Rebecca had lots of moves. She shimmied and shook in effortless exquisiteness. Greg attempted to tap his foot to the music, but was lost. Rather than having an involved dance partner, Greg suspected Rebecca preferred to just have someone watching her.
    A lot of women desire to be the focal of attention. It was mutually beneficial: Artists needed subjects, poets needed muses, and horny women needed guys to watch them parade around provocatively. A voyeur could be welcomed by some women. It was a mind-fuck for girls to be ogled and desired. It was also a taunt of sorts, letting a guy know exactly what they wouldn't get with tonight. But this little waltz she did appeared to be for Greg only.
    Ballet had apparently honed her sense of rhythm and flow. Greg knew she was striving for the beat of the song, but he was unable to match, or keep up. She sensed his inept dancing skills and huddled closer to him. Her boogey started out with a funky kind of jive, but dirty dancing soon followed. She gyrated her hips, brushing against Greg in ways that made him nearly delirious. Her frontal blitzkrieg then changed to a rear assault. She turned, bending down and smothering Greg with that supple ass. As she bent into him, her pants rode up, revealing the thin strings of her underwear. Three different straps crossed to meet at the center of her crack. It was a thong, but even more revealing. Greg couldn't identify a g-string when he saw one. Greg placed hands on her hips as she grinded him.
    Any uncertainty as to whether or not she was insulted quickly left. That booty of hers worked over the front of his khakis until he had pitched quite the large trouser tent. There was no way she could be unaware of his engorgement. The pinstripe pants she wore were stretched across her tight derriere. Greg felt his cock slip in the rut between her buttocks. She rocked up and down the length of his pole, stopping when meeting the outcrop of his belly, then going back down.
    Greg's legs felt weak. Gradually, she pushed him backwards until Greg's spine came into contact with a vertical support beam in the club. Once Greg realizes it's not any person he's pressing on, he leans his head back and maintains his position. He submits to her urgings and lets himself be humped.
    Lust eclipses all other thoughts. caught firmly in the moment, Greg begins to push back, enjoying the constant pressure on his junk. To his satisfaction, Rebecca plants her hands on her knees and pushes back just as hard. Greg's dick is caught in the middle, which suits both their needs.
    Songs blended together. They continued their psuedo-coitus, inattentive to how much time had passed, or the shocked look of others. They eventually tired out, however. Foreplay was not enough to get them all the way there. At first Greg thought he would nut in his pants. But as their randiness adapted to the stimuli, it lost some of its allure. Getting 75% of the way toward orgasm was just not enough.
    "Let's step outside," Rebecca suggested. 
The spring air was blessedly cool and moist. Greg walked dimly toward the wrought-iron fence that lined the outside rear of Toad's. He was shot. The alcohol was wearing off, crashing him back to earth. Rebecca looked just as frazzled. Thin groups of people stood outside with them, puffing cigarettes.
"Well, that was fun," Rebecca says quietly. Fun wasn't quite the word Greg had in mind, but it had been enjoyable, to say the least.
"What time is it?" Greg asks, suppressing a yawn. Rebecca searched for her phone. A dazed expression emerges on her face.
"Oh shit!!" She exclaims, "I don't have my purse with me!!"
Greg looks at his own phone. "Holy shit!!" he bellows, "It's 12:15!! We've been dancing for almost 2 hours!!"
    Rebecca seems not to have heard him. She wears a deeply worried expression as she walks fast back into the bar. Greg follows, suddenly realizing her alarm. She didn't have her purse with her. It was on her arm when they first entered, but now it has vanished. Not good.
    "Goddammit!!" Rebecca says with a cry, "I'm so fucking stupid!! What did I do with it?!?!"
    Greg assists in her search, moving chairs and checking the floor. They check the booth where the girls were squeezed together. not there. She checks the bathroom. Nope.
"Everything was in there!!" Rebecca weeps, tears already forming, "My keys, my cash, my credit cards!!"
Rebecca has a hand to her head as she struggles through her haze to remember where she placed it.
"Do you know when I had it last?" Rebecca asks Greg in anguish.
    "You paid the bartender, didn't you?" Greg asks. Rebecca's face lights up with dawning amazement. She jogs over to the bar, a feat that's impressive considering the length of her heeled boots.
    "Excuse me!!" Rebecca yells, wedging in between two paying patrons, "I misplaced my purse, did you--"
    Without any further explanation, the barkeep plops Rebecca's purse down onto the countertop. Rebecca sags with consolation. Rebecca withdraws her wallet from the confines of the handbag and shows the bartender her ID. Once the guy is satisfied to have located the proper owner of the bag, he relinquishes it back to Rebecca.
