Submission With a Stranger (A Curvy Girl Erotic Adventure) (2 page)

I usually go for a funkier vibe with chunky heels, cool 60s tunics and smart girl glasses, but not tonight. When I came out of my bedroom that evening, my roommates whistled.

“Angela, who knew? You’re one hot mama,” Greg said, eying me up and down with approval. “Did you meet a man?”

“You should dress up more often, sweetie,” said Denise. “You’re stunning!”

“Where in the world are you going in the middle of the week dressed like that, anyway?” Greg carried on. “Somebody’s going to get lucky tonight, I bet!”

I was prone to agree and left on a cloud of confidence, with a sly smile, a burgundy coat to match my lipstick, and an umbrella, wafting behind my Oriental poppy scent.

I arrived at the bar at ten after nine, though I had to walk around the block three times in order to not appear overeager. Michael was waiting.

He quickly rose when he saw me and came to meet me, saying, “Hello, Angela. I’m so glad you came. I was worried.” He was wearing a white dress shirt, black trousers with a belt and a sports jacket. Next to all the Gortex-clad Vancouverites, he stood out.

“You’re an absolute vision,” he added as he reached over and put his hand on the inside of my elbow. I radiated with pleasure as he guided me across the room.

“I’ve gotten us a seat in the corner. It’s a little dark. Rather romantic. I hope you don’t mind.”

I stopped my mind from wondering what was going to happen next and decided to give myself fully to the moment. Given our experience on the bus that afternoon, I didn’t know what to expect, but I knew it would be good.

A solitary flickering candle lighted the table. He helped me unbutton my coat and stopped to linger, looking at my breasts, before he patted the velvet booth gently, bidding me to sit.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do with you, Angela,” he smiled. “You are irresistible.”

After yet another deep blush on my part and a short silence, Michael spoke again. “Angela, I have a favor to ask you.”

He looked at me appreciatively and paused for several seconds, leaving me in anticipation. “I’d like you to go to the women’s room and take off your underwear.”

He gave me another warm smile that completely belied his sexual intentions. “I’m glad you wore a skirt,” he added.

I should have expected something like this, I realized. It sent an absolutely divine shiver to my core. At the same time, I was feeling a bit flirtatious.

“And if I don’t want to?” I asked in a shaking voice, making it completely obvious that there was nothing I wanted more.

“Oh, I think you do, Angela. But this is your fantasy. Give me all the guidance you want.”

Without saying anything, I went to the bathroom, removed my panties and slipped them into my purse. They smelled of sex already. I reapplied some of my dark burgundy lipstick and strode loftily out of the restroom, feeling every ounce a woman and proud of it.

I slipped back into the booth beside him. The candle in the glass jar illuminated us just enough. The white linen tablecloth covered the round table and puddled to the floor. There were soft voices murmuring everywhere, people laughing, and glasses tinkling. It felt surreal.

“What would you like to drink?” he asked me throatily. I was finding it hard to breathe myself.

“A gin and tonic,” I answered.

“Perfect,” he replied, and beckoned the waiter to our table.

“Two gin and tonics,” he said. “And bring us a fruit platter and some cashews, please.”

The waiter nodded crisply and left.

“I presume that will be to your liking?” he asked me and I nodded.

“One more thing, Angela.”

“Yes?” I asked, breathing heavily. I could feel the wetness between my legs.

“Your breasts are so lovely. Would you mind undoing your blouse another button or two so I can see them more clearly?”

It was startling. Erotic adventure number two was well underway.

“Only one,” I said and smiled at him coyly. He was delighted.

“Okay, only one. For now.”

He gasped slightly when I undid the button and leaned forward, giving him a glimpse of my abundant cleavage. I was turning him on. My body was turning him on. I felt luscious.

“You’re incredibly voluptuous, Angela,” he said. “Stunningly gorgeous.”

I reddened yet again and was glad when the waiter arrived with our drinks. I gingerly took a sip.

“Did you take off your underwear?” he asked me. He set down his drink, the ice cubes chinking together, and put one hand under the table. The smell of meaty steaks, broiled and rare, was filling the room. The aroma was incredibly sensual.

