The Coat Room

I was visiting a friend in Manhattan. We were going to a party, some friend of a friend on the Upper Westside. I didn't know anyone there, except my friend and I lost her sometime after 11:00. It was a mixed crowd. Some Nolita types, some of us from Brooklyn, some people old enough to be my parents, or at least my father...some young enough to be my step-mom. And I was pretty buzzed as we'd dropped what I had thought was some E but turned out to be some downs instead. And I'd had a few Blue Moons and a couple of shots of (not realizing of course that I had just taken a down).

I was feeling pretty loopy. Most of that night is only bits and pieces. Jumbled fragments that don't quite fall into place. I remember talking to some hot guy from California, kind of cute with long hair. I was thinking I wanted to give him a blow job and he was going on about this Venezuelan sandwich place and did I know it. And then there's black. And then I remember waking up face down in the dark. So, technically it was still black. I was on a bed covered with people's coats, even some furs, if you can imagine that. And it was warm and dark. It must have been the bedroom that had been designated the party's coat room. And I didn't want to get up because it felt like I was in a giant marshmallow and I knew the wind off the Hudson would be like 20 degrees (we had just had a snowstorm a couple days before) and I was so nice and cozy under all those coats.

But I had heard something. What was it? It was someone coming into the coat room. I could hear voices, but, of course, being face down under a pile of coats, I couldn't see anything. It was a couple. But I couldn't make out what they were saying. Then I realized they were speaking French. And at first I thought maybe I was in France. But I knew that couldn't be. I hadn't been out that long. I mean I would have had to go through the TSA line. I think I would have remembered that.

I could tell by their voices they were older. Like maybe in their thirties or even forty. They were talking; you could tell it was something mundane, like paying the babysitter or why were you talking to that chick by the canapés or are we going to Long Island next weekend. Whatever. I didn't care. I just wanted to stay in my little cocoon and I wished I hadn't worn a skirt because it was going to be twice as cold outside in a skirt and I didn't want to have to pay for a cab all the way back to Brooklyn.

Then they started moving the coats, like trying to figure out what happened to theirs. And I just wanted to burrow in deeper so they wouldn't disturb me, but I didn't want to move. In fact, I couldn't if I'd tried. Every part of my body felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. And like moving was such an effort. And then one of them pulled off the last coat covering me and they stopped. I could feel the cooler air on my back. Oh, I wanted that coat back on me! Just let me sleep you fucking Frenchies! Then I heard them talking quietly to themselves. Like, oh, what do we have here? A passed out American bimbo. Sacre bleu. I mean, that's what it sounded like to me. But their tones were hushed.

And then I heard the coat being put down to one side. And as they talked I felt my skirt being slowly raised. What the fuck!, I thought to myself. There was an intake of breath and their next exchanges were almost reverential. In spite of myself I was glad that at least they seemed to be having nice things to say about my totally vulnerable, totally exposed mid-winter-white thighs and ass. And that felt kind of good. I mean since I couldn't do anything about it anyway if my life depended on it. At least I had worn nice panties. Nothing sexy. Just some retro pink striped bikini panties. But they were clean. I mean, you go to a party, you figure someone'll see your panties before the night is over, right?

They talked back and forth with each other. She seemed to be asking. He seemed to be saying like of course, or course. And then they got quiet and I felt her fingernails slipping under the waist of my panties and she slowly pulled them down over the hump of my round, white ass (not fat mind you, but black guys on the sidewalk turn and give me a second look). I'm thinking, lady! What the fuck?!?

I felt the bed move. She had sat down next to me. And then I felt her finger tips run down my asscheek all the way to the downy backs of my thighs. So lightly like it almost didn't happen. But then it happened again on the other cheek and back up. And then I felt one fingernail gently trace its way from the top of my ass cleft down between my cheeks, just graze my butthole and stop right at the few stray hairs left on my perineum. Goosebumps broke out on my ass and up my back. And my heart started beating away.

And they were almost whispering now. I heard the woman make a slurping sound and she placed one hand right on my ass cheek and pushed it to the side, opening me up. And then I felt a delicate, wet finger gently circle my butthole. Whoa! Hold the phone here, lady!

Meanwhile the guy, Mr. Frog, was waxing rhapsodic about my ass and about Lady Frog's aberrant behavior. I heard her sucking on her finger again and then she was gently rubbing on my asshole again. And other than this being totally weird it actually didn't feel half bad. Part of me didn't mind laying face down with my panties down to my thighs with some strange French woman massaging my asshole. And I must have moaned a little or purred, because suddenly she pulled her finger away. And there was silence.

Then a pause. I guess they were afraid I was waking up or something. I heard a few whispers. Then a wet sound and the insistent little finger was tapping at my backdoor again. And I kind of sighed and she stopped rubbing for a moment then kept going.

Now she pulled my cheeks further apart and I felt her gently pushing her fingernail in the center of my pucker. She was being real careful, for which I was and am grateful. She kept pushing gently and damn if I didn't feel my little butthole stretch until she was all the way in to her first knuckle.

