PARTY PIECE

P. J. Rosier

I really did not want to attend the party to which my wife was intent on dragging me; a birthday celebration for the husband of a woman she knew slightly. Now, in case you think I am a miserable devil, my main reasons are first, I would know virtually no one there; second, I have a slight hearing impediment that makes no difference talking one-to-one in a quiet room but is hopeless when trying to chat when a dozen or more others are shouting away and music is blaring. Smiling, nodding and muttering “jolly good” is only of so much use and particularly unhelpful if the person turns out to be relating how they have just lost their dog, cat or mother in terrible circumstances.

Anyway, we went, I couldn’t think of a valid reason to stay at home, and it was as I had feared: crowded and noisy. After chatting to our hosts, we wandered into the sitting room and had grabbed a drink and a sausage on a stick each when my wife was whisked away by some other female with whom she had been to school. Judging by the appearance of the other woman, it was back in the days when miscreants were nailed to the school wall and bears were set on them for not doing their homework (the children not the bears, of course). I didn’t miss my wife too much as my attention was drawn to a tall and pretty blonde in her, I surmised, mid-thirties accompanied by a sour-faced man who looked about as pleased to be there as I was. The woman was dressed all in white, a flowing summery dress appropriate to the time of year, which fell to just above the knee. It had a scoop top and cutaway sleeves, altogether a fitting complement to her elegant good looks.

As I stared, trying not to be obvious about it, the man she was with wandered off toward the table with the beer tins on it and she sauntered over to the buffet. Seeing me clutching my sausage on a stick, she said, “Those look good, I hope there are some left.”

I was so surprised by her suddenly chatting to me that I nearly choked but, recovering as soon as I could, I muttered that, yes, I could recommend them.

After loading up a plate, she asked if I knew the birthday couple well. I explained that it was my wife who really knew them and that I had just been dragged along as ballast. She laughed at that, a tinkling sort of sound. It was an attractive addition to her soft, Scottish accent. I asked her which part of Scotland she came from and when she said Edinburgh I was able to say I had been to college there and we started to swap tales of parts of Edinburgh that we both knew.

A seat became vacant in the far corner of the lounge and she suggested we sit down. It was quieter over there. I stood aside to let her sit on the couch but she insisted that I did and sat instead on the floor at my feet, her long legs curled up under her skirt. We carried on chatting about things Scottish, including many happy holiday trips I had taken there.

I was, however, rather distracted as I could clearly see straight down the front of her dress, its scoop neck allowing an intimate view of a white bra cupping twin delights and, beyond that, her flat belly. I wondered if she was aware of the effect she had created by insisting on sitting on the floor close up against me, and a flutter of excitement ran through my veins as I contemplated the notion that it was perhaps not entirely by accident.

Having finished our drinks, I suggested she might like to take a walk in the garden. It was a warm summer’s night, other guests were outside drinking and chatting and the omnipresent music would be a little less overpowering. Of my wife, and of her husband, I could see no trace.

As we wandered through the throng to the back door, I asked her name.

She giggled. “It’s Mona, now please don’t make any jokes, I’ve heard them all.”

“I think that’s a very pleasant name, very Scottish,” I said insincerely.

She giggled again.

The warm garden air was quite intoxicating after the smoky heat indoors and the night perfume of the various flowers added an almost tropical feeling to our stroll. The garden was not huge but, at the far end, there was an L-shaped extension reached by a rather overgrown gate in a wall. By some gentle tugging, I got the gate open and we went through. Inside, it was a secret place, remote and mysterious, lit only by the waxing moon. No other guests had penetrated this far. The very thought of that word, “penetration”, gave me another shivery feeling throughout my body.

I suddenly felt a soft hand touching mine and she said, “I hope you don’t mind. I just feel so relaxed with you, you’re much easier to talk to than my husband.”

I was flattered.

Coming to the end of the garden, we saw a shed tucked away in a shadowy corner. The door stood invitingly open and, aside from a few garden tools, there were just some old blankets left piled on a box. Mona went over and picked one up, sneezing as the dust rose in the air.

“Mmm, these need a shake.” She carefully shook each one at arm’s length, the dust hovering in the still night air.

Putting them carefully on the ground, she said, “It’s such a nice night, wouldn’t you just like to lie here with me and look at the stars? But not in a white dress! I’ll take it off first.”

She held the dress by the hem and lifted it up and over her head in one bold movement. Instantly, a well-dressed and demure young woman was transformed into a bold and sexy nymph, modesty saved only by her white bra and equally white and very skimpy bikini pants.

She knelt down gracefully and extended her hand to me. I needed no second bidding and slipped down beside her.

“Oh,” she said in a teasing tone, “now you’re overdressed.” And with nimble fingers my shirt and trousers were swiftly undone.

Shucking off my clothes, my body was only too well aware of her near-naked proximity. Without thinking, I turned toward her for a first, gentle kiss. My heart was racing and my hands sweaty; I couldn’t really believe this was happening to me. Her lips met mine and our tongues gently explored each other’s mouth. With one hand I held her shoulder, with the other I began to caress her neck slowly and as sensuously as I could. When I moved up to her ear lobes, she began to writhe and stretch with erotic, catlike movements. We kissed more ardently and my fingers moved down to her bra to undo it and release her creamy breasts. As they fell free into my waiting hand, I dropped my lips to her nipples, a beautiful pink in the moonlight, and began to suck them, first one then the other. It was very gentle; I didn’t want to make her sore.

