Birthday Vice: A Night Out

The rain hammered against the windows of the restaurant, a relentless percussion that mirrored the nervous energy thrumming beneath my skin. “The Velvet Serpent,” they called it, a place rumored to be a haven for those who dared to step outside the usual confines of age and expectation. Tonight, my guest and I, clad in outfits designed to ignite glances and whispers, were determined to dive headfirst into that intoxicating chaos. I wore a tailored charcoal suit, the lapels sharp and precise, a stark contrast to the flowing, 1960s patterned dress my companion, let’s call her Seraphina, had chosen. A black lace demi-bra peeked out from beneath the hem, a tantalizing hint of what lay beneath. Her pantyhose were a shade of crimson, clinging to her legs as she moved, and a chunky, silver necklace adorned her neck, a playful wink at our shared intentions.

The restaurant was a sensory overload – a smoky haze of expensive perfume, the clinking of crystal glasses, and the murmur of hushed conversations punctuated by bursts of laughter. We secured a corner booth, overlooking the opulent dining room, and ordered a bottle of champagne, its bubbles fizzing like the anticipation that hung thick in the air. As we sipped, we exchanged playful glances, a silent acknowledgment of the evening’s trajectory.

“You look stunning,” I murmured, offering a genuine compliment that felt surprisingly easy to deliver. Seraphina, ever self-aware, returned the sentiment with a mischievous smile. “And you, darling, are even more captivating in a suit.”

As the meal progressed, the conversation flowed effortlessly, laced with innuendo and suggestive glances. The shared knowledge of what lay ahead, the unspoken desire hanging heavy between us, intensified the atmosphere. The restaurant’s ambiance seemed to amplify our feelings, making every touch, every brush of clothing, a deliberate act of seduction.

Back at our apartment, the urgency of the night was palpable. We bypassed the usual rituals – no cleaning, no checking the news, no lingering over the basketball game. We moved with a singular purpose, ascending the stairs to our bedroom with a shared, unspoken excitement.

The bedroom was bathed in the cool, blue glow of the moonlight. As I settled onto the edge of the bed, Seraphina began her transformation. She started stripping, but not for me. This was a performance, a private celebration of her own sensuality. She lifted the hem of her dress, revealing the dark sheen of her pantyhose, her hand caressing her taut stomach before reaching back to cup her ass, a slow, deliberate movement that sent shivers down my spine.

As she moved, she caught her reflection in the full-length mirror on the side wall, a slow, seductive sway accompanying her actions. Her fingers danced up and down her legs, teasing the sensitive skin beneath her pantyhose, each touch sending a jolt of pleasure through her body. She grabbed the dress by the hem, tossing it in a pile at her feet, shaking out her hair with a playful grin directed at her reflection. Now, her attention shifted to her breasts, accentuated by the black lace demi-bra that clung to her chest. She ran her hands over the fabric, tracing the edge where it met her skin, pushing each breast upwards and out, admiring the curve of her form. She leaned forward, studying her reflection, a subtle expression of satisfaction on her face.

“Pull down your pantyhose,” I commanded, breaking the spell. “Just down to your thighs.” Seraphina paused, a flicker of surprise in her eyes, momentarily forgetting my presence. She complied, revealing the black silk panties beneath, a stark contrast to the dark fabric of her dress. She stood tall, her hands by her sides, her body draped in a collection of provocative underwear, a display of confidence and self-assuredness.

Her gaze met mine, and a silent acknowledgment passed between us. She wore her confidence like armor, but beneath it, I sensed a vulnerability, a desire to be seen, to be desired. A quick reach around her back, and the bra partially unclasped, falling partway down her torso, a provocative detail that I found exquisitely sexy.

With a deliberate slowness, she pushed her bare breasts together, her eyes tracing the pink, glistening nipples at the tip of each pale, soft, perky breast. She cupped each tit in her hand, rolling the nipple between her thumb and forefinger, teasing her own body with a playful intensity. The rhythmic motion, the tactile sensation, intensified her arousal. Her breath grew heavy, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she lost herself in the moment.

“Now turn away from the mirror. Face the far wall,” I instructed, my voice low and deliberate. “Spread your legs. Farther. Good girl.” Seraphina obeyed, her movements fluid and graceful. “Pull those panties down and bend all the way over. Grab your ankles.”

With a grunt of effort, she hooked the elastic waistband with her thumbs and simultaneously pulled her thighs down while bending fully at the waist, her legs spread wide, her pussy prominent in the dim light. Her auburn bush, partially revealed by the pulled-down pantyhose, looked moist and inviting.

She stood before me, her body exposed, a stark silhouette against the far wall. Her pussy, glistening and eager, was a clear invitation. A hint of nervousness flickered in her eyes, but she held her ground, her gaze unwavering.

“Look at yourself,” I said, my voice laced with admiration. “See how sexy you are.” Her pussy pulsed slightly, anticipating the touch that was about to come. She felt the heat building within her, the anticipation reaching fever pitch.

As I rose from the bed, I grabbed my suit jacket from the closet, hanging it neatly on the door. Seraphina remained in her position, her body trembling slightly with the intensity of her arousal. I returned to my place at the edge of the bed, taking in her beauty, her confidence, her raw desire.

“Now come suck my cock,” I commanded, my voice a low rumble in her ear. Seraphina moved toward me, her legs constrained by the clinging pantyhose, each step a deliberate act of submission. Her pale skin, now exposed, was a stark contrast to the dark fabric of her attire. She knelt before me, her body arched slightly, her gaze locked on mine.

She placed her hands on my thighs, her fingers tracing the contours of my muscles, a silent acknowledgment of her desire. She reached for my belt buckle, steadying herself with a firm grip, before undoing the clasp with a soft clink. The zipper parted, revealing the smooth expanse of my cock, its head already throbbing with anticipation.

Seraphina’s hand gently caressed the outline of my cock through the fabric, exploring its every curve and contour. She then reached deeper, her fingers digging into my boxers, her touch both tender and demanding. She began to lick my shaft, her tongue tracing the sensitive skin, each stroke sending shivers through her body. Her other hand moved to her pussy, rubbing her clit with fervent intensity, mirroring the rhythm of my thrusts.

As I continued to mount her, she increased her pace, her legs trembling with pleasure. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her body writhing with excitement. The air hung thick with the scent of arousal, a testament to the primal connection between us. Her pussy lips were wide open, welcoming my descent.

With each thrust, she moaned, a primal sound of pure pleasure. Her grip on my thighs tightened, her body arching further as she fought to maintain her balance. Her eyes closed, lost in the ecstasy of the moment. The world narrowed down to the feel of my cock against her flesh, the taste of her moans, the heat of her body.

Reaching the peak of her arousal, she released me from her mouth, licking the leftover cum from my shaft before collapsing on the floor in a breathless heap. I remained standing, my heart pounding in my chest, my body aching with pleasure. A wave of satisfaction washed over me, a testament to the power of desire and the exquisite joy of connection. As she lay there, panting and exhausted, I knew this was just the beginning of our shared exploration of pleasure and passion.

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