    "Let's blow this popsicle stand!!" Rebecca requests, already regaining her elevated mood.
    Upon exiting, Rebecca hands Greg the Nissan keys.
"I'm pretty smashed," Rebcca says slowly, "Are you still okay to drive?"
"No problem, honey," Greg says, glad to be addressing a sweetie as such.
Greg studied her from the corner of his eye as they drove back. She had her head rested against the passenger side headrest. Her eyes were almost completely closed.
"YOu want me to roll the window down?" Greg asks, "Get some air?"
Rebecca grunts a reply. With a flip of the motorized switch, the window retracts. The rush of wind stirs Rebecca, who suppresses a yawn of her own. Her hair stands up in wild spikes as the wind ruffles it. Sweat has ruined her nicely kempt hairdo. She's too out of it to notice, a rare moment when a girl isn't aware of how she looks.
    "Park in the driveway," Rebecca says. Greg rolls to a stop in front of the garage. The cars engine is silenced with a turn of the key. Greg hears the tick of motor as it cools. The two sit in the car for a short while. Greg is hoping she will invite him inside, but he doesn't feel brave enough to ask. She yawns again, then opens her door. Greg does also.
"Don't lock it yet, I forgot my purse," rebecca says absentmindedly. She scoops up her bag and sways a little as she stands back up. Greg hits the lock switch on the keypad. The locks thud heavily. Rebecca has her eyes closed and is breathing deeply. Greg goes to her side.
    "Are you alright?" Greg asks, concerned not just for her well being, but also for the fragile possibility of lovemaking tonight.
"Yeah, I'm good," Rebecca says distantly, "It's justEverything is spinning.:
    Her eyes dart back and forth beneath her lids. Greg laughs, unable to contain it. She smiles a dopey grin and opens her eyes a sliver.
"Y-you can take advantage of me, it's okay," She says with a weak laugh.
Greg kisses her. Not too hard, but just right. She laughs again, and blows tiny droplets of snot onto his cheek. Greg breaks the kiss and grimaces.
"I'm sorry, baby," Rebecca says apologetically, "My purse might have somethingSomething to wipe,"
    She feebly snatches at the zipper to her purse, but Greg merely wipes the offending mucus off with his sleeve.
"Don't worry about it, doll." Greg says, offering his hand. As they walk, they toss pet names back and forth.
"Tiger," Rebecca starts.
"Pumpkin,"
"Hunk"
"Milf."
"Johnny BigCock" Rebecca says, through fresh peels of laughter. She is beyond tipsy. Her laughter is infectious. Greg can't help but join in.
"Jennifer LoveHug-Tits."
    Rebecca grabs her own boobs and squeezes.
"Honk" Rebecca says, mimicking a guys deep voice.
"Your sister's right, you're such a weirdo," Greg says playfully.
    Amy meets them on the couch. They have just woken her. The clock on the VCR/DVD combo on the TV flashes 12:45am.
"Hey sis," Amy greets, stretching and kicking her feet out from under her cover.
"Hey, how's it going?" Rebecca says strangely. It is apparent Rebecca is not sober, but she is still attempting to act the part.
"Julie has slept since you guys left." Amy states, clicking on the lamp, "she got up for a glass of water, but that was it."
    Greg takes a seat in one of the two main recliners. Rebecca sits down on the edge of his knee. Gregs hand is instantly on her back, rubbing gently.
"Are you going to stay here?" Rebecca asks vaguely. Greg senses those ever-present undertones. Rebecca wants to fuck, and would prefer an empty house.  Greg fingers the french tickler in his pocket. The square wrapper is a comforting presence. It will definitely get used tonight.
    "No, David is on his way over right now to pick me up," Amy assures, "You guys will have the place all to yourselves."
    There is an empty silence following that statement. They were all consenting adults. In concept, they had all just agreed upon what would transpire later. It was odd, and yet simple, too.
"Did you guys have a good time?" Amy asks, perking up with interest.
"Oh, it was so much fun," Rebecca says, "It was just like the old days. Only better."
"Did you guys dance?" Amy asks expectantly.
"We danced, we ate, we drank," Rebeca says, naming off their activities on her fingers, "We did it all."
"YOu look like a good dancer, Greg," Amy says, chuckling.
"I know sarcasm when I hear it," Greg answers, "But you're right. Your big sister has good moves here."
"I'm actually the older sister," Amy says, "I'm older by 2 years."
"Greg's just trying to compliment you by saying you look young," Rebecca says, giving shit. Amy jukes her head back and forth like a mimicked ghetto princess.
"Girl, I'm about to end your years right now, beyotch!!" Amy says.
    A pair of headlights swing into the driveway.
