by Kira Blakely
My heart pounds faster at the prospect. I swallow, and my nipples gather beneath the material of my gown, puckering at the fabric.
“I’m ready,” I breathe. And this little part of me wants everyone there to take a good long look at this tight little ass.
I want Stuart to show me off, and for everyone to agree that he must be a total stallion to be with a girl like me.
The party doesn’t appear to be too intimidating from the outside, though I can definitely hear the sounds of sexual pleasure emanating from within the walls. Even outside, if you look closely, you’ll notice an errant high heel that someone lost as they scrambled to undress. You’ll catch two shadows humping in the distance.
Stuart laces his fingers through mine and holds them tight, drawing my hand up to his mouth and kissing it firmly.
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he reminds me. “So, try to relax and have a good time.”
“I am having a good time,” I reassure him, only hesitating for a split second when we reach the marble stairwell that will lead us into the mansion.
Fake snow crusts the steps, though it isn’t cold, of course. It’s still majestic and almost makes me feel like I’m not at an orgy, like I’m at a charity event back in New York instead. I cross the threshold and march up the steps, not letting myself think too much about the future. I can do this. I’m a big girl. Stuart is right here if I need anything.
There’s a woman pressed up against a window, and some guy has his face buried in her ass. They’re both wearing masks that are askew, and I recognize the man as the owner of a major tech company from LA. I saw him in Time magazine last month. And the perky ass cheeks he’s so intently devouring belong to a supermodel. I don’t know her name but I know her face.
“Oh, Daddy,” she whimpers against the glass, her fingernails clawing.
I keep walking, I haven’t even entered the foyer of the building yet but I can’t. I’m frozen to the spot... and a flush is creeping its way down my body from my core. It rushes over my legs and tingles up into my face, into my fingertips. I’m hot and wet.
“Do you like that?” Stuart asks me, and I suck in my lower lip, blinking up at him. I would feel like a freak if I said yes.
“Of course not,” I say, shaking my head and forcing my feet to move. “I don’t want to... eavesdrop on anyone else’s…”
I cross into the threshold and my mouth drops. The words leave me. I can’t even fathom the debauchery of this scene.
There’s a fake snowdrift piled into one wall, and I can hear moaning and see gyrating bodies but it’s nearly impossible to tell who is who, to even tell how many people are rolling around in there. On the stairwell is a man dressed in the red velvet suit of Santa Claus, and he’s hungrily eating out a woman in a mask and plain white dress identical to mine. In fact, she and I look a lot alike in general, and the wetness between my legs is growing. A man saunters over to the couple and tugs down the woman’s top, sucking on her nipples. I wonder if she’s going to come soon. She looks like she might.
“Mm, you do like that,” Stuart murmurs, one of his arms snaking around my torso. His hand drifts innocently, tenderly, over my crotch, pressing into the thin fabric and finding it soaked with my juices. “I knew it. I could smell your sweet pussy.”
“I didn’t think I would like it,” I confess in a whisper. “But maybe I do a little bit. With you here it doesn’t seem so wrong or crazy.”
“Wanna test it?” Stuart invites, and his fingers bow, dipping artfully between my thighs and hooking up to part my lips.
I gasp, startled at his deft awareness of my body, but it’s already too late. His middle finger skims my engorged clit through the fabric of my white panties and my knees buckle.
Once he touches my clit, it’s over. My brain scrambles and falls out and he can do whatever he wants to me then.
“What is testing it?”
He grinds his hand subtly into the crotch of my gown, working through two layers of fabric to stimulate me. But he won’t stop. His breath catches against my earlobe and I feel his tongue, then his teeth.
His dick pulses between my ass cheeks as he rubs me. Some strangers in masks take interest in the scene, even though we are without a doubt the most clothed and conventional of the sexually active groups in the room.
“Let’s see how far you can go,” Stuart hisses, hitching up my skirt in a sudden movement and jamming his whole hand directly into my panties. The watchers take much more interest now that they can see my thighs and all the way up to my panties, can even see Stuart’s knuckles bobbing up and down against the material.
