At a little over a week passed her nineteenth birthday, Kylie wasn't above a little outrageous flirtation. After all, she was young, had no ties or worries and consequently, was a fully paid up member of the 'girls' just wanna have fun' club.
Clubbing was her passion. When she wasn't in a night club, sexily moving her body to the sweaty beat of a sensual rhythm, she was getting ready to go out or shopping for that next daring garment that would show her curves to perfection. For the pint sized brunette with sharp, spiky, died jet-black hair, hazel brown eyes and a generous topping of firm and not inconsiderable breasts, there was no other rush that could beat the night life. Daddy provided the cash. He could afford it, running a Wall Street Commercial Bank. He found it so much easier just to give-in to his less than bashful daughter every time she threw a tantrum. Daddy found a little 'peace' in his busy schedule and Kylie found her reason to be.
"Vodka -- Straight up!" She asked one of the multitudes of 'rushed off their feet' barmen. "Make it a double!"
When it came, she snapped it down in one gulp, thudding the empty glass hard on the bar counter.
The barman obliged. He couldn't care less if this not untypical New York spoilt brat threw-up or not. It was only nine, the night was young and already his commissions tally was mounting.
"More?" He asked, with raised eyebrows, as soon as the second helping vanished.
This time, Kylie threw a twenty on the counter, grabbed the glass and sauntered off into the middle of the dance floor. Eyes closed. Naked arms rose into the air as she moved to the rhythm, sensually gyrating her hips and bum to the sound of an Al Green classic. That's why she liked Randy's. As nightclubs go, Randy's was by far the best when it came to playing the finest of the oldies. She hated this modern boom-boom excuse for music, and Rap should definitely remain on the streets. Apart from that, Randy's was just a ten-minute yellow-cab from Daddy's exclusive top floor and spacious uptown apartment. Life just doesn't come any better.
Although not heaving, for a Thursday, the place was already quite busy, especially on the floor, where moving globe-shaped mirrors hanging from the ceiling, reflected varying changes in light, seventies style. She also liked the large screens that the owners erected recently that displayed a never-ending loop of soft porn. Overnight, these images energised the place, turning Randy's into the most sexually charged nightclub around. It was almost impossible not to bump into someone who had that look in their eye and the men always had something stiff to rub against. She liked that. She liked the tease. Due exclusively to the new screens and their graphic displays, the visitor count had trebled, as word of an easy lay spread across the social media.
In the last month, she had fucked nine guys, two at the same time, and four girls. Kylie had never had so much fun and tonight, warmed by the vodka, turned-on by the suggestive images of nakedness on the screens and the relentless sensual feel of her latest outfit, made of the thinnest and purest Lycra, she was up for number fourteen. This one-piece garment was a rare find, it was so elastic, it moved with her and was so thin and light, when she closed her eyes she felt naked, with the exception of one startling revelation. When she tried it on in the boutique, she found that a patch of hard, rounded bubbles made of some sort of plastic had been sewn into the gusset, pushing directly against her pussy. The slightest of movements rubbed that hardness in an uninterrupted stream of foreplay, so delicate, so sensual, that she could only conclude that the designer had done it deliberately. She paid seven hundred and fifty dollars for it there and then. On the dance floor, Kylie raised her glass and consumed its content in celebration of a liberal thinking clothes manufacturer. Fuck, she felt horny tonight.
Bumping into someone, Kylie turned to face her. She looked hot. With long flowing blonde hair, a light coloured, yellow maybe, thin and see-through seventies cheesecloth shirt, with no bra, she was more than hot. Tiny nipples were erect from the sensuous beating they received from the sharp and slightly rough material. Bright yellow leather hot pants surrounded narrow hips and the beginnings of narrow, youthful thighs. At the front, a tantalising gap of loose leather offered the chance to slip a hand down passed a smooth taught tummy to delve further and sample that obviously displayed camel-toe. A pair of yellow knee length boots and amazingly pink painted lips, finished off the image of a super sexually charged woman transported almost forty years into the future. She looked about twenty-four, twenty-five maybe, and her deep blue eyes sparkled, matching her mischievous grin.
As is customary, they danced in front of one another, neither saying a word, but both checking the other out. The rules of the game allow five seconds. If you don't like what you see, move away and turn your back within five seconds. If you do like what you see then stay, keep dancing and keep imagining what it would be like to be naked next to that person. Would you? Is the only question that comes to mind? Would you be up for a fuck with this person? Kylie stood her ground, transfixed. There was no doubt. Kylie would, but would she?
When Al Green finished singing 'Let's stay together', the stranger who didn't move away, fixed a stare at Kylie's black, skin tight Lycra suit and matching boots. She knew what she was doing. This message was clear, 'I'm not moving', you choose. Kylie might have been five or six years younger, but she wasn't so green as to not know the rules and took a step closer, in fact, she came so close that their breasts almost touched and their breath washed over each other's faces. Kylie had made her choice abundantly clear.
Within just five chords, Kylie recognised the next song, Barry White and 'let's get it on' -- perfect, but who will make the next move? Which one will get it on?
She needn't have worried, before the tenth note was struck, this captivating stranger, whose eyes seemed to penetrate her soul, had raised her arms and rested them loosely on Kylie's shoulders. With eyes still fixed in a daring glare, she took the remaining half step forward that sealed what they both now knew was inevitable. Breasts pushed tightly against breasts and the girls' forehead pushed against her own. In terms of height, they were perfectly balanced. Noses touched, rubbing softly, and so delicately together. In terms of confidence, Kylie was losing. She already knew that this girl was so much stronger than she was.
Kylie shook slightly. Their lips were close. This was the fastest pick-up she had ever experienced. Neither had spoken a word and already she knew that if this stranger made an attempt to kiss her or even tried to loosen the flimsy hooks at the back that daringly displayed almost the entire middle portion of her back, then she wouldn't resist, not even here amongst all these people.
The girls' full and painted pink lips were so close now; together, they had stopped dancing and stood perfectly still against one another. Kylie could feel her breath wash against her own lips, she could smell, even taste her minty freshness. This was agony. This moment was so torturous it made her pussy tingle with a flood of juices against that sewn-in sex toy. It was no use. One of them had to back down. Kylie's eyes closed in absolute surrender. She knew she had submitted, she couldn't resist and knew that the older girl had won, but she didn't care, she just needed that kiss.