Ali's night out

I love clothes.

Not because they cover anything, no, covering feels stupid. But because they reveal. They pinch, squeeze, stretch, show. Tonight was my first real night out. Real men. Real women. Real ****. Real fun.

I was buzzing before we even left.

Akio stood in front of the mirror, tugging at her bra. “These don’t fit anymore.” She turned, frowning at her reflection, her tits straining against lace. “I swear I’ve gone up a cup size.”

I clapped my hands. “The boob fairy came! You’re blessed! Yay!”

She groaned. “You’re such an idiot.” But I saw it — the flicker in her eyes. She liked it. She liked the change, even if she wouldn’t say it.

Jane was quieter. She wore a little black dress, low-cut, short enough to tease, her thighs bare, no shame in her steps anymore. She used to flinch at the idea of showing skin. Now she was like me. Almost.

But me? I was perfect.

Six foot two. Legs long enough to straddle anything. My dress was pink, tiny, so tight I had to shimmy it over my ass. The neckline plunged low, my tits spilling free every time I bent. No bra. No panties. Just me, raw and slutty, exactly how it should be. I strapped heels onto my feet, wobbling like a giraffe, then laughed at my own reflection. My nipples poked through the fabric like diamonds. My ass jiggled when I moved. My clit throbbed just from the attention of the mirror.

“Slut,” Akio muttered.

“Yes!” I chirped. “The best slut!”

Jane sighed, but I caught her eyes dipping down to my chest before she looked away. I made a mental note: later.

The taxi smelled. Sweat, cigarettes, cheap air freshener trying to hide it. The driver was older, balding, face lined with years of not sleeping enough. His accent was thick, his English broken.

Perfect.

“Sit in the back,” Akio told me.

“No,” I said, sliding into the front, my tits almost spilling from my dress as I leaned forward. “I want to see.”

The driver glanced sideways. His eyes dropped instantly to my chest, his knuckles tightening on the wheel.

I giggled. “You like them?”

He swallowed. “Yes.”

Heat shot straight to my pussy. Porn was real. Men always wanted. They always said yes.

“Do you want me to suck your cock?”

Jane choked behind me. “Ali—”

The driver nodded. Quick. ****.

“Yes,” he said again.

I beamed. “Yay!”

I leaned down, unzipping his trousers, the smell hitting me first, musk, sweat, something raw and male. His cock sprang free, thick and ridged, already hard. My mouth watered, drool pooling as I wrapped my lips around him for the first time.

Oh.

The heat. The taste. Salty, bitter, skin and pre-come coating my tongue. I gagged once, then moaned, pushing deeper. My cheeks hollowed as I sucked, my hand twisting at the base. He groaned, his accent warping into nothing but sound.

His cock pulsed against my tongue, veins throbbing. I bobbed my head faster, saliva dripping down my chin, my tits bouncing as I worked him. The taste grew stronger, thick, heavy, overwhelming.

He came fast. Hot jets filled my mouth, bitter and warm, spilling down my throat. I swallowed greedily, sucking him dry, moaning as I pulled back with strings of cum still clinging to my lips.

I licked them clean, grinning at him.

“Delicious,” I said.

He grunted, face red, one hand still white-knuckled on the wheel.

Jane covered her face in the backseat. Akio just muttered, “Unbelievable.”

The first pub was bright, loud, packed. I bounced in, giddy, heading straight to the bar. Beer. Wine. Shots. I wanted it all. The **** burned my throat, fizzed in my stomach, warmed me from inside out.

“This is amazing!” I shouted, slamming my glass down.

Jane tugged at my arm. “Slow down.”

“No!” I twirled, my dress riding up, flashing ass. Men stared. Women stared. I spread my arms wide. “Look at me! I’m perfect!”

Too loud. Too much.

The bartender glared. The bouncer came. He grabbed Akio’s arm rough, dragging us toward the door.

Her face twisted. “Let go—”

Rage flared in me.

I shoved him. Just one hand, flat against his chest.

He flew.

His body crashed back through the pub doors, splintering wood, landing hard on the floor inside. People screamed. Glass shattered.

Silence followed me as I stood panting, my hand trembling.

Akio and Jane stared, wide-eyed.

I blinked. Then laughed. “Oops.”

They didn’t laugh. But after more drinks, they didn’t care.

The nightclub was darker. Seedy. Sticky floors, lights flashing red and blue, bass rattling through my bones.

This was better.

I hit the dance floor immediately, hips swaying, tits bouncing, my dress clinging wet to my skin as sweat coated me. Men pressed close. Women too. Hands grabbed at me, tugging, groping. Fingers squeezed my ass, pinched my nipples through the thin fabric, brushed my clit through the hem of my dress.

I moaned, louder than the music.

Every touch sent sparks shooting through me. My body responded instantly, nipples like pebbles, pussy aching and swollen. I leaned into it, encouraged it, grinding against strangers, letting their hands explore every inch.

Jane tried to pull me away. Akio gave up.

I was alive.

We ended the night outside, drunk, sweaty, clutching chips and curry sauce from a greasy shop. The food dripped down my fingers, staining my dress, but I didn’t care.

Akio leaned against the wall, chewing, eyes brighter than I’d ever seen them. “I’m free,” she said. “No family. No debt. Just me.” She laughed, a real laugh. “It feels so fucking good.”

Jane hugged me, her head against my shoulder, warm and soft. I licked curry from my fingers, staring up at the night sky.

And then I saw it.

A camera on the corner of a building.

It pivoted. Slowly. Deliberately. Watching.

My smile widened.

They were still looking.