As every good story starts, my story started with the same line – I had too much to drink. It was a night of double celebration: my birthday and my newfound status as a Doctor.
The atmosphere was electric at the SoBo lounge, where I had gathered with nearly 25 of my closest friends. We’d secured a private section for the party, and the festivities were in full swing.
Around 10.30 pm, my phone rang, an expected interruption amid the revelry. As it was my birthday, people were calling to wish. Drunk but eager to take the call, I stumbled out of the noisy club, feeling unsteady. The cold January air hit my face like a slap, instantly raising my levels of intoxication.
The call was brief, no more than five minutes. But the chill had seeped into my bones by the time it ended. My legs wobbled dangerously as I struggled to regain my balance. The lethal combination of alcohol and the cold night air had me teetering on the edge of a fall.
A saviour appeared when it seemed I might succumb to gravity’s pull. Something very soft encircled my waist, anchoring me in place. In my drunken stupor, I instinctively latched onto this unknown presence. My left hand found a perch on a shoulder. My senses began to sharpen.
I realized that my hand had landed on the velvety fabric of a woman’s blouse. Her skin was as fair as moonlight, and I was instantly captivated. Before I could identify my saviour, another hand materialized, pressing firmly against my chest, preventing my descent into the cold floor.
The warmth of her body seeped into mine, igniting an unfamiliar but intensely arousing sensation. With a sultry smile that sent shivers down my spine, she whispered, “Easy there, Doctor. It appears you’ve had quite the celebration tonight.”
Even though her voice carried a sensual allure, a familiarity washed over me as recognition dawned. It was Pooja, my colleague of the past six years and, more notably, a recently single Pooja. They say a woman is at her hottest and horniest right after a breakup.
And here stood Pooja, freshly single and undeniably enticing. In the six years I had known her, she had always been the quintessential girl next door. However, in the mere three months since her breakup, she had undergone a transformation that was impossible to ignore.
Pooja had shed weight, sculpting her body into something that begged exploration. Her skin, fair as moonlight, appeared even more radiant against the backdrop of the night. Her breasts, a delightful 34B, were the perfect balance between ample and perky, drawing my gaze with their irresistible allure.
Yet, it was her tight, sculpted ass that truly caught my attention. It was as if she had taken her newfound freedom as an opportunity to hone her body to perfection. As our eyes locked in that moonlit moment, Pooja’s captivating smile mirrored the radiance of her shining hair.
My gaze, however, was drawn irresistibly downward, fixating on her delicate neck, white as ivory. The allure of her milky white neck was irresistible, and I couldn’t resist the temptation in my drunk state. I had to make a move. Despite the alcohol coursing through my veins, I suddenly became clear-headed.
I was intensely aware of the magnetic pull between us. I faked a stumble, a ruse that she promptly fell for. As she reached out to rescue me, I seized the opportunity, burying my face into her ivory neck, my arms wrapping around her tightly.
The stumble had taken an unexpected turn, and in an instant, my weight pushed her backwards, pinning her against a dark corner of the wall. The night, my wingman concealed our actions, granting us a blend of secrecy and desire.
With a deliberate motion, I withdrew from the embrace, my gaze locked onto her eyes. In that unspoken connection, I saw the same ‘Havas’ mirrored in her eyes, a yearning that needed no words. Without hesitation, I pulled her closer, our lips locking in a deep kiss that left us both breathless.
Our tongues started sparring with each other, an exploration of each other’s mouth that would have put Columbus to shame. Simultaneously, our hands started discovering the landscape of each other’s bodies. My fingertips traced the curves of her waist with a rather rough touch.
My physical memory was admiring the perfection of her body. One of my hands, rather brave, ventured further, slipping beneath the velvety fabric of her blouse, discovering the even softer boobs beneath. The encounter had escalated beyond the boundaries of friendship and into the cradles of lust.
