Taking What's Mine

Her party. Her guests. Her house full of people who have no idea what I brought in my bag.

The invitation had been casual - "Just a little get-together, nothing fancy" - but I knew better. Elena always dressed to kill for her "casual" parties. Always found excuses to touch, to tease, to test boundaries.

I arrive late, fashionably so. Black jeans that hug my curves, silk camisole that shows how hard my nipples get when I see her. The bag over my shoulder looks innocent enough. No one needs to know what's inside.

She opens the door and I have to bite back a groan. Red silk dress, dangerously short, molded to every curve. Her dark hair is pinned up, exposing her neck. Those lips I've been fantasizing about are painted deep crimson.

"You came," she says, like she's surprised.

"Wouldn't miss it." I let my eyes travel down her body, slow enough that she knows I'm looking. Her nipples harden under the silk. "Nice dress."

The first hour is torture. I watch her play the gracious host, refilling drinks, laughing at jokes, flawless in her role. But I catch the signs - how she presses her thighs together when she sits, how her breath hitches when I lean close to reach for a drink. When she bends to pick up empty glasses, the dress rides up enough to show lace-topped stockings. Black panties, just a glimpse.

"Bathroom?" I ask during a lull in conversation.

"Upstairs, second door," she says, but her eyes say *I know what you're doing.*

I wait five minutes. Long enough for her to wonder. Then I send a text: *Bathroom. Now.*

She appears in the doorway, closing it behind her. "What are you-"

I push her against the sink, not rough but firm. Set my bag on the counter where she can see it. "Open it."

Her hands shake slightly as she unzips the bag. Her gasp when she sees what's inside makes my clit throb.

"Oh fuck." She pulls out the harness, the thick black cock attached to it. "You brought..."

"I've been thinking about fucking you all week." I take it from her, let her feel the weight of it. "About making you take every inch while you try to stay quiet."

"We can't," she breathes, but her pupils are blown wide. "Everyone will notice-"

"Not yet." I pack it away, step close enough that our breasts touch through silk. "But soon. Your bedroom. Twenty minutes."

"I have guests-"

"Twenty minutes," I repeat, then kiss her hard. She melts against me immediately, mouth opening, hands grabbing my hips. I pull back before she's ready. "Don't make me wait."

I leave her there, breathing hard against the mirror.

The next twenty minutes are exquisite torture. I rejoin the party, chat with strangers, all while watching her try to focus. She's distracted, flushed, keeps touching her lips where I kissed her. When someone asks if she's feeling alright, she stammers something about the wine.

Fifteen minutes. She's refilling snacks, hands unsteady. I corner her in the kitchen, press against her back while reaching for a glass. My breasts push against her shoulder blades.

"Fifteen minutes," I murmur in her ear. "Are you soaked?"

She shudders. "Someone will see-"

"Answer me."

"Yes," she breathes. "Dripping."

I hum approval and step away, leaving her gripping the counter.

At exactly twenty minutes, I head upstairs. Elena's bedroom door is cracked, waiting. I slip inside to find her pacing, dress already unzipped at the back.

"Lock it," I command.

The click seems too loud. Music thumps through the floor - loud enough to cover some sounds, not all.

"This is insane," she says, but she's already watching me pull items from my bag. The harness. Lube. A towel for her precious bedspread.

"Strip." I set everything on her dresser, start unbuttoning my jeans. "I want to see what I've been thinking about all week."

She lets the dress fall, revealing black lace that matches the glimpse I caught earlier. Full breasts barely contained by the bra, panties already dark with moisture. She reaches for the bra clasp but I stop her.

"Leave it. Just the panties."

She hooks her thumbs in the waistband, slides them down slowly. Steps out of them and stands there, naked from the waist down, stockings still on. The contrast makes my mouth water.

I push my jeans down, revealing boyshorts that match my camisole. The silk has ridden up, showing my stomach. I'm aware of how I look - nipples hard through the thin fabric, curves emphasized by the low-slung underwear. Her eyes track every movement as I pick up the harness.

"Watch," I tell her, stepping into it. "Watch me get ready to fuck you."

I pull it up slowly, letting her see how the straps frame my hips. The weight of the cock jutting from my pelvis makes me feel powerful. I adjust the base so it sits perfectly against my clit, knowing every thrust will grind against me.

"On the bed," I command. "Hands and knees."

She crawls onto her neat comforter and I follow, running my hands down her spine. Her skin pebbles under my touch.

"Someone's going to notice," she whispers into the pillow.

"Let them." I grab the lube, drizzle it over the toy. The first touch of silicone to her pussy makes her gasp. I run the head through her folds, gathering her wetness, letting her feel how big it is. "Let them wonder where their perfect hostess went."

