Purple Rave

Warning!  Adult sexual content.  You must be of legal age in your country to read this blog.

Part One:  Red Light

Part Three:  Black Laptop

We arrived at a warehouse somewhere on the fringe of Tdot.  I hadn’t been paying attention to where we were going because the limo party was in full swing.  Someone snagged a bottle of champagne and popped the cork.  The bubbly spurted out of the bottle neck in a froth.  I leaned forward to catch it in my mouth.

“Don’t swallow the bottle!” someone laughed!  We drink up before crashing the rave.

Andrew* and I had been attending a corporate gala when the party spilled out into the city.  We grabbed limos to be dropped off at a graffiti’d warehouse in the middle of an industrial section of town.  I love to photograph graffiti and street art so I lined up the beautiful people in their Ray-Bans – at 2am – and snapped photos before we entered the rave.

I could hear the pounding bass as the music swelled from inside the building.

One by one we filtered inside through security.  Wow.  What a scene.  A sea of bodies.  The glare of purple strobe lights from the rafters.  Confetti bursting from overhead guns.  The loud music pounded right through you.

People of all ages dressed in all styles.  Tshirts and shorts to cammo and combat boots to our ball gowns.  Punk.  Grunge.  Preppy.  Pretty.  Designer.  Black tie.

We pushed our way through to the bar to grab drinks.  Being dressed in shimmering gowns and tuxedos made it easy … the wall of people parted for us.  They stepped aside to stare and comment on our attire.  Were we film stars?  We still had our Ray-Bans so I imagine we looked the part.

I wanted to dance.

I have always loved dancing.  Trained in classical ballet I did my first stage solo at the age of five.  I tried tap dancing and highland dancing.  Salsa.  Hip hop.  Belly dancing.  I just love to shake it shake it on the dance floor.  And in the bedroom.

Fiona*, Cassie* and I hiked up our gowns and hit the floor to bump and grind to the latin infused beat.  Our bodies swayed in an erotic rhythm to the music.  Hips circled suggestively.  One hand holding our gowns up past our thighs, the other fists flying up in the air.  We took back the dancefloor from the 20-somethings crowd and owned it.  We looked like a professional troup hit the floor.  The crowd gathered to clap and grind with us.  The center of attention.

A hot young man – tall, slim, muscular, mysteriously dark hair and eyes – slid in behind me to match my sultry movement.  The heat radiated between us as he grabbed my arm in the air and syncronized his body to mine.  My head is turned sideways to watch him from behind.  Our bodies are amost touching … but not quite.  I can feel his hot breath on my neck.  Slick sweat glided down our necks because each step makes us more breathless.  We are a motion of fluid, smooth sex on the dance floor.  Bodies touching then bumping away.  The crowd has given us room to pour out our sensuous passion.

I look up into Andrew’s eyes and he has a wicked smirk on his face.  He loved it when other men desired me.  It makes him so horny to know they are getting horny for me.  Especially when they are a hot little number like Don Juan.  Andrew was highly competitive … and knew not to take me for granted.  But it made him up his game, even though he knew I was going home with him.  He wanted the prize.

I knew he would want a private dance later tonight.

The song ended and I turned around to thank my young Don Juan.  His hands clasped mine as dark eyes pleaded with me to stay.  I bow gracefully and walk off the dancefloor to my man.

Andrew leaned close to my ear so I can hear him over the deafening music.  “You are so fucking hot.” he said.  I turn around, my ass grinding into him as if to say “I know…” 

He grabbed my hips to match my movements.  Andrew and I have a rhythm of our own.  We exuded sex and seductiveness.  I brought my hand up around his neck and he slid his hand down the length of my arm à la dirty dancing.  I laugh to myself, thinking most of these kids wouldn’t have a clue who Baby was. 

Andrew slid his hand in front of me and grabbed my crotch through my red sequined dress, his middle finger pressing in like a sex toy.  I didn’t care who saw.  I reached behind me to return the favour and stroke his hard cock through his tuxedo trousers.  He rammed it up into my backside.

Saturated with sexy dancing, I want him.  Now.

I turn towards him and whispered in his ear.  He looked up and signals Richard* with his fingers that we are rolling.

We are out the front door into the cool night (early morning) air.  Andrew called for our limo and we wait … He pushed me up against the cement wall and lifted my dress to finger me.  Slowly … with skill of an expert lover, he brings me so close to orgasm that I phyically hurt from need.

Andrew looked up and pulls me around the corner to the side of the building.  He fucked me against the wall.  I’m so wound with want that it doesn’t take me long to climax.  He said I felt like hot silk.  He waited for me to stop shaking, then lifted my leg in his arm.  Pounding, hot sex against the wall.

