The Engagement Party

That pressure. Oh, that pressure. The heat of him in front of me and the rough chill of the brick wall behind me was exquisitely overwhelming. I couldn't have seen straight if I tried. But I didn't try. I squeezed my eyes shut and it was as if the entire world spun, leaving us with only each other for an anchor. I pulled him in deeper with my legs, my high heels pressing into his chiseled ass. The pressure built. The flood approached. His breath formed steam against my collarbone as I arched my back, my head falling back. He unclenched his other hand from the hair behind my neck, and slid his thumb over my lips - a subtle reminder of where we were, and who might be listening.

--

"I don't even want to go," I whined. "It's going to be torture. All 'in which part of France did you vacation this year, Thelma?' and 'My, this year's rains have truly put a damper on my golf game.'"

I tilted my nose upward at the flickering fluorescent light over my bathroom sink and did my best snobby-British-royalty accent.

I watched him saunter up behind me in the mirror as I unscrewed my mascara wand - shirtless, his tie hanging loosely around his neck and his long hair frizzed around his shoulders, waiting to be tied behind his neck like always. God, he just oozes sex. He doesn't even have to try.

He gently lifted my carefully-curled hair away from my neck and trailed a line of hot kisses behind my ear and along my shoulder.

"Your parents are throwing us a party, Sarah," he mumbled between kisses. "Just enjoy it."

Something like, "Mmmhmm. Okay. Yeah. Whatever you say," came out of my mouth. For real. He's like a drug; turning an otherwise willful and independent woman into I'll-do-whatever-you-say mush.

His wandering hands slid from around my hips up to my breasts, which I had just managed to squeeze into this clearly-inappropriate-for-an-engagement-party dress. It was my little fuck you to my parents, who couldn't be bothered to call or visit while I went to college, but who suddenly were acutely interested in my life when I announced my engagement to a high-falutin local attorney. Forget my own dreams of journalistic prowess. Marry a lawyer, and suddenly, I'm back in the family.

I would never have let them throw us this ridiculous party, but Grayson worked his powers of persuasion, convincing me that I'd regret not having a relationship with my parents someday. Fine, but I was wearing this slutty dress. And on that point, Grayson didn't argue.

His fingertips traced the neckline, which dipped low between my breasts, as his lips found that spot behind my jaw that has no other purpose except igniting shivers down my back when it's kissed. He pressed himself into my ass, and I felt his own excitement growing, too.

"Besides," he muttered into my ear. "I got you something to make tonight a lot more fun."

He took a step back, turned and picked something up off the floor. A gift bag. Shimmery pink with white tissue paper poking out from the top. I smiled up at him, figuring it must be something sparkly to add a bit of class to this dress. But fancy jewelry? Eh. Not really my thing.

Inside the bag was a square box. I slid off the lid. It wasn't jewelry. It looked like some kind of mini-vibrator in two pieces, but it was unlike any I had ever seen before. I looked up at him with curiosity, and he gazed back at me with fire in his eyes. Without a word, he met my lips with his, and with heavy intensity. He pulled me to him and slid his hands down my sides, pulling my dress up over my hips and exposing my bare ass to the countertop, which he lifted me to sit on. Even with the speed of it, his fingers found me molten-hot and liquid. I greedily opened myself to him, my lips parting in a sigh and my head falling backward to brace my upper body against the mirror. His fingers expertly found their way to the core of that bubbling pressure. His movements there were slow and firm, and exactly perfect.

