Teenage Booty Sluts - Sex Stories

Teenage Booty Sluts

... matter so much. Different surroundings, different expectations. And a very different Gary. At school, he stuck to T-shirts and jeans, at work he was encased in his motorcycle leathers. Tonight, he could have stepped out of an MTV video, looking so good that I felt positively dowdy alongside him. But he was the same Gary underneath it all, and as we took up our positions at the front of the dance floor, and the crowd began to push in around us, I realized that I was going to get to know a lot more about Gary's "underneath" than I'd expected. Stretch-jeans never left much to the imagination when you looked at them. They leave even less when their owner is wedged against your ass. The band came onstage, the crowd started moving, and Gary, to put it bluntly, started growing. At first I thought it was my imagination; that I was focusing so much on the bulge that was pressing against me that even the slightest motion set my mind in motion. But no, it was definitely bigger, firmer, warmer. And the crowd was so tight around us that he couldn't have moved away from me if he'd wanted to. I wondered what was going through his mind? It's easy to think that once the bl**d starts its pumping, a guy loses all sense of decorum and shame, and just lets his lust take control. But on a second date with a girl who he'd never even kissed before? Hmmm... well, maybe there was something I could do about that. With a hand on his shoulder to help keep my balance, I stood up on tiptoes, turned my ...

... head slightly, and brushed his cheek with my lips. I was aiming for his mouth, but feigning towards his ear; that way, if he said anything, I could always claim I was trying to whisper something. But, if I shocked him, he didn't show it; with one hand on my waist (and the other still clutching his beer), he pulled me close again and this time our mouths did meet, as tongues entwined and he was holding me so tight that the next time his bulge moved, there was no doubting what he was thinking. Because it did move, straining against the fabric of his pants. Hell, that couldn't feel comfortable, could it? One song ended, and we broke our kiss to applaud. Then I lowered my hands to my side and I touched it. I jumped, he... I don't know what he did, but the back of my hand was on his cock, and I wondered how big the damned thing was, because it was pressing against my hip as well. He leaned in and kissed me again, and I almost shifted my position to put my arm around him. Almost. But I didn't want to move my hand. Well, not that far, anyway. Instead, I bent my wrist just enough that now it was my palm that was against his dick and, if I inched my fingers just enough, I could slip them over his waistband as well. Over and behind. Now all he had to do was take just a tiny step backwards and I'd be there. Except he didn't. Maybe he couldn't. The crowd was jammed around us, after all. My fingers strained against the so-tight fabric, and I felt one fingernail make contact. I wriggled it a ...