Crashing the Party, Pt 2

By The Beautiful Kind

Continued from yesterday's post...

The ballroom was a huge, glowing, throbbing vision of hot pink, silver and white. An illuminated and elaborate bar carved out of ice graced the entrance. There you could get mini-cocktails such as thimbles of pink gin topped with cucumber foam. The baseball star’s young daughter flitted around the room tossing designer pillows on the floor and blowing out the candles. Marcus the party planner trailed in her wake, fussing things back to perfection.

The aphrodisiac orgy spread included lamb shank, prime rib, Latin food, purple carrots, oysters, an endless supply of sushi, lobster and crab piled high. We gorged ourselves until we were dizzy and I broke out in red hives from overdosing on shellfish. In addition to mini-cakes decorated with his baseball team’s logo, there was a life-size likeness of our idolized host fashioned out of cake and chocolate.

This stuffed slut wasn’t about to move on that dance floor, despite the 12 piece band playing Beyonce and other pop tunes. Plus I was wearing high heels, which I tend to avoid like other masochistic endeavors such as smashing my thumb with a hammer and sticking sharp objects in my eye. ALL the women there were similarly hobbled.

One of our friends was a curvy Latina woman who had bombalicious bazooka breasts presented on a platter. Beast suggested she stick them in his face, which shocked her. “Your novia is sitting right there and you talk like that!” she admonished hotly.

I laughed. “Hey, I’m with a man, not a mannequin. Besides, he doesn’t get cleavage like that at home.” I’ve got teacup tits, not jugs, after all.

She admired my confidence. “You are SO secure, girlfriend!”

I assured her, “As long as I’m his Number One, I don’t care what he does.”

Next thing we know, he’s having all-you-can-eat tits for dessert. Dulce de leche!

Of course that got him all fired up, so we went back to our room and made fierce love. I LOVE when he covers me with his body and kisses me deeply as he’s inside me, creating a circle of erotic energy that transcends the physical realm. Yes, thank you.

At the second party I wore a flowing designer teal and brown silk dress that glamorously framed my legs like curtains. I felt like a showgirl. Or a peacock. Or a mermaid. My friend was nice enough to lend it to me, assuring me it was nice enough to wear around trophy wives.

The color scheme this time was gold, right down to the silverware. Glorious flower arrangements burst on every table. The band played love songs. The guests were mellow, dazed by all the opulence.

We took a short break from the party and went up to the room. “You wanna vibe it out?” he asked me. He knows I get off about twice a day, and is wholly supportive of this habit. I rubbed one out real quick as he worshiped my breasts, and then he ate my pussy as the Wonder Vibe vibrated intensely inside me.

Another time I was sprawled on the bed vibing it out but, wasn’t getting anywhere. He called from the balcony/ledge, “How are you doing in there?”

I yelped, “I’m stuck, I need your help.”

He nodded, took one more drag off his cigarette, then came back into the room. He washed his hands and brushed his teeth, then loomed over me. “Stick out your tongue,” he instructed.

I did without question. He licked it like a clit. Took me about 90 seconds to cum.

Our last hurrah in the room took place in the middle of the night. It involved sex in multiple positions, until he moved me to the bathroom and gave me a golden shower (to go along with the party theme) in the bath. After I rinsed off, he bent me over the bathroom sink and fucked me in front of the wall length mirror, which was like watching a train coming right at me.

Then I fingered myself as he jerked off on my back. I squirted all over the marble floor; it splashed down my leg and onto the tile. This sent him over the edge, and he groaned a climax I could scarcely hear over my frantic cries. Neighbors did not knock. We collapsed on the bed in a tangle of sheets until the morning came and check out time was signaled the three day party was now over, thank you, come again.

On pervert patrol, we thoroughly cleaned the room – removed stains, capped lube, packed toys, drained the last wine bottle. The staff had no idea a filthy dirty sex bomb went off in that serene, swanky space.

Just one of many, I’m sure.