Then he reached for the box and took the thing out. He flipped some kind of switch on one of the parts, and the other part hummed quietly to life. Slowly, he pressed the humming piece against my my aching center, giving me a chance to feel what was happening. It was about the size of a large man's thumb, and it wasn't vibrating like I had expected. It was a set of twisting and undulating rigid balls encased in silicone, its speed controlled by the remote control in Grayson's hand. He pressed it against my clit, and it massaged slowly with delicious, building pressure. I hummed and groaned, my breath quickening. Then he slowly slid it inside me, the balls rolling and dancing gracefully against that sweet spot inside. I groaned and lost all sense of time and place. My fingers dug into Grayson's back, desperate for something to grab onto. After a moment, he flipped the switch and the balls inside whirled and spun in a constant, dizzying pressure. I shrieked as he pressed his thumb firmly against my clit and sent me barreling over the edge. Wave after wave crashed over me in soft, liquid pleasure and my body went rigid, and then wonderfully limp. Grayson held me and gradually slowed and then stopped the massaging balls, allowing me to ride each blissful aftershock.

-

A string quartet played in the corner of my parents' living room. A string fucking quartet. Men and women in black pants and white tux shirts carried trays of champagne and stupid, tiny morsels of something no one calls food but everyone feels compelled to eat. I could feel everyone's eyes on me. No. On my (lack of) dress. My father's business partners. My mother's book club friends. Old babysitters. Former teachers. My ample curves were on display for them all. My parents gave Grayson and I cursory greetings and a few introductions, clearly uncomfortable with my wardrobe choice. And then they pretty much left us alone. Score one for me.

As dignified as he pretends to be in scenes like this, Grayson's just as easily bored as I am. After the quick climax in my bathroom at home, he'd pushed the thing deeper inside me and turned it on the lowest setting, preventing my orgasm from fizzling completely - keeping it simmering just above the surface. He had slipped the remote into his pocket and undone the zipper on his pants, giving me a little wink. Bless him; even as he thrusts to the back of my throat, he knows not to mess up my hair after I've just done it.

I could still taste him while I talked to ... Mrs. Jones? Mrs. Jonah? Hell, who cares? I smiled politely and snatched another passing glass of champagne as she patted the back of my hand and carried on about window treatments or something.

Grayson stood back-to-back with me, talking to an old friend of my dad's.

"Are you alright, dear?" Mrs. Janes squeaked when I jumped.

"Oh, yes," I spat with a nervous laugh. "Just a little, um, cold in here. Excuse me."

I gave Grayson a sharp elbow to the kidney as I walked away, my thighs clenched a little too tightly. I know he watched me walk away. The dress barely covered my ass, and he wouldn't let me put my underwear back on as we left my bathroom. If he was going to drive me crazy at this thing with his evil little remote control, I could at least return the favor a bit. I gave my hips a little extra pop as I walked, and I heard him apologize to Mr. Pinstripes behind me and ask him to repeat what he'd said.

After mingling with a few other acquaintances, I found a place against the wall where I could see Grayson between the shoulders of the guests, grateful for a moment of solitude. Without breaking his conversation, Grayson met my eyes with a tiny smirk and a subtle lick of his bottom lip. His hand casually slid back into his pocket and he stared me down as he clicked the thing up another notch. I drew in a breath and pressed the back of my head into the wall with a little whimper.

"Congratulations, Sarah!" came a high-pitched and too-loud voice.

I struggled for a moment to regain my focus and see my father's boss' third wife bouncing toward me. She was wearing a dress nearly as revealing as mine, but at five times the price tag, with a band of real fur over the shoulders and a large cutout over her obviously fake and too-tanned breasts. She took me into an all-out hug as if we were long-lost friends, her perfume burning my eyes.

"Thank you," I managed. Words weren't coming easily. I was floating in a warm, swelling sea of pleasure that had my breath coming quicker and quicker. I pretended to pay careful attention to Mrs. Fake Boobs and answered her questions about honeymoons and china sets with short, one-word answers. I breathed a sigh of relief as she got bored with me and spotted some other unsuspecting victim across the room.

Blissfully alone again, for the moment, I allowed myself to submit a bit deeper to the pressure against all the sweet spots inside, my head swimming with it. I closed my eyes momentarily, dropping my chin to my chest in a pretend neck stretch. This time, the speed jumped up again without the eye contact from Grayson. Knowing he was watching me and controlling my pleasure from across the room was as much a turn-on as the thing itself.

