Reassembling the night - Sex Stories

Reassembling the night

... smell of the mystery girl might patch the craters in his brain. He drank her musky scent and, with heart thumping loud and fast, dared to lick the crotch to release more. He traced the sticky lines of girl come, sniffing deeply, closing his eyes as the fruit of her folds drifted into his brain, his dick fully hardening. A hazy image of recollection began to form and he tried to latch onto it. "Hi," she croaked behind him. Ryan jumped, dropped the panties and turned towards her, keeping his erection hidden. She brought a hand to her face and swept away locks of hair to reveal pale, blue-grey eyes, thin nose and a wide mouth. Early twenties, tops. "Morning," he said cheerily, desperately wracking his brain for her name. It had an 'M' in it, he was sure. Mary? Amanda? Amber? "How do you feel?" "Sore." "Head?" She blushed. "Yes, head." "Can I get you anything?" "A recorded message that says 'Don't drink again' every time I open my purse." He concurred, making a face. "Good night though, yeah?" She faltered a fraction. "Yes. Dancing. Drinking. Coming back here…" She tailed off. Ryan studied her features. "You too, huh?" She lowered her eyes and nodded. "What the hell were we drinking?" "Brain eraser fluid, it seems. Sorry, but it even deleted your name." "Classy. Imogen." "Of course. Imogen." She tugged the sheets around herself and sat up, grimaced and clutched her head. The covers fell, her breasts spilling over the top as she scrabbled to retain her dignity, eventually giving ...

... up with a shrug. "Killer hangover." "Yeah." She sat still for a long moment, eyes crossing and uncrossing as she battled her brain, focusing on what she could see of Ryan's crotch before looking away. "So… did we…?" Ryan wondered whether to lie. Thought better of it. "I honestly don't know." She laughed. "A right pair we are! This is like that film The Hangover. You seen it?" "Yeah. Except there isn't a tiger in the bathroom. I checked." "That's one thing." They sat in silence. Ryan's phone gave a muted low battery bleep and he fished for it to stick it on charge, but froze, frowning at the display. Imogen asked him what was up. "There's a picture of my dick here. I don't do selfies. At least, not as a rule." It was definitely his though, albeit from a strange angle. He flipped back through the gallery, finding most blurred. A shot of Imogen curled up on the floor, naked and laughing. A few photos of her in various states of undress. A couple of her covered in lather in his shower. Imogen shuffled over, their thighs touching through the thin sheets as Ryan scrolled back further, revealing a club with flashing lights and exposed brick interior walls. In unison they said, "Mint." Ryan's spirits lifted, clinging to the hope that his phone might finally become a worthwhile investigative tool instead of simply being shit. Photos of drinks were next. Shot glasses in beer; the bar staff; him dancing with some girls that were more his usual scale, Imogen in the background of some of ...