Nice Boots: Fancy a Shag?

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The Goth scene is one typically frequented by thin, angst ridden young people with attitudes to match their black outfits and graveyard themed accessories. Most of them grow out of it by their mid twenties, or so I’m told. I’m obviously not typical, as I’m still sitting here in the Goth club in my mid-thirties, I don’t wear all black, and I’m certainly not stick thin. Voluptuous would be the kind word for my generous proportions, though I’ve still got a good waistline.

Other women my age are home with their families or out man-hunting in the brightly lit bars armed with a cocktail, but I’m here, letting the inky shadows and the swirling, eclectic music of the club hide me from the swaying mass of dancers. The deep pulsing heartbeat of the music has an erotic quality to it, and the wine that I drink here helps keep my calculated melancholy at just the right level.

I watch people from my place in the shadows. I watch them come in alone and leave in pairs, or perhaps come in together, hand in hand, and by the end of the night some petty argument or a drink too many has sent them home alone. I’ve become a voyeur in the mildest sense, spying on the tensions between the dancers. I look at their young bodies, mostly thin girls clad in skin tight layers of lace and PVC, though these days a fair few larger girls who think that layers of floaty fabrics look alluring. The men are mostly sickly looking boys who clearly spend too much time in front of the computer, and who think that skintight jeans and long black dyed hair makes them look interesting.

Apart from their youth, they aren’t.

I’m not the only older Goth here that sits in the shadows. Over in the other corner is a tall man, a little older than me, and also usually alone. He too is atypical, though I daresay he is what many of these pale young men aspire to be. Very tall, slightly built, but with the underlying musculature that ensures that he looks graceful, yet still masculine. His long hair is a natural dark-dark brown, and he has pale skin, plus long, clever fingers. He too drinks wine, and despite the shadows he usually has a book with him. We talk sometimes, meeting at the bar early in the evening as we buy our drinks, we exchange pleasantries and gently mock the younger people, who in turn tell us we are old, or creepy, or occasionally cool, depending upon their mood at the time.

We are part of the furniture here to these young people, briefly included in conversation then drifted away from as a favourite song is played, never quite in fashion, but we help set the scene for them.

He wears linen shirts, affecting a poetic style, and I love to watch for glimpses of his chest through the open front. I watch too, for the outline of his body through the closely fitted black trousers. For a slightly built man who appears to read a lot, he has a great ass and legs that seem endless. I wonder if he realises just how the cut of the trousers accentuates the bulge of his cock, or if it’s calculated. I lust after him quietly from my corner, yet this unrequited anticipation is so much a part of me that I never get round to approaching him as the evening wears on.

Tonight, that’s going to change one way or another. He told me a few days ago, as we stood at the bar, that he’s leaving town for a while, maybe for good. That shook me. I realised just how badly I’d wanted this man. I look at the lovers on the dance floor kissing, and I imagine how he must taste.

I have to do something about this situation.

Time to take some advice from the younger Goths. They have a long-standing joke, centred on the reticence of youth to say what they feel. The joke goes, that if there is another Goth you fancy, you compliment them on their new boots. What the other person is supposed to hear is an implied invitation: “Nice boots–fancy a shag?”

It’s such an old joke that I hear it all the time; yet I rarely see anyone taken up on it.

I dressed carefully for tonight, long bath, freshly shaved legs and pussy–hey, you never know! Black bra that does all the right things to my already ample cleavage, black pure silk panties, hold up stockings and an underbust. This was a wasp waisted corset, worn very tight to pull in my curves and give me an impossible silhouette. Over all of this would go a deep green velvet dress modelled on an Edwardian evening dress, sleeveless, with a short black jacket over the top. It has a slit in the side seam, I chose this carefully as I wanted him to see my latest purchase–new, beautiful boots.

Black leather that lace right up to my knees, with high, curved Louis heels that made my legs look long and shapely. Lots of black mascara and a new, deep red lipstick completed the effect. I daren’t even think what I’m going to do if he didn’t notice all my effort.

He’s at the bar when I arrive. I’ve already had several of the ‘regulars’ comment on my new look. In fact, people who usually look through me through long familiarity were staring as I walked istanbul escort up to him.

