**9:00pm**
“I love you.”
It’s the last thing I say to my husband as we get off the phone. It’s already early morning in the UK – new year’s eve has come and gone for him. I’m still kind of annoyed that he managed to get stuck over there over the holiday, but I wasn’t willing to hand over an extra $1,000 for his company to fly him home early. Instead I find myself at Sarah’s house. It’s not the most exciting place to spend the evening, but her wine selection is good and I can’t say I’m complaining if I get to crash shortly after midnight.
We pop open a bottle of pinot gris and pour our first glasses. By midway through the second I’m starting to warm up to the evening – a little less exhausted and exasperated, a little more in the mood for fun. We turn up the music and dance around in her living room like we did back in college.
**10:30pm**
Sarah’s already on her third glass – and finishing it quickly – when the urge to sneak in a cigarette hits me. I walk out onto her front porch, bracing myself against the cool night. Sarah stays inside, opening another bottle and helping herself to another glass. I’m taking a long drag when the sound of music drifts over. It’s not ours – heavy bass and clearly much, much louder. I walk to the edge of the yard and peek over to see a stream of people flowing into the doors.
“Coming to the party?”
The voice calls from somewhere on the neighboring lawn. There’s a group of men – a bit younger than me, mid 20s at best, standing around, drinking from red solo cups and congratulating one of them on what was clearly a dare to call over to me.
“And what party would that be?” I ask, trying to brush them off. Instead, one of them breaks from the crowd and walks to the fence.
“My party,” he says, placing his hand on the nearest fence post. “After all, it is my house.”
“Yours or your parents’?” I shoot back.
“For your information, it is *mine*,” he fires back. “I know, young, good looking and successful, right?”
“Well congratulations on your youth and success.”
He grins at me then looks back at his group. “Well I’d love to stay and chat all night, but I think there’s a warm house and a whole lotta drinks calling to me.” He pauses, then looks at me again. “But if they start calling your name, too – well, the door’s always open.”
He slaps his buddies on the shoulders and they walk back into the house. I take a last drag on my cigarette and head back into the house. Inside, I find Sarah polishing off what I hope is only glass number three, though I’m not holding out much hope. I pour myself a glass and proceed to tell her about my conversation outside.
“Wait, how good looking?” She practically screams into my face. She’s not typically aggressive, but over a year removed from her divorce, I can’t fault her for getting a little excited.
“Sarah, they’re practically babies.”
“Mid-20s is not a baby!” She shoots back. “How long ago do you think that was for us? Barely 10 years!” She downs what is very clearly the last of number five. “So what you’re telling me is we could ditch this lame-ass night and be surrounded by 20-something hotties, and you won’t because you think we’re too old?”
I try to find the right response, but I can see that my argument is going nowhere. She’s clearly excited, and who am I to deny her a chance at a bit of fun on new year’s eve? I look at her and give a long wind-up.
“Well…” I pause again, for effect. “I suppose we could go check it out for a little bit. Just…maybe don’t tell Mark about this. It might just sound a little bit weird.
She makes a zipper motion across her lips, struggling to contain her excitement. I down another glass, and we grab our coats for the quick walk next door.
**11:30pm**
It doesn’t take long for Sarah to start having her fun. After another drink or two at the house she’s chatting up just about everyone. Another drink and I see her making out with a svelte young man in a corner, then on a couch.
“Your friend seems to be having a good time – you should try to do the same.” I turn around to see my host extending a drink to me. “Don’t worry, it’s not the cheap stuff from the table.”
I thank him and accept it. He moves in a bit closer, trying to chat me up, his eyes darting back and forth from mine to my rather excessive cleavage.
“It seems a bit cliche to ask, but what *is* a beautiful woman like you doing alone on new year’s eve? I’d think that ring on your hand means you get a guaranteed date.”
I start to answer, but he cuts me off. “You know what, it’s none of my business.” He touches my arm lightly, in a show of reassurance. “But that ring shouldn’t stop you from enjoying yourself, no?” He walks away, leaving me with a surprisingly well mixed drink and the lingering impression of his hand on my skin.
**11:59pm**
I’m taking our host’s advice and trying to have a good time. With another drink in me I’m moving to the music, not even self conscious about being the only woman there in her late 30s. I have to admit, the attention I’m receiving is a welcome change from everyday life. I’m bouncing from hardbody to hardbody, their hands on my hips, occasionally wandering farther afield. A couple try to kiss me, which I dodge, though not without a tinge of regret. I’m sweaty, buzzed – and a little turned on.
