The place was always crowded on Friday nights, and, following his usual scanning of curvy female dancers and picking out one or two who might succumb to his well-worn chat-up line. He sat down at a table to give a deeper consideration to his selections. Cliff Mason had no real belief that he was one of the world's great lovers, but he was aware at the age of twenty-two that young women, and some not so young, found him attractive. He was also very aware of the advice both his parents had given to him before he'd turned sixteen. "Women should always be respected."
He had tried to follow that advice and did find that the dozen or so he had screwed had shown their appreciation, which added a touch of self-assurance to his approach. Young women fascinated him and if, when in pursuit of his usual goal any girl wanted to stop, he respected that, and though disappointed, and often frustrated he'd ease back.
Maybe that had earned him a safe reputation, or it could have been that most preferred the fairly conventional approach; the kissing and nibbling, the stroking of the breasts outside, then bare, and the final stage fingering along a wet passage to arousal before his fairly generous shaft could glide up into her.
So this night he sat and reviewed his choices. Basically, who was most likely to give out? The best review was to dance with each one, the big-titted brunette was too stiff, the little blonde in blue seemed too timid, and that left the first one he'd noticed, a fairly tall, willowy figure in a beige blouse which appeared to be under pressure. When he was closer he saw, under a flow of blonde hair, an attractive face, a wide mouth, and vivid exotic eyes.
They had danced, and the voluptuous manner in which she pressed against him sent eager signals to his brain and his crotch. By the time they had the second dance, her grinding against him promised much, and made up his mind. How could he know that he was on the verge of an experience that would alter all his earlier attitudes towards women? A total change from any of his prior conquests. In fact, he was left wondering who had been conquered.
They left before the dancing ended, and finding they were catching the same train, had time to exchange hot kisses, behind a platform pillar, where she had no objections to his squeezing a stirringly rounded breast. And just as the train arrived, Cliff was sure she had been trailing her hand down towards his hardened cock.
He wasn't sure whether he was kidding himself, but whenever her eyes looked at him they appeared to be full of desire and promise. Her name was Daisy and she was twenty-six, and when, sitting in the train carriage, she leaned into him and whispered, "Would you like to come to my place for..." her pause was deliberately seductive, "a coffee," another pause, with a sexy grin, "or something?"
Knowing there was much more than coffee on offer, Cliff accepted without deferment, and was amazed to find that they had lived within a mile of each other. Standing eagerly behind her as she unlocked the door of her downstairs apartment he was pretty sure that he was on to a good thing.
Inside, his eyes quickly took in a smart sofa and easy chair, a closet and two doors, one leading to a kitchen. But before he could register any more he found himself pressed back against the door as Daisy flung herself against him, her ravenous mouth wildly seeking his, her hands pushed under his shirt, and her nails raking over his skin, before diving down for his cock.
"What size is it?" she growled.
Totally overwhelmed by her ardour, Cliff responded, thrusting his tongue along and around hers. But before he could do anything else, she had stepped back, eyes aflame, breasts heaving, hand squeezing on his still enclosed cock. "Cliff, I like it rough. Rough and dirty. Don't be too gentle with me. Now, strip me."
Cliff was fully aware that he was on course for something that was new to him. Puzzled by the manner in which she'd made the last request, he reached out to unbutton her blouse.
She took a step away, "No! No! Rip it off. Hard."
Bewildered, Cliff clutched the collar of the blouse, as she nodded, and urged, "Yes, just yank it away."
Cliff did just that and was surprised at how easily the buttons popped and the blouse fell away. Her breasts blossomed out of a slight bra, which he easily discarded, revealing two globes that pointed their russet tips directly at him. The urge to bury his face between them was strong. But first, the skirt, which, because it was elasticated, dropped away without much ado, and there she was in only skimpy panties through which a hairy tuft was clear.
Daisy had begun heaving at his belt buckle, and as it came free, she unzipped him expertly, pushed her hands down over his buttocks and pushed pants and boxer shorts to the wooden floor. At the crucial moment of freedom, his rampant cock came springing free right into her face as she bent.
"Holy mother," she gasped, as she gazed at it, "that is some cucumber of a utensil. Must have a taster." And without further ado, she grasped his scrotum in her hand and wrapped her lips around his heaving cock, sliding her face right up to his belly.