I shudder and curl around him as he fondles me, his teeth still grazing my earlobe while his hand works.
One of the two men on the staircase—the one eating the woman out, who is dressed like Santa Claus, beard and all—rears back and grasps the bottom of the woman’s dress, tearing it off. Now she’s exposed, pussy on display. The Santa Claus dives against her hot cunt again, going harder now, and I watch her face. She’s close.
The other man leans back and unzips, a large erection bouncing out. He slides it between the woman’s lips and she leans up to take it, like she’s hungry for it.
“Oh, yeah,” Stuart groans. My thighs shake, and now there are other people watching me and Stuart.
We’ve become one of those animalistic couples, going at it right in front of everyone. But I can’t stop. I want Stuart to make me come, and I want to watch that threesome on the stairs. I want these strangers watching to see me come, too.
The woman on the stairs cries out around that cock and gushes all over Santa Claus, which sets off her blowjob partner. He blows in time with her and it’s too much, all of us building together like this. Stuart hammers my clit mercilessly and my pussy convulses, losing control. I go limp in his arms and come all over his hand, eyes rolling back in my head as the room watches.
Chapter Thirteen
Stuart
My cock is throbbing like it’s going to break. Of all my wildest dreams, I never imagined that I could open Rose up, like my own little rosebud, right here in the middle of the Mystique Island mansion foyer. She’s a different woman when she’s with me. Unpredictable. Submissive, yet wild. Insatiable. And kinky.
“You passed that test with flying colors,” I breathe against her ear. My hand is still shoved in her panties, drenched. I love it. “Want to see how far we can take it?”
“Yes,” Rose answers without hesitation, and my cock squeezes for her.
“Then go down on me,” I rumble at her.
“No,” Rose answers, and my eyes bulge. My jaw clenches a little bit. She’s... never said no to me. And I’ve never said no to her. Jesus Christ, we just can’t do it. “Not here.” A little smile tickles at the corners of her lips. “I want you comfortably seated. Like a king on his throne.”
My jaw goes slack now. She’s the perfect woman. She has to marry me.
“Okay,” I rasp, already fantasizing how her wet mouth will stroke on my pole. Fuck, yes.
We silently hunt for a room with an open, comfortable chair, discovering an unmanned Papasan in a room with several other people in it, all drinking and speaking loudly to one another. Four of the five women in the room, six now, counting Rose, are totally nude.
I slither to the back of the room, nodding my greetings to everyone in the room. None of them know who I am, and I don’t know who any of them are, and I like it that way. They don’t have to pretend to be interested in my business, and I don’t have to pretend to be interested in theirs. We still talk but only about the things that really matter.
I peel down my pants in front of them, brandishing my rigid cock for Rose, who seemed totally on board a minute ago.
Now her eyes flick down, and then around. She’d better not be about to blush. Not when it’s my turn to ride.
“Come on,” I whisper up to her. “Let me show you off.”
Those seem to be the magic words,
and she grins, still beautiful in that delicate and strange mask. She bows down between my legs and takes me fully into her mouth, working her way down to my base. It almost is like she’s consciously performing for them, and I bury my fingers in her hair, losing myself in her, forgetting the other people in the room.
She glares up at me. She’s fingering herself with the hand that bears my diamond ring. So hot. Her eyes close as she descends my shaft again, all the way to the base, mother of God. I let out an involuntary groan and attract the attention of several patrons.
“Fuck, yeah, that’s hot,” one of the naked women says, and I see her go for her own cunt immediately. Jesus, this place is intense.
“If you want to see someone,” I pant at them, “let me show you this girl.”
I dig my fingers into her wheat-colored hair and drag her off of my member, which is almost purple right now, I want to release so bad. But the narcissist in me wants to show Rose off. I’ve never seen a more beautiful orgasm in my life. She’s like an angel.
I stand and drag foggy-eyed Rose onto the Papasan instead. She’s half-hypnotized with all the sex and the intensity of our surroundings. One of the men in the room slides into one of the women and starts pounding but she’s also obedient. She bends naturally to my body’s slightest gestures, and that makes me hard as fuck. She’s mine.