I push just the tip inside. She whimpers, hands clutching the bedspread. She's so tight, fighting the size even as she pushes back for more.

"Too big?" I ask, holding perfectly still.

"No," she gasps. "Please, just-"

I thrust forward, burying half the length. She bites the pillow to muffle her scream. The resistance as her pussy struggles to accommodate the size creates perfect pressure against my clit. Every clench, every spasm translates directly to my swollen bundle of nerves.

"Fuck," I breathe, holding still to let her adjust. "You're so tight. I can feel everything."

I start moving, slow at first. Pull out until just the tip remains, then push back in slightly deeper. Her ass ripples with each impact. The wet sounds seem impossibly loud.

A burst of laughter from downstairs reminds us we're not alone. She tenses.

"Shh," I soothe, but don't stop moving. "They're busy. No one's looking for you yet."

I pick up the pace, finding a rhythm that makes the base grind perfectly against my clit. My breasts bounce with each thrust, the camisole riding up. In her mirror, I catch sight of us - me curved over her back, the black straps framing my hips, her face turned to the side with makeup already smearing.

"Touch yourself," I command. "But don't you dare come until I say."

Her hand flies between her legs. The angle changes as she arches her back, and suddenly I'm hitting deeper. We both moan.

A knock at the door. We freeze.

"Hey, you up here? We're out of vodka!"

I keep my hips moving in tiny circles, just enough to maintain that pressure on my clit. She has to answer.

"I'll- *oh god* - I'll be right down!"

"You okay? You sound weird."

"Fine!" Her voice cracks as I thrust deeper. "Just... just a minute!"

Footsteps retreat. I grab her hair, pull her head up.

"Look at yourself," I growl. "Look at what a mess you are. Getting fucked during your own party."

She whimpers at her reflection - lipstick smeared, eyes glazed, tits swaying with each thrust. I fuck her harder now, chasing the pressure building in my core. The base of the strap grinds against my clit with each stroke, her tightness creating the perfect resistance.

"Please," she gasps. "Please, I need to come-"

"No." I'm close myself but fight it back. "Not yet. You're going to wait like a good girl."

I slow down, pulling almost completely out before sliding back in torturously slow. She sobs in frustration, fingers still working her clit but not enough to tip over.

"I can't," she whines. "Please, I can't hold it-"

"You can and you will." But my own control is fraying. The constant pressure, her desperate sounds, the power of denying her - it's all building to inevitable.

I stop completely, buried deep inside her. She almost screams.

"No, no, please don't stop-"

"Turn over," I command, pulling out. She whimpers at the emptiness. "I want to see your face when I make you come."

She flips onto her back, legs spread wide. Her pussy is swollen, pink, dripping. I take a moment to admire the view - her still in that lace bra, stockings framing her thighs, face completely wrecked with need.

I slide back in slowly, watching her expression change from relief to desperation as I maintain the tortuous pace. In this position, I can see everything - how her breasts bounce, how her stomach muscles clench, how her mouth falls open when I hit the right spot.

"Please," she begs. "I've been good. I've been patient. Please let me come."

"Have you?" I lean down, letting my breasts brush against hers through our clothes. "Is that why you wore this dress? Why you've been teasing me all night?"

"I'm sorry," she sobs, but her hips are rising to meet each thrust. "I'll be good, I promise, just please-"

I speed up slightly, the new angle making the base hit my clit perfectly. My orgasm builds sharp and urgent, but I hold back. Want to see her fall apart first.

"Look at me," I command. "Don't close your eyes. I want to watch you break."

She forces her eyes open, locks onto mine. But I slow down, pull almost all the way out. She whines, hips chasing the toy.

"Tell me why you invited me tonight."

"Because..." Her voice fractures. "Party... friends..."

SLAM. I thrust hard once, watch her whole body jolt. "Try again."

She's panting, fingers clawing at sheets. I can see the war in her face - dignity fighting need. I stay buried deep but don't move.

"I wanted..." The words drag out of her like pulled teeth. "Wanted to see you."

"Just see me?" I grind my hips in a slow circle. Her back arches off the bed. "This dress? These stockings?"

*Can't say it. Can't admit I planned-*

"The invitation," I pull out slow, push back in slower. "The outfit." Another thrust. "The little touches." Deeper. "All calculated."

"No, I-" But her hips are rising to meet me, her own body betraying her.

I stop moving entirely. The noise she makes is pure desperation.

"Please!" Tears track into her hair. "Please, yes, I planned it. Wanted you to- *oh god* - to fuck me. Needed it."

"Needed?" I give her one shallow thrust. Her whole body clenches.

"Been thinking about it... all week... touching myself..." The confession breaks free between gasps. "Imagined you... bending me over... using me..."

