Dirty Sheets – Chapter 1

An Unknown Number

I drain the last swallow of my second scotch, replacing the tumbler heavily on the mahogany bar. The bartender looks over, an eyebrow raising in question. I reply with a subtle nod. Another it is. My date is late, and the whiskey is starting to make its presence known, warming me from the inside out. I slip a finger under the knot in my tie, wanting to loosen it, but still holding hope that my date will show, although it’s our third date and she’s never been late before. We met on tinder a month prior. Our first two dates were great, but I haven’t brought myself to so much as kiss her yet. She seems so ladylike and well, I don’t want to push my luck.

My phone comes to life, the illumination syncronised with an audible ping and vibration that judders it across the bar top. I swipe my finger over the screen only to view an unfamiliar number. Confident I don’t know who it belongs to, I read the accompanying message.

“Hey big guy. You wanna play?“

Since I don’t know the number, I look around, thinking it’s some kind of practical joke courtesy of the guys at the office. I’m just about to type out exactly that and delete the message when I receive a second ping. The notification alerting me that it contains a file. Tapping on the download? button, I watch the loading circle spin lazily and then sit up abruptly as an image fills the screen. I rub my eyes before looking at it once more. Again, I look around, but seeing no one paying attention to me, divert my eyes back to the screen.

There in my hand is the image of a woman. Her large round tits filling the 6-inch rectangle, and I lick my lips as I take them in. Pushed up high and tight inside a much too small top that barely covers the rosy hue of her nipples, the slightest movement would force them to spill out in all their glory. Momentarily, I visualise just that and feel my dick stir in my pants. Below her delicious rack, there’s nothing but tanned, smooth skin, flowing over a narrow waist to wide hips; the screen cutting off just as her plump shaven netherlips come fully into view. I clear my throat to stifle the forming groan.

As I’m drooling over the creature held in hand, I hear an ahem, and look up to see my date. Checking my watch, I find she’s 45 minutes late, but here now, so I say nothing. I’m pulling out the stool bedside me as the bartender brings me my scotch. Ordering her preferred poison – an apple martini, she sits, or rather perches, on the edge of the stool. She is lamenting her tardiness when my phone pings anew, and I scoop it into hand fast, not sure what the next message will contain, but wanting more just the same.

I am not disappointed. It’s the same woman, judging by the tiny portion of white that holds her bosom in place. But the angle has changed, lowered, and now I’m getting the view of her bottom half. Legs spread wide, one hand holds her open to the camera, giving me an inviting view of a pink slit, surrounded by darker pink labia. The entire area is glistening wet and oh so very alluring. Clearing my throat, I look up to my date whom I had almost forgotten.

She’s still talking about something or other. I really can’t be sure. Her voice has just become background noise, filling in around the indecent thoughts the images have created. She could be talking about thermo-dynamics for all I care, my mind is not on her. Realising that’s probably not the best way to start a date, even the third, I reluctantly tuck my phone in my pocket in an attempt to give her my undivided attention. I nod as she speaks, trying to make it appear as though I’m at least listening to her.

It doesn’t take long though before I find myself thinking of the images again and then comparing them to the woman in front of me. She’s a cute thing, my date. Blond hair, ample breasts. A lithe waist that leads to round hips. She dresses very conservatively though, so I’m not sure what she’d look like beneath the tightly buttoned red cardigan and knee-length pencil skirt. Her stocking-clad legs are crossed, arching her lower back slightly. With her shoulders thrown back, her spine is held straight, and her chest is pushed forward, seemingly in invitation to touch them. I imagine reaching out to tweak each before shaking my head slightly, chasing the image away.

Gloss is lacquered on her lips, making me think of the glistening ones in the photo, and I find myself wondering what they taste like. Both hers and the ones in the image. Knowing that line of thought will only cause us both embarrassment I try to think of anything else and start analysing her circular cherub face.

Her features are expressive as she speaks, all her thoughts laid out clearly for any to see, should they be looking. The crinkles by her eyes and on her cheeks say she laughs a lot, which the sparkle in her blue eyes seems to agree with. But there’s something about her that seems to reach out to stroke a part of me. That thought does nothing for my cock as I think of her reaching out to stroke that very part. My mind jumps back to the images of my phone, just as a third ping announces a new message.