I’d ordered my usual wine, and raised my glass to him, trying hard not to rush this part.

“My compliments on the new look,” he said, looking from my face to my cleavage. “Green suits you.” He hasn’t looked much further than my breasts yet, and I’m already feeling myself getting wet.

“Well,” I attempted to sound casual. “I thought we should show these youngsters how its really done before you disappear in a few days.”

He laughed. I think it’s the first time I’ve really heard him do so, and something tight inside me relaxed. Maybe even if nothing happens this will still be a good night.

“I think you should join me tonight then, and let’s make sure you don’t sit so much in the shadows.”

With elaborate courtesy he took my coat and escorted me over to his table. Trying to sit comfortably in the corset made me adopt an upright–frankly, uptight–pose. I leaned slightly forward, and I realised that this both pushed my breasts forward at him, increasing the pressure of the corset busk on my pelvis. So now I’m constantly reminded of the throbbing deep in my abdomen that comes from just being near him.

He’s not immune to the effect, in the past if we’d sat together he’d have continued to idly read his book, and I’d have continued to watch the dancers writhe to the latest Goth rock. But tonight he’s having trouble keeping his eyes off my chest. There was definitely a tension there, and I wondered what to do next. Others have noticed and the regular club goers are watching us out of the corners of their eyes, sure that something out of the ordinary is going to happen. The guy in charge of the music–he’s hardly a DJ in a club like this–puts on one of the lovely lyrical Goth tracks from the eighties, still played here, but usually very much in second place to the Techno Goth that the younger people like to dance to.

“Well” he said, looking amused. “I think that’s our cue to show them how we used to dance.”

He lead me onto the dance floor. Suddenly we’ve got a real audience, the PVC clad youngsters fall back, aware that a scene like this doesn’t happen often. We faced each other as the music started to swirl and the melody echoed lyrics of desire and despair.

Playing to our audience as we dance, we did the elaborate hand movements and hair swinging that characterised Goth dancefloors a decade or more ago. We both knew this music well, and we were amused to see others copying our gestures, aware that they were paying homage to an earlier style of Goth music. I realised that I’m enjoying this, and feel brave enough to reach out a hand to him. His fingers closed warm and dry around my hand, and he smiled–still taking in the way that my curves were highlighted by the clinging dress as well as the oblique lighting.

This track had an undercurrent of melodies taken from older styles of dancing, and I’m surprised to find him pull me along in a brief parody of a waltz. There was a scattered cheer from some of the regulars; so we did it again. The track changed to a slow number, and he pulled me closer into the sort of dance I usually watch others enjoy.

His hands slid into the small of my back, and I’m sure he could feel the hardness of my nipples even through our clothing. I leaned into him to feel the bulge of his cock against the front of my pelvis.

Was I imagining a physical reaction from him? I hardly dared breathe, not wanting the moment to end. The track does end though, in a swirl of music. But he continued with the act by spinning me out along his arm in a flourish of skirts. He looks right down the length of my body this time, and saw the new boots where my skirt has flipped away from my legs. He recognised the old joke, and raised an eyebrow at me as he said, “Nice boots!”

I leaned in close to his ear and finally said it, “Fancy a shag?”

He didn’t answer, and for a moment I felt as though I’ve made an enormous fool of myself. Then to scattered cheers from the others that sounded like catcalls to me, he swept me into a backbend and kissed me so hard I felt as though I’d pass out.

Suddenly I sensed the desire within him match my own. The ache in my panties increased. He wound his arm around my waist and steered me back to our seats where we grabbed our coats. We’ve hardly touched the wine tonight, hardly really been in the club for any period of time, but here we were, leaving together. It must have been so obvious to anyone watching us, but I didn’t care.

I hadn’t thought much further ahead than this, I think I’d assumed that we’d go to a cheap hotel not far from the club, but instead he starts guiding me through the alleyways. I felt so hot for him, I’d have done it in a doorway, but I also wanted to savour his body. I wanted time to get all of his clothes off and taste him properly.

“Not far now” he said suddenly. We turned avcılar escort into a little street that held a number of second hand book shops. ” I live above this one.”

