first time drunk She was drunk, fumbling, trying to find the lightswitch, but he was already in her waistband, fingers going south to the mounds of her asscheeks, so it was too late for preliminaries, for middle ground, for bouncing on the bed and checking out which movies were on Spectravision, or calling her voicemail. She heard herself giggle at their silhouettes drawn small and animated in the mirror, making her feel like she was in junior high again. She felt like playing, wrestling. He was fun like that, and they had been in peak form all evening, even though work was still slightly nagging her. She couldn't help feeling like she should be back there, working on that presentation. She tried not to show it, but he could read her too well. "Go in early," he said when they got their first beer. "What?" "I knew you're worried about that project. Go in early. We'll get up early. I'll use my patented wake-up method to arouse -- I mean, awake you." She laughed. Go away, she told the presentation. Go away, she yelled to her boss. Bring on the magic. And it came. They both agreed early on, after their first sips, that their beers were going down like they did when you were home from college on your first break, or you've just won the drama prize and you're celebrating with childhood pals. How many times had he just looked at her and smiled, or leaned over and kissed her, or ran the back of his hand up and down her thigh? And how many times had she extended her leg under the length of the table to rub his cock with her foot. Three times he had tried to drag her into the men's room with him, pinning her up against the wood paneling of Blue's Lodge and burying his head in her hair as if he was in pain, whispering "If I don't fuck you in the next two minutes, I'm going to die...please, baby..." She loved it, she loved the way he smelled as he leaned into her, insinuating his thigh between hers, applying the most perfect doses of pressure against her clit, heating her up. He probably didn't realize, on his last try, that she was close to going, caving, doing it, she wanted him that much. Frustrated, he had pulled away too soon and taken her face in his hands and run his fingers over her lips, inserting his thumb into her open mouth and telling her, "You are killing me...baby...I want you so bad...Go in the bathroom and stick your finger in your pussy and bring that finger out to me so I can taste you. I have to taste you..." And she did as she was told -- and more. She locked the stall and stood as she scootched her jeans down, mid-thigh. She looked down her torso so she could watch her hand travel down to her pussy; she was so wet. She spread her legs as wide as her jeans would allow and ran her finger up and down the opening: she was dripping. Her knees were weak, wobbly. She knew if his head were where her finger was, she could come in a second. She ran her finger back up to her own mouth, wanting to taste what he was going to taste...delicious, sweet, stirred by desire. She dipped her finger in her pussy again so it would be wet for him, peed and went to rejoin him. He had thought he was crazy before? She came up behind him and put her other hand over his eyes as she brought her pussy finger up to his mouth, to his nose. He moaned immediately, like a dog responding to some far off signal. She ran her wet finger over his lower lip quickly and then forced her way inside his mouth. His tongue quickly came to greet it and surround it, lick it with relish. She was still in this position when she called for the check. The whole way to the hotel they blasted tunes on the radio which seemed to be on the same wavelength as the beer -- all their favorites, all the songs that make you want to dance or fuck or drink or all three. So now, in the hotel room, he was out of his mind and that made her laugh. Everything about the situation had been so intoxicating. This was the first time they had been to a hotel together; the anticipation had been so intense. She was glad she hadn't gone into the men's room with him; delaying had created a golden treasure that was waiting for them at the end of the night. It defeated the work guilt, masking it, converting the stupid details into a higher frequency. It turned everything -- dinner, beers, the ride home, and the shakey walk down the hall to the room -- into a gentle torture. Now the moment was here. Her back to the door, he was down on his knees, tugging at her jeans, desperate to get them to full disclosure level -- and despite her squeals, he succeeded in collapsing them into bunches at her ankles. Grabbing her asscheeks, he muscled her pussy towards his face while she struggled, pushing against his head, laughing, saying "No way! No!" But that quickly stopped when she felt his warm breath against her pubic hair and the lash of his tongue on her clit: bullseye! he had found it on the first strike, and this silenced her. He went to work rapidly, hungrily, like a thirsty man in the desert, pausing only to say, "Now you didn't really mean no, did you? Did you?" ...shaking her ass in elicitation of a response. "No," she whispered. "No what?" he asked, redoubling his work on her clit, occasionally raking his tongue up and down the length of her pussy. "I wanted it." "Wanted what? Say it!" Imploringly, needing to know. "Wanted you to lick me..." "Lick your pussy?" he asked. He stopped -- was using a set of fingers from one hand to unhood her clit while the others massaged it, worried it, kneaded it. "Yes, lick my pussy," she responded. Keeping her clit exposed, he made tight little circles around it with his tongue, establishing a teasing pattern which he corrupted with an occasional savage flick across it or down, or up. Her body responded with