I smiled slightly, pulled them out of my purse, and nestled them in his hand. He smiled broadly. “Oh, Angela,” he said, putting them to his face and inhaling. “You are a wonder.”

I was enjoying the power I had over him. I guided his hand to the inside of my thighs. As he touched my labial lips, I took a demure sip of my drink and then another more abundant one. Inhibitions, I decided, were to play no part in tonight.

His hand, cool from handling the drink, interacted like electricity with my warmth. I thrilled with the sensation and I saw his firm jaw tighten and his eyes glaze slightly.

“Spread your legs just a little more, would you Angela?” he said as if it were the most routine request in the world. “That’s right. Oh, you feel so good.”

His hand was swirling around the outer periphery of my vulva but not going any deeper. He was teasing.

I was feeling almost dizzy with excitement when he removed his hand and inserted his index finger into his mouth. As fast as his hand had left, it was back again. With no warning, he plunged his index finger into my pussy. I leaned up hard against the seat, pressing my bottom against the velvet. He did it once more and then stopped.

“Please don’t stop,” I whispered hoarsely. “Do that again.”

“All in good time, my dear,” he replied. He removed his hand from under the table and took a deep draught of his gin and tonic. I heard the ice clink against his teeth. And then it was in his hand and then it was under my skirt.

“Now, don’t be alarmed, Angela,” he said, as he deftly inserted the ice cube into the warmth of my snatch. It was like being plunged into an icy pool after coming out of a hot sauna. The effect was breathtaking, literally.

“Now I want you to squeeze your legs together and don’t move,” he instructed. “Just let yourself feel the sensation.”

“The waiter’s coming,” he added. “Don’t give our little secret away.”

My calves were so tense I felt as though something might tear. My thighs were frantically pressed and rubbing together. My buttocks were clenched.

“Your fruit and cashews,” the waiter said, setting them down on the table. But instead of allowing him to leave, Michael began to engage him in conversation.

“May I ask you about some of the sights around Vancouver? What’s worth seeing?”

I pressed my thighs together even more frantically. What was Michael doing? I felt sure I was going to come any second.

“Well, there’s Grouse Mountain. You can ride the gondola to the top at night and look at the lights of the city. It’s quite magnificent.”

“Yes, I’m sure it is,” Michael said with intense interest. “Tell me more.” At the same time, he started to gently tickle the outside of my labium, gently fingering the two sets of lips, while my legs were still pressed tightly together.

I was throbbing. My face was growing flushed and I was trying very hard to gaze on the waiter with interest and not appear to be on the verge of orgasm. It was nearly impossible. I realized I was holding my breath.

The waiter droned on while I concentrated all of my energy on not thinking about the tremendous rumbling inside me that was threatening to erupt. It was a tremendous turn on to be silently enduring a man who was pleasuring me while another man looked on.

He continued teasing me below the tablecloth with such delicate ferocity I felt I was about to rupture. I imagined a diver exploding out of the water, coming up from the depths, and wondered if it was like this. The intensity was unimaginable.

For a time, I heard nothing of the exchange between the two men. I was concentrating all of my energies upon not coming, not shrieking, not panting and not fainting. It was the hardest, most exhilarating thing I had ever done. I sat there, every muscle and nerve in my body tensed and on fire while smiling absently at the waiter and wishing with every ounce of me that he would just go away.

When he finally left, I let out small yelps that took all my effort to keep from turning into screams. The ice cube, now nearly melted, slid out of me and into Michael’s waiting hand. He put it in his mouth and sucked.

“Oh,” he sighed. “That’s so good. I can’t imagine anything better.”

“You’re a bastard,” I said, laughing weakly after I had recovered a little bit. “You nearly sent me into cardiac arrest.” I was still panting so hard I could hardly speak.

“But it was unimaginably sweet, wasn’t it? You can’t deny that.”

“I wouldn’t call it sweet, Michael, but it was incredibly hot. I’m not sure how I’m ever going to be able to top this experience,” I said, slowly coming down from my mountain high, and helping myself to some of the cashews.