But it was getting to be too much. I was losing control. I considered leaning against the wall and just allowing the orgasm to flow over me right here, among all these stiff-and-stuffy people. It was tempting. Truly tempting. I fantasized about being naked with Grayson in the middle of the room, my knees hooked over his shoulders, our panting groans flowing into the background music as we joined and came together over and over. I imagined the suits going about their conversations as if we were merely the string quartet playing in the corner, and side-eyeing us as if they didn't desperately want to watch and participate in the evening's entertainment.

I must have looked rather drunk, leaning on the wall like that, practically unable to stand on my own. Grayson saw the opportunity, excused himself from his conversation and sauntered slowly to my side.

"Enjoying the party?" he whispered hotly into my ear. "Back porch. One minute."

As he walked away, I watched his hand slide back into his pocket, giving himself a bit of an adjustment. And then I felt the thing gyrate with pulsing, white-hot, liquid pressure as he switched it to what had to have been its highest setting. My eyes rolled back and my knees nearly buckled.

There is one great thing about big parties. Even when they're in your honor, it's not hard to slip away. Usually. As I made my way to the back door, Mr. Owen, my old next-door-neighbor, cut me off with a friendly grin and a pat on the shoulder. I tried to smile. God help me, I tried to listen to him tell me about his newest grandchild. But the whole room felt as if it was underwater and spinning. I excused myself as quickly and politely as I could, hoping Mr. Owen just assumed I was drunk.

I followed Grayson (a little too closely, probably) to the back door and slid it open and then closed behind me. We were alone on the porch, for now. There was a little nook just around the corner, behind an ivy wall where we couldn't be seen unless someone was deliberately looking there. But we could easily be heard. Grayson put his arm around my shoulder as if bringing me closer to look at the stars with him, for the benefit of anyone watching us from the other side of the glass door. Then he casually walked me to that little nook.

At once, his hands held my face, his long fingers digging into the hair behind my ears. His lips found mine and his body pressed me against the cold brick wall.

"God, you're sexy," he whispered into my ear as he dotted kisses along my jawline. "I couldn't take watching you squirm another second."

"You asshole," I grinned, nipping his earlobe. "I'll get you back for this."

One of his hands reached down to yank the dress over my hips while his other hand unzipped his pants with lightening speed. I reached beneath me to slide the thing out, and it was replaced with his rock-solid, throbbing shaft in an instant. He lifted me and I wrapped my legs around his hips, pulling him in deeper and holding his head to my breasts. I let go of the floodgates that I'd been braced against all evening, and the orgasm came roaring toward me like the dam had been broken.

Vaguely, we could hear the music and party continuing inside. Someone was calling our names into a microphone to make a toast.

"Sarah? Grayson? Where could they have gone?" Nervous laughter.

I gritted my teeth and Grayson slid his thumb over my lips to help quiet the sounds of the approaching flood. My dress snagged on the bricks as he lifted and speared me over and over.

Then the pressure finally exploded, flooding us with sweet, hot ecstasy that flowed over our entire bodies, radiating in ripples of glowing heat. We held each other as the world spun and floated around us, and we pulsed together until the last ripple faded.

I floated back down to earth just in time to pull my dress over my hips and slide the thing (which I still held in my hand) into Grayson's jacket pocket before we were discovered. Grayson turned his back to the slightly intoxicated guests who came looking for us and zipped his pants quickly, giving me a grin and a wink. With my thumb, I wiped the smeared lipstick from his mouth and then from my own as we made our way back inside, giggling with exaggerated drunkenness.

My body still hummed with pleasure as Grayson's best man raised his glass.

"To the happy couple!"

I smoothed my dress over my hips again, smiled and raised my glass from under Grayson's protective arm, already fantasizing about our wedding day.