As soon as my eager fingers began to unbutton her blouse, Pooja withdrew, her voice filled with a mix of desire but restraint. “Kabir! Not here, please,” she whispered. Her words carried a cultured and composed tone. Her actions reflected the depths of her sensibility, even amid our passionate connection.
With a graceful movement, she adjusted her blouse. Her eyes locked onto mine as if to convey that our moment of intimacy deserved a more private setting. She reached for my hand and held it firmly, her fingers entangled with mine. Her touch conveyed both caution and a promise of what lay ahead.
Without a word, she guided me back into the club. I couldn’t help but feel a pang of confusion and disappointment. It seemed our tantalizing encounter had come to an abrupt halt. But then, as if she had read my thoughts, Pooja’s demeanour changed.
She led me purposefully toward a less conspicuous area of the lounge. This place had a few co-gendered bathrooms. She led me into one that, though a bit small for two, was about to become our clandestine sanctuary.
If things sounded like a love story till now, things were about to take a lustful yet ugly turn. The confines of this overused nightclub washroom smelt like a mixture of air freshener and dried vomit or maybe even urine. For the first time, I stared at Pooja’s full silhouette.
My eyes followed every inch of her body, from her beautiful face to her shrivelled velvet blouse. Her skirt ended a few inches above her thighs. Pooja’s entire image yelled, “Meri lelo, magar shiddat se.” (Fuck me!) I had different plans for her.
Losing all shreds of patience, I pounced on Pooja. She welcomed me with open arms. Unlike before, my hands didn’t wait around exploring her body. Instead, one had slid inside her skirt and pulled her panty down. Just as her panty fell along her ankles, my hands started lifting up her blouse.
Her hands lifted to allow my eyes the pleasure of staring at her black bra covering her milky white boobs. Before she could respond, I turned her around. I made a V out of her very flexible body, her face in between the toilet seat and her ass curved upwards.
Pooja, in her black bra and skirt, suddenly transformed from a woman of culture to a porn star wanting more. In no time, my dick was out. The only shred of modesty that remained with Pooja was her skimpy skirt. I held it up and shoved my dick in as hard as possible.
Normally, I would have been soft, starting with fingers, waiting for her to self-lubricate. But this wasn’t the time for it. She yelled with all her might, and all her yells were drowned by the even louder club music. I slid my hand down her back to unhook the bra but couldn’t.
The intoxication with those difficult bra hooks made me slide my hand in front and pull at her bra. I was successful but only halfway. I could see one of her boobs bouncing in all directions wildly at every pump of my dick in her pussy. While her other boob was softly nestled in her bra.
After about 5 minutes and increased intensity, I could hear Pooja (over the club music) moan and cum loudly. I pulled out from her. My dick at all its height, veins throbbing around it, wanting to cum. Pooja, on the other hand, was now sitting on the toilet seat.
Her face and hair were wet from what seemed like toilet water. Her one boob still hung out from her bra while her skirt covered her modesty. She looked spent and a bit disgusted, probably because I shoved her face in the toilet. But I wasn’t done with her yet.
I picked her up and threw her on the wet toilet floor. I lifted her skirt, lay flat on her, and started pounding her again. This time, I could see her face. Her eyes rolled up with each push from me. She tried to reach out to kiss me, but I looked away. Her face was in the toilet. I wouldn’t kiss her now.
Again, within 5 minutes, she cum. But I was still going on. She tried to come out, but I wouldn’t. Even in my inebriated state, I had the sense to pull out just in time. I moved a few inches ahead and spit my cum on her dirty face.
The alcohol was out of my system by now. I could think clearly and remembered that I had my birthday party to enjoy. Pooja was still in the same state, one boob out and her skirt wet and ridden up. She was wiping my cum using toilet paper.
I left her just as she was and walked out of the toilet. A man was standing outside. He gave me a disgusted look and said, “Oh! Finally, you are out. I am waiting here for an eternity.”
I nodded at him and thought, ‘Don’t worry, you will thank me later.’ As I walked out of the washroom area, I could hear a distinct shriek from the toilet over the loud music.
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