Submission With a Stranger (A Curvy Girl Erotic Adventure)

by Lucy St. Vincent

  “Did you take off your underwear?” he asked me. He set down his drink, the ice cubes chinking together, and put one hand under the table. The smell of meaty steaks, broiled and rare, was filling the room. The aroma was incredibly sensual.

  I smiled slightly, pulled them out of my purse, and nestled them in his hand. He smiled broadly. “Oh, Angela,” he said, putting them to his face and inhaling. “You are a wonder.”

  I was enjoying the power I had over him. I guided his hand to the inside of my thighs. As he touched my labial lips, I took a demure sip of my drink and then another more abundant one. Inhibitions, I decided, were to play no part in tonight.

  His hand, cool from handling the drink, interacted like electricity with my warmth. I thrilled with the sensation and I saw his firm jaw tighten and his eyes glaze slightly.

  “Spread your legs just a little more, would you Angela?” he said as if it were the most routine request in the world. “That’s right. Oh, you feel so good.”

  His hand was swirling around the outer periphery of my vulva but not going any deeper. He was teasing.

  I was feeling almost dizzy with excitement when he removed his hand and inserted his index finger into his mouth. As fast as his hand had left, it was back again. With no warning, he plunged his index finger into my pussy. I leaned up hard against the seat, pressing my bottom against the velvet. He did it once more and then stopped.

  “Please don’t stop,” I whispered hoarsely. “Do that again.”

  “All in good time, my dear,” he replied. He removed his hand from under the table and took a deep draught of his gin and tonic. I heard the ice clink against his teeth. And then it was in his hand and then it was under my skirt.

  “Now, don’t be alarmed, Angela,” he said, as he deftly inserted the ice cube into the warmth of my snatch. It was like being plunged into an icy pool after coming out of a hot sauna. The effect was breathtaking, literally.

  “Now I want you to squeeze your legs together and don’t move,” he instructed. “Just let yourself feel the sensation.”

  “The waiter’s coming,” he added. “Don’t give our little secret away.”

  My calves were so tense I felt as though something might tear. My thighs were frantically pressed and rubbing together. My buttocks were clenched.

  “Your fruit and cashews,” the waiter said, setting them down on the table. But instead of allowing him to leave, Michael began to engage him in conversation.

  “May I ask you about some of the sights around Vancouver? What’s worth seeing?”

  I pressed my thighs together even more frantically. What was Michael doing? I felt sure I was going to come any second.

  “Well, there’s Grouse Mountain. You can ride the gondola to the top at night and look at the lights of the city. It’s quite magnificent.”

  “Yes, I’m sure it is,” Michael said with intense interest. “Tell me more.” At the same time, he started to gently tickle the outside of my labium, gently fingering the two sets of lips, while my legs were still pressed tightly together.

  I was throbbing. My face was growing flushed and I was trying very hard to gaze on the waiter with interest and not appear to be on the verge of orgasm. It was nearly impossible. I realized I was holding my breath.

  The waiter droned on while I concentrated all of my energy on not thinking about the tremendous rumbling inside me that was threatening to erupt. It was a tremendous turn on to be silently enduring a man who was pleasuring me while another man looked on.

  He continued teasing me below the tablecloth with such delicate ferocity I felt I was about to rupture. I imagined a diver exploding out of the water, coming up from the depths, and wondered if it was like this. The intensity was unimaginable.

  For a time, I heard nothing of the exchange between the two men. I was concentrating all of my energies upon not coming, not shrieking, not panting and not fainting. It was the hardest, most exhilarating thing I had ever done. I sat there, every muscle and nerve in my body tensed and on fire while smiling absently at the waiter and wishing with every ounce of me that he would just go away.

  When he finally left, I let out small yelps that took all my effort to keep from turning into screams. The ice cube, now nearly melted, slid out of me and into Michael’s waiting hand. He put it in his mouth and sucked.

  “Oh,” he sighed. “That’s so good. I can’t imagine anything better.”