As the clock closes in on midnight, the music quiets, and the countdown begins. As I stand there in the living room, I feel two hands on my hips. I turn around and there he is – square jawed, well coiffed, shirt open just enough to suggest a strong, smooth chest. I know why he’s here now, but as much as I tell myself to tear away I just stare back at him.
*10, 9, 8…*
“It’d be a shame to ring in the new year without the proper fanfare.” His hand brushes my cheek, and I instinctively move closer.
“I…I suppose that’s true.” My face is flushed, my body shaking. “Just a little one, though.”
*3, 2, 1…*
The room explodes in cheers as his lips touch mine. True to his word, it’s soft, gentle. Still, I feel a surge of emotion rushing though propelling me back toward him for a second, then a third. Our lips part, our heads turn, and I feel my tongue meet his. Having not kissed someone new in 10 years, the sensation is almost orgasmic. His hands grip my hips harder, then slide around to grab at my ass. I moan in appreciation, loud enough to distract a few of our fellow celebrants.
I break our kiss and look up at him. My body is still trembling – some guilt, some pleasure, some painful anticipation. I’m standing on the precipice, painfully aware that I shouldn’t jump, but so desperate to do so. I look at him and raise my eyebrows – about the sexiest thing I can think of in my state. “It’s now or never.”
He grabs my hand and leads me up the stairs. There are a few revelers upstairs, but for the most part it’s empty. We pass into the master bedroom and close the door, kissing again, harder and faster, me pressed up against the now-closed door. His hand moves up my leg, under my dress, and squeezes my ass again. I can barely get out a moan before I feel his finger run down the center, over the top of my soaking-wet panties. He moves it back and forth, pushing them and his finger ever so slightly inside of me. Our kissing reaches a fever pitch as he massages me, moving along my panties from my clit to my asshole.
Finally the teasing is too much for me. I push him back and stand upright again. I reach up under my dress and hook my thumbs under the elastic waistband, until my visibly creamy panties fall to the floor. I leave them where they fall and walk over to him, kneeling in front of him. I could feel his bulge as he kissed me, and even now I can see a clear outline through his jeans. My hands find his belt and unbuckle it, then unbutton and unzip his jeans. I pull them down and start massaging the much clearer bulge under his black boxer briefs. It grows even thicker in my hand, until the anticipation is too much and I pull it free.
I sit there, staring at it. I hadn’t expected to see another cock in person ever again, but I certainly had never dreamed of seeing one this big. I reach out and grab it, marveling at how my hand barely fits around it. I stroke a few times, feeling the distance my hand has to move to reach each end. I grab with my left hand as well, but it still leaves a generous amount of cock uncovered.
His hand reaches down to guide my head, but I’m already there. My lips and tongue touch the tip, the bitter saltiness of precum filling my mouth. Carefully I take him inside my mouth, only taking the head while stroking the rest of his shaft. He starts to moan in appreciation, his hips unconsciously pushing him deeper inside me until spit is running down my chin and over the front of my dress. His hand rests gently on the back of my head, helping to guide me down even further. I stroke faster and push my head even harder against him, eventually managing to get him almost halfway in, the sounds of me gagging and slurping echoing around the room.
After a few minutes of that he pulls out, leaving me kneeling there with a wet chin and a puddle of spit on my dress. “I know you came here for more than just that,” he says, the first words we’ve spoken since our kiss downstairs. “But I suppose a gentleman goes first.”
With that he unbuttons his shirt, revealing the toned chest I had hoped for. He slides his jeans and boxers the rest of the way off, revealing muscular legs to go with the large, hard cock, still shiny with my spit.
“And now, I think it’s your turn.”
I stand up and step back, trembling for the first time since we came upstairs. I reach behind and unzip my dress, letting it fall to a crumpled pile on the floor. I’m standing there, naked except for my black lace bra, painfully aware of his eyes on my body. I’m not unfit, but I haven’t escaped the effects of time – my tummy is no longer taut, my breasts sag a little, bits of cellulite populate my hips and thighs. Seeing my discomfort, he walks over to me and kisses me again.
“Who knew I’d end up with such a body tonight?”
It’s corny, but it’s enough. I unclasp my bra and let it fall to the floor. I start to walk over to him, but he motions for me to walk over to the bed. I’m about to climb onto it when he tells me to stop.
“Keep your back to me, grab the edge of the bed and bend over.”
I shiver a little at the sense of vulnerability as I bend, revealing myself to him. I feel him behind me, running his fingers up my legs, then between them, massaging my wet clit, until I’m pushing my ass toward him, against his fingers. They enter me, first one, then two and three, pushing in and making space for his thick cock.
I grab the sheets, waiting with baited breath for his fingers to pull out and for him to finally enter.
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/7nrma4/new_years_eve_mf_part_1