0 comments/ 29353 views/ 0 favorites Hung Over By: bradley_stoke Clare rolled to one side and her bare nipples brushed briefly and sensuously against the hair of a naked man's chest. At first she thought nothing of it and almost rolled back, to face away as she normally did, but then she wondered. Who was this man? And where was she? She turned back with alarm and studied the figure sprawled next to her, one arm and one leg free of the sheet that covered him and a gently breathing mouth that faced towards her. His short hair was ruffled and he had a small ring through his nose. Clare was still none the wiser. She lay on her back and studied the ceiling and walls around her. This was definitely not her flat. No way would she have plastered it with so many pictures of semi-clad women featured on night club posters. Nor would she have dreamt of buying such a purely functional lampshade. And all those CDs cluttering up the surfaces of the utilitarian furniture! This could only be a man's bedroom. Clare squeezed her eyes tight. She was definitely feeling ragged. She'd mixed too many drinks with too many drugs. Although she didn't have that horrible nauseous feeling that often accompanied the morning after, she wasn't feeling at her best. She remembered going to the night club. But she couldn't remember the name of it. Even though she had queued up for ages outside with Joanne, Phillippa and Louise. But once inside, with the DJ caning the funky techno and hard dance, it became one disconnected blur of recollections. Most of her time, she was sure, was spent on the dance floor, gyrating, swivelling, stomping and sweating under the strobes, the E kicking in and the speed driving her faster and more delirious. And didn't they snort some charlie earlier in the evening? That was cool! And between the dancing, the four girls sat together by the bar, swigging a few coolers and puffing at their ciggies. And giggling and chortling and shouting and measuring up the talent. Some good looking boys. But, be honest, after enough E, let alone the alcopops, a boy had to be fucking ugly not to look half-way decent. And back on the floor, the four girls going their separate ways. Phillippa with the shaven-headed guy with the weird Maori tattoos. Louise and Joanne in a huddle with some guys who insisted they'd met them once at the Zap Club in Brighton. Which was possible. And Clare herself with the guy with the little goatee, the funny beret and the cool tee-shirt he'd got at Glastonbury that time. He was a fucking good dancer. And, as she soon established, not a bad kisser either, as they manoeuvred towards a pillar and got into some strenuous tongue-play. So, was the bloke she was with the same guy? She turned her head back to look at him. No fucking way! So how had she managed to hitch up with him? And then it came back to her, fragments of memory coalescing bit by bit into a coherent picture. It was when Clare was leaving. She had no idea what had happened to her three friends. They'd been with her and some boys and some other girls they'd met when they collected their coats from the cloakroom. But somehow outside, it was so confusing. Taxis everywhere. People sponging ciggies. Bouncers standing with their arms folded outside the club. "You want this taxi?" asked a guy, as one drew up to the kerb. And Clare looked him up and down. Fuck! He was better than nothing, she must have thought. If she'd thought much about anything at all. And anyway she was still out of it. "Yeah! Why not?" "Where're you going?" he asked as they sat together on the back seat. "Coffee on offer?" Clare slurred. "Yeah, right!" he said, quite clearly as beyond clear thought as she was. And then back, somehow, and here there was a total blank, to this flat somewhere in the city. Or not so complete a blank. She remembered his tongue in her mouth, his hands on her breasts and her hand on his trousers. Just making sure! Then in his flat. No coffee, mind you. Just a frantic fumble as her clothes and his slid away and the two were on top of each other. There was sweat. There were some helpful poppers. There was a bit of tongue-play below as Clare toked on a joint he'd skinned up and he burrowed his head between her legs, his tongue twiddling on the little clit ring she'd bought in Ibiza. And then, but thankfully not straight away, the inevitable fucking. But was it good? Probably. And did she take precautions? Well, the pill would handle the obvious worry, but she remembered guiltily, and cursed herself, nothing to guard herself the other concerns. Shit! After that Chlamydia and that bout of gonorrhoea hadn't she learnt anything? Obviously not! Shit! Another month probing around with a mirror. Perhaps another visit to the clinic. Another month when she'd have to confess to Paul that she'd done what she shouldn't have done. Clare sighed deeply. "Wassup?" asked the guy beside her. Clare smiled. Should she ask him whether he had caught anything? As if he'd tell her if he had! "Fine," she replied. And then she noticed that despite his hangover, which bleared his eyes and left his mouth drooping in a