I was surprised that Violet had continued conversing with me after I had gone home from Bath. I was still fuelling on all of the stories she would continue to tell me, and all of the scenarios that she had mapped out for us. My cock was raw from all of the edging that I had done over her every day till we would meet again. Part of me was feeling frustrated that I had to wait a good week or so before seeing her again, working more shifts in shit retail. The only motivation to get through a shift was that I could go home and wank over her to my heart's content. Even though I say this, I did have a shift where I saw this gorgeous woman. Perhaps mid-thirties. Heck, she could have been older for all I knew. All the oldish women you think look young, think to look in their thirties are probably fifty. But anyways, she had these wonderful legs, how I would love to see her on top of me. Customer service was a mandatory part of the job, but I found myself trying to genuinely charm her onto my dick. When she didn't give me her number at the counter and ask to sleep with me, I was offended, to say the least. She clearly wasn't a whore like Violet, obviously. I felt robbed of a fuck. I had given this customer my time, effort, and charm and she didn't give me anything in return but a shit smile and a goodbye as she wore her beautiful leopard print scarf. What a bitch.
I didn't even need to see full nudes of Violet, because I knew what that loose cunt of hers looked like and felt like around my cock. That, and her anecdotes would weirdly and obsessively turn me on. It was like a drug. A fix. What do you need? One of her stories. It was baffling to me that she wasn't a prostitute, or hadn't dipped into that field at any point of her life. I feel like she would be good at it, in some sort of way. I never understood though what conversations with a prostitute before the act were like though. Do you talk about how your day went? Do you not talk whatsoever and then randomly just start fucking. These were the things I didn't know and didn't want to delve into firsthand to find out. Why I had said yes to going to this party would be one of the main reasons that I said what I did at the beginning, about this fantasizing thing. Part of me had thought that this would be some regular house party with some slight promise that I would sleep with Violet afterward once everyone had fucked off home, and possibly make out with her during the party also. But so many different thoughts were crossing my mind. wouldn't her friends wonder who I was? Who this random fucking stranger is, hanging out with us and acting like we've been lifelong best friends, tied together by the social propaganda of having to stick together through thick and thin. On top of that, I wasn't sure if there was some sort of dress code for it. I may have been spoofed by underdressing. I think my outfit of a sweatshirt and jeans did just fine though.
When her friends arrived, I felt lucky about the fact that they had chosen to go for pre-drinks before coming to Violet's party. Mostly because they were very friendly to me, which of course came as a surprise. I noticed people right away, how attractive some of these females were. Of course, the guys were there too and were friendly, but I didn't care much for their existence. Her name was Holly, a blonde who had a flat chest and was wearing this dark blue dress over her slim figure. I would say that she was the most friendly of all of them, and it didn't take me long to start fantasizing about fucking her too. What underwear did she have on under that dress? I was wondering what sort of colour she would wear, and what her cunt probably looked like. In some of her photos and sometimes her look in person, she seems the type, in my humble opinion, who does cocaine on the weekends and goes on the hunt for dick. Maybe not as much as Violet does, but it was definitely an easy assumption to make. Though the latter half of this assumption may not be true, I did find out through drunk conversing that she did cocaine on New Year's Eve the year prior.
"All it really did for me was hurt my nose."
I didn't know how to react to this, believe me.
"That's understandable."
As you can see, the girl's pants I want to get into becomes quite easy with amazing responses to a flat-chested blonde telling you her nose hurt after doing lines. God help me.
