I fucked a woman outside my league and now I’m in trouble

I

I’m already regretting not bringing a camera. Alright, it might give the game away a bit, but considering what’s on offer it’s going to be hard to get across what I’m seeing any other way. Bodies and flesh, sinuously pressed together, barely clothed. Silk gliding over breasts, caught on hardened nipples; erect members straining against their confines or, elsewhere, free and thrusting against bare hips. I’m over-dressed – conspicuously over-dressed. There are men dressed in loincloths, or nothing at all.

I had expected … something. Not this. A company like Brooks and Holt had to be having dirty dealings, which would naturally be discussed at their parties which had become infamous among the fat cat elite. Some hard drugs would have been appropriate, or evidence of money laundering; even hookers soliciting on the fringes, something normally immoral. What I’ve walked into is some kind of orgy.

“Would you like to remove your clothing?” I had been asked politely by a woman on the way in, at what one might normally call the coat check. She had handed me a white Venetian mask, her blue eyes trailing with interest over the contours of my body from behind her own mask. Beside me, a blonde woman with a breathtaking smile removed her long woollen coat revealing a jewelled underwear set beneath. Looking further, towards the party, I saw men in very little. The coats-and-more check girl was looking at me expectantly.

Smiling and mumbling something about it being warm, I had unbuttoned my shirt and handed it over. She paused. Vainly, I assumed she was checking me out. But now I see that the majority at the party checked a lot more than their shirts at the desk.

A waitress passes me by, and I snag a champagne flute, partly in an effort to fit in. Mostly I just seriously need a stiff drink. I start to drift forward, towards the throng of people but not into it. I catch brief glimpses of individuals. A man’s thick-fingered hand pulls at a scrap of silk, exposing a woman’s breast. Her nipple is dark and puckers into a hard nub, as she laughs and lets her silk dress pool at her feet. There is a red-headed woman smiling as she whispers in a blonde woman’s ear. She licks long and slow up the column of her slender neck. Then she looks up and meets my gaze.

It’s stupid, but I can feel myself blushing. Her eyes are a deep green. Her mask covers only the top half of her face, and her smile looks mischievous. The sight of so many bodies pressed together had surprisingly left me cold – but this woman, and her smile, her tongue along another woman’s neck, and her acknowledgment of my moment of voyeurism, makes my cock swell in response.

She starts to move towards me through the crowd of bodies. I have two choices. I could try to make an escape, and write about what I’ve seen. Even just the glimpse I’ve seen of what happens at these corporate soirees is enough to cause a stink for Brooks and Holt, I don’t really need any more dirt. Or I can speak to this woman. She must be with the company, or closely associated. This could be the tip of an iceberg. This could be the making of me.

As the red head pushes closer towards me, I see that she has already lost whatever gown might have originally covered her. All that’s left is a scrap-of-lace thong and a choker that looks like a thick silver chain, wound twice around her slender neck. She is freckled, all over her shoulders and down to her breasts which are small and pert. She’s more than a head shorter than me with a petite build. Slender hips sashay as she walks towards me, parting the crowd. I could pick her up and carry her off with no problems – the thought makes my hard cock throb painfully in my pants.

“Do you like what you see?” She asks when she’s close enough for her voice to be heard over the pounding music.

This isn’t the place to be coy. Not if I expect to fit in. I look her up and down once more, my eyes lingering on her lacy panties. “Of course,” I reply.

“Can’t see much of you,” she says, coming closer to speak in my ear. She leans in against me, and I feel her hard nipples graze my chest. My hand falls naturally on her hip, steadying her. “But I like what I can see.” I feel fingers brushing my hardness through cloth. My hips reflexively rock into her touch. “I’d like to see more.”

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George B. J. Martin

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