the most delightful spasms and twitches. On autopilot now. Fully surrendered to her senses and him. Fuck work, fuck money, fuck career. His tongue reiterated that; it seemed to know her ad her pussy better than she did, and she wanted to kiss it in gratitude. This was the last conscious thing she remembered before coming and losing her ability to stand, before exploding from her pussy outward, radiating up and out through her whole body, like a cool mountain stream finding a new ravine on it's rush to the sea. She had to pry his face from her and stand for a moment, maybe even minutes, she lost track. She locked her fingers in his hair for support and he allowed this, letting her recover. She was aware of his whispering comfort and kisses along her belly, thighs, and pubic hair. Then, suddenly, a new energy entered her, fully charged and present, a strength that traveled through her veins like a drug; it was a craving she knew well: she had to have him inside her. Realizing she had her fingers in his hair, she gently tugged to raise his face and leaned down and kissed him, their tongues urgently mixing and playing. She kicked out of her jeans and began urging him to the bed by his hair. Dimly, she could see he had closed his eyes; he knew it was his turn to surrender. As he climbed onto the bed, he began unbuttoning his pants, but she stopped him and took over, kneeling in front of him to work on his zipper which was not easily opened; his cock had created a space problem. "What do we have here?" she cooed. "That's what you do to me," he said in his raw sex voice. "No, this is what I do to you," she added, just as his cock sprang free of his pants. She raised up and covered the head with her mouth, rapidly exploring the circumference with her tongue. "I'm gonna make it real wet," she whispered. "I like that..." He moaned in response. It was him, his taste, the smoothness of his cockhead; she wanted to eat it, swallow it, roll it around in her hot mouth. She pulled back to look at it; her saliva glistened in the parking lot lights that peeked through the translucent curtains. It was fully engorged and she loved that, so much so that, as she took it in her hand to jerk it, she was compelled to send a finger down to the fire between her legs. He arched his butt up off the bed to allow her to fully stroke him, and she seized the opportunity to cup his balls and rub his smooth, round asscheeks. "I love it," she said before diving back onto his cock with her mouth, this time taking it all in, as far as she could take it. Up and down, up and down -- swirling her tongue; he took her head in his hands and began to gently fuck her mouth, in and out, in and out. Periodically, he removed it and gave it a few wet strokes himself before returning it to her open mouth. "Stop!" he hissed. "Stop, stop, stop...you're going to make me come." This was her cue. She stood up and pushed him back onto the bed, and with a one-two combination, removed her top and bra. She climbed up on him and positioned the large cockhead at her opening. "Aaaaahhhhhh," she moaned as she lowered herself onto it and it filled her effortlessly, the fit having just the right amount of tension and resistence to make the entry delicious. Her hair fell across her hair and she leaned forward to kiss him, deeply, open mouthed, savoring the fullness inside her. His mouth stayed open when she righted herself, and the rhythm of his breathing coordinated itself with the timing of her motions: in and out, in and out, in and out, slowly at first, but ever so imperceptibly increasing in speed and force, friction and depth. His hands went around her to grab her ass, but she intercepted them and placed them on her breasts which lit her, opened a new room of pleasure for her to explore. He began to meet the up and down of her bouncing with his own thrusts, and she moaned with the force. She leaned forward and placed her fingers in his mouth, getting her fingers wet, playing, teasing. He moaned onto her hand, he sucked on her fingers. She became aware of the wetness her pussy had created in their crotches. Her juices had soaked both of them, and it was still coming. I love it, she chanted in her head. I love it. This time, she came in a different way: from her toes up, like a flash fire. She allowed him to take over, and he held her waist stationary so he could thrust his cock into her from below, hard, fast, with just the right amount of speed. She was pure ecstasy, every cell and fiber; no deadlines, no client voices, no flotsam. Nothing but orgasm, stripping every sense save one: sound. Like the delay between fireworks and it's booming retort, somewhere below her she heard him say he was coming. He's coming. I'm coming. He's coming. She leapt off of his wet cock and took it in her hand, jerking it quickly up and down. The first spurt arced up and landed on her thigh; the second, third, fourth -- he seemed to come forever -- lathered her fist and pubic hair. "Kiss me," he implored her and she leaned forward and kissed him deeply. He moaned into her mouth, still pulsing. She climbed off of him without letting go of his twitching cock and leaned down and kissed the head, tasting his come as she did so. This excited her; he took the head in her mouth and licked at the come which caused him to thrash about as if he had been shot. "Oh...oh...oh..." he repeated over and over again. And that was the last thing she remembered: the taste of his come in her mouth as she dropped off to the most unfettered sleep she could recall since childhood. And true to form, he woke her in the morning in his own way: with the gentle parting of her legs an his warm tongue greeting her pussy. Should I call in sick, she wondered. She knew what he'd say.