Tasting [m]e a[f]ter a tasting event | 2016

I was attending a food-tasting event at a bar one weekday night in London. There was a small group of regulars that attend these things: bloggers, journalists, etc., and I knew a few of the others from previous events. One woman I'd met just once or twice before; she was Canadian, like me, and so we had a bit of common background.

A lot of booze started flowing at the event, as often happens. Before I know it the talk starts getting a bit looser, we forget what we're tasting, and the speech volume goes up.

I'm suddenly aware of a light touch on my thigh. The Canadian woman, who's sat on a stool beside mine, and engaging in conversation with the rest of the group, is sitting so that her fingers are brushing my leg just a bit. It's on the verge: I can't tell if it's intentional. I wait and see.

About 60 seconds in it's clear that it's intentional. Accidental touches come and go as people move. She's clearly keeping in contact with my leg, below the table and out of sight of others. We're each carrying on our increasingly drunken conversations, sometimes with each other, sometimes with others in the group, while below the tabletop more and more of her hand is in contact with my leg.

I turn and give her a look. She gives one back. We share a slight smile. I turn back to the conversation; my hand goes down under the table, gives hers a little squeeze to let her know I approve, then we return to conversation.

It goes on like this for a long time. I'm not going to seem too eager. I let her rub me more and more, let her gently stroke my thigh, see how far she'll go. I'm bulging in my pants, but the setup isn't quite suitable for her to go into full crotch-rubbing mode.

But we start to slip little verbal clues into the (quite loud) conversation. I exclaim about how difficult something is, preceded by, "Fuck me!" Under her breath, so that probably only I catch it, I hear her say, "OK."

The night comes to a close, and people start making their way out. I ensure we leave together. As we're walking down the busy Soho street towards the tube we both acknowledge that, since we're each married, we can't really go home. But maybe we can have some fun.

We actually start kissing, tongues deep, right there on the street. It's late, but there are a few people passing here and there. I want to see if she's as bold as she seems, coming onto me in public like that: I rub her tits over her shirt, and she loves it, smiling.

I run my hand down her front, and inside her pants. I slide down further, parting her pussy lips, and dip inside her dripping wet cunt. I pull those fingers back out and put them towards her lips. She sucks her pussy juice off my fingers, right there on the street.

We figure the best we can do is to find a back alley, now. We do. I pull down her pants, turn her around, and start tonguing her ample ass. I reach around and finger her clit at the same time.

We don't have a condom, and luckily we're not so drunk to try to fuck without one. But she says she wants me in her mouth. So she spins around, kneels down, unbuckles me, and slides my engorged dick down her throat. She slurps and sucks and licks, making a lot of noise. I start calling her a dirty slut and a whore, she says she loves cock so much, and wants me to cum in her mouth.

After letting her suck me for a while I get my hand in and help finish off, squirting a hot sticky load down her greedy throat.

We buckle up, wipe off, cool down, and make our way to our separate trains.