  “You’re a bastard,” I said, laughing weakly after I had recovered a little bit. “You nearly sent me into cardiac arrest.” I was still panting so hard I could hardly speak.

  “But it was unimaginably sweet, wasn’t it? You can’t deny that.”

  “I wouldn’t call it sweet, Michael, but it was incredibly hot. I’m not sure how I’m ever going to be able to top this experience,” I said, slowly coming down from my mountain high, and helping myself to some of the cashews.

  We sat and talked together for a few moments about superficial things as though nothing had happened. I was perspiring furiously and still having small orgasms even though his hand had left me. I felt sure if I were touched again I would have a shuddering orgasm within seconds. I knew I was by no means finished.

  “Angela,” Michael suggested, brushing a stray, damp curl from my cheek, “why don’t you go freshen up and come back? But you have to promise me that you’re not going to masturbate in the bathroom. I want you to save all the pleasure for me. Promise me.”

  “I promise,” I said. I was his willing sex slave. This was the most delicious experience of my life. I wanted to come again and again. In the bathroom it would have taken me all of three seconds of fingering to come again, but I resisted. It was too exciting. I wanted to save it all for him. I wanted this to go on for hours, days, years.

  I looked in the mirror while washing my face and startled in surprise. Was this truly me? I was luminescent. I was beautiful. A goddess. I looked at my breasts so heavy and warm and ripe. I was tempted to pluck one of my nipples, but I resisted. There were women all over: thin women, exquisitely dressed women, women with three hundred dollar coiffures, women with legs to die for.

  In that moment, however, everything changed. I knew I was the most beautiful woman in the room. There was no doubt about it. I was also the most desired. I was the one. It was me and me and me again. My sexuality and my beauty were all that mattered. All the other women in the world were incidental.

  I touched my reddened cheeks and smiled. I undid another button and strode out of the restroom, the most confident I have ever been.

  I slid back into the cushioned booth next to Michael, lightly brushing his penis. It was thrusting forward in his dark tailored trousers. He was excited. Still.

  He removed my hand. “No, this night is yours, my dear. This is all for you. Let me take care of you, okay? Let me indulge your fantasies. Mine are not important tonight.”

  The perfect scenario: a man was going to pleasure me to new plateaus and at the same time make me feel no obligation to jerk him off or have sex with him. This was a new experience indeed. It was all for me. I was the queen. It was only my longings that mattered. Yes, it was perfect.

  “Okay,” I agreed. “I am the queen.”

  He laughed. “Yes, you are a queen, aren’t you? You’re much more than a princess. You are a powerful, sexual woman. I am at your service, your highness.”

  “No, I am at yours,” I said and laughed. “Keep surprising me. I want to be surprised.”

  “Your wish is my command,” he replied. He had been eating cashews and his salty, wet, warm mouth kissed mine, and his tongue moved like his hands had, teasing and prodding. It prodded the inner recesses of my mouth, darting and licking. Then he lightly bit my outer lip, drawing blood.

  At my gasp, he stopped and smiled, lightly sucking the blood away. Then his tongue started to gently caress the inside of my lips. I loved it, but couldn’t help wishing his tongue were exploring inside my other lips. Just the kissing was bringing me close to the brink.
My buttocks were tense in my seat. I was hot in an entirely new way. This was so public. Was anybody watching us?

  “Look around,” he said. “You’re making the room hot. Everybody wants you. I want you most of all. Keep kissing me.”

  He took a grape from the fruit platter and put it in his mouth. He passed it to my mouth and swirled it around with his tongue. While doing this, he roughly untucked my blouse from my skirt, sliding his hand up to my cleavage. Suddenly my nipple was in his agile finger and he was twisting and plucking and rubbing. I was keenly aware of the others in the room, particularly the men. It was intoxicating not knowing whether I was being watched or not, though I almost certainly was.

  “Your nipples,” he gasped as he stopped kissing me. “They’re so erect. And your breasts: they’re so voluptuous. Show them to me.”

  “But…” I began to say. I looked around. I imagined eyes were on us, furtive and darting; the man-heavy room was pretending not to notice, but I was acutely aware of them.