"So the perfect hostess," I punctuate each word with a thrust, "is really just a desperate slut?"

Her face crumbles. Not just the expression but something deeper. I watch her careful self-image shatter.

"Yes," barely a whisper. Then louder, everything spilling free: "Yes, I'm a slut, your slut, please just-"

"Whose?" I'm fucking her steady now but not fast enough. Her hands fly to her breasts, squeezing hard through the lace.

"Yours!" She's beyond words now, just frantic sounds and "yours, yours, yours" like a prayer.

I lean down, let my weight pin her. "Tell me your deepest fantasy. The one that makes you ashamed."

Her eyes go wide with panic. *No. Not that. Can't tell anyone that.*

I slow to almost nothing. She wails, desperate and raw.

"I'll leave you here," I whisper. "Empty. Dripping. Your party wondering-"

"I want to be watched!" It explodes out of her. "Want someone to see me getting fucked. See me being a whore. Watch me beg and- and-"

Her voice breaks completely. She's sobbing now, but her hips never stop moving, fucking herself on the thick length even as she falls apart.

"There she is." I speed up, feeling my own control fray. "Not the woman downstairs. This honest, shattered thing."

She's babbling now - "thank you" and "please" and "yours" all tangled together. I watch her fragment, the gracious host becoming this raw, needy creature who can't stop confessing: "Touch myself thinking about... never been so wet... needed this... needed you to see..."

*Perfect hostess... legs spread... whore... they're all downstairs... I'm...*

Her thoughts are bleeding into her words, everything spilling out unfiltered.

"You'll never be able to go back," I tell her, grinding deep. "Every party. Every time you play hostess. You'll remember."

She's nodding frantically, agreeing to her own destruction. "Yes, yes, I'll remember, I'll know what I am, please just let me-"

"Come," I command, slamming deep. "Show me what you really are."

She explodes.

Her back arches off the bed, pussy clamping down so hard it almost pushes me out. But I pin her hips, fuck her through it, and the spasming drives me over too. My orgasm rips through me, every pulse translated through the harness. I grind against her, chasing every wave of pleasure while she convulses beneath me.

I don't stop until we're both shaking, oversensitive, gasping for air. When I finally still, she's limp, tears streaming down her face from the intensity.

"Shh," I soothe, gently pulling out. She whimpers at the loss. "You did so good. My perfect, honest girl."

I quickly unbuckle the harness, set it aside, then gather her against me. She curls into my chest, still trembling with aftershocks and something deeper - the vulnerability of having been seen so completely.

"I said things," she whispers against my chest. "Things I've never..."

"I know." I stroke her hair. "And they were all true, weren't they?"

She nods, fresh tears spilling. Not from pain but from the intensity of being known.

"The party," she mumbles after a few minutes, but I hear the different quality in her voice. She's not the same woman who opened the door hours ago.

"Fuck the party." But I help her sit up, assess the damage. Her makeup is destroyed, hair a mess, that just-fucked look impossible to hide. "You need to clean up."

It takes fifteen minutes to make her presentable. Fresh makeup, different dress (the red one has suspicious wet spots), hair re-pinned. She walks carefully, wincing slightly.

"You're mean," she says as we head for the door.

"You love it." I kiss her gently. "Go be a good hostess. I'll be down in five."

She heads downstairs on shaky legs. I take my time repacking my bag, fixing my own appearance. When I finally rejoin the party, she's pouring wine with careful concentration. Her roommate gives me a knowing look - my flushed face and messed hair tell their own story.

The rest of the party is delicious torture of a different kind. Watching her move carefully, catching her pressing her thighs together, seeing her blush when our eyes meet. Everyone knows something happened. The way she winces when she sits, how she jumps when I brush past her, the careful way she walks.

When the last guest finally leaves at 2 AM, Elena collapses on the couch.

"I can't believe we did that," she says.

I sit beside her, pull her legs into my lap. "Which part? The fucking during your party or the going back down after?"

"All of it." She looks at me with those dark eyes. "That was..."

"I know." I run my hand up her thigh, feel her shiver. "Same time next week?"

She laughs, then winces as the movement reminds her how sore she is. "You're assuming I'll be recovered by then."

"You will be." I lean over, kiss her slow and deep. "And next time? I might use the other hole."

Her whimper tells me everything I need to know about how she feels about that possibility.

I leave her there, flushed and squirming, already planning what I'll bring in my bag next time.

But more than that, I leave her knowing herself in a way she never has before. The gracious host persona cracked, the truth of her desires spoken aloud, impossible to take back.

She'll never throw another party without remembering what she admitted tonight. What she begged for.

What she is.

And we both know she'll invite me to every single one.