Packing 2

Unlike visiting a typical city bar, of which we had been to only one time when we were packing, here we had a wide variety of aged men. Add to the fact that the four of us were in our thirties (I had just turned thirty-five a month before) the procurement possibilities laid out before us were even more interesting. There were the mid-20 guys who had been cajoled into coming to the hall this night by their high-society parents; for them, we could run a slight MILF interplay. None of us save Louisa had kids, though. For men in their thirties, forties, and even some in their fifties, we were often seen as sexy contemporaries. For men older, we could (and did) play the ripe and randy filly who might make a nice trophy on their arm. All these considerations made me as wet as feeling the strap-on harness cut into the fleshy bottom-most portion of my ass cheeks.

As with most things, it was the hunt more than the capture that got to me. Although, if I finally managed to land a victim/recipient/man-who’d-allow-a-plowing this night, could expose my cock, flip the bottle of lube from my clutch and assure the man I faced that what he was wide-eyed about was inevitable, I knew, I’d certainly come deep and hard.

Somewhere along the night, we were bound to splitter off, but Jane was the first to leave us with an “Um, see ya,” after catching a lanky, bald black man waving at her from a high temporary round bar table to our right. That fourteen-thousand-watt wide smile she flashed on any regular occasion was at full wattage as she flipped her chestnut curls at us and sauntered over to plop her petite frame into the seat across from the handsome older man.

Would he be getting ‘it’ tonight, I wondered?

“Dammit,” Louisa said under her breath but swallowed back her chuckle as two men approached the three of us. 

“Thomas,” the taller of the two said, placing his hand to his chest. He had deep little brown eyes, and quite possibly the highest cheekbones I had ever seen. I tried not to stare too long at his broad chest or what seemed to be some heavily muscled arms under his gray jacket. 

“This is Dylan,” Thomas continued, placing his hand on his friend’s shoulder. 

It took Dylan another ten seconds to raise his chin and fully take us in, but when he did, I felt a deep flush come across me. I knew the guy. We hadn’t ever been introduced, but he frequented the same laundry mat as I did, and we had smiled at one another often. He had a close-shaved red beard, same color cross-cropped hair, and a long hawk nose. He recognized who I was as I did him, and we both giggled.

“Monday and Thursday nights,” he said.

“Fold, dry, get the hell outta there,” I replied.

Louisa, Thomas, and Sandra realized our connection quick enough, and we all fell into a nice conversation, taking up another of the bar tables as the band swung into a swing tune. One of us was the odd girl out, but as Dylan and I seemed to be staring at each other more than talking to anyone else, I knew Louisa and Sandra would have to fend for themselves where Thomas was concerned if they cared to fend his way at all. 

As these kinds of things go, I was surprised it took the guy as long as it did to spin me away from the conversation. I had been leaning my big breasts against his sinewy arm as much as I could and smiling as much as whispering.

“Take a walk?” he finally asked as we got through the preliminary chit chat and angled ourselves even further from our friends.

“Lead the way.”

As we sauntered through the over-crowded room, my hand in the crock of the elbow he gave me, I as much tried to keep up in the passing conversation and blaring band as I tried to get a good gander down at Dylan’s high ass. He was about six foot and while slightly thinner than I usually went for (or remembered him being) he smelled nice, wore his casual suit with confidence and I could sense a taut body under his suit. He also had huge hands, so big that I had to watch where he was leading me as I tried not to fantasize him pawing my big tits. 

Dylan seemed to know the hall well, and maybe me even better. Pushing us out a side door even before I realized we had come to the ballroom’s wavering wall partition he turned to face me and landed a quick yet hot lip-lock I barely had time to return. Catching my breath from this unexpected salvo across my bow, he then whisked me away again, down a quiet hallway carpeted in the same peach-colored rug of the big room we had just left. I hadn’t expected how absolutely flushed I’d be over him rushing us here and there and was all about swooning as he pushed me back through an unlocked door that landed us in a tiny office. Closing the door behind him while kissing me again, we stepped into the room, and I knew if I had had the chance to think about it, I could have all too easily just knelt right then and there, unzipped Dylan’s fly and coaxed his cock out and into my mouth. 

A girl can truly be swept along on a wave during a God awful sexy, stolen moment.

Surely, the girls and I could pick up and be picked up by men we didn’t have to try and peg, scoring a phone number or two, giving ours out, enjoying some dancing (though not so easy to do sporting a cock pushed into your panties) and anything else we might want. Wearing a cock doesn’t necessarily mean you have to use it, and I was quite happy standing there making-out with the Dylan, both of us huffing and puffing and writhing.