Tag: a night in a year

Hasty Exit

A Night in a Year: 59. Hasty Exit

The landing is soft when he lowers her. He treats her like precious china, probably feeling fragile himself. Her hands leave his neck, but she keeps touching him, less for support, more for reassurance.

On the floor again, she turns back to Orhan. He’s dark eyes shimmer in the shadowy light, and he’s grinning, boyish, pleased, content. She kisses him slowly, and he cups her cheek, before giving her a tight hug.

Jeroen, so different, is cocky again, tugging her back to him to almost suck on her lips. He’s shed the seconds of vulnerability she knows went through him.

Around them, the music is still going. She is aware of it again, and wants to dance to it. The men either side of her do as well, and the three of them move, a single unit again, a little circle of glowing bliss.

Until the song drifts into the next one, and something changes. Not the men, but rather, the room around her.

And once more, she’s being watched. Not just by the curious couple, now dancing near a pillar near where the three of them have stopped. Watched by someone else, who doesn’t want to be seen.
It grips her throat, a suffocating claw, a panicked feeling even as the men hold her and each other. Their arms are suddenly heavy on her, their bodies thick and dull, and she shakes her head, shakes herself, and has to duck out from under their grip.


She doesn’t know which of them said it. Fingers skim at her shoulder, grasping to try pull her back. She turns to them, shaking her head so fast her vision blurs, and she squeezes through the crowd, fast as her elbows and knees will make way for her. Her only goal now is to get to the door.

Image found on flickr, by Toshihiro Oimatsu, used under the Creative Commons License.

A Night in a Year is on indefinite hiatus. Please see the index page for the reasons why. Thank you very much for reading to this point, I do hope you’ve enjoyed it!


A Night in a Year: 58. Lift

“Good,” Jeroen says. “And now—”

He cuts himself off as he lifts her off her feet. Orhan’s hands still on her hips, helping Jeroen, though he barely needs it, his grip across her back is firm. But Orhan’s hands reach under her thighs, and he holds her legs so she is not quite straddling Jeroen, but almost flush with him. She hooks her hands around his neck, grabbing his back.

He bucks against her. She moans, her head titling to one side. For the first time, she sees people watching them, a couple who stand like a pair of goldfish, gaping round mouths not closing, bubbles of bewilderment and shock emerging from their mouths. She can only smile, feeling her mouth indulgent, and swing her head back to Jeroen.

The inside of her dress is growing stickier, but then, Jeroen tugs it out from between them so her cunt is right on his body, right on his jeans. She moans again.

Jeroen continues to pound against her. The two men are strong: she’s a rag doll in his arms, floppy as Jeroen rolls against her, her wet and tender cunt rubbing on the length of his denim-covered cock. Her clit starts to tingle again, starling her to a cry. She lunges forward, sinking her teeth onto Jeroen’s shoulder, her cheek brushing his jaw. He will come before she can again, she knows, and doesn’t care, the murmuring between her legs is worth the knowledge that he will come because of her.

When it happens, she knows from the way he locks his jaw, the way she can feel his teeth grind under her cheek, the way his fingers clench that bit too tight. He squeezes her chest, leaving her momentarily breathless, and his judders on the spot, hissing ‘yessss’ between his teeth.

Next: 59. Hasty Exit

Image found on flickr, by Brandon Fick, used under the Creative Commons License.


A Night in a Year: 57. Roll

In her ear, Orhan purrs, the smug cat, “You liked that.”

She can only nod. Her body is still shaking as his hand leaves her cunt, and scoops under her thighs.

“Good. And now, it is our turn.”

And in front of her, Jeroen’s mouth turns wicked, and he kisses her, tongue filling her mouth. When he pulls back, he braces her, holding her still for Orhan.

Orhan presses into her so her dress rises at the back, and his jeans rub on her bare arse. His hands glide up from her thighs, along her cheeks, and part them, so his cock rests as much as it can between them. He drops his forehead to her shoulder, and he groans. It is like he’s concentrating, focusing his all on achieving climax. She wonders if he wants it over quickly, or if his cock is just wanting to burst.

