Every Friday Night...


You watch me and my girlfriend dancing together. The music is loud and hard, and the drummer has worked himself into a lather pounding on the finely stretched skins of his expensive set. Most of the other patrons in this rocking club are dancing just as fast as we are. Swirls of vibrant color catch my eye as the dancers move together-scorching blurs of vamp red and glistening gold and unforgiving black. But you sit quietly at a booth in the corner, and you slowly drink your imported beer from the bottle and watch.

I catch on long before Shelly does. I see your eyes widen when I slip one arm around her slim waist and pull her even closer to me. She responds automatically by gliding her sweet hips against mine in an almost accidental caress. The heat of her body makes me tremble, even though we always dance like that, delighting the guys wherever we go. The music turns us on-that rock 'n roll beat makes us think of something far more sexy than dancing-but knowing that men are watching our every move turns us on even more. Shelly's such a fair blonde and she perfectly compliments my dark hair, dark eyes. We fit together. Body to body. Skin to skin.

Tonight, Shelly's wearing a dark crocus-purple dress with a halter-style top. The thin satin ribbons tie together under her wave of long blonde hair and then trail loosely down her naked back. Her skin is sun-glazed, bronze and shimmering from the glitter she dusted on before we left her apartment. I tease her by tripping my fingertips dangerously along the tie at the back, as if I'm going to release the bow that will unveil her beautiful body. One pull and all will be revealed.

At my touch, she glances over her shoulder at me, locking onto my expression, and the look in her startling blue eyes says, "Naughty girl-"
When I peek over my shoulder at you, I see the same vision echoed back at me in your eyes. Yes, I'm a naughty girl. I'd have to be to dance this way with my girlfriend. To dance in public as if I wanted to spread her out on the floor and fuck her.

From your fixed gaze, I know exactly what you're thinking. You'd like to slide your lean body right between ours and see how you'd fit. Shelly behind you, tapping her fingers along your strong back, me in the front, kissing my way down the strong flat plane of your chest before moving down lower, opening up my mouth and taking your cock within. My lips are berry-slicked tonight, shiny with a sticky gloss called Triple-X. Yes, I bought it for the name. I can picture leaving kiss-shaped imprints on your bare skin as I worked. I like to be able to look at the road map of pleasure afterward, to touch each kiss with my fingertips before starting along that route again.

I'm getting turned on thinking about going down on you. I know how much you'd like me to lick up and down the length of your rigid rod, using the very tip of my tongue, darting it between your legs to touch your balls with a kitten-like stroke. Then moving back up and using the whole of my mouth. Sucking you in, drinking you down. I know how to work a man, to oblige obediently with my mouth. I never rush when I'm on my knees. There is something so fucking exciting to me about going down on a ready partner, about seeing how loud I can make a lover moan using only my lips and my tongue and my throat-

Shelly moves slightly now, to stand fully in front of me. She's lustfully eyeing the multi-tattooed bass player, and I take this opportunity to grab her and pull her back against me. Without a care of what someone might think, she firmly swivels her hips, her sublime ass now pressed firmly against the split of my body. I breathe in and catch the scent of her perfume. I know the name-was with her at the high-end Beverly Hills' department store when she bought it-but now, I'm thinking about the way she smells out at the beach, drenched in a combination of tropical suntan oil and the sweet sheen of dewy sweat from a hot day spent baking beneath the Santa Monica sun. And I'm thinking of the way she would look spread out on my bed, with you pumping over her. White sheets crumpling. Bodies merged together.

"He's watching," I whisper, leaning even closer to press my lips against the nape of her neck. "Shell, he's watching-"

She half-turns to glance over her shoulder, locates you quickly, and then gives you a sexy smile, batting her mascara-rich eyelashes in a silently sensuous invitation. That's the only encouragement you need. The band heats up, pressing onward. Without a need to rush, you calmly set down your beer and make your way through the crowd. Just as slowly, I release Shelly and let you slip between us. My arms go naturally around your waist, and I hold you close. So excited, I press the side of my face against your black shirt and feel the warmth from your body. We're not dancing to the music anymore-at least, not to the music that the rest of the patrons hear. This is a uniquely serpentine samba, a trio of heat, pressed together on the black-and-white checkered floor.

I wish that we were alone and naked, and then I wish that we were right here and naked, with an audience watching us fuck. Every move, every thrust, would be witnessed by a crowd of hungry onlookers. You'd take turns working the two of us, but you wouldn't play favorites. First, you'd dip your rigid cock into Shelly's pussy, then slide over and drive inside me with your pole all glossy from her juices. I think you'd know instinctively that I like a harder ride than Shelly does. When you got to me, you'd give me everything you had in you, saving the sweeter tastes for my best friend. I like to really feel it. When I'm fucking, I want to know that fact with every part of my being. I try to tell you that by the way that I'm dancing against you. I try to send you silent messages.

When the musicians take a break between sets, the three of us do, as well, walking quickly to the exit and then out into the balmy Hollywood night. The summer heat wave gives the dark night air a fantasy feeling, as if we're on vacation on some paradise island, a place where anything goes.

Shelly's in the lead, and you and I follow a pace behind, watching her move. She's got a high-class ass, and she twitches it when she walks, moving exaggeratedly as she stalks along the sidewalk in her racy spike heels. Because Shelly knows we're watching, she puts an extra shimmy in her step just for show, making me giggle at her total lack of discretion.