I could hear their breathing now. And more whispers. The bed creaked. She must have leaned over, because the next thing I felt was a warm gob of spit land in my ass crack and run down between my cheeks to where her finger was stuck up my ass. She moved her finger out a little and spit again. She managed to land a good portion right on her finger and my asshole. Then she worked her way up my ass some more.

I could hear her kind of cooing to me now. Something about "her petite shoe" or something. And I felt her long, thin finger sliding up inside of me and she was very gentle. I knew she was trying to be gentle. As gentle as you can be sliding your finger up some anonymous passed out girl's asshole, I guess.

I heard a zipper slide open and the rustling of clothes. She stopped and whispered something to him. I felt her leaning over again and then wet, slurpy noises. And he moaned quietly. And I felt a hot flush of lust spread over me, knowing she was sucking on her husband's cock with her finger up my ass. Like I was connected to what they were doing, a passive co-conspirator. Then she pulled away from him, her finger still up my ass, mind you, all the way to her last knuckle now. Her other hand let go of my ass cheek and I heard and felt a rhythmic motion. And the guy moaned again. In French. If you can imagine a moan in French. And I knew she had his cock in her fist and was jerking him off while fingering my ass. God, she was one busy French woman.

And as I lay there with her sliding her long, slim finger in and out of my asshole and hearing her jerking off her husband, I wondered if maybe they were from Montreal. I don't know a French Canadian accent from a French accent. And I was kind of melting into the bed and breathing a little harder because this older French woman was really working over my asshole and it was really starting to feel good in a very, very perverse, submissive kind of way. Like go ahead and do with me as you wish, Mistress, and all that. I mean, I could feel my little backhole opening up like a flower, getting all relaxed and my pussy was joining in getting all gushy and drooly.

And she's pumping on her husband's cock and she's talking to him and I don't know what she's saying but it sounds dirty. The way she's talking in French just sounds nasty and hot. And I was thinking I hope he doesn't cum all over the coats. That would be just nasty and wrong. And not nasty in a good way. Some nice surprise when you get home and take off your coat. Like what's this on my camel hair coat, dear? Why I do believe that's stranger semen. Call the dry cleaners! Then I thought, God, I hope he doesn't cum on me. Well, actually part of me was really turned on at the thought of him spurting his hot load on my jiggling white butt cheeks and the backs of my thighs. But what if he shot all the way up my back, all over my skirt, my top? Again...call the dry cleaners!

The bed creaked again and I heard her sucking on his cock again. And it was really turning me on. Maybe more than seeing them. I mean, what if they were ugly or something? In my mind they were pretty good looking. I imagined she had brown hair like me, but longer and done up, with a few long strands hanging down past her ears. And she had a black dress and high heels. And he was older and sophisticated, with a touch of gray at his temples. And they liked having her jerk him off at parties while she finger fucked a helpless stranger's ass. Then went home and had baguettes smeared with triple cream brie. Or maybe she jerked him off onto the baguette and they ate it with man-cream.

She took her mouth off him and started jerking him again, and he was saying things to her, and by his tone I knew he was close. And she pulled her finger from my ass again and I heard her noisily sucking on it (those were my ass juices on that finger, I thought and marveled at what a little slut our sophisticated French woman was), getting it lubed up some more. And when she pulled it out my ass felt so empty. Oh, I wanted her to slide that wonderful finger of hers up my sweet, hungry, little ass again.

She tried to get it back in, but she had one hand jerking French hubby and my cheeks had closed and she didn't have a free hand. She was feeling around with her finger but trying not to poke me with her nail. And I wanted her in me again. And I felt bad for her and thought the least I could do was help out a little. So I managed to get my arms to move and I shifted a little and got them back behind me. I reached back and grabbed a meaty, little butt cheek in each hand and spread my ass for her so she could get to my little asshole.

And I could hear their breathing change. Oh, God, I thought, maybe I've given myself away just a teeny, tiny bit. Then she reached out her finger and slid it straight up my ass and it was glorious. I must have moaned a little. She was talking to me, and it was like she was telling me what a good girl I was or slut or whatever. It didn't matter. Just as long as she kept talking like that in French and kept sliding her finger deep up my ass like that. I didn't know my ass could feel so good.

And then I heard the guy start making funny noises. And she was talking to him in a soothing tone. And her pumping got harder and it sounded like he was about to strangle on something. And then she was bent over sucking hard on him. And I could by his little stifled cries that he was cumming. And she was choking a little and I heard her swallowing, gulping. And I thought my heart would pound right out of my chest it was so hot.

And then she slowly pulled her finger out of my ass. Mmmm. And I sighed and relaxed into the bed, dropping my hands to my sides. I heard her inhaling deeply. She was smelling my ass on her finger! I was suddenly so self-conscious. I mean, how clean was I back there really? Then she made a comment to her husband and I could tell this crazy French woman liked it! Then I heard her sucking on her finger and practically smacking her lips in appreciation. Glad you like the ass, Ma'am. Happy to oblige.

Then she leaned over and gave my butt cheek a little kiss. She gently pulled up my panties and folded my skirt back down over my thighs. I felt like I'd been a good little girl and I was getting tucked in for the night. I heard a zipper being zipped up and, just before the coats were placed gently back on top of me, a soft "au revoir."