Party Time

You feel like you're rooted to the ground.

"What?" You ask again, raising your voice even though the club has quieted considerably since Scarlett had made her way upstairs.

Maybe you had misheard him, maybe you really were losing your mind. Or dreaming. Or drunk. Or high. Or...

"Ms. Johansson would like to buy you a drink, ma'am." The bodyguard repeated, starting to sound exasperated.

"Ummm... what?" Its all you can think of to say. The bodyguard just looks at you.

Go upstairs? To have a drink with Scarlett Johansson? You've never been more divided on a decision on your life.

"Oh, FUCK no!" Screams one half of your brain. "I have to get out of here! I've got booze all over me, my makeup is a mess, my dress may be ruined, and my sinuses are full of pineapple juice! She'll take one look at me and laugh! Oh my god, If she laughs I'll never be able to get over it. NEVER. I'll just fucking die on the spot. Here lies Kristen Locke, died from having her celebrity crush laugh at her misfortune."

"Oh FUCK yes!" The other half of your brain screams. "You've been dreaming of this moment for most of your fucking life! Scarlett Fucking Johansson wants to buy YOU a drink! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!?!? LET'S. FUCKING. GOOOOO!"

You're about to say 'what' yet again to give your brain another chance to catch up, when something above you catches your eye.

The club's upstairs VIP area has a long balcony that looks out over the dance floor and entrance. Casually leaning against the rail and looking down at you is Scarlett Fucking Johansson.

You lock eyes with her again. She smirks.

That fucking smirk could get you to do anything she wanted... or let her do anything she wanted TO you.

The smirk widens a little as she leans over the rail, giving you a great view of her own incredible cleavage.

"Uhh... lead the way." You say at last, nodding toward the bodyguard.

_____

You follow the bodyguard up to the top floor, the noise of the club dropping a little further. As you enter the VIP area you look around, its like a smaller, more wealthy version of the club below, complete with its own bar and dance area in the center, a DJ up on a stage, and booths all along the edge. Scattered around you see maybe a dozen other people, including a local celebrity and her husband, a man sitting with two well dressed women, another couple you don't recognize in the corner, and a scattering of others. You shrink behind the bodyguard a little hoping you wont be noticed in your current condition. Fortunately they all seem too wrapped up in their own conversations to notice you slipping by.

The bodyguard leads you to the bar, where Scarlett's perfect ass rests on a stool. She swivels as she sees you approaching in the mirror behind the bar.

"Hey there. Scarlett Johansson." She offers you her hand and you shake it, your eyes are drawn downward, one gorgeous leg is draped over the other, the slit in her dress going almost all the way to her hip. Fuck, you just want to run your tongue all the way up the length of that perfect leg, savoring every inch. Her skin is as flawless as it looks in her films, and you catch the scent of strawberries as you draw near.

You cant hold it in any longer. "YouwereamazinginlostintranslationandineverymarvelmovieyoushouldhavewonanoscarformarriagestoryOMGILOVEYOUUUU~~~~!" You squeal, your fan girl coming out in one long, uncontrollable burst.

"Also, would you sit on my face?" You literally have to bite your tongue to keep from saying that last part.

Her smile widens at your outburst, but fades away completely as she gets a better look at you in the dim light. "Uh oh, looks like you're still wearing most of that drink, here have a seat." She pats the stool next to hers, then leans over the bar to grab a nearby napkin."You know, I'm used to people overreacting to my presence but that was pretty... spectacular." Her voice has more than a hint of sly humor.

"M-me fan-girling over you, or the spit take?" You manage.

She looks back at you and cocks an eyebrow. "The spit take." The smirk is back.

You sit next her, your mind going a mile a minute as she dunks the corner of the napkin into a nearby glass of water.

"For a second I thought I'd made your head explode. I felt so bad for you, the least I could do was invite you up here to have a drink."

The napkin sufficiently dampened, she dabs a little underneath your eyes, one finger under your chin as she wipes away the smeared mascara and sticky juice from your drink. You savor her touch.

"So, do you have a name, or should i just call you Mount Saint Helens?"

You giggle, "I'm Kristen." You finally manage, and you give her what you hope is a winning smile. "I'm like, your biggest fan. Like EVER."

"So I gathered... Kristen..." The way she says your name gives you chills. The chills intensify as the napkin trails down your neck, your collarbone, and eventually starts to dab at the top of your cleavage.

Was it just your imagination, or was her breathing getting heavier? Yours sure as hell was.

You arch your back a little as she continues to dab cool water on the tops of your tits. She was definitely taking her time... and you were loving every minute of it.

