Christine's Wet Evening
The rain had been falling all day over the misty Brighton sea front. The roads and pavements were slick and shiny with a sheen of running water. The gulls sat hunched and miserable on the railings which topped the sea wall.
Christine was late. Her boss had insisted that she work an extra half hour in the takeaway and coffee shop. They had been busy all day. In the grey wet light of the evening the customers were morose; reluctant to leave the warm cocoon of the cafe for the cold night air. They sat, cupping steaming mugs of lattes, and read the late edition papers or simply stared out through the streaming windows.
At 10.00 p.m. Christine decided enough was enough, and grabbing her bag and glossy yellow Mac, she gave her boss Ken a defiant glance and headed out into the wet night air. Her parents, she knew, would be worried by now, so although she would never normally do so, she turned right into Angel Street intending to use the short cut through Lutts Alley. Locally known as Sluts Alley, for reasons that Christine tried to blot from her mind as she threaded her way through the puddles, the Alley route would cut 10 minutes off her walk home.
Reaching the mouth of the dim slot between high walls, Christine paused and peered down it. She nervously brushed a lock of her wet black hair back from her face, and pulled the thin Mac tighter around her well formed curves. The high walls of the street crowded in, and to her alarm Christine saw that several of the ancient street lamps had been vandalised. The light was patchy and flickered weirdly in the rain. But she was late, and catching up her courage Christine hurriedly started out down the slippery flagstones, the click clack of her heels sounding very loud against the soft fall of the drizzle.
Some 30 yards in she paused to adjust a strap on her shoe, and bending, she felt her short waitresse's skirt ride up under the thin plastic. Water trickled down into her blouse soaking the thin gauzy material of her half-cup bra. As Christine straightened she was startled to see a figure leaning against the rough brick wall of the alley, observing her.
She quickly stood up, tottering a little on the high heels of the waitress outfit.
"Who's there," she gasped in a half whisper, peering into the shadows.
At first there was no sound or movement, and it crossed Christine's mind that this might be a helpless drunk, or one of the stoned out druggies that frequented the darker parts of Brighton. In quick succession the thoughts flitted across her mind that she could slip off her heels, gather up her long Mac, and run quite fast in her short skirt and stockings. She had just started to stoop to reach for her left heel, when there was a rush of movement, a waft of what might have been Rive Gauche, and a tall girl was standing over her, the gold bangles on her slim arm jangling as she reached to steady a shocked Christine.
"Careful there sweetie," came a husky sensual voice, "you might have slipped".
The long fingers gripped Christine's upper arm firmly and absently she noted nails painted a coppery flame colour; or was it the weird light.
"I'm ok", she muttered straightening blouse and skirt as the Mac parted. Nonetheless, her heart still thumped, and adrenalin pumped to places it had no right to be. For this tall strong girl, did not release her arm, and far from feeling threatened, Christine found that here in the dark closed in atmosphere she felt strangely safe and protected. She peered up cautiously at the woman's face.
"Don't I know you?" asked Christine.
"Sure sweetie, we see each other nearly every day; does that count?"
"Oh my god yes of course," Christine brushed back a lock of wet hair from her eyes and stared; "you're the girl from the delicatessen across the street."
"Sure am," the woman grinned, "and you're the chick that wipes coffee tables and ogles me through the window when you think I'm not looking." She chuckled with a deep throaty laugh, almost a panther's purr.
Christine flushed, and felt her skin burning under the cold film of rain which had now soaked her completely. She mumbled something, and turned away slightly. It was true. Something in the girl's poise and muscle tone had attracted Christine even at a distance and through two glass shop fronts. The way she moved spoke of strength and confidence, and yet at the same time she seemed intensely feminine - as if the two sexes had been reconciled in one person.
The woman stepped in closer. "So you don't deny it?" she whispered, "you do ogle me?" her auburn hair danced with water, and now, so close, her eyes were like blue chips of diamond even in the bad light.
Christine reflexively tried to move away, but the fingers on her arm tightened pulling her in closer to the slim body which she now saw was clad in a simple pencil skirt and low cut blouse of a silky material which shimmered with water droplets but did not absorb them.
Then suddenly warm lips were on Christine's cheek, and when she resisted she was held - and encircling arm and fingers up her back and twisted into the damp hair at the nape of her neck guided Christine's own parted lips to those of the girl from the delicatessen.
