I nodded, vaguely remembering that the room had a red theme—dark red walls, cream carpet, red lamps and bed coverings. In another world it might be considered designer disaster, but in this setting, it fit the mood of excess.
“This next room is the blue room. I find more mellow couples tend to use this area,” she whispered, pushing the door open farther. We peered in.
Now, aware of the color schemes, I noticed the room itself first. It sported robin’s-egg pale blue walls, white furnishings, and large abstract art on the walls. There was discreet uplighting, but the room was mostly lit by candles. Two couples occupied this room, one on the bed and one on the floor, cushioned by large pillows. Both couples seemed to be caressing and kissing each other, hands gently moving everywhere. We moved on, me needing less encouragement this time.
The black room was next. “Whips and chains?” I asked, reading into the color choice.
“Not here,” she laughed. “S and M is a whole other culture, one we don’t participate in. Not because we don’t agree with it. It just has its own groups and parties. What you saw in the first room—that’s as dominant as it gets here. The black room is mostly for GB stuff. It’s the largest guest bedroom we have.”
I didn’t have a chance to ask what GB stood for, and didn’t need to, once we peered in. Six men surrounded one girl. She was voluptuous, with large natural breasts, a soft but slim stomach and wide hips. She was bent over, on a large bed, two men at her feet, one in her pussy, another in her ass. She screamed, loud and in pleasure, and they both moved in unison, fucking her deeply, then pulling slowly out. She supported her body with one hand, and used the other to jack off a skinny man who knelt, naked, before her. The other men touched her, squeezing her breasts, smacking her ass or waiting impatiently for a chance at her mouth. Everywhere I looked in the room, there was movement, skin-on-skin, mouth-on-skin, and sounds filled the space. Slaps, moans, muttered phrases.
I watched, transfixed, as the woman came, long and loudly, her body shaking with the exertion and clear juice squirting from her pussy. The man who had been fucking her, a thin man with a cock like a fucking Clydesdale’s, swore in amazement at her gushing pussy and pulled out, using his fingers to finish her off. He wore a dark green mask, and pulled the mask up to get a better view. His handsome face was filled with desire and wonder and sex, and I felt sudden familiarity, as I realized that my emotions matched his. What was I doing? Standing here gaping! I had an image of what I must look like and turned away suddenly, ending the view of the room and my hidden fantasy.
* * *
KATE WAS RUSSIAN, in the States on a six-month visa. A visa that could be extended if her boss—and sponsor—Mr. Gunter, agreed to continue her employment and fill out the necessary paperwork. Mr. Gunter had strongly suggested that Kate accompany him tonight. Her hesitancy at his request had displeased him, and the request had turned into a demand, complete with consequences if she did not comply. So she had yielded, and now here she was.
Earlier she had stood in front of him, naked, washed thoroughly by his staff, and he had picked out this outfit, a ridiculous white mesh dress that showed every part of her, and a white veil that did nothing to disguise her young face. He had dressed her, slowly, touching her skin and groping her curves as he pulled the material over her body. He had not tried to have sex with her. Not yet. But tonight must be the night. Here, at this party, where Americans were having sex everywhere, on couches, in pools, against the wall right next to her. She saw movement in the shadows; then a hulk of a man appeared, stepping into the light.
He had impossibly broad shoulders and muscular arms that his expensive dress shirt couldn’t hide. Standing, silent and sure, he looked straight at her, waiting. She took a few steps forward, tentative, wanting to see more but needing to be closer to do it. He turned slightly and was fully illuminated by the light.
He wore a black hood, simple dark loose fabric with two eyeholes cut out. She wasn’t sure if it was the hood or his body, but danger radiated from this man. His eyes, the only part of his face she could see, were dark brown pools of sexual intensity, blatant arousal in them. She paused, scared of him and the sexual heat that emulated from him, even with ten feet between them. Then she felt a hand on her back.
Mr. Gunter’s voice purred in her ear and she stiffened, closing her eyes briefly. Thin hands ran down the sides of her body and then moved up her front, squeezing her breasts and massaging them. She opened her eyes, looking into the eyes of the hooded stranger briefly, then looked away, ashamed, her lip trembling. She tried to be strong, tried not to cry. The hands moved up and gripped her neck, turning her face, and she felt Mr. Gunter’s pursed lips on hers.
* * *
I WHIRLED, RUNNING into Beverly’s big breasts, our faces almost colliding, and she took a step back with a wince. “Sorry,” I whispered. “Are you okay?” The girl’s squirting pussy was imprinted in my mind, and I clenched my legs together, wanting Brad here, now, instantly.
“Sure,” she said slowly, looking at me intently. “Is this too weird for you? It can be a lot to take in—”
“No,” I interrupted her, shaking my head and trying to smile. “I like it here. I just remembered something I wanted to ask Brad about.”
She shrugged. “Okay. You don’t need to see the last room. I can just tell you about it.” She looped her arm through mine and leaned close, her breast touching me. “It’s called the snack room, and is a lot of fun to visit during the party. It has lots of fun food you can eat off each other, or you can lie on the buffet table and have everyone nibble and lick things off you.”
I smiled politely, trying to listen but not able to get my mind off the woman in ecstasy and the circle of hard, waiting cocks.
The bedroom hall led back to the crowded foyer, and as we eased through, Beverly was stopped by several people. I finally leaned to her and whispered in her ear that I would see her later. She nodded gratefully to me and started chatting up a couple by the bar. I moved quickly through the crowd, avoiding eye contact and beelining for the great room. I stopped at the entrance, my eyes adjusting to the change in lighting, trying to find Brad in the dark, pulsating, room.
I saw him, alone by the window, huge and imposing, and felt a flood of relief. He was watching a couple on the couch—a young blonde with an older man—Brad’s eyes unreadable but dark. I quickly walked to him, and he slid an arm around my waist, pulling me to him.
“How was the tour?”
“Good. Interesting.”
“Good. Interesting,” he mocked, his hand trailing down my hip, teasing the skin at the bottom of my dress.
“Stop that,” I muttered, trying not to lean into his touch. “Yes, it was interesting. Beverly is very sweet.” A breath caught in my throat as his hand traveled higher, pushing up my hem. His attention was focused on me, thoughts of everything else disappearing, and the intensity was unnerving. “Why don’t we find a private place and—”
He grabbed me, shoving me hard against the wall, yanking my dress up till my lace panties were exposed, and spread my legs expertly with his knees. I sputtered a protest, but all that came out were whispered curses, my desire to not draw attention to us overriding my need to get him to keep his fucking hands to himself.
“Why don’t we skip the private place?” he said, his voice strong in my ear.
He slid two fingers in me, his eyes flickering at my soaked wetness, his fingers moving in and out, his thumb gently making delicious circles around my clit, the sheer fabric increasing the pleasure. I protested, quietly but fervently, but my words dropped off and my legs weakened. Sagging, I let my head drop back as I entered an unworldly plane of pleasure and arousal. He pulled on my dress, sliding the red fabric off my shoulders, and I felt the silky material fall away from my skin, leaving my breasts exposed, my nipples puckering in the open air. I looked around desperately, worried about who might