Excusing myself, I reach into my pocket and discreetly open it. I am not disappointed. The screen is filled with the roundest arse I’ve ever seen. Laying on her front, her knees are tucked beneath her, arms stretched above her head. That tiny white top is still in place, but I can’t imagine it’s doing much in this position. Her posture pulls the globes of her cheeks apart, gifting me a view of her neat and tidy holes, still glistening. I lick my lips as I visualize my tongue lapping at that most sensitive area, adding to the moisture accumulating there. Her legs are covered in black silk stockings, no different than the ones adorning my date, and I look back and forth between the woman before me and the image on the screen, wondering what else they have in common.

“Another Sir?” the barman asks, pulling me out of reverie. I look up to see him holding my now empty glass, unsure of when I finished. Looking at my date, I raise an eyebrow, silently asking if she’d like another. She simply nods her head, much as I had earlier.

“And one for the lady,” I say in return.

“Excuse me, I need to use the loo,” My date says with a smile before sliding her petite frame from the barstool. I watch her walk away, hips swaying with each step. The pumps on her feet offer her a few more inches of height while lifting her firm ass and elongating her calves. Blond tresses cascade down her back, swaying opposite of each hip as she steps. I suddenly have an image of my hands becoming entangled in her glorious locks. I’m lost in the vision of pulling her in and pushing her out as her shiny mouth stretches around my girth when my phone pings once again, just as the bartender places two fresh drinks before me. I thank him with a curt nod of my head.

Looking at the screen, my leg bounces as I wait for the image to load. I audibly gasp as it comes into view, my throat suddenly parched. The image shows the woman standing bent over at the waist, as she pulls black pumps onto her feet. She completely nude from the waist down, bar the black stockings. Her arms are covered with a red knitted sweater, much like the one my date is wearing. Blond tresses fall over her shoulder, hanging loosely.

Another message comes in before I’ve taken in the whole image preceding it. This shows her standing, toward the camera and I no longer doubt that my date is the woman in these images. Naked breasts are displayed inside the gaping cardigan that was moments ago buttoned tightly. The black pencil skirt is in place but unbuttoned and open to reveal the gap between her toned thighs. In each hand, she holds her round orbs, the rosy tips pointing to the sky. Her face is only exposed from her gleaming mouth down. Lips open, her tongue sticking out slightly, licking the corner in an extremely sultry look.

A new message notification pings and I almost drop my phone in my rush to download the file. My cock swells to half-mast when I take in the new image. The background is different now, much more industrial. She’s sitting on a close-lidded toilet. Her skirt is bunched up to her waist, one hand between her spread legs, a single finger pressed against her button. The cardigan is once more open, those perfectly luscious tits calling out to me, asking to be licked and bitten, nipped, and suckled.

“Do you want to taste me?”

the accompanying message blatantly invites.

I’m unsure what to say or do. I want to scream yes and race to the loo, throw her over any available surface, and tunnel into her wet heat. Take her roughly, grunting and groaning as I pull her hair tightly in one hand, arching her back, forcing her to cry out as I slap her round arse with the other. But I do none of that. Not because my cock is so hard, my pants are uncomfortably tight, and I worry I’ll faint for lack of blood to the brain. All valid reasons in my opinion. But I do nothing because as I look up, I see my date walking back toward me, the sway of her hips suddenly a bit more tantalizing.

Pushing the stool closer to me, she sits and pulls her drink towards her mouth, taking a small sip. Placing it in front of her, she turns in place and smiles warmly, slipping her finger over the glass rim to circle it inside the green liquid. The other hand reaches out to encircle my hard length, where she squeezes me in a less than gentle manner. Rubbing the tip of her finger along the glass edge, removing any excess, she places that finger on my lips and my nose fills with the scent of apple, mingled together with the undeniable musk of her feminine juices.

“My cunt is very wet and in need of filling,” she begins in a hushed tone, circling her damp finger around my lips. “And I believe you’re looking quite famished. Should we get out of here and find somewhere else to continue our date?”

I do not need to be asked twice. Pulling her finger into my mouth, I swirl my tongue around her digit before standing and draining the contents of my glass. Cockstand be damned, I need to get inside her.

Read Dirty Sheets- Chapter 2

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