Christine struggled. "No, no," she panted, half moaning as she was pushed back roughly against the wet brick of the alley walls. "No," she gasped again as the woman sought to part her lips for a deeper kiss. "Not this, not right, oh nooo, not ME," she managed to get out as the woman paused for breath from containing Christine's struggles.
But even as she moaned in the woman's firm hold, Christine's mind was in turmoil. She knew her own sexuality, knew that she would rarely, if ever, respond to another woman sexually. Yet in the embrace of this girl she could feel her own excitement. The cold rain warmed to the heat of her arousal, running down her cleavage, the peaks of her erect brown nipples pushing against the thin soaked fabric of her waitress blouse. She knew full well that if the woman stood back and saw her fully, that arousal would be obvious. Her rich brown aureoles would be clearly visible through the wet material and her flimsy bra, and her thighs moved rhythmically as she felt rivulets of rain run under her tiny skirt, into her panties to merge with a growing heat and openness between her thighs.
What was happening to her?
Christine pressed herself back onto the rough wet brickwork and watched as the woman bent her head again to kiss her. This time though she stopped just far enough away that each woman could clearly focus on the eyes of the other.
Then looking intently at Christine so that she almost felt that the blue eyes would mesmerise her, the girl reached down and firmly took Christine's wrist, guiding her hand lower.
"NO! Not that!," Christine almost yelled, as her hand was forced lower, dipping below the short hem of the girl's skirt. The only effect on the other was a slight hardening of the blue eyes, a determination and a stronger pressure on Christine's wrist as she guided her hand up under the skirt to the soft inner thigh, and the gauzy touch of lacy panties. Christine squirmed, but found herself unable to break from gazing into those blue blue eyes, as she was made to cup the girl's lace covered mound. As she did so, a glaze of lust seemed to spread over the woman, Christine could feel the heat and power suddenly intensify. Her palm was cupped over the other's warm sex, her mound surprisingly full in the tight lace, surprisingly large with pussy lips that seemed to throb and move!
She knew from the blue eyes even before her fingers told her what her senses might have known all the time.
An indefinable maleness seemed to flow from the those eyes, and in the same instant Christine knew that her fingers were cupping, not the hot wet mound of another woman, but the compact sex parts of a male!
She knew also that he/she was small, not yet aroused, the balls withdrawn into his body in the cold rain which ran under his skirt and into the panties. Christine felt a slamming surge of lust, lunge through her own body, and with one last gaze into the blue eyes she tilted her head, and lifted herself to his lips.
The kiss was intense, long and hard. Thrusting her back on the brickwork he pressed down ravishing her tongue and lips with his own soft lipsticked mouth. Christine instinctively shifted her stance to allow her hand to dip into the lace of his panties, taking the tip of his small cock and mirroring the movements of the kiss on his penis. Under her fingers it grew fast and hard, pushing against the lace and her palm, becoming like a thin hot lance, slim but ever so firm, like the tongue now thrusting into her mouth.
He lifted her then, roughly throwing her back against the wall again, rucking the short black skirt to expose the shred of her thong and the stocking tops. The yellow Mac fell open wide and her blouse, a wet rag of water, covered nothing. Her brown nipples clearly lustful and hot barely contained as her full breasts strained to escape. Rain cascaded in rivulets down Christine's face and bare skin as his hands roved over her hair and then pushed the blouse off each shoulder, stretching the buttons to breaking. Suddenly his hand was in her panties, the thong pulled aside, her slit open and exposed, legs lifted in his embrace, half lifted half pinned against the wall. Christine spread her arms wide palms flat on the brickwork, her head thrashing from side to side in the expectation of the ecstasy to come, bracing herself on the cold surface of the wall, as he rucked up his own skirt. She thought she heard the soft tearing of lace, and then ahhhh, he buried his hot hard slim cock in one single long thrust deep in her wet sex.
Both bodies seemed to melt in the rain and the lust in a single long moan. Christine knew she was penetrated, knew her pussy was fucked, and though she did not feel the thickness or full sensation some men had given her, the arousal of his hard pubis pounding against her clit, brought her rapidly to the edge. Holding her there, thrusting and gyrating his hips he leaned back a little to gaze at her hot full tits, visible under the rain soaked blouse. He smiled lustfully, flicking open his own blouse, where a tiny lacy bra cupped delicate, almost girl-like breasts with tiny aroused nipples. Then taking her shirt buttons, with one swift movement he exposed Christine's gorgeous womanhood. The full breasts and beautiful brown aureoles shining with rain, pushed up by the half cup, almost screamed their lustful sexuality. He bent and kissed them, nuzzling as his cock pressed deeper, curving inside her to press and massage that spot that she so loved deep inside her pussy.