moronic way, like most men he was blessed with a morning stiffy. She placed a hand on his erect penis and gently squeezed it between her forefinger and thumb. "Fine," she repeated. "Bit hung over. But nothing that this can't cure!" Fuck it! If she was going to the clinic again, she might as well make sure it was for something she could remember. Hung Over Again A few weeks back I was IM-ing with my masturbation buddy Mark, and I mentioned how horny I got when I was hung over. He told me to text him the next time that I was tying one on, maybe he'd surprise me. So the other night, Tuesday actually, I was having a few beers, maybe quite a few beers, and I remembered what he had said. I shot him a quick text, "beer #9" or something like that, and proceeded to get pretty hammered. The following morning I was lying in bed, still asleep, when my phone rang. 7:30AM I noticed as I rolled over to answer my cell. When I saw who it was, my hand automatically went straight to my morning hardon. "Mark" I said groggily. "Tommy!" he said loudly, "how you feeling, bud?" "Uugh" I groaned. 'My head is throbbing." "Is that all that's throbbing?" he asked. "Mmm no" I said. "My cock is throbbing too." "Good" he said. "did I wake you?" "Yeah" I groaned. "I was sound asleep when you called." "Good. That was what I was hoping for. You naked?" he asked. "I always sleep naked." I answered. "That's so you can jerk off whenever you want to, isn't it?" I was starting to get pretty aroused. "Mmm. yes." I groaned. "And you're gonna stroke your cock right now, aren't you?" he asked. "Oohh geez yes" I replied. "I really want to stroke my cock." As I spread my legs and cupped my balls, I could feel my shaft twitching on my belly. "Want to?" Mark asked. "That's not what I thought you'd say." "Aww man, I need to jerk off soo bad..." My breath was getting ragged. "Did you lube up your shaft yet?" he asked. "Dude, there's so much precum leaking out of my cock that its making a puddle in my belly button." "Mmmm, nice." he said. "I want you to spread that precum all over your cock now." I did as requested and let out a low groan. "Feels good doesn't it?" he asked. "Oohh yeah Mark. It feels like liquid velvet." "Yeah Tommy, stroke your cock. Long strokes, from your balls to the tip of your shaft, back down again. Feels soo good to have your tight fist sliding up and down your cock, doesn't it? Mmm you're so bad, laying there naked, jerking off your hard cock. You wanted me to call you, didn't you? That's why you texted me last night, isn't it? So I'd call you and tell you to jerk off?" "Mmmm yes, aahhh..." was all I could manage to say. My fist was a blur as I pumped my hardon. My breath was coming through my open mouth in gasps as I watched myself. "I want you to tell me why you texted me last night when you were drunk. Say it!" he said. I licked my lips and attempted to form a coherent thought in my fevered brain. "I texted you because I was hoping that you'd call me this morning and tell me to stroke my cock." I gasped. "You love it when I tell you to stroke your hard thick cock, don't you?" I was groaning nonstop by this point, my cock literally throbbing in my fist as I pumped it. "Hold your hand still" he continued, "and fuck the head of your cock into your fist." I did as I was instructed. I raised my hips up and began to fuck my motionless hand, my fingers squeezing and kneading my rigid shaft. "Keep stroking while you fuck your hand. It feels soo good, doesn't it Tommy? Feels soo good to jerk off when I tell you? Your cock gets soo thick and hard when I tell you to stroke it." I knew I wasn't gonna last long. "Mmmm yes. My cock is soo hard. I'm gonna cum soon, Mark. Make me cum..." "And how do you want me to make you cum?" he asked, knowing that he was torturing me. "Please talk to me while I jerk off." I gasped out. "Tell me to stroke my cock..." "Oohh that hard cock feels good in your fist. Stroke your cock, Tommy. Stroke your hard thick slippery cock. " With those words I erupted. "I'm cumming Mark!!" I moaned as my fist pumped stream after stream of jizz out of my spasming cock. My hot thick load arced into the air and splashed all over my naked body as it fell. Gradually my hand slowed its pace on my hardon to a leisurely knead as I worked the last few spurts of cum up from my balls to run down my shaft. I lay there unable to move for a moment while my breathing returned to normal. "Damn, Mark. That's why I love jerking off. Whew!!" I said. "Good one huh?" he asked. "I don't know what it is" I said, "but when you tell me to stroke my cock I get soo fucking hard and horny. You say exactly the right things. Oh!" I suddenly remembered,"I'm so sorry. Do you want me to make you cum?" I asked. "Not yet" he said. "I've go more plans for you and I wanna stay horny." "Oh?" I said. "what kinda plans" "When was the last time you shaved your cock and your balls?" he asked me. "Mmm, probably two weeks or so. Why?" "I want you to get into the shower, shave your cock nice and smooth, dry off, stay naked and wait for the phone to ring. You have half an hour to get ready. Go." Mark hung up.