0: An Invitation
We pull over at the parking lot and I open the backseat door for you, proffering my arm to help you out of the car. I feast my eyes on your body, your curves emphasized by the minimalist elegance of the dress I chose: a deeply plunging neck line that can barely contain your ample bosom, side-slit showing your firm thighs and a very revealing back, transitioning delicately to cover your plump ass. "That's almost just lingerie!" you protested when you first saw my gift. Well, there are obviously reasons for that.
I remove your blindfold and let your eyes adjust. I put a hand on your back as you gasp at the scenery before us. The impressive mansion, the thick lush trees surrounding the parking lot. A breeze blows, raising goosebumps on your skin. I drape my suit jacket on your shoulders and kiss you on the cheek.
I lead us inside the mansion, to the party that I didn't tell you much about. A concierge checks our invitations. "You know the rules, of course?" he inquires, which I promptly affirm. "Welcome to the Pearl Party then," he says as he leads us to a small private room.
It looks like a small hotel suite for couples; the kind you book if you really just need a place to sleep in. Almost a perfect square, it was sparsely furnished but still styled rather luxuriously. There was one large, extremely comfortable-looking bed against the wall on one side, and then directly across a full-body mirror. On one of the two other walls was an unpretentious wardrobe and, directly across it, a small writing desk and a chair.
You were checking your dress on the mirror, wondering out loud why were we lead here, instead of in the party. You turn around to find that I have removed my clothing down to my boxers. I was storing my suit, slacks, long-sleeved shirt, vest, shoes and socks neatly in the wardrobe.
I approach you and turn you around such that you faced the mirror once more. I wrap you in a tight embrace from behind, running a gentle finger across the exposed areas of your skin, of which there were a lot. You can feel my throbbing cock against your buttocks.
"You look so lovely tonight, my dear," I praise the startled image I observe on the mirror. "First of all..."
Seemingly out of nowhere, I conjure up our favorite remote vibrator and have you lick it. You knew something like this would happen when I told you not to wear panties. I slip the silicone device in your pussy.
"Second of all..."
In a sudden motion, I carry you towards the bed and lay you there. As you expected, I climb on the bed to mount you. But I don't position myself between your legs, rather I straddle your belly. I grab your breasts together and spit on them.
Out of instinct, you help me in my efforts to lubricate your magnificent tits. That is, before you realize what is happening and start protesting.
"Oh but you'll ruin the dress! Think of my lovely dress my goodness!"
"Hush, sweetheart, trust me," I say to your protests and proceed to fuck your tits. I do not attempt to make it playful and sensual as we usually do. At this moment, I am a man on a mission.
And it's a mission that I soon accomplish (or, should I say, accumplish?). My seed erupts between your breasts, all over your flesh, a handful of droplets soaking your dress, a spurt streaking across your chin.
Catching my breath after my climax, I get off you and immediately start dressing up. You observe my work on the mirror. "Do you have some wipes?" you ask me.
"Oh no, no...you are not to wipe that off sweetie."
"Okay." You put your hands meekly behind your back, like a schoolgirl forbidden from touching something.
I lead us out of the room, my arm wrapped around your hips. I can feel your anxiety as we step into the main ballroom of the Pearl Party.
The dimly-lit hall provide you with some relief initially---maybe no one would notice this weird kink I'm currently on with you. That is, until your eyes adjust to the lighting and notice something in the pockets of soft-light emanating from lamps on each table.
All the other women had cum coated chests. And yet they carried on as usual, socializing and drinking, as if it was nothing but the latest fashion trend.
Welcome to the clandestine club of Glazed Goddesses, Cum Maidens, and Party Playthings. Welcome to the diaries of desire. Welcome to…