  “Take them out of your brassiere and let me look. Now.” He said this in a commanding voice.

  I haltingly obeyed him. I slipped my palm under the bottom of each breast and gently removed them from their lacy cups, sensuously spilling them over the under wire for all the darkened bar to see. The nipples were erect, standing at attention.

  “Oh my God,” Michael said. It was so truly incredible that he was so turned on by me. I felt like the woman in the Klimt painting. I was being raised to erotic heights that I had no idea existed, and bringing a man to the same.

  “I must suck your nipples; I have to or I’m going to die. You are ravishing, Angela.”

  “Do it then,” I said raspingly. The room was spinning. It was as though I had stepped out of my body and was watching the whole scene from above.

  Michael’s face was red and his eyes were glazed. I could tell that even though I had not touched him, save for the fleeting brush of his penis, he was ready to come at the slightest touch.

  “We can’t here,” he said. “You have to put your breasts away or we’re going to be arrested.” He laughed suddenly and snapped back to reality. “You are my slave, aren’t you, Angela?”

  “It’s ironic, isn’t it?” I agreed, slipping my luscious breasts back into captivity. “I am the queen and you are my servant yet I am a slave to you.”

  “That seems rather perfect all around then, doesn’t it?”

  “It does, indeed,” I agreed.

  As we talked, we were both vibrating with pleasure and intensity, barely able to contain ourselves. The steaminess emanating from our table was palpable.

  “I’m going to pay. Then we’ll find some place to go.”

  “Shall we get a room?” I asked. We were after all in the Hotel Vancouver.

  “I think not,” he answered. “We’ll get a taxi and drive around. The waiter made some good suggestions earlier. Would you like that?”

  It was a thrilling thought, provided he was thinking about doing more than some late night sightseeing.

  “Where will we go?” I asked.

  “It doesn’t matter. We’ll just drive. We’ll make the cab driver absolutely hot with desire. Let’s, shall we?”

  I nodded my agreement. It was hard to fathom it getting better than it already was, but it seemed the night wasn’t over yet.

  “Angela, I want to prolong your pleasure for as long as possible, which means I’m going to have to go take care of my own,” Michael said. “My cock is so hard I don’t know if I’ll even be able to make it to the bathroom.”

  “Do what you need to do,” I answered. “I can help you out if you want.”

  “No, not this time. Maybe later, Angela. You know who I’m going to be thinking about while I’m jacking off, though, don’t you?”

  “Marilyn Monroe?” I joked.

  “Not far off, delicious Angela. But you’ve got her beat by a city mile.”

  Leaving me with that enormous compliment, Michael left to take care of business and pay the bill. I sat demurely at the table, finishing off my gin and tonic and nibbling on the fruit. I loved the thought of Michael furtively satisfying himself in the bathroom stall while thinking about me. I found myself strangely bold sitting on my own, meeting the head-on the glances of the men at the surrounding tables; I found myself smiling sexily like I was Marilyn Monroe, and I had all my best moves saved for only one gentleman.

  “Shall we?” Michael interrupted my flirting with surprising speed. He helped me slip on my coat, and we found ourselves on the wet Vancouver streets. A taxi pulled up almost immediately and we found ourselves in an already warm, steamy cab.

  “Even better than the bus this afternoon. A hermitage and a harem,” I said sliding into the backseat as he held open the door for me.

  “Where to?” the cab driver asked.

  “Horseshoe Bay Ferry Terminal,” I said, picking the farthest destination I could think of. I was assuming my paramour had money.

  “I think you’ve already missed the last ferry of the night,” he said.

  “Not to worry,” Michael replied. He had already begun twisting at my coat buttons, honing in on the warmth of my cleavage. Was it possible he was turned on again after just having satisfied his desires?

  The cabdriver started driving down Georgia Street. He had his radio on a light rock station and though he cast the occasional glance in his rear view window, he didn’t seem overly taken aback.

  “Take off your blouse, Angela,” Michael whispered.