It suddenly made sense: his constant book and his affectation of almost genteel clothing seemed to me to go with a man who lived in an apartment over an old bookshop. I think I’d been expecting the sort of place I’d lived in as a student, something shabby and a little run down. However, as he opened the door and turned on the lights, I found myself both gasping and gaping in surprise.

The flat wasn’t large, but it was decorated with a real flair: bookshelves lined most of two walls, their dark wood holding numerous volumes, mostly leather bound. The rest of the walls had an old fashioned deep ochre colour, with sconces for candles fitted in front of small mirrors to help reflect the light. I could glimpse a bathroom and kitchen off the main room, but my real interest lay in his bed.

For a small flat it had a huge bed, a four poster, with heavy red velvet drapes. There wasn’t much else in the way of furniture, a small desk, a couple of hard backed chairs, a stereo, but no TV that I could see. A couple of large travelling trunks of the type used by Victorian gentlemen presumably held his clothes, and a small, ornate bedside table with numerous drawers seemed to round out the anachronistic look of some old fashioned bachelor quarters.

He lit the candles and flicked a switch on the stereo, filling the room with a golden glow and a rich background track that broke the silence with a powerful beat overlaid with light and fluid melodies.

I suddenly felt shy. What was I doing, standing dressed to the nines as a Goth in this staid old apartment? He’d shown so much poise, and he was so clearly in control, while all I’d had in mind was the contents of his trousers and the remembrance of that startling kiss.

I think he read my mind.

Suddenly I was in his arms again. This time his kiss lingered, and his tongue explored mine. I swayed against him, wanting him to throw my body to the bed and take me hard and fast.

“Slow down” he murmered, “Lets do this properly.”

He led me toward the bed. With a smooth motion he took his shirt off, and my gaze lingered on the body that I’d only glimpsed and fantasised about for so long. For a man who spent his time reading, he’d clearly found time to exercise. His slim frame showed plenty of lean, flat muscle under the skin. His long hair shone dark against his skin, and I reached forwards to stroke it. Then I allowed my hands to run hungrily down his chest, over his nipples and down to his belt.

The bulge in his trousers was definite now. I surprised myself by daring to caress it. Boldness took me hold of me, and I started to undo his belt, wanting only to get my hands on that cock. I wanted to wrap my mouth around it and taste the salt of him. He let me undo his belt, and then turned me around to unzip my dress. I heard a small gasp from him as he saw the tightly laced corset that he had to have known was there. Stepping out of my dress, I was still practically fully clothed. My bra, corset and panties covered my body quite well and the small amount of thigh above the top of my hold-up stockings only accentuated the amount of clothing I still wore. Suddenly impatient. I bent to start unlacing my boots, but he pulled me up again.

“No!” he demanded. “Leave them on. I love what they do to your legs.”

He kissed me again, running his hands along my sides, over my hips and around under my buttocks, the contrast between flesh, silk, and the sturdy canvas fabric of the corset clearly enflamed him.

He pulled away from me to take off his trousers. Standing naked before me, I was again amazed at the beauty of this man, so tall and slim, but so muscular, and, nestling behind its thatch of dark curls was the enormous cock that stood at attention between us.

I reached down and took it in my hand, feeling first its silky texture and then the heat of it. Still holding onto him, I started kissing my way down his neck, running my tongue round the small nipple on the way and smiling to see how his penis would react.

I filled my nostrils with the slight musk of his skin as I worked down over his belly. Then I ran my hands lightly over his firm buttocks as I finally allowed myself to taste just the very end of his member, flicking my tongue lightly at the pearl of moisture that had sprung from its tip as I caressed him. I had to hold myself back from immediately deep-throating him, I wanted this excitement to last long enough to feel him deep inside my body.

He slipped my bra straps from my shoulders and pulled me up to him so that he could free my breasts from their captivity. Removing the bra meant that my heavy breasts were supported only by the corset below, and my nipples were already so erect that the aureoles were almost absent in the candlelit dimness. He bent and sucked hard şirinevler escort on one nipple, kneading the other with those long strong fingers.

I nearly cried out with pleasure, and felt the wetness between my legs grow even more.

“You are a beautiful woman,” he said, looking from my flushed face to my taut nipples, still wet with his saliva. “Come to bed.”