We sat and talked together for a few moments about superficial things as though nothing had happened. I was perspiring furiously and still having small orgasms even though his hand had left me. I felt sure if I were touched again I would have a shuddering orgasm within seconds. I knew I was by no means finished.

“Angela,” Michael suggested, brushing a stray, damp curl from my cheek, “why don’t you go freshen up and come back? But you have to promise me that you’re not going to masturbate in the bathroom. I want you to save all the pleasure for me. Promise me.”

“I promise,” I said. I was his willing sex slave. This was the most delicious experience of my life. I wanted to come again and again. In the bathroom it would have taken me all of three seconds of fingering to come again, but I resisted. It was too exciting. I wanted to save it all for him. I wanted this to go on for hours, days, years.

I looked in the mirror while washing my face and startled in surprise. Was this truly me? I was luminescent. I was beautiful. A goddess. I looked at my breasts so heavy and warm and ripe. I was tempted to pluck one of my nipples, but I resisted. There were women all over: thin women, exquisitely dressed women, women with three hundred dollar coiffures, women with legs to die for.

In that moment, however, everything changed. I knew I was the most beautiful woman in the room. There was no doubt about it. I was also the most desired. I was the one. It was me and me and me again. My sexuality and my beauty were all that mattered. All the other women in the world were incidental.

I touched my reddened cheeks and smiled. I undid another button and strode out of the restroom, the most confident I have ever been.

I slid back into the cushioned booth next to Michael, lightly brushing his penis. It was thrusting forward in his dark tailored trousers. He was excited. Still.

He removed my hand. “No, this night is yours, my dear. This is all for you. Let me take care of you, okay? Let me indulge your fantasies. Mine are not important tonight.”

The perfect scenario: a man was going to pleasure me to new plateaus and at the same time make me feel no obligation to jerk him off or have sex with him. This was a new experience indeed. It was all for me. I was the queen. It was only my longings that mattered. Yes, it was perfect.

“Okay,” I agreed. “I am the queen.”

He laughed. “Yes, you are a queen, aren’t you? You’re much more than a princess. You are a powerful, sexual woman. I am at your service, your highness.”

“No, I am at yours,” I said and laughed. “Keep surprising me. I want to be surprised.”

“Your wish is my command,” he replied. He had been eating cashews and his salty, wet, warm mouth kissed mine, and his tongue moved like his hands had, teasing and prodding. It prodded the inner recesses of my mouth, darting and licking. Then he lightly bit my outer lip, drawing blood.

At my gasp, he stopped and smiled, lightly sucking the blood away. Then his tongue started to gently caress the inside of my lips. I loved it, but couldn’t help wishing his tongue were exploring inside my other lips. Just the kissing was bringing me close to the brink. My buttocks were tense in my seat. I was hot in an entirely new way. This was so public. Was anybody watching us?

“Look around,” he said. “You’re making the room hot. Everybody wants you. I want you most of all. Keep kissing me.”

He took a grape from the fruit platter and put it in his mouth. He passed it to my mouth and swirled it around with his tongue. While doing this, he roughly untucked my blouse from my skirt, sliding his hand up to my cleavage. Suddenly my nipple was in his agile finger and he was twisting and plucking and rubbing. I was keenly aware of the others in the room, particularly the men. It was intoxicating not knowing whether I was being watched or not, though I almost certainly was.

“Your nipples,” he gasped as he stopped kissing me. “They’re so erect. And your breasts: they’re so voluptuous. Show them to me.”

“But…” I began to say. I looked around. I imagined eyes were on us, furtive and darting; the man-heavy room was pretending not to notice, but I was acutely aware of them.

“Take them out of your brassiere and let me look. Now.” He said this in a commanding voice.

I haltingly obeyed him. I slipped my palm under the bottom of each breast and gently removed them from their lacy cups, sensuously spilling them over the under wire for all the darkened bar to see. The nipples were erect, standing at attention.

“Oh my God,” Michael said. It was so truly incredible that he was so turned on by me. I felt like the woman in the Klimt painting. I was being raised to erotic heights that I had no idea existed, and bringing a man to the same.

“I must suck your nipples; I have to or I’m going to die. You are ravishing, Angela.”