  I looked at the front with concern, but the authority in his voice and my wet pussy won out. I tremblingly undid my buttons, watching the slight heaving of my breasts as they slipped away from the silk. He greedily reached out to touch them, but I stopped him. The fantasy was starting to distill into my own world now. I slipped each breast out of its lace cup and began to finger my own nipples. I caressed and fondled, all the while watching Michael and occasionally the taxi driver.

  I continued for a minute or so and then said, “I want your tongue on my nipples.”

  Michael slid over and buried his head in my voluptuousness. He sighed deeply in the fragrant warmth. His tongue sought out my nipples and he began lashing and tickling and perambulating their perimeter ever so gently.

  Then he’d nip the taut long ends with his teeth. I was in ecstasy. I was almost ready to orgasm even though he hadn’t been near my pussy since the hotel. I leaned back on the black vinyl seat, luxuriating in the pleasure of his touch, ignoring the discomfort of the fabric. He was leaning heavily over top of me, moaning and licking, fondling and grabbing.

  I was responding in kind, reaching down to undo his belt and open his fly. I fumbled with the button and he helped me, pulling his shirt out of his pants at the same time. I reached for the buttons on his shirt, wanting to see his chest.

  “It seems I’m letting you take too much control here,” he whispered. “I want you to lie down and put your hands behind your head,” he said with a sudden edge. His eyes were taking on that rough glint that I was starting to recognize.

  He folded his coat into a pillow and then spread mine out like a picnic tablecloth. He pushed me, somewhat roughly, onto its soft inside. After positioning himself, he stretched my legs over the top his lap, my heels reaching the far door. I enlaced my fingers behind my neck and waited. He quietly withdrew, just watching me. I could see the rapid pulse beat in his neck and the way he was holding himself back. This was a man of discipline, I realized.

  Without warning, he reached behind me and unzipped my skirt, sliding it roughly down my body as he mumbled gruffly, “I’ve been waiting all evening for this view.”

  I heaved in both excitement and embarrassment as I lay before him exposed, with my legs open wide and only a garter belt, stockings and my heels, which had somehow managed to stay on throughout our foreplay.

  “Oh, my God,” he said, stare at me mercilessly: all of me. My face. My breasts. My tummy. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met. I want t
o eat you.”

  While he gazed on my nakedness, he was completing the unbuttoning of his shirt, regrettably hidden by a white undershirt. The shirt was tight, though, and showed off his muscular, lean torso. I, too, looked at him in unabashed pleasure. It was my turn to enjoy the sights.

  I thought I heard the cabdriver moan in the front seat. I didn’t care one way or the other. Actually I did. It was enthralling that he was there, listening, straining, being turned on. I loved it.

  “Keep your hands behind you,” he warned. “This is your night, my queen. You just rest. If I have to, I will tie you up.” With that warning, he sunk his head into my mound, bringing his hands up to my breasts again.

  “Oh, your smell, your ripeness, your softness. I have no words,” he moaned, and I felt his tongue between my legs, licking their moistness and then biting the skin. Then it was in my pussy’s mouth, licking, popping in and out like a snake’s tongue. I moaned loudly and tensed my entire body.

  He withdrew his tongue and said, “Any noise and I shall stop, Angela. You must remain perfectly quiet.”

  The car was incredibly hot and steamy by now. The cab driver was breathing heavily. He had switched from the light rock to a jazz station.

  I tried to stop from gasping. I’m usually a noisy girl during sex. I need to get it all out. I bit my lip and waited.

  He sank down again. This time he parted my thighs with his hands and began to slowly massage them. It was torture. Exquisite torture. Next he took my labium and gently parted them, caressing the outer, then the inner lips with his index fingers. He did this for what seemed like an eternity and I could only think only of how I wanted it to go on forever yet I needed it to end, too. I was reaching the top.

  He came up to catch his breath after a moment, removing his hands and mouth from my body just when I felt as though I would come.

  “I just need to gaze on you for a moment or two and catch my breath,” he said, smiling. “We don’t want you to get too heated up just yet.”

  I just had to laugh. There was more to come? If this wasn’t heat, I didn’t know what was.