The Party

Another day, another fight. This time, over some harmless text about my lingerie. You probably didn't mean anything by it, but I felt that flicker of doubt--that edge that said maybe you'd stopped seeing me the way you used to.

So tonight, I'm flipping the switch. I'm done trying to prove myself through words. Tonight, I'm going to show you what you've got. What I am.

You're headed to a house party after your late shift. I make a plan. I text Chloé: "I want to play. Help me turn heads."

When I arrive, the party's already buzzing. I step in with intent, wearing a short black skirt, stockings, no bra under my tank. Eyes follow me. I spot you across the room, chatting casually, but you pause when you see me. Good.

Chloé grabs my hand and leads me toward a circle of people playing a game.

"Truth or dare," she says with a smile.

I smirk. "Dare. Obviously."

"Alright then," she grins, "take a body shot."

Easy. I scan the room, choose the guy with the best abs, and press him gently to the floor. I pour the shot down his chest slowly, licking every drop with a deliberate swirl of my tongue before taking the lime from between his lips with my own.

Everyone cheers. Someone whistles.

"Show-off," Chloé laughs.

Another task: "Make out with someone."

I lean toward Chloé first, grabbing her waist and pulling her in with a wicked grin. Our kiss is deep, sensual, slow at first--then I press her back a little, hand on her hip, giving everyone a good view. She laughs into my mouth.

Someone offers a new suggestion, more curious than demanding: "How about letting someone touch you under your clothes?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Only if I choose who."

I strut over to a guy I've caught sneaking glances. I stand between his legs, take his hands, and slide them under my skirt myself. He feels the lace, the wetness already soaking through. I let him stroke me just long enough to hear his breath catch--then I step away, smirking.

"Your turn again," someone says.

"Perfect," I say, already peeling off my tank top. "How about we skip to the fun part?"

I'm topless now, proud, powerful, feeling the air on my skin and every gaze drinking me in.

New task: "Three cocks. One mouth, two hands."

I sit back on my knees, tongue tracing my bottom lip. "Form a line, gentlemen."

I stroke two cocks in my hands, slowly, making eye contact with both men as I suck the third deep into my mouth. My pace is teasing at first--then intense, wet, hungry. They groan. I swirl my tongue, pumping with practiced rhythm. One of them gasps and finishes in my mouth. I swallow with a pleased hum, licking my lips slowly.

I glance toward you. You're still watching. You haven't moved. But your eyes are locked on me like you're about to snap.

Someone speaks again: "Lose the skirt?"

I turn slowly, facing you, then hook my thumbs under the waistband. I let it fall. I'm in only a tiny black thong and stockings. Every inch of me exposed, confident, knowing exactly what I'm doing.

Another offer: "Let someone taste you."

"I was hoping someone would ask," I say.

A woman steps forward this time. I lie back and open my legs for her, fingers in my mouth as her tongue meets my skin. I moan, hips rising to meet her as the room fades behind the sensation. I know people are watching. Filming. Stroking themselves. I don't care. I want to be seen.

The next moment, I'm on all fours. One man slides into me slowly from behind. Another stands in front of me, and I take him eagerly into my mouth. I make a show of it--moaning around his length, grinding my hips back against the one behind me.

The guy in my mouth cums first. I let him, swallowing every drop, staring up at him with pride. The one inside me groans, grabbing my hips, pounding harder as I chase my own climax. I reach it loud and shaking, my whole body humming.

When I open my eyes again, I see you--standing there. Jaw tight. Cock hard through your jeans.

I lick my fingers clean.

"Your turn to play?" I ask.

You say nothing. You just grab my wrist and lead me upstairs.

Once we're alone, you push me against the bed, hands all over me, mouth rough and hungry. You slide into me with no hesitation, burying yourself deep.

"I've never seen you like that," you say through gritted teeth.

I moan, pulling you deeper with my thighs. "That's because I'm done pretending I'm anything less than everything you want."

You groan, thrusting harder. I'm loud, needy, fully in control of every moan I let you hear.

There's a knock. Chloé enters, grinning. "Mind if I join?"

I pull her onto the bed and guide her mouth to my clit. You don't stop. In fact, you thrust harder. Another guy peeks in from the doorway. I hold up a finger. "Wait your turn. You'll get it."

I spend the rest of the night being pleasured, pleasuring others, and claiming every orgasm like I deserve them. Because I do.

When it's just us again, hours later, bodies tangled and exhausted, you ask me:

"What would it take for you to stop driving me crazy?"

I smile, lips swollen, eyes glowing.

"Easy," I whisper. "Move in with me."