He took my hand and led me to the draped bed, pushing me back onto the pillows and kneeling over me. “I think we’ll leave this corset on,” he said. “I like what it does to your figure, but I’m sure we can lose these.”

He slipped the silk panties down over my hips. They caught on the top of my boots as he took them off, and he calmly ripped them free and dropped them to the rest of our discarded clothing.

“Now,” he murmered, as he bent his head so that he could reach my pussy. “You’ve tasted me; so its my turn to taste you.”

His first touch was so gentle I hardly felt it, but the flickering tongue quickly sparked electrifying sensations flooding through my body. He pushed my legs far apart, and held them there so that he could fully explore my shaved pussy with his tongue. Round and round the clitoris, dipping in and out of my secret places, I hadn’t realised how much excitement I could feel. His hair spread across my cinched waist, and I reached down to sweep it to one side so I could watch what he was doing to me. He glanced up, mouth wet with my juices, and smiled at me.

“You taste good,” my dark haired Victorian gentleman said, and crawling back up toward my mouth, he kissed me deeply, letting me taste myself on his lips.

However, I wriggled around so that I could position myself to wrap my mouth around his huge, erect cock. I could barely fit it all into my mouth, and the clean, musky taste of him filled me as I nuzzled and sucked at him. My exuberance was catching. I heard him sigh with pleasure and I gently sucked first one testacle, then the other of his tempting balls.

His hand never stopped caressing me, and now he slid two fingers into me, while using his thumb to manipulate my clitoris. I gasped as a small orgasm rippled through me. It had come on me so quickly that I nearly bit him by accident. However, I could feel my cunt spasm around his fingers and drench him with a wash of my vaginal juices.

He pulled me up and flipped me over so that I lay face down on the bed. Bending my knees up underneath me, I felt the tight corset compress my internal organs, and almost creamed myself in anticipation as I waited for him to penetrate me. He positioned himself behind me, rubbing the head of his cock, now slick with his own semen against my slippery pussy. Teasing me by almost entering me, then pulling back at the last moment, he was relentless. One hand snaked beneath me to pinch and tease my nipples, and they felt like bullets, with every touch apparently connected directly to my clitoris.

My pussy wanted him so badly that it was swollen and hot, but he waited until I begged him, “Take me, oh please, please! I have to feel you inside me now!”

Then suddenly he thrust into me. The penetration was hard and fast and deep, and, in the position he had me, the added pressure of the corseting meant that he’d filled me absolutely. He stroked deeply and hard, taking pleasure in the slapping sound of his body against mine, and I cried out in pleasure.

Abruptly, he withdrew, and turned me over again. He suckled hard on my nipples for a few moments then entered me from the front. Hooking my booted legs up over his shoulders and pinning my arms above my head as he fucked me hard and fast. Held down like this I realised just how in control he had me. I lost myself in a wave of ecstasy as a deep orgasm washed through me.

But I needed to watch him come. I wanted to feel his essence spill all over me.

“Tit fuck me to finish,” I begged. “Let me feel you come between my breasts.” He grinned and then nodded.

He pulled out of me, leaving me spasming as even his withdrawal triggered another surprising climax. Straddling me, His enormous cock laid between my breasts, he helped me press my ample breasts around him as he stroked his penis backwards and forwards.

I realised I could flick my tongue and just catch the slit in his cock as it came towards my face, and this clearly pushed him close to the edge.

We both started panting and his climax came hot and furious in the moment. Suddenly he tensed as streams of white hot cum shot all over my neck, my face, even into my hair. Laughing ecstatically I turned my face, trying to catch as much of it as I could.

He too began to massage the slippery cum into my breasts.

Gasping for breath, we collapsed back onto the pillows together. I could feel sleep creeping up on me, but I had to know one thing first. “So about this trip of yours,” I began hesitantly. “Is it a permanent move or will you be returning?”

He stretched luxuriantly, allowing me to appreciate his physique all over again. “Until a few hours ago I thought I needed a complete change of scenery, but I see that all I really needed was a new addition to my bedroom.”

Then he laughed–a warm, rich sound that melted my fears. “I’ll still be taking that trip, but I think now it will be a very short one.”

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