"That's David," Amy says in a high voice as she lifts herself from the couch.
"David is her husband" Rebecca says, tilting her head closer to Greg. Greg nods and affirms softly. He looks into the diamond sparkle of Rebecca's eyes. Her head pauses above his, lids still droopy. Greg squeezes her ass as Amy leaves through the door. Rebeccas hand covers his, squeezing his palm hungrily.
The two about-to-be lovers watch out the picture window as Amy is hauled away by her hubby. Rebecca squeezes Greg's hand continually. It is like waiting for Christmas morning. At long last, the red taillights fade to nothing and they are alone.

    Rebecca rises and closes the curtains, denying any prying eyes. With nimble fingers, she undoes the suit vest. It falls to the floor in a crumple pile. Just as quickly, the buttons are freed on her shirt. Her luscious curves are bared to him for the first time. Her petite frame has just enough weight to give a healthy eyeful. Her breasts defied the skinny tone of the rest of her body, and were poised enormously behind an elegant blue bra. The shade matched the sheen of her eyes, to Greg's awe.
    She straddled his right leg, climbing upon him eagerly. Greg's hands were unsteady as he unzipped her suit pants. She was out of control. They both were. She plunged a hand down her matching blue panties and diddled herself as Greg watched, completely attentive. Greg felt her toes curl furiously as she worked herself into a fever pitch.
"Do you touch yourself a lot?" Greg whispers.
"oh, yeah," Rebecca says dully, "I love it,"
She kneels forward. His leg presses against her hand, which presses against her pussy. Her legs jitter as she dry-fucks his thigh. Suddenly, her hand withdraws from her unmentionables and fumbles at Greg's fly.
   

    And then, it was out. His little helmet head was exposed.
"You're so big," Rebecca says with honest admiration. If there ever was an advantage to being overweight, it meant a guy's girth could also grow in proportion. She begins to stroke him. Greg hitched a gasp and closed his eyes. It was too much. He didn't want it to be over before it began. He projected himself out of the room, into other thoughts. Baseball seemed to do the trick. The time-honored sport seemed to also be a time-honored method of avoiding premature ejaculation.
    Greg didn't dare open his eyes, for fear of seeing her voluptuous body and just losing it. He could hear the clapping of flesh as her hand struck the base of his bladder. He feels his penis reach full-length, and bumps into his stomach. A drop of pre-cum touches his belly, and trails a long strand. She paused.
"Are you alright?" She asked softly, "you're not dying on me, are you, stud?"
Greg's eyes open to slits.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Greg says in a hoarse voice, "It's just thatIt's been awhile for me. We should slow it down some."
    He reaches out and caresses the crotch of her panties with outstretched fingers. Her legs twitch against his. "Let me focus on you a little bit," Greg whispers.
    Greg places both thumbs and index fingers from his hands onto the waistband of her panties. He runs his thumbs in circles, feeling the shiny material in a motion like one may count money. All at once, he grasps her underwear and pulls upward. It's not done roughly, but there is solid pressure. The sleek fabric parts her labial lips, and sends spasms through her body.
"Oh, yeah," Rebecca says thickly, "Ohrub it."
    Greg continues this sort of frontal wedgie. She enjoys it. Greg alternates up and down. Her hips thrust to match his speed. A damp spot spreads rapidly across the crotch of her panties. Greg hooked one finger in the elastic and pulled it away from her flat belly. Greg leaned in and saw the sparse tuft of her dark brown pubic hair. She was neatly maintained, but not shaven. As he watches with avid fascination. a droplet of excitement leaks from her and dribbles onto her periwinkle blue underwear. He lets go of the waistband and it slaps back just a little below the outie of her belly button.
    Greg reached up and palmed her face gently. His thumb pressed upon her lips. His other hand squeezes her breast. Rebecca jumps ever so slightly at the initial contact. His thumb bends, pushing against those ruby lips. He can almost feel the dull heat of her nipples pressing outward as her bloodflow increased. Her mouth opens. He feels the slick surface of her teeth graze his thumbnail. His digit meets her tongue. These new fangled bras sometimes had the release in the front. This one didn't. She suckles his thumb, slathering it with her warm saliva. Greg worked it in and out of her mouth slightly. Her tongue followed, outstretching to maintain their slippery dance.
    Greg's fingers inched around her back. He fumbled with the stubborn hooks. Greg was clearly out of his element. It was difficult enough for him to remove a brazier with two hands, let alone one. Rebecca began to reach around to assist him when it finally came free. I've still got it, Greg celebrated inwardly.
    The bra inched down the mound of her chest.

LINK TO PART 47: http://www.ebaumsworld.com/blogs/view/82402997/