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I remember my first Valentine’s Day party as an adult. I was single but I knew I was attractive because my best friend’s boyfriend, Mark, had made no secret of the fact that he fancied me. Once, when she was in the shower getting ready for us to go out and he and I were innocently chatting in her bedroom just down the corridor he had asked me straight out to show him my panties. I have no idea why but I smiled and raised my skirt just enough for him to see them. I didn’t let him touch them or anything, and Carla was back with us within a couple of minutes so the moment passed but I got a thrill out of knowing that he and I had that little secret – even if it didn’t go any further.
About three months later it was Valentine’s Day. Mark and Carla had broken up at Christmas and I knew he was now dating a much older girl, but I sent him a card and, in lieu of a signature, I enclosed those same panties. I knew he’d remember them and it seemed like a great laugh.
What actually happened was he phoned me on Valentine’s day in the afternoon and asked if I wanted to go to a party with him and Celia (his new flame) that evening. I didn’t really want to go but when he told me where it was I changed my mind. It was a roof party on top of a famous department store in London. Every year they throw a huge marquee over the roof, and the roof space and a couple of floors below are thrown open to the most incredible party. I knew getting into this kind of event was almost impossible so I could only assume Celia had some kind of connection.
Anyway, I said I’d go and I spent three hours getting ready before walking to the station where they said they’d swing by to pick me up. I’d not met Celia before but I’d built her up in my imagination to the point where she was a larger than life figure who was intelligent, beautiful, well connected and rich. It came as a shock to find that she was driving a Ford Mondeo, but I figured it made sense that she was in the driver’s seat. In any case she looked great. I sheepishly wished I hadn’t worn such a short little black dress. I loved it, and it matched my coat and bag, but next to Celia I probably looked like a gawky younger sister. I have great legs, but hers went on for miles. I’m a slim size eight, but she looked like a size zero super model. I’m pretty, but she was beautiful. You get the picture. I’m really not putting myself down, but I could see immediately why Mark had ditched Carla. I assumed he had already met Celia when he did so.
We drove to the edge of what was then the newly installed congestion zone. Five pounds seemed a lot to pay for the privilege of driving on another 300 yards so we parked on a double yellow and walked. Celia strode on confidently in her heels. I could see she was wearing black fishnet stockings and her LBD barely reached the middle of her thighs. She was wearing a Mizuko coat that I’d seen in a magazine and that I knew cost about £3,000. This girl was way out of Mark’s league. He was cute, but I found myself wondering why Celia would be dating him.
We Travesti got to the store and Celia led us around the side to what appeared to be the entrance to a completely separate block but which inside was revealed to be an administrative section of the same store. One lift ride later we were walking out onto the roof to the sounds of Noel Gallagher, and admiring the most incredible view of a cold London’s nightscape. The marquee was heated but we were too cold up there to stay for more than half an hour or so. We took pictures of each other and drank a couple of complimentary martinis and then headed downstairs to one of the other floors. The decor was amazing. The whole floor had an African theme and after a few dances I sat with Mark on a huge sofa that resembled a zebra. Celia whispered something in his ear and he smiled and nodded. They kissed and she disappeared somewhere. It was loud with the music and chat so we couldn’t really chat much, but we got up to dance a few times and Mark went to get us some drinks during a break between DJs.
“Where’s Celia?” I at last managed to ask him.
He cast an eye around the room and saw her. He pointed her out to me. She was talking to three guys in a corner and it looked like they were getting on very well.
“How did you meet her?” I asked.
“At a Hallowe’en Ball last year,” he replied.
I did a mental calculation. He’d met Celia about six weeks before dumping Carla. I really couldn’t blame him, though. I looked back across at his gorgeous girlfriend. She had one arm draped over the shoulder of one of the three guys and the others were chatting with her with excitement and interest.
“She’s pretty,” I said.
Mark looked at me. “You think so?”
He shifted a bit closer to me. I felt his leg press into mine. It was a nice feeling but a bit confusing.
“That’s not the reason I’m dating her,” he said. “I love having a pretty girlfriend, but the really neat thing is watching her with other guys.”
“Other guys? I don’t understand” I said.
He put a hand on my leg. I wasn’t sure what to make of this but I let him keep it there. It felt nice.
“I like to see Celia flirt,” Mark continued. “It turns me on to see the power she has with other guys. It also excites me to know that she sometimes takes it further.”
He looked at me. He face was about six inches from mine. His hand was now shamelessly stroking my leg.
“Further?” I stammered – more from uncertainty than nervousness, but still confused.
“Yes. Further. MUCH further. I love it when Celia fucks other guys. I get turned on by the thought of other guys using her. I’ve always wanted a slutty girlfriend and now I have one. It feels great. Know what I mean?”