She had been busy as well and her free hand had crept down to my belly where, after toying briefly with my bush, she began to fondle my balls. Unlike some men who don’t like those being touched, I was entirely happy for her to hold and squeeze me there.

“Do you like this, darling?” I heard her whisper. “Do you want it stronger?”

The demure miss I had met earlier seemed to have vanished in that wonderful conjuring trick that females have: the ability to transform from virginal bride to passion-soaked Delilah in the blink of an eye – or the dropping of their clothes, at least.

Her fingers squeezed me more, her hold tightened on my sac until I felt like crying out, it was almost too much to bear. But my cock was about as hard as it had ever been; I was going to come any minute if she wasn’t distracted soon. My hand, almost of its own accord, dropped down from tits to panties and began to stroke and fondle her slit through the undeniably wet material. I stroked and squeezed harder, and she began to ride my hand, pressing against me, forcing my fingers inside her pants and then between her wet and engorged labia. As she heard me pant and groan, her female instincts must have alerted her that I was about to come and she suddenly squeezed the tip of my glans very hard, almost a pinch. The pain was intense yet somehow satisfying; if I were to be punished by a lover, she was the one I would have chosen. And it immediately prevented my ejaculation. I could feel myself growing limper, at least for the moment, but in no way was I less randy. Her mouth lip-locked to mine, her breasts flattened against my chest, I rammed, withdrew and rammed again my fingers, first one then two, into her wanton slit. And she moaned (how apt was her name now), writhed, groaned and shuddered, faster and faster, until she came.

She screamed. It was so loud I was sure other guests would come running but no, nothing. I blessed that over-loud music, a boon after all! As she lay in my arms, I kissed her eyes, tip of nose and lips very, very softly. I held that hot and so soaked place I had stimulated to good effect and, with a quick tug, pulled off those impeding panties and tossed them to one side. She stirred at that.

“Naughty,” a giggle and then a long, luxurious stretch, every muscle tensed and tested, before she relaxed back into a soft, satin-skinned, strawberries-and-cream temptress, molded to my body.

We kissed once more, lips to lips, tongue to tongue, fingers holding flesh, slowly stroking from neck to derrière. Pressed together, my pubic hair against her shaven mound, oral sex seemed a suitable way to thank and worship her for the trust she had shown in allowing me to explore her most private of places and bring her erotic desires to fruition.

I dropped my head to that conjunction of her thighs where I could easily slip an inquisitive tongue between Mona’s labia, her perfume of lust was the condiment of choice for my tasting session. And what a gourmet feast it was. Her hand lightly pressed my head deeper into her lover’s center as I probed, tasted, teased and lapped the milk of her human kindness.

I was not exactly unaffected, as you might imagine. My penis was rapidly hardening and I knew this time that stopping before orgasm was simply not going to happen. Disengaging from my adoration of her most feminine of parts, I eased up and over her; in covering her I was positioned to slip smoothly into that wetness. Her fingers clasped my buttocks and pushed me down tighter against her and I felt her vaginal muscles grip my cock as it began to move, slow at first and then faster and faster inside her. She bucked and moaned again, I held her tight and we rode together, a partnership of passion. Deeper and harder I tried to go but my end was very near. She was gasping again but whether from the erotic prelude to a climax or a wish to help me achieve what she already had, I don’t know. At last, I burst out into her, that flowing of a salty tide into the depths of her delta. I pumped and pumped; I had never felt either so stimulated before or so sated after. She cried a little and we clung together, survivors of lust’s passion and its overwhelming imperatives.

How much time had passed we simply didn’t know. After a while, I managed to squint at my watch and see that we had left the party for only half an hour; it seemed much longer.

Mona began to stir as well and I slid off to allow her to stretch and sit up. She smiled, a sad but lovely smile and suddenly bent to kiss my cheek. Her breasts fell forward and swung toward me; instinctively I put my lips to one then the other of those pink nipples.

She laughed. “Now stop it! We’ve got to get back before they miss us. We might just get away with it so far.”

In a totally feminine way, she had retrieved the small clasp bag I had only just realized she had with her and was using mirror, comb and tiny brush to repair the damage to her appearance. Her bra she refastened; her panties were still wet but worse, were ripped. She just laughed and put them in her bag.

“I must be careful how I open that!”

Finally, her dress, still immaculately virginal in appearance, went over her head. Her appearance was once again just as I had first seen her but I could hardly believe how much had happened since. I jumped up and, entirely naked, held her to me. I slowly rocked her from side to side, she clung to me and we kissed again, passionately: to hell with her careful appearance. I couldn’t resist slipping an enquiring hand under her skirt and up to her pretty cheeks, before sliding a finger down and into her wicked slit. She groaned, “No, don’t,” but pressed herself all the more against me. She writhed up and down, her whole body wired with reawakened lust. If only she were mine, I thought, I’d do whatever it took to keep up with that turbocharged sex drive of hers.

She began to breathe faster, her warm breath in my ear stimulating me to greater efforts. My cock grew ever harder until it was pressing urgently against her firm, cool flesh. And then she climaxed. Standing there, barefoot on the blankets, her hair tumbled again, her white dress hiked to waist level by my hands on her sex and on her buttocks.

Eventually, lovingly and regretfully, knowing full well we would never meet again, we parted and made our separate ways back to the party. And you know what? Our respective spouses had not even missed us. It made me wonder if it had ever really happened. But from her scent on my skin and her intimate perfume on my fingers, I knew it had.