I rake her skirt up and pull it over my head, enjoying being trapped in this gauzy heaven with her wetness. I hook my finger into her panties and peel them off. I don’t think she’d have been loose enough to let me do this even just ten minutes ago but one intense orgasm will do that for you. Now everyone at the party will be able to see her ass and her pussy. What will two intense orgasms do to her?
I shove her bra off of her tits and roll her nipples between my fingers. I want to get those babies nice and hard, then let the room get a look at them.
I spread her legs far and palm her pussy in my hand, opening it upward to completely expose every nook and cranny of her little button. I know to ruthlessly attack that little bastard. I dive on her pearl and get to work, relishing how exposed her pleasure is, how she must confront what I do to her. How I make her lose control and become my sex slave.
“Oh, god, look at her,” I hear one of the partygoers murmur. “She’s trying not to come but she’s going to. She’s coming so fast, Lord help her. What a fun problem to have.”
And they are right... Her sensitive nub drags her into orgasms almost against her will, far too quickly in foreplay compared to most women. Of course, what is “too quickly,” anyway, if you can have multiple? What if I try to max out this little button? Will I win, or will the nub?
Her body bucks at me, steeling itself against orgasm, but her thighs quake and the honey unleashes itself from inside her. I lap it up with gratitude, relishing her slit, and come out from the veil of her skirt.
God, she’s beautiful. She’s damn dewy, her youth so clear in her face. It isn’t just youth but something else, something like hope or goodness, a dreamy quality that’s pure soul. Her hair is everywhere, bright gold in wild snarls clustered around her face. She could be on Maxim but you can’t find women like this in Hollywood. Unspoiled. Real.
My chest tightens, and it dawns on me that I want to be up to my balls inside her, getting squeezed down every inch but I want to do it alone. I want to do it making eye contact and telling her that I’m in love with her. She’s everything that I dreamed she would be, and then, just a little bit sweeter.
I creep up between Rose’s thighs, still kind of quivering, and I whisper to her, “Hey, do you want to get out of here? Let’s stop and say hey to Leo... but then we can split. Maybe come back later.”
“Seriously?” She still sounds dopey, almost half-asleep. It’s those orgasms doing it to her but I have just the thing to wake her up.
“Come with me,” I whisper, standing and taking her hand, pulling her through the room. Her bra and panties are gone now, discarded on the Papasan, but neither of us notice. I can’t keep my hands off of her, and we don’t make it out of the Christmas ball but we do crash into an alcove where I can slide inside of her raw, as God intended. Holy fuck, I want to procreate with this woman. I want to have a little league team with her.
I shudder, and my eyes roll as I slam my full length into her and our eyes meet. There’s excruciating pleasure between us and I throb and break, unable to stop thrusting as every last drop spews.
“Oh, my god,” I huff against her salty neck, rolling my tongue over its creamy curve. Even the sweat is vanilla. Vanilla and clove... Perhaps the clove is my musk, and our scent together drives me wild. She has to be my wife. She has to. “Oh, my god, baby. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Rose sighs, limp as a noodle in my arms. “Fuck.”
Chapter Fourteen
Rose
It’s harder to leave the island than I thought it would be, and I regret being so timid when we first arrived and wasting a whole day and a half on prudence. I think I made up for that, though, and Stuart insists on accompanying me home on my Delta flight.
“Don’t you have your own jets and pilots and stuff?” I wonder.
“I do but I don’t always use them, you know. I can get a flight on charter to the mainland, and we can head back to New York from there, right?”
“That’s right,” I agree, dazzled by what a frugal billionaire he is.
“That’s how you keep it in the billions,” he says with a wink. “Don’t get wasteful.”
I suspect that he’s really trying to impress me and doesn’t want me on that Delta flight unguarded. In spite of how he enjoyed showing me off at the party, his territorial nature is obvious in every gesture of his body. His arm is always around my shoulder or my waist, his hand in mine or beneath my chin... but I like it.
