat worrying answer. But you find yourself not really caring at the feeling of his leather jacket against the skin left bare by your shirt, and a hot hardness digging in at your waist. In fact the idea of someone walking in on you both rather amuses you. You lace your fingers through that lush auburn mane, finding it even softer and finer than you had expected, kissing him ardently. You are the first to slide your tongue into his mouth, and having recieved tacit permission, he begins to tease and tickle your lips and tongue, making you take your breath sharply. A shudder goes down your back at wondering what else that tongue of his is capable of. He smells cleanly of deodorant, even after the sweaty environment of the gig. You hope you smell as good, and consider suggesting a shower. It seemed like the kind of workplace which would have a shower in it...

He motioned to take his jacket off, but you tell him to leave it on for the moment, then roll your shirt over your head daintily, revealing soft, amber skin, and a cute lacy bra (you like having a little secret under your usually quiet wardrobe). When your eyes are clear of the shirt, you see him staring wide eyed at you. In spite of the way he has seamlessly seduced you, he seems as excited by your nudity as a virginal teenager. You wrap your arms round him, deciding it's time to take charge of your own ravishment.

He seems delighted at your new found agency, and lifts you onto a desk, parting your legs and standing at your crux, embracing you fiercely, kissing you even more passionately. His cock is beginning to undulate against you, giving you a little preview of how he plans to fuck you, slow and deep and pausing a little between each thrust. The feeling of him pressing against your clit through your underwear makes you moan a little against his marauding tongue.  Then he moves his attentions to your neck, kissing and nibbling down to your shoulders, bare except for your bra strap. You shut your eyes, and feel your bra loosening before cold air on your tits makes you snap your eyes open again. Then the feel of his soft mouth and hungry tongue on your nipples makes you squeeze them shut again. Fuck. He's really good at this.

He slides your skirt up, and starts gently stroking you over the fabric of your knickers. Your cunt clenches almost painfully as he teases and tickles you. His long, pale eyelashes flutter, and he moves back up to kiss you, as your body arches desperately to get more attention paid to your moistening cunt and swelling clit. He kisses amazingly though. You briefly think of that boy on the beach at France all those years ago, but even that Francophonic tongue couldn’t rival this. You feel almost hypnotised by the feeling of his kisses. The tingles in your pussy die down to a warm, heavy feeling, as most of the blood in your body pools to those parts of you, but you jerk back into awareness as his hand appears below the fabric, smearing your fluid over your clit and slowly swirling round it. You are leaning against the desk, in a position which would be painful if it weren’t for his other and on your back, supporting a good deal of your weight. But then your bum is up on the desk, his body is manoeuvring between your hips, and he pulls a condom from his desk drawer “He keeps condoms in his desk drawer? How many girls does he bring back here exactly?” But this, and all other thoughts glide away as he slides into you, moaning low. A window is perfectly placed so you can see the tableau reflected. It’s almost like watching your own porn movie. Your legs are lewdly spread and he looks so sexy as he fucks you slow and deep. Your bodies are so conveniently angled that you can easily stroke your clit as he fills you.

He pulls out of you for a moment, bending to lick your wet, swelling lips, pushing his tongue against your clit. You feel a finger against your nether hole, apparently lubed with the ample juices from your cunt. As he laps at you, one finger enters you, then another. You can’t quite believe you’re letting this wild maned young man probe such an intimate part of you, but he’s so bloody good with those fingers, and that tongue, that all you can do is lean back and enjoy it. As you approach your orgasm, he straightens, not taking his fingers from you, and pushes back in, riding the waves of your orgasm, delicately heightening it for you. The world seems to fade out for a second, before coming into blindingly sharp focus. You become suddenly extremely aware of your surroundings, such as the fluorescent lighting and windows around two corners of the room. But you don’t care, watching this beautiful boy in the throes of orgasm, his fingers squeezing your hips, his green eyes locked on yours. As his climax ebbs away, he leans over to give you another of those teasing, delicious kisses.

You feel a bit exposed once it’s all over. You both take a bit of time to put yourselves back in order.

“Fancy that coffee then?”

You give a squawk of laughter, and he giggles. Taking your hand again, you am led to a small kitchen area with comfy chairs and a beanbag. You haven’t been quite able to decipher what his job is, but they don’t seem to stand on ceremony, whatever it is. You sit on the couch and let him grind the beans (!) and pour just-off-the-boil water into the cafetiere.

“I’m not usually that sort of girl,” he said, shyly offering you a cup.

You laugh again.

“You like $band, you fuck like that and you know how to make coffee properly? Shit, you might not be, but I’m glad I was tonight.”

You clink cups.