Your warm fingers entwine with mine, and you bring my hand to the button fly of your black jeans, so can tell that your cock is hard and ready. I feel as if my legs will give out. You're so fucking hard I don't know if I can wait. I want to drop to my knees right here on the cracked sidewalk, open my mouth and suck you until your cock hammers against the back of my throat. I don't care about laddering my stockings, don't care about getting dirty. When I make a little whimpering sigh to let you know of my urgency, you give me a stern look, then shake your head. "Patience," you murmur to me, your first word of the evening, and I swallow hard and try to wait my turn.

I brought the pick-up tonight, and Shelly gets to the truck bed first, climbs over and laughs when she sees the mattress roll in the corner. I've come fully prepared to make this erotic event as comfortable as possible. Shelly undoes the buckles and spreads out our makeshift bed and the three of us camp out on it together. There are stars above and gold lights dance in the heavens, heralding distant clubs.

You wait in the center of the mattress as Shelly and I each take a side. The three of us stare upward as if in silent meditation, but our hands are already busy, pulling open buttons, undoing zippers, kicking off shoes, losing stockings and garters. There are hands helping me-your hands, Shelly's. I know her fingernails are painted a dark, rich blue that sheens like neon. I know she wears a silver ring around the middle finger of her left hand. Her touch is light, but not tentative. Your hands are different. Rougher, worn. You move without any hesitation, pulling on the mouth of the zipper that runs the full length of my slinky black dress. I shudder as the silver metal teeth give way and I am suddenly naked, my dress spread out and open around me.

Shelly leans over you to get to me, and you give a dark moan as her naked breasts brush your lips. As Shelly kisses me, you open your mouth and tease the undersides of her bouncing breasts with the tip of your tongue. Her lips on mine are warm and soft. I reach to grip into her heavy hair, sealing her to me as I lunge into her kiss. The pleasure is instantaneous, spiraling me onward with the promise of what lies ahead. But I'm yearning for more. And now I can't keep quiet about it. "I need-" I say, and that's all it takes, the magic word that unlocks the gates of our pleasure.

Then the three of us are naked and in motion. I climb on top of you, straddling your glorious body, slipping up and then down again as I fall into just the right rhythm. Shelly's using your mouth, her hands under her breasts as she dips one rosy pink nipple and then the other between your willing, parted lips. We're off in the corner of the parking lot, but it's not as if we have any semblance of privacy. This is Los Angeles, after all, and even at this late hour, couples make their way in and out of clubs and restaurants all along the strip. I like the fact that anyone could see us if they wanted to, if they turned their heads in our directions. I've always liked being on display, even if it's only for the huge sunglasses-shaded eyes of a poster of Angelyne on the building above.

As I ride you harder, Shelly moves down between your legs, and I can tell the exact moment she starts to lick your balls. Your expression changes. The look in your eyes hardens into stone for a moment, then seems to melt. I imagine what Shelly's warm, knowing tongue must feel like against your balls. Her fine hair tickles my skin as she works you more seriously. The sound of your breathing catches suddenly, and as I pump up again on my thighs, I can tell that you're about to come. We're a sliver of space away from that moment of release.

I lean forward, gaining the connection I need against your body, and my hungry clit responds immediately to the sensation. When you slam into me, you lift me upward toward the night sky, and for a moment I feel as if I'm flying. I want to keep riding you, keep pumping to reach my limits, but as soon as you come, Shelly is on me, pulling me from you and spreading me on the mattress. It's her turn. She wants attention now, and she knows the best way to get it. We hit the sixty-nine in tune and turned on. I work Shelly without thinking, lost in the feeling of pleasure from her hot mouth on my cunt.

Her lipstick smears against my skin. I feel that oily moisture on my most tender lips, and then I feel her mouth pursed as she so gently nips around my clit. She wants the two of us to come together. I sense this without her ever saying a word. And I know that she needs more to catch up to me, which is why she's working me slowly. I have to work to disengage myself from my own wants. My selfish desire is to press hard against her mouth and take what I need. But that wouldn't be fair. Instead, I focus on what Shelly needs, and I give it to her, licking and sucking, making the types of maze-like tracings she craves when she's dying to come. Losing myself in the scent of her, in the world between her legs.

I hear you when you start to jack off, unable to stop yourself while watching the two of us play together like randy cats in heat. I know you're going to come on Shelly's back as she comes on my tongue, and that's the image that takes me over the top. The mess of it all. The thought that I will be able to reach out and trace my fingers through the thick honey-like liquid of your spent pleasure. When you rain down on Shelly's naked skin, she sighs and grinds herself against my mouth, so hot, so desperate. Her sweet moans reverberate against my naked pussy, and I reach that place one second after her, a tangle of limbs, a mess of sex.

The three of us are so sticky afterward. Just sticky and silent for a moment as we fumble with clothes in the back of the truck. And then we sprawl out again, incorrectly buttoned and under-dressed. We're packed close together, looking up at the midnight sky. "Tonight was amazing," you say, holding us close to your body. "My two sweet girls."

"It was almost as if you really didn't know us-" I tease, and Shelly laughs her musical laugh and rolls over to give you a hug. Because, you know, you say the same thing. . . every Friday night.