The moon is low and bright.  The ground around us is broken cement and pebbles.  I can see over his shoulder into a fenced industrial yard.  There are buildings and trucks and piles of steel drums.  I closed my eyes and concentrated on keeping my balance and rhythm, forcing my man over the edge.  Once again, he came inside me in huge spurts.  His body shook from the force.

There is no time to rest. We heard the honk from the limo and quickly straighten our clothes.  Around the corner we stroll hand in hand to get in the back of the limo.

I lean my head against Andrew and drift asleep.

There is no traffic on the Gardiner so we are back at the hotel in less that twenty minutes.  I awake with a jolt as the limo stopped at the Four Seasons entrance.  The door is opened and a hand is extended in to assist me out.  I purred my thanks to the curbside valet.

Andrew took my arm and guided me to the elevator.  I’m swaying from drink and exhaustion.  I giggled as he swooped down and threw me over his shoulder to carry me to the room.  My ass got spanked right there in the chic hotel lobby in front of the staff.

Back in our room, I flopped on the bed.  My feet are aching.  Andrew picked up one foot and removed my shoe, then the other.  He pulled me up by the hands.  I stand up so he can unzip my gown from the back.  I let it slide in a pool of shimmering red sequins to the floor.  Andrew unhooked my bra.  I am naked.

I weave to the bathroom and pee with the door open.  My thighs are sticky from sweat and cum.  Andrew comes in and turned on the shower.  He opened the door and pushed me in.

Holy fuck!!!

The water was a blast of icy cold, immediately startling me awake.  I watch as he undressed to join me.  He turned up the temperature to something more comfortable.  My arms snake up around his neck and we embrace.  Our hands roam over the other’s body, claiming our territory.  Both of his hands are on my breasts.  Grabbing.  Kneading.  Pinching.  His tongue licked my one hardened nipple while his fingers play with the other.  My hands drifted lower to play with his cock.

Water sprayed over us while we explored each softness and hardness.

“Did you like dancing with that young buck?” Andrew asked.

“Yes.” I whispered.

“What did you like?”

“He was hard as he was grinding into me.  And he smelled so fucking hot.”

“You little slut!”  he laughed.  “He wanted you so bad.  It was written all over his face.  His eyes watched your every move.”

I grinned.  The power of the female.

“Would you fuck him?”  Andrew asked.

“No.” I replied.  “I am only yours.”

“Good girl.”

We finished our shower.  Andrew towelled me off and pushed me into bed.  I was asleep before the lights were out.

When I woke up, my head was pounding from champagne.  I got up to grab some pain killers from my bag.  I gulp them down with two glasses of water and crawled back into bed beside Andrew.

Groan.

Andrew is sleeping on his stomach and opened one eye to look at me.

“You ok?” he asked.

“I’m never drinking Champagne again.” I moan.

He laughed and said “That’s what you said the last time.”

I roll away from him in disgust.  Where is the sympathy?

Andrew took the backside opportunity.  His hand reached over to move my thigh over his, creating an opening.  I could feel his cock awaken to the possibilities.  I shoved my butt back into him in invitation.

He slid in from behind and grabbed my ankle.

Slowly.  Sensually.  We rocked in unison until I forgot my pain.  Sex really is the best thing for a headache.  I’ve never uttered “Not tonight.  I have a headache.”

Sex is my favourite way to get rid of them.

His cock is long and hard.  The angle is rubbing his head ever so wonderfully against my clit and g-spot.  I put my hand down between my legs to press him in harder.  He moved off his other arm to reach up and grab a handful of my hair.  I’m held in place by my ankle and head while he fucks.

“Was this how Don Juan felt?” Andrew asked.

“No.” I moan, breathless.  “You are much bigger.”

He is.

We shake as we orgasm. Not even a hangover can keep my body from responding to his.  But I am tired.  After an hour of cuddling and napping, we get up, shower and dress casually.  More Advil.  Andrew dressed in a polo shirt and shorts.  I wore a simple black tshirt dress and flats.

“Coffee.” I plead.

We head down the elevator for breakfast and see the rest of the group.  We joined them at their table and everyone moaned about their heads, their feet, their stomachs.

But fuck!  What a party.

We order the breakfast of champions and drunks … eggs & toast for me.  Andrew added ham to his.  My tummy gingerly accepted the food and was grateful for the coffee.

We pay our bills and check out.  Andrew told me to follow him to his place.

“You owe me a private lap dance, Sexy.” he reminded me.

Be wild,

Lisa

*Name(s) changed to protect the innocent and the guilty!

Read the Fox Blog:  hear what the Fox really has to say

© Lisa Jobson 2017

 

 

 

 

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