He starts to roll into her, an undulating wave. At first its smooth, but it grows She thinks of the word used for this action: dry hump. To her it sounds crass, belittling, and now, inaccurate. Her wetness runs on the inside of her dress, and though she can feel Orhan’s cock clothed in the thick material rubbing on her, burning as he speeds up, sweat from his forehead drips onto her skin, runs down the front of her chest and under her dress, and his hot breath mists her shoulder.

Sex will never be dry. It is always wet, and sticky, full of the fluids that make someone human.
Then, Orhan comes. Three abrupt jerks into her body. That moment of stiffening embodies not just his cock, but every limb, every muscle. His body is, for a single moment, still as a statue.

Until he pants, gasps and grabs her hips for support as he shudders the last of it.

Next: 58. Lift

Image found on flickr, by Andy B, used under the Creative Commons License.


A Night in a Year: 56. Energy

“Your body’s tensing,” Jeroen says. “I can feel you, you’re almost there. I want to see it in your eyes when it happens.”

She can barely hear him, but his lips make the words clear, even in under the light and shadows of the floor. She nods into his hold, her chin on his fingers. Orhan’s hand is writhing under her dress, and she stills, waiting for it to arrive.

Everyone will see it. See her. See her convulse and spasm and moan. Or will they just take her for a dancer lost in the music?

But when she comes, she doesn’t care about that, or anything else. All she feels is the energy, directed along the restricted lines of her body. It starts almost at the top of her head, in the tips of her nails digging into Jeroen, before the burst from her clit singes her nerves from the centre out.

Her knees first buckle, then tremble. She’d fall if not held up by the two men. Orhan’s hand keeps stroking her, keeps the orgasm going. It’s longer than the last. Her chest heaves, the only part of her body that can brace her from the impact of it. She forces her lips together so she won’t scream, but she can’t shut her eyes. She can’t meet Jeroen’s: she senses them staring at her, but she couldn’t see them anyway if she tried, for her vision runs, a collision of light and scorching pleasure. The music is drowned out as the blood beats in her ears. She is pure light, sound and motion.

When it’s over, she shivers. Orhan kisses her neck, a startling balm on her skin. His fingers on her cunt are still moving, but she only has to brush his hand for him to cease.

Next: 57. Roll

Image found on flickr, by Stephen Dann, used under the Creative Commons License.


A Night in a Year: 55. Needle

Under Orhan’s fingers, her clit is a tiny pulse of pleasure. His touch is so precise that it hits the tender under hood of it, a light bouncing motion at first. She sighs each time, and it sounds more like panting, so quick and rapid. Each touch both heightens her awareness of her body and makes the whole room blurry. All of the pleasure is buzzing at the base of her skull, wanting to break out, wanting release, wanting to be unleashed into the room and let everything about her go and escape from her body.

Her clit, she’s aware, is less like a tiny ball and more like a thick needle. It seems Orhan knows this very well, for now, he rolls it a little, but mostly, he rubs down its short length, coaxing it, making it harder and yet more tender. And like a needle on thread, the sensations shoot through her, binding her nerves at the same time as fraying them. In her shoes, her toes point and flex, and she wants to fucking scream.

At her jaw and throat, Jeroen chuckles.

Her hands fall further down Jeroen’s back, sliding to his arse. She digs her nails in, feeling them firm, something to stop her from falling over. She wants to get some purchase on their bodies, beyond just holding them to keep herself up right. She wants to grab more than buttocks. But to move, to adjust so she can do that, would mean leaving the humming, burring space where all the particles of her skin are alight; the slightest shift now would break the rise crescendo within her.

She’s almost there when Jeroen frames his thumb and forefinger around her chin and forces her to look up at him.

Next: 56. Energy

Image found on flickr, by Antonio Fidalgo, used under the Creative Commons License.