I want the world to know that I’m his and he’s mine. I love this ring. Fuck, I do want to be his wife.
We board the packed Delta flight and are upgraded to first class as soon as someone recognizes Stuart’s name. I want to resist but the seats would be open anyway, they say, and it is so much more spacious in first class.
“Let’s,” Stuart rumbles against my ear, and my knees go weak. Let’s.
The first half an hour of the flight is spent just settling in, ordering our future meals and requesting a little champagne. Stuart gets a warm towel and I need a blanket, because this airplane is, in my opinion, frigid. The stewardess bustles, getting us everything we need, and I realize that I want a warm towel, too, when I see what Stuart does with it. Genius.
When we return the warm towels to the stewardess, we both settle down into our quilt and I cuddle under Stuart’s arm. After such a wild weekend, I might have thought that I’d be a wreck... but I’m not. I feel great.
“I’m bored,” Stuart complains beside me, and I lift my eyebrows slightly.
“There’s movies,” I suggest, gesturing to the little screen embedded into the seat in front of us. “There’s the in-flight rad—”
I hesitate and my cheeks flame as Stuart’s strong hand works its way up my thigh beneath the blanket.
Doing it in public on Mystique Island was one thing...
But here? In the first-class cabin on a Delta flight?
“Yeah,” Stuart breathes against my ear, as if he can hear my thoughts. “I have an idea. It’s the perfect cure for boredom, and it will... alleviate the both of us.”
I can’t deny the tingling between my legs, and I slant my eyes over to Stuart. “What kind of idea?” I whisper, knowing perfectly well what kind of idea he has. His dick pitches a tent with this quilt!
“I want you to touch yourself,” he commands, settling away from me. “I’m going to watch. If you don’t want to give yourself away—” He places a finger over his lips in the symbol for silence but his dark gray eyes gleam at me conspiratorially. His dick twitches between us. “You’d better not move or make a sound.”
I nod and slip my hand beneath the quilt, cracking my legs as f
ar apart as they can go without being too conspicuous. I keep my eyes glued ahead of me and try to look nonchalant. No one is looking, so at least there’s that, but then my middle finger slips between my pussy lips and I immediately start to quiver. I have to stop touching myself and take a deep breath.
I probably look like I want to take a nap but I’m super-uncomfortable and frustrated right now.
“Shh, now,” Stuart breathes. “Keep going.”
I have to obey him, and knowing his eyes are on me makes me feel safe, even while masturbating in public. My finger wriggles back and forth over my clit and I purse my lips, feeling the stiffness of a delayed orgasm brewing in my belly.
I close my eyes and turn my head hard into the chair cushion, wanting to look like I’m fitfully sleeping. But then I feel Stuart’s hand crawl over mine, feel his fingers encase mine, and he says, “I want you to take my seat by the window.”
My eyes bulge open. That was a sudden shift in tone, wasn’t it? “Right now?”
“I want you to sit where no one can really see you,” he reassures me in a whisper. A slow grin spreads across my face, and I’m amazed at how he senses my discomfort and responds to it. He didn’t even have to guess. He could tell by my body posture that I was uncomfortable, and now I feel much better. Between his shoulders and the chairs in front of us, I’m totally eclipsed.
“Now,” Stuart growls, his hand tightening on mine, plunging us both back down into my panties. “You’re going to pay me back for giving up the window seat.”
My eyelashes flutter and I melt into the seat as his fingers explore my body again. He’s still facing forward, and I’m curled against the window, trying to look like I’m asleep. Every now and then, though, the quilt distinctly writhes. I don’t want to scream and come all over my pants. I have to wear these for the entire flight. I didn’t bring spare pants in my carry-on!
I fight the orgasm brewing inside me but that never works. I’m always trying to hold it back but the fire breaks through me whether I’m begging for it or not. I clamp my lips together to keep from whimpering. My body trembles beneath the quilt and his finger bends harder, flicking my clit like he’s strumming it, and I let out a little strangled gasp.