What price, curiosity. Part 2 Oblivion - Sex Stories

What price, curiosity. Part 2 Oblivion

... shoving her friend into the back seat and sending him home, but one look at his blurry eyes and dopey grin and she knew that he’d be passed out within minutes and probably find himself dumped into the gutter shortly thereafter. With a resigned sigh she waved the driver on. A fresh gust of salt laden air lifted the damp hair from the back of her neck as they rounded the corner onto her street. The boardwalk that traversed the beach front was empty, not a soul disturbing the soft swish of waves lapping the shoreline. "Parrrrish?” Paris’ stomach lurched as Tom’s alcohol fuelled breath huffed down her neck. “Yes, Tom?” she gulped fresh air into her lungs as she answered. “I wanna goes danshing,” he slurred. “Not sure that’s such a great idea, big fella. You’re not so light on your feet tonight.” “No’s I’m nots, see.” Tom gripped Paris’ wrist and flung her in a wide arc, almost tossing them both into a nearby bush as he attempted to bend her into a low dip over his forearm. “I can tipsh toes through the tulipsh.” He hiccuped and gazed blearily down her top. “Yes, I can see that, light as a feather. Fred Astaire, eat your heart out,” she giggled, patting the palm of her hand on his chest. “Now let me up, twinkle toes, before we both end up on our butts in the bushes.” “Hell woman. Your tits are senshational. When did dis happen, Toots? ” A large finger gently traced the full curve of Paris’s breast, ending the caress with his fingertip atop her erect nipple. Slapping his hand ...

... away, Paris pulled herself upright. “Good grief, you must be plastered.” Paris pulled her top back into place. “I’ve had these for a while now, about ten years at a rough guess. Come on, not much further.” With a good natured grin she slipped her shoulder under his and staggered the last few meters down the footpath. As they reached her front door she wedged Tom’s body up against the door frame; her curvy hip locked him into place, preventing him from sliding into a heap at her feet. As she jiggled the key in the lock, a large hand snaked over her shoulder and cupped the soft flesh of her breast. Two fingers rolled and pinched her sensitive nipple, sending bolts of pleasure zipping through her system. Paris almost groaned as she pictured the way Tom’s mouth had looked locked around Tiffany’s nipple and in her mind’s eye, replaced it with her own coral tipped peak. His slurred, ”Fuck, babygirl, these are perfect,” rudely brought her crashing back to earth. For a split second Paris had foolishly let her day dream loose, but with a single word it all came crashing around her. Her lip curled in disgust, "Don't you dare call me your, 'Babygirl', Thomas. I'm not one of your cheap fucks." While her lip curled in rage, Paris could do nothing about her pain as it wedge itself squarely beneath her breast. Blinking back the moisture that seared against the back of her eyelids, Paris took a deep breath and slowly let her dream slip away. It wasn't Tom's fault; she was the one responsible for ...