Sexy Stranger

by Nancy Allbright

Copyright© 2018 by Nancy Allbright

Fiction Sex Story: Sex with a total stranger is so liberating nice and naughty.

Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Consensual   True Story   Exhibitionism   Public Sex   .

The idea of sharing a passionate night with a stranger has appealed to me for as long as I can remember — and I do mean an absolute stranger. We wouldn’t know anything about each other, not even names.

A fantasy, of course. I guess we all have private predilections, albeit some more taboo than others. I know of some people’s fantasies and they are far kinkier than mine. I kept mine a secret, never hinting at this strange desire. Until that is, I decided one day to tell my friend Jean all about it during a lunch.

I actually call her Genie because Jean seems too plain, too boring for her. I prefer my spelling and nickname because she has a knack of making me feel better and, if I apply myself, it seems she can make my dreams come true. So, to the lunch...

‘I don’t know why you don’t just go for it, Trudy. You only live once,’ Genie says, taking a file out of her bag and rubbing it across a perfectly-manicured, pink acrylic nail. ‘I had a brilliant time last week at that new club in town. I danced with a perfect stranger. We were so in sync and I let him fuck me in the toilets. Hey, don’t look at me like that, all shocked. You know you wouldn’t have passed up the opportunity — if you’d been given the chance, that is.’

I’m watching Genie’s mouth twist in a defensive grimace. ‘Tell me about it then. You can’t give me a nugget of information without going into detail.’

Genie’s eyes lit up. ‘He was wonderful, exactly what you would want if you ever found yourself in that situation. However, I don’t think it’s fair of me to go into detail and tease you.’ She shakes her head. ‘It doesn’t seem right. Being honest, it feels a tad unjust.’

‘Don’t be silly. I’d love to hear all about it.’

Genie takes a sip of cappuccino. Froth lines her top lip and I’m staring at it, thinking of cum. (What am I like?)

‘I can go one better than that,’ she says. ‘Why not come with me to the club and carry out your fantasy for real? It really is so easy to do. What guy is going to turn down no-strings-attached sex? Not many, believe me. And that adage “hand it on a plate and they will take it”, is perfectly true.’

Sounds simple but I’m not too sure about Genie’s proposal. Despite wanting to enact my fantasy, have I the guts to carry out the plan? I think a little more about her suggestion — and feel a thrill ping through me.

(So, can I go through with it?)

The sachet that held a pile of sugar only two minutes ago, is a crumpled mess in my fingers. ‘Okay,’ I say boldly, ‘let’s go for it.’

‘Good girl.’ Genie smiles and nods. ‘We’ll have so much fun.’

In our town, Saturday night is for couples. On this particular mission, that would be pretty pointless, so we decide on the following Friday.

We have a few drinks in the Blue Bayou, a classy place but a little too posey for my liking, before making our way to The Watermelon Club, our heels click-clacking on the cobbled street.

I’m feeling a flutter of excitement at the entrance and feel more than a flutter of lust when an extremely good-looking doorman winks at me. He chews gum and looks thuggish and horny all in one. (Could I fuck him?) I push that thought to the back of my mind. He’s probably fucked loads of women and that thought led me to think about sexually transmitted diseases. I’m thirty-three years old and never had one, so I’m not going to start now.

‘Let’s go the toilets,’ Genie suggests. ‘I need to retouch my makeup.’

Following her across the aisle of the club, the bass music thumps beneath my feet, vibrating through my body. I’m in for a good time.

In the toilets, I buff up my hair and use hairspray. I’m slightly embarrassed. At thirty-three, I’ve only been to a nightclub a handful of times. I spent my twenties basically studying and I now spend most it working. If I’m not working, I’m preparing for work. (How tragic is that?)

So, tonight, I determine to rid myself of this red cloak of conformity and change from Little Red Riding Hood, hiding from the constraints of my life, and lay myself wide open for a big bad wolf.

Following Genie’s lead, I apply another layer of mascara, even though I don’t really need it, and add some shimmering, peach lip gloss.

Genie turns to me and smiles. ‘Ready?’

A buzz is whizzing through me. This is so daring for me but I recall an article I’d read in a woman’s magazine. It said that pushing your boundaries can feel like chicken soup for the soul. Walking out of the toilets, I’m not too sure that having wild sex with a complete stranger is chicken soup for the soul, but I’m going to give it a try.

Two hours later, I’m flying as high as a rocket on a space mission. I’m lost in the music, and the drinks Genie and I share help me to lose my inhibitions. I can almost smell the pheromones of the people dancing around me. The mixture of ages is making it even easier for me to fit in. I’m glancing around the dance floor, trying to see if there is anyone I remotely fancy for my stranger fuck. I giggle at my outlandish thought. But, it’s the sole reason I’m here and, to be fair, Genie is trying her best to help me execute my plan, introducing me to a few guys she knows. But I don’t want a forced experience.

Really, I’ve built up this whole thing in my own mind to such epic proportions that I’m imagining the cliche tall, dark stranger taking me. I won’t know his name and wouldn’t even have the time to take in his features. Afterward, I wouldn’t be able to pick him out, say, in a police line-up. What a wild and horny thought.

I dance to a particularly smooth and sexy R ‘n’ B tune, stretching my arms above my head, feeling so deliciously hazy and in tune with something that suddenly feels so magical and liberating.

(Arms snake around my waist.)

‘You’re gorgeous,’ he murmurs into my ear, so intense his words infiltrate my brain and, momentarily, drown out the music.

I’m contemplating turning around to look at this stranger but that would defeat the objective, wouldn’t it? I continue dancing, his hands on my hips, and he’s pressing against me.

‘I’ve always had a thing for redheads and white dresses,’ he whispers.

(This is it. Now.) Without turning, I grab one of his hands and lead him off the dance floor. If I’m to do this, it’s right now before I lose my nerve.

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