His name was Mike and we met on the dance floor. I had been in the area for work often enough that I was able to build some frequency and rapport in the local dance scene. This wasn’t the first time I had danced with him and he was one of my favorites because of his quirky mix of adding swing dance moves into his Salsa dancing. We made an early connection through our enjoyment of dancing together and lots of laughter as I tried to follow his particular style. I’ve established my personal theory that good dance partners make good sex partners but something else I should add is that I’m not always looking to connect the two. My identity as a vixen does not always translate to wild nights off the dance floor with every good dance partner I meet. But when it does happen, it’s definitely worth the story. Mike was no exception here.
He was good-looking, charming, intelligent, successful, and ambitious. To top the list of admirable qualities, he could also hold his own in the flirt game. I was intrigued. Unfortunately, my work had me all over the place so I knew if anything were to happen with Mike, it would be a short, fun story. And on one particular evening, that story came to be.
It was late. We had been dancing most of the night. I could feel the familiar prickle of electric connection between us. Lingering looks. Sitting at my table between dances to carry on a conversation. I could tell he was into me, but he gave no real indication he was sexually attracted. As the DJ closed out the last song, Mike offered to walk me to my car. It was cold out, so we sat inside my car, carrying on our conversation that had been happening between songs.
You can probably imagine the progression of things. He began to inch closer. Our hands touched. Soon our lips met. Thankfully, Mike was a good kisser. Bad or rushed kissing would have ended our evening much earlier, but there was no awkwardness or shy reluctance. He knew what he was doing as he respectfully pressed for more, running a hand up my body to massage my breast over the material. It was a tease, so I met him with the same. My hand on his lap drifted toward his crotch which I could feel was already rock hard.
“I know a place…” he moaned through our kisses.
My head buzzed with excitement. My body responded, arching into his touch and communicating my want. He pulled back long enough to give me an address. A few more kisses, promising what was to come and we reluctantly parted for the moment. Something to note, Mike was a property manager for a bunch of locations in the area. So when I pulled up ten minutes later to a quadruplex of townhouses, I was intrigued, though hesitant. He reassured me that the house was getting staged to be shown and no one actually lived there at the moment.
The house was a quaint, little three-bed, two-bath with a second story and a balcony out back. He quickly gave me a tour before leading me to the bedroom, kissing and touching along the way to maintain the excitement and moment we had built.
Now, we all know I love a man who takes charge in sex and Mike did not disappoint. His kiss drove me back a few steps and I felt the coolness of the evening. He had moved me outside onto the balcony. I felt the porch railing at my back. Suddenly he had me turned around. My breath caught in my throat. This is what I needed. He put a hand on my back and gently eased me forward into a lean over the railing. I felt my dress lift, my thong lower. I heard his pants loosen. Then the tip of his cock was pressing against my pussy. I was so wet.
I let out a small gasp. Mike was not the biggest guy but he certainly had enough at that angle to feel the inches. I pressed my hips back against his length. Like the dances we shared in the club, we began a different sort of rhythmic partnership. His hands on my hips, me rocking back to meet his thrusts, the sound of our moans mixed with the slamming of his thighs against the back of my own.
I often get comments about how my stories resemble scenes torn straight from an erotic novel and, there, bent over the balustrade, as a hot dance friend fucked me from behind, I can clearly see it.
Our shared climax was fast approaching. We both could feel it, so with an experienced resolve, we slowed and simmered the burn. Mike slowly walked me back into the room, removing my clothes, and his, in the process.
True to his word, the house was minimally decorated and furnished save for a few fake plants, fake tv, and basic furnishings, complete with a queen-sized bed. Once I finally got a full look at Mike sans clothing I was caught by surprise. Apparently, Mike had a bit of a wild side. If taking a dance friend back to one of his houses to fuck wasn’t enough of a clue, the nipple rings and multiple tattoos he strategically hid under his professional clothing were a dead giveaway.
Now, as for the sex, it wasn’t bad. Not necessarily the best I have had since opening but definitely not the worst. We fucked hard and fast. I enjoyed his command in the bedroom, the way he dictated and led our rhythm. I don’t even remember when or how he got a condom on, but when he finally did cum he held himself deep inside of me, my hands gripping his ass, pulling him close, as his cock and his body trembled with the release. We lay there for several minutes, continuing our conversation we had started earlier in the night before it was time to set the room right and drive home.
I always go into my nights out never expecting anything exciting or sexy to happen, but I’m always very pleased when it does.