“Well, my puss is in urgent need of some attention. I’ve not been with anyone for two or three weeks, so tonight is party night!”
I dressed in a slightly more restrained, but still sexy, long black dress, which showed a teasing glimpse of my more modest cleavage. But the notable feature of this dress, was the slash which extended halfway up my thigh. So, when I walked in my high heels, onlookers would be treated to a repeated ‘now you see it, now you don’t’ sexy glimpse of stockinged leg.
When we were both satisfied with our makeup and hair, we headed down to the thronging reception area, where waiting staff were circulating, serving glasses of Buck’s Fizz to the increasingly noisy groups of delegates.
Unsurprisingly, Gemma was attracting quite some attention from the men in the room, some of whom were staring quite openly – almost open-mouthed, at her ‘goods’ so openly on display. As we were sipping our drinks, Gemma turned to me and taking my elbow, leaned in a little closer, so as to be heard over the general hubbub.
“By the way, before we get too drunk, can we get things sorted for tonight?”
“How do you mean?” I asked, a little puzzled.
“I mean room-wise. Shall we just say, if you get off with anyone, you’ll take them back to our room. If I pull someone, I’ll go back to his room. It could get complicated otherwise! Is that a deal?”
At this event, like so many similar ones, there was a general understanding that unwritten ‘conference rules apply’. Meaning that whatever happened that night, didn’t ever get discussed afterwards. No gossip, no recriminations, no taletelling.
I nodded my agreement. Casting my eye around the room, there certainly appeared to be an abundance of eligible men, but equally, some competition from other, quite provocatively dressed women. I chuckled inwardly, wondering how many of these people would wake up in their own rooms in the morning…
With a fine meal polished off and the various awards announced, the band started to play, resulting in a mass exodus from tables to the dance floor. All evening, copious amounts of wine had been delivered to the tables, and the free bar was doing a roaring trade. So, by the time the music started, almost everyone in the room was inebriated to one extent or another. Inhibitions were cast to the wind and before long, various couples were alternately cavorting to the faster numbers and groping each other during the slower ones.
Gemma was certainly in demand. No sooner had she sat down after dancing, to catch her breath and gulp a drink, than she was asked to dance by yet another testosterone and alcohol-fuelled male.
I had hooked up with Ben, a good-looking guy from telesales. He was tall and slim and had a mane of bushy, dark hair. What really surprised me though, was that he was an excellent, accomplished dancer. He had an amazing sense of rhythm, putting in some impressive routines to rock and disco numbers; but when a slower ballad was played, he literally whisked me round the floor in his arms.
I’m not a great dancer, but he led me like a proper gentleman, his hand holding mine, his other on the small of my back, sending subtle signals. It felt effortless to follow his lead and it felt good when he pulled me close to him, the scent of his masculine aftershave filling my nostrils.
After some time, we went back to a table to rest a moment and get a drink.
“Would you like to get some air, Charlotte?” he asked, looking deep into my eyes.
“Yeah, that would be nice… it’s very warm and noisy in here!”
Picking up our drinks, we strolled outside to the patio area, the air pleasantly cooler. The cacophony of music was suddenly attenuated as the door closed behind us. We found a bench and sat down.
“Wow, that’s been quite an evening,” Ben remarked. “Have you enjoyed yourself?”
“Yes, it’s been good, but… I hope it’s not over yet,” I said quietly, looking up at him. I meant it. He seemed a really nice guy and my moistening slit was telling me that I wanted to get to know him a whole lot better.
Ben took the hint and kissed me, tenderly at first, then more forcefully and a moment later, his hand cupped one of my boobs in his hand, gently massaging it as our tongues intertwined. My nipples are very sensitive, and his touch was sending electric shocks down between my legs.
When we surfaced for air, slightly breathlessly I asked, “I just have to ask you, when did you learn to dance like that? You were amazing!”
Ben laughed. “I’m actually a competition ballroom dancer. That kind of dancing isn’t really my thing, but ballroom gives you the fundamentals. We’re competing in Blackpool in a couple of months.”
His kisses had really turned me on. I could feel my wetness gathering, certain it must be seeping into the gusset of my flimsy panties. I decided to lay out my cards for him. I’d hooked him, and certainly wasn’t planning on spending the night on my own.
