The scent of burnt wax and sweet wine hung heavy in the hallway as I opened the door. No loud party, no roaring speakers, but a muted hum of voices, punctuated by the clink of glasses like distant chimes. I was late, had gotten lost, and entered a room that felt too intimate for the crowd. Maybe twenty guests stood in small groups, on the sofa or at the bar made from a repurposed dresser. Yet all eyes—I noticed it immediately—were fixed on a single person.
She stood by the window, her face half in shadow, half in the warm light of a floor lamp. Her dress of black silk cut deeply across her back, and her hair fell in heavy waves over her bare shoulders. She barely noticed me, for her eyes were on a couple lying on the rug before the fireplace. The man—slim, with a narrow beard—knelt behind the woman, who was on all fours. She wore only panties, he had trousers that hung open. His hands stroked her back, slowly pulling the panties over her hips. It happened without haste, as if it were a ritualized performance.
I positioned myself next to the woman at the window, who now looked at me. Her eyes were dark, almost black, and she smiled without parting her lips. “Do you like it?” she asked softly. Her voice was deep, with a rough undertone that excited me instantly. I nodded, unable to speak. She turned back to the couple, and I did the same. The man had turned the woman onto her back, his tongue traveling from her navel downward. She moaned softly, not a scream, more a murmur under the guests’ gazes. Some continued conversing, others stared unabashedly. The woman at the window breathed deeper, her hand resting on the windowsill, fingers slightly spread.
“You can go closer,” she said, without looking at me. “It’s allowed.” I hesitated, but then I stepped forward. The couple didn’t notice me—or pretended not to. The man was now licking between her legs, and she arched her back, her head sinking back into the pillows. I felt my pulse quicken, the warmth in the room pooling in my groin. The woman at the window had followed me, now standing close behind me. Her breath brushed my neck, warm and light. “Do you like watching?” she asked. I turned around, looked into her face. “Yes,” I said. “But I want more.”
She laughed softly, a rippling sound like water over pebbles. “I thought so.” She took my hand and led me through the crowd, past the couple who were now in a different position—the woman was riding the man, her body moving in slow circles. Some guests applauded softly, others toasted them. I let myself be pulled by her, down the hallway, into a room lit only by a single candle. A bed, a chair, a mirror on the wall—that was all. She didn’t close the door completely, left it ajar. “So someone can see us,” she said, as she turned to me.
Her hands found my belt, opened it with a certainty that took my breath away. I stood there, let her have her way, as she unbuttoned my pants and pushed them over my hips. Her fingers stroked the bulge beneath the fabric of my boxers, and I flinched. “You’re already ready,” she stated, her voice satisfied. She knelt before me, her face level with my erection, and slowly pulled the fabric down. The cool air hit my skin, a shock that mingled with the heat of her hand, which now enclosed me. She leaned forward, her lips touched the tip, and a sound escaped me—half a groan, half a whisper.
She took me into her mouth, slowly, as if she had all the time in the world. Her tongue played around the glans while her hand massaged the shaft. I leaned against the wall, my hands in her hair, and felt the pressure building in my lower abdomen. Through the crack in the door, I heard the sounds of the party—a laugh, the clink of glasses, the rhythmic creaking of the couple in the living room. She drew me deeper into her mouth, her head moving back and forth, and I felt her throat open. It was too much, too fast, but she paused, looked up at me. “Not yet,” she murmured, her eyes glistening in the candlelight. “I want you to feel me.”
She stood up, slipped off her dress, which fell to the floor like a black curtain. Her breasts were full, her nipples dark and hard, as she stood before me. She lay down on the bed, legs slightly apart, and beckoned me to her. I knelt between her thighs, leaned forward to kiss her mouth. She tasted of wine and salt, and her tongue met mine with an urgency that surprised me. My hand wandered between her legs, found her wet and warm. She moaned into my mouth as I stroked her clit with my fingers, circling, then pressing.
“Come into me,” she said, her voice hoarse. I straightened up, guided my tip to her opening, and thrust slowly inside. She enveloped me tightly, a feeling that almost blinded me. I moved inside her, a steady rhythm fed by the sound of her breaths. Her hands dug into my shoulders, her legs wrapped around my hips. “Faster,” she whispered, and I obeyed. The room filled with the sound of our bodies, with her moaning that grew louder as she closed her eyes.
Then I heard a sound—a creak of the door. I looked up, and in the gap stood a man watching us. He was one of the guests, mid-thirties, with a glass of wine in his hand. He didn’t move, just stared. The woman beneath me opened her eyes, followed my gaze, and smiled. “Let him,” she said. She pulled me deeper into her, and I felt her muscles tighten around me. The man stepped closer, set the glass on the chair, and began to open his belt. The woman laughed softly, an excited gasp. “We have company,” she said, and her hands found mine, squeezed them.
The man came closer, his erection already visible beneath the fabric of his pants. He knelt behind the woman, his hands on her hips, while I was still inside her. She turned her head, looked at him, and nodded. He leaned forward, his lips on her neck, while his hand slid between her legs, to where we were joined. I felt his fingers brushing against me, and the shock of the touch almost made me come. “Don’t move,” she whispered to me. I held still, as he positioned himself behind her, pressing his tip against her other opening. She moaned loudly as he entered her.
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