You squirm a little a little in your seat as you feel yourself getting wet.

"That's better." Scarlett clears her throat, and you could swear she looked a little flushed, but it was hard to tell for sure in this light. Reaching behind her again she places the napkin on the bar and picks up a fresh drink left there moments ago by the waitress.

"Bahama mama, right?" There's a teasing quality in her voice that's hot as hell, and all you can think about is bending her over the bar and drilling her with your tongue.

You reach for the offered drink, and your fingers brush against hers as you take it, a volt of electricity seeming to pass between the two of you.

"Oh, ha!" You **** a laugh. "Great guess! Thank you!" You take a sip.

"So, umm...Ms. Johansson?" You try not to sound too meek.

"Scarlett." She touches your knee briefly and you go from wet to drenched.

"Scarlett." You squeak. "Would it be alright if I got a picture with you? I mean..." You swallow, averting your gaze. ""I mean no one will ever believe me. EVER. I just need one, will only send it to my sister Shannon, I swear."

She smiles and moves her stool closer to yours. "All you had to do was ask, Kristen."

You fumble for your phone, almost dropping it as you try and get the right angle. Finally you have what looks like good framing for a selfie of you and Scarlett. Without a seconds hesitation she wraps her arm around your neck, pulling you close. You feel your cheek press against hers as she flashes a peace sign and puckers her lips. You put on your brightest smile as you click what feels like a million selfies of you and the hottest woman on the planet. After a moment, the two of you break contact.

You flip through the pictures on your phone. You'd never seen someone so photogenic in person. "I'll umm... send it to her later.. when I'm sure this isn't all a dream...ha." You **** another laugh. You hope the dim light of the club makes it hard to tell that you're blushing.

"Want me to pinch you to be sure?" Scarlett locks eyes with you again. Holy shit, was she flirting with you?

You clear your throat. "So how's the most famous woman in the world end up out at the club by herself? Aren't you...?"

"Married?" She crinkles her nose. "I guess, if that's what you want to call it." She looks downcast for a moment, then turns to her own drink, downing what looked like a shot of tequila in one quick tilt of her head. Ok, best not to bring up that topic again. "Work trip, been scouting smaller cities for a project I'm working on for Netflix. Just needed to unwind a little after a long day. How about you? Can't believe a knockout like you is at a club alone on a Friday night."

She called you a knockout. Your face feels like the surface of the sun. "Oh, uhh, I just couldn't sleep. I live just down the street and I know the owner. Sometimes I drift down here to have a cocktail. The drinks here are amazing."

You drain your glass as she motions to the bartender for another round. You had a feeling a little liquid courage could only help with your nerves.

As you take a long drink from a new glass, the music begins to kick in and a number of patrons head to the dance floor. Scarlett slams another shot, and her smirk widens into a grin as she takes you by the wrist.

"Come on hot stuff, let's dance."

The music drowns out any protestations, and before you know it, you're out on the dance floor.

You had never been a great dancer, but something about the electricity in the air, the slight buzz from your drink, and the hot, swiveling body of Scarlett Johansson dancing next to you has lowered your inhibitions enough for you to give it your all.

You move with the music, swinging your hips with your hands over your head. you turn a little, and realize that Scarlett seems to be dancing WITH you, not NEXT to you. The thought gives you shivers that have nothing to do with the ****.

You turn a little to face her, your body swinging to the thumping beat of the dance music.

She moves in close, your faces just a few inches apart, the neon lights playing off her perfect face.

You breathe her in, and you wonder what her pussy tastes like.

She turns her back to you, and starts to lightly grind her ass into your lap.

It's almost enough to make you cum right then and there. You've never needed a release so bad in your life.

You bite your lip to stop a moan. FUCK! She keeps at it, grinding with the beat.

She has to know what she's doing to you, right?

Whether its the atmosphere, the liquor, or a combination of both, you're suddenly feeling daring.

You press yourself against her, seeking more friction.

Her grinding intensifies and you close your eyes.

Fucking... that's it...UNF!! The contact is driving you wild. Just a little more...

It's not quite enough, the contact is just leaving your aching pussy wanting more. More contact, more...HER.

You run both hands through your hair simultaneously, grasping it into fists, elbows forward. Your eyes squeeze shut even harder. God does it ever feel good tho...

The music ends with a crescendo, and suddenly the tantalizing contact is gone.

Scarlett turns around, clearly out of breath.

Your own breath is ragged, your hands still holding onto your long blonde hair. You feel a drop of sweat trickle down your back.

You gaze at each other, both breathing heavily.