Placing my hand on his thigh, but trying to appear a little coy, I softly murmured in his ear, “Well Ben, if your horizontal moves are as good as your dance ones, you’d better come to Room 618 when this finishes!” With that, I leaned in for another passionate kiss. This time, Ben’s hand was deliciously exploring my thigh through the slit in my dress.
Had we not been in such a public place, I’d have been tempted to unzip him and sit on his lap, then slide his shaft into my hungry pussy, right there and then.
After kissing and fondling a while longer, we made our way back into the noisy main room, which was in darkness, except for the flashing lights around the stage and dance floor. I eventually spotted Gemma, who was seated at a table, snogging some guy, who seemed to be trying to locate her tonsils with his tongue, whilst trying to simultaneously free her boobs with one hand and venture up her dress with the other.
“You two should get a room, Gemma!” I shouted over the din of music and raised voices.
Gemma extricated herself from under the young man, tugging on the front of her dress, to ensure that her melons were still where they were supposed to be, at least for now.
“Come and sit down… see you’ve got yourself a fella then, Char,” Gemma slurred, clearly quite drunk. “What’s ‘is name then?”
Ben and I sat down at a couple of spare chairs.
“This is Ben. Ben, this is Gemma, my… roommate.”
“This is Andy,” slurred Gemma. “Let’s hope Andy is a bit ‘andy,” she said raucously, laughing hysterically at her own joke, squeezing the bulge in front of Andy’s trousers, before going back to playing tonsil hockey with him.
“See you in the morning, Gemma. Just remember the room arrangements!” I shouted, to make myself heard over the noise.
With that, Ben and I headed back to the dance floor, for him to glide me around for the final, slow number of the night, before making our way to Room 618.
~~~~~~
I squinted as a ray of sunshine stabbed through a chink in the curtains, hitting me in the eyes like a laser beam. Groggily, I turned to look at my watch on the bedside cabinet. ‘Five to nine,’ registered in my brain. ‘Thank goodness it’s Sunday.’ I was contemplating rolling over and going back to sleep, then remembered that breakfast was only served till 10am, so I reluctantly dragged myself into a sitting position.
Glancing over at the other bed, I saw Gemma’s prone form, still peacefully sleeping. Most of the other attendees had gone back to their homes and families on Saturday afternoon, to spend the remainder of the weekend with them, but as we were heading out on the road first thing on Monday, we’d booked an additional couple of nights.
I reached over the gap to the other bed and gently shook Gemma. “Wakey, wakey,” I called softly. “We should go down to breakfast.”
Gemma opened one eye. “Wassa time?” she mumbled sleepily.
“Nearly nine. And I’m hungry.”
Gemma stretched, her arms raised above her head, fingers locked. The quilt slid down a little and those bloody tits made another appearance. “OK, I’m awake. Make us a coffee, while I nip to the loo?” With that, she slid out from under the quilt and padded, completely naked, to the bathroom.
I busied myself with making us two strong coffees and handed one to Gemma when she emerged from the bathroom. Glancing down at Gemma’s chest, I couldn’t help but notice a number of love bites on her breasts, blackening and tinged with yellow. I giggled and pointed. “I guess Andy was still hungry then?”
Gemma looked down at the evidence from Friday night, then hoisted one of her big tits up, to examine it more closely. “Yep, he certainly had an appetite… maybe I’ll tell you about it later.”
During Saturday afternoon and evening, neither of us had mentioned the previous night, as was the custom. Besides, Gemma had a colossal hangover and didn’t feel very talkative. Following a meal Saturday night, we’d decided to have a reasonably early night and recover from the excesses.
After having breakfast and more coffee, we were both feeling much more human. “I’ve an idea,” said Gemma. “I know we’ve got some work to do later, but why don’t we go into Birmingham for a few hours, have a stroll round the shops and see the sights? It looks like it will be a nice day.” I thought that sounded a lovely idea and happily agreed.
A while later, we were strolling past Gas Street Basin, where we saw a number of brightly painted boats moored up, curls of smoke rising from their black chimneys. Gemma opened her backpack and carefully extracted an Olympus camera. “Wow, what have you got there?” I asked.
“It’s the latest digital model,” explained Gemma. “I borrowed it from the equipment store. I told them I wanted to try to encourage customers to have adverts with photos. These cameras cost a small fortune, but it’s amazing… watch!” With that, she switched the camera on, then framed a shot of the boats in the basin. The shutter clicked, and instantly, the image of the photo appeared on the little screen. “No film, you see… you can take all the pictures you like, and they get stored in a memory.”