I leaned against the bar, glass in hand, when I saw her. She stood at the other end of the room, back to the wall, her gaze drifting through the crowd of guests. Her fingers wrapped around a wine glass stem, and she sipped slowly, her eyes fixed on me. It wasn’t a casual glance. She held it until I looked away, and when I looked back, she smiled almost imperceptibly. In that moment, I felt something tighten inside me—a premonition, a crackle that electrified me. I watched her bring the glass to her lips, how her mouth opened, how a tiny drop of wine ran down her chin, which she caught with her finger and licked off. A gesture that seemed so natural, yet carried a message: she knew I was watching. My cock began to stir in my pants, a first throb that reminded me how long it had been since I’d had a real woman. I imagined her tongue licking my cock, her wet cunt enveloping me, and it made me even harder.
The Game Begins
The party was loud, the music a dull bass that vibrated through the wooden floor. The host, a friend of mine, had opened all the doors—living room, kitchen, even the bedroom. “Open door,” he called it, an invitation to drift without commitment. I’d stayed in the living room so far, but her gaze pulled me in. She wore a black dress that bared her shoulders, and her hair fell in dark waves down her back. As she turned slightly to the side, I saw the narrow strip of bare skin between her shoulder blades, revealed by the deep back cutout. I felt my cock press against the zipper of my pants, an urgent desire that almost made me dizzy. I set down my glass and walked slowly toward her, holding eye contact. She made no move to shift, only leaned harder against the wall, as if to signal: I’m ready to receive you. When I stood before her, I smelled her scent—heavy, sweet, with a hint of vanilla mingling with the spicy aroma of wine. “Dance?” I asked, though the music hardly invited dancing. She shook her head. “I prefer to watch.” Her voice was deep, with a rough edge that slid over my skin like velvet. “And be watched?” I shot back. She took a sip of wine, and over the rim of the glass, her gaze hit me, direct and blunt. “That too.” It was an invitation, clear and unmistakable. I felt my pulse quicken, blood pounding in my temples. Her hand, holding the glass, lowered, and her fingers brushed my arm—a touch that lasted only a fraction of a second but sent a hot shiver through me. I could literally feel the blood in my cock as it stiffened, ready for what was to come.
The Open Door
She took my hand and led me through the crowd. People were deep in conversation, no one noticed us, though I felt a few eyes follow. She opened a door—the door to the host’s bedroom. “It’s quieter here,” she said, but I knew the door stayed open. A narrow gap, wide enough for a curious glance to fall into the room, but narrow enough to keep the illusion of secrecy. The room was large, with a wide bed in the center and a mirror on the opposite wall that reflected the entire bed. She sank onto the edge of the bed, pulled me between her legs, and I felt the warmth of her body through the thin fabric of her dress. “You like being watched?” I whispered, my hands on her thighs, which felt firm and warm under my fingers. She nodded. “Yes. But only if I can see who’s watching too.” She pointed at the mirror. I understood: she wanted to see herself—and maybe she wanted others to see her, but she wanted to keep control, know who was watching. I knelt before her and slowly lifted her dress, inch by inch, as if unwrapping a gift. She wore nothing underneath, just her bare skin, shimmering in the light of the bedside lamp, soft and silky. Her legs parted slightly, and I saw the first hint of moisture, a wet gleam that made me instantly hard. My cock throbbed fiercely, pressing against the fabric of my pants, and I had to force myself to go slow. I leaned forward and kissed her inner thighs, slowly, ascending, with small bites and tongue strokes that made her skin glow. She leaned back and let her head fall, her hands in my hair, pulling me deeper. “Continue,” she breathed, her voice hoarse with desire. I obeyed her command. My tongue found her pussy, and it was warm and soft, like melted velvet. Her lips were swollen, her cunt dripping with wetness, and I tasted her sweet, salty juice on my tongue. I explored her with slow, circling motions, while her fingers clawed into my hair and held me tight, as if she never wanted to let me go. Over her hips, I saw her face in the mirror—eyes half-closed, lips parted, a soft moan she couldn’t suppress. And behind her, in the mirror, I saw the door. A shadow moved. Someone stood in the doorway, watching us, a silhouette barely distinguishable from the dark hallway. I paused. “We have company,” I whispered against her wet cunt, my tongue still on her clit. She opened her eyes and looked past me into the mirror. A smile played on her lips, a knowing, savoring smile. “Let him watch,” she said. “And keep going. Slowly.” I obeyed. My tongue dipped deeper into her wet slit, and I felt her body tense, her hips lifting slightly. She moaned softly, a sound that echoed in the room, mingling with the dull bass of the music outside. The shadow at the door didn’t move, just stood there, motionless, watching. I focused on her, on her taste, sweet and salty at once, on the way she pressed against me, how her warmth enveloped me. My hands gripped under her ass and lifted her slightly to get better access to her wet pussy, her buttocks filling my palms, firm and round. I spread her labia with my fingers and plunged my tongue deep into her cunt, while simultaneously massaging her clit with my thumb. She began to rock, her hips moving in rhythm.
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