Bob gave a desultory look around the packed ballroom from his spot against the wall. Glittering jewels, some real, most paste, vied with party store tiaras emblazoned with "2010" for gaudiness. Freely flowing liquor loosened inhibitions as society matrons and their equally stuffy dates danced feverishly to the swing music the band was playing. Bob sipped his Sambuca, his second of the night, savoring the sweet bite as it trickled down his throat. Catching his brother's eye, he raised his glass in a silent, sardonic toast, inwardly vowing never to do this again. A glance at his watch showed that he only had ten minutes until midnight, ten minutes to endure this interminable party and escape to his suite of rooms upstairs. Ten minutes and the new year would roll in while his fiancée Sara was a continent away at a business function she couldn't escape.
So caught up was Bob in his own misery that he didn't really notice that the dancers had stopped dancing, though the band played on. He didn't see how every eye suddenly turned to the woman walking across the ballroom, her deep red dress shimmering under the lights of the hundreds of candles in the room. Although every other man in the room took notice of the shapely length of leg showing through the thigh-high slit in the skirt, Bob was oblivious. Brilliant diamonds -- real ones -- cascaded down into the deep V of the bodice, ice cold against the woman's warm cleavage. Every man -- and not a few of the women -- stared as this vision in red approached Bob.
The band segued into a slow song, and Bob heard a familiar voice singing the lyrics. "Ring out the old, ring in the new, a midnight wish to share with you." He turned and a slow smile split his face as he gazed deep into Sara's warm brown eyes. Taking her hand, he led her onto the dance floor, where she slipped into his arms as the music flowed through the room. His hand slid down her back to rest possessively on her butt, gently pulling her closer to him. Sara could feel his turgid length through the thin material of her dress and through Bob's trousers. One of her hands caressed the back of his neck while the other found its way inside his tuxedo jacket to tease the tiny black studs on the front.
In each other's arms, everything ceased to exist. Gone were the streamers and balloons. Gone was the band. Gone were the other revelers. Here, in this moment, there were just them in their own little microcosm of love and passion. Dimly the countdown to midnight broke through their consciousness -- "10, 9, 8, 7..." Craving each other after nearly a week apart, their kiss started before the shouts of "Happy New Year!" rang throughout the room. As the rest of the party goers sang "Auld Lang Syne," Bob and Sara were locked in a consuming kiss.
With his tongue in her mouth, Sara hooked a leg around Bob's hip, the skirt of her dress falling away from the slit to reveal the creamy golden flesh above the tops of her silk stockings. He brought a strong hand around to cup the bare mound scarcely hidden by a fold of satin, a thick finger parting the moist, swollen folds. Sara's hips arched into Bob's hand, her hot cunt seeking relief from the pressure starting to build. His free hand came up to trace the cascade of diamonds dripping from her neck, the backs of his knuckles caressing the golden swell of breast peeking out of the bodice. Deftly, Bob freed one soft globe from its satin prison, only to capture it in his hot mouth, drawing the tight rose-brown tip along his tongue to his throat, using his mouth to elongate it, eliciting a gasp from Sara at the succulent pleasure-pain as his teeth bit into the surrounding flesh.