He pushed his hand up my skirt and touched my panties. I was absolutely torn. My cunt was undeniably moist, but I was naive, nineteen and not ready for this kind of information. My only sexual experience had been a year earlier when I had lost my virginity to a guest speaker at our Youth Club. Konya Travesti He was an army captain, about forty and married. He’d come to speak about Afghanistan and a group of us had stayed behind to hear some of the stories he’d said in his talk that he would save for anyone who could stay. By 10 PM that night it was just him and me alone in the kitchen at the Youth Group Centre. Our tea was cold and he seemed to have lost interest in telling me any more stories. He approached me and put his hands on my cheeks. Then he drew my face towards his and kissed me deeply on the mouth. I leaned back onto the table and he unbuttoned my blouse. My nipples were rock hard and I lay back and let him kiss and bite them gently until he said “Want to?”
I had nodded and took off my own skirt and panties. He entered me and although I didn’t cum it was a lovely experience. He came inside me and I walked home from the Youth Club with his cum dripping down my legs. My period came three days later so I knew we’d got away with it, but that was the extent of my experience until flashing my panties at my best friend’s boyfriend that evening on her bed.
Mark withdrew his hand and put his arm around me.
“Sara, you know I want you,” he said. “You must know that.”
I turned to look at him. I wasn’t at all sure where this was going.
“Celia is a slut,” he continued. “Look, she’s going to take those three guys and let all of them fuck her. She’s going to come back to me and when we sleep together tonight my cock will be pushing its way into her guided by the cum of all of them dripping out of her. Don’t judge me or her by that. I love it. It excites me to know I’ve got a girl other guys want to fuck. But I want you too. I’ve wanted you for a very long time.”
He started kissing my cheek and ear. His hand moved to my hair and he stroked it. It felt lovely but I knew I wasn’t ready for this. It was way too much too soon. I smiled and stood up.
“Sorry, Mark. That just doesn’t work for me. I’m not that kind of girl” I heard myself saying.
I walked away intending to make my way downstairs to the exit and then on to the Tube station to go home. But the floor below was also a party room. I got to the stairs and walked down them. The room was decorated differently. It looked French Revolution theme to me. There were tricoleurs everywhere and a large gothic wall painting of a guillotine. French maids walked around with trays of red wine. I grabbed a glass and decided I may as well look around while I was there. I could always leave later. The sound system delivered the music to all three levels so the dance floor here was throbbing to the same beat as above. I hadn’t finished my wine before someone took me by the hand and led me to the floor. We danced for half an hour and I started to enjoy myself. My partner was obviously mentally undressing me, but that was better than being groomed for slutdom so I let him stare. In any case, he was pretty good looking too. Thirty-something, hint of stubble, expensive İzmir Travesti blazer, slacks and LV deck shoes. Not exactly February dressed, but he looked good.
There was a pause and then True by Spandau Ballet filled the air. It was too corny for words but he grabbed me and we slow danced along with about thirty other couples, some girl-girl and some guy-guy. No one seemed to care.
“Name, age, intention” my partner whispered in my ear.
“Sara, 19, have a good time,” I replied. “You?”
“Richard, 42, make out with a hot teenager called Sara,” he said and I couldn’t help but laugh. This guy was good fun.
He took that as a signal and kissed me on the mouth. My mouth was slightly open and I felt his warm tongue sliding in. I let it. I kissed him back and within minutes we had stopped dancing and were kissing passionately his hands feeling my ass and back. I felt my pussy getting warmer and wetter. I was no longer in control.
He took me to a side room. I’d noticed these earlier as I came down the stairs. They appeared to be offices, but well furnished ones. This one had a sofa and he led me to it. I had no sense of time but it seemed only about a minute passed before he had my dress unbuttoned and one of my nipples in his mouth. I had no idea where my bra went. He lifted my hips and I let him slide my tights and my soaking wet panties down my thighs and over my ankles. I was open and exposed to him. He pushed his face into my pussy and for the first time in my life I felt a man’s tongue gliding over my lips and up to my clit. I started the slow build up to an orgasm. I’d been here before at school once – with a girl called Hilda who led me through three weeks of experimentation in the senior common room at private study time. This was better. Richard knew what he was doing alright. He held me on the brink of orgasm until a final dart of his tongue over my clit sent a shudder through me and I came with a cry. He pushed my legs up high and positioned himself to enter me.
“I’m not on the pill,” I said, anxiously.
He put his finger to his lips and pushed his long fat cock deep into me. He thrust away and I felt myself building to a climax again. It was incredible – so much better than the first time. I came again – and then a third time before I felt him sigh and release a jet of warm cum deep into me. As he came he pushed down on me and kissed me on the mouth. I returned his kiss with passion, secretly terrified I was actually getting pregnant there and then but wanting desperately not to do anything to stop this delicious moment.
We stayed panting against each other for ten more minutes before he pulled out and gave me my tights. He kept my panties. I waited a little longer on the sofa. gathered my thoughts and walked out to go home. I saw Richard back on the dance floor slow dancing with a leggy black girl. I guessed the sofa would be back in action within half an hour or so.
That was a night of mixed emotions for me. I didn’t get pregnant, but I knew that was luck, not wisdom. From that moment on I have taken better precautions. There’s a thrill to be had from letting a man who is bold enough to ask you to show him your panties get his desire. I guess I’m a little into exhibitionism. But I’m really just getting started.
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