And then again he was close, two pair of tits meeting, nipples grazing, her full womanly ones and his boy/girl nipples kissing each other in time to the kiss of cock and cunt.
Suddenly he arched moaning, and Christine responded, her hips jutting towards him head back against the bricks, and together fast, hard almost like two desperate animals the orgasm overwhelmed them, waves and waves of it, in one long roiling passionate unbroken surge of power. Just like the sea thought Christine dazedly as the pleasure overwhelmed her, as she felt the moisture flow out of her to meet his incoming flood. Just like the river and the sea.
When she stopped shaking and found her feet once more firmly on the cold alley flagstones, she looked down to see and feel his soft hair between her slick wet thighs. She almost screamed again with pleasure as the heat of a tongue circled her pubis, and feather kisses soothed her blazing pussy lips. And then he was up again, tracing a long line over her mound, and up over each nipple, to her mouth, where, oh god, he kissed her strongly, her musky wetness and his cum mingling in his mouth, and gifted to her in a passionate French kiss which seemed to close down time and taste like heaven.
"Oh God," he breathed hoarsely close to her ear, "I want you again."
She smiled in the dark, squirming against him wetly and provocatively. Reaching under his skirt to find the panties shredded as his cock, again like an iron rod, thrust through a lacy hole.
"Oh fuck, yesss," Christine gasped.
This time he wasted no energy. He simply lifted her, turned her and placed her so that her palms were flat on the wall, forehead pressing the rough brick, water streaming over her fingers and hair.
"Arch!" he commanded.
And Christine obediently arched her back so that her curvy bottom jutted out provocatively in the heels. Once again the rain streamed down her body, and he came behind her close, reaching round so his palms firmly cupped and caressed her pendulous tits, squeezing the full nipples between the web of his fingers.
Christine moaned, pushing her bottom out to press the lace of his panties against her own tiny thong. Suddenly she felt his finger hook into the string and pull it aside. She imagined the pout of her sex and the hot tight circle of her bum hole exposed from behind to his lustful gaze.
And then it happened. As she felt the rain begin to moisten and run down her hot rear crack, she simultaneously felt the swollen tip of his member press her tight rosebud.
"Ohhhh," Christine gasped, "Ohh God, I'm n... not sure." For this time, slim as it was, his cock felt huge against the tight heat of her secret hole.
But he ignored her moans of semi protest. Taking her hips firmly, he positioned her, and slowly this time; ever so slowly, began to push himself into her.
Christine pressed herself onto the cool rain washed bricks and felt her body surge with heat and sex.
This was wild, this was wanton, slutty; this was ecstasy! She groaned deeply and felt herself wanted and taken, as millimetre by millimetre she was fucked where it was forbidden!
A heavy boot grated on wet stone. They froze. Christine's bottom dilated in fright gripping the tip of his cock, and he gasped softly, almost squirting into her with pleasure.
"Oi, what's going on here?" the sharp female voice of authority cut into the misty drizzle.
The inch of cock in Christine, vanished in an instant, and next moment two girls stood dishevelled and rain soaked in the alley as a WPC and her male colleague loomed out of the dusk, batons drawn.
"Nothing officer," Christine's new friend, was surprisingly cool and calm, "Just on our way home, trying to keep dry."
"Well you ain't doing such a good job of that," chuckled the WPC, coming up close and gazing at the two girls suspiciously.
"Yes well, my friend slipped on the flags."
Both police constables grinned knowingly, and stood aside to let the girls through.
"Best get home quickly ladies, the pubs close soon, and you know what that means!" was the parting shot, as they both headed out of the alley into well lit Heaven Street.
As they emerged Christine felt her arm firmly held. Before she knew it she was again in a tight embrace and a sensual long kiss. Heat rising she responded to the hot tongue still tangy with traces of warm cum and pussy, and she felt a curious tickling on her bare arm.
Suddenly she was released. She glanced down at her arm to see it streaked with red. Her eyes widened and she looked harder in sudden fright, and then in wonder as she made out hurriedly scrawled letters in bright scarlet lip gloss.
CLARE #077X895XXX
Looking up, Christine parted her lips to ask for more. But the street was empty apart from the soft hush hush of the falling drizzle in the cooling Brighton night.
Copyright: Clare Williams 2012