Piece Of Cake 1

Cassidy sits in total darkness. The small rubber wheels that carry her sing a song of subtle squeaks. Her hair is expertly coiffed, her makeup precise, and her red dress smooth and dazzling. There's a buzz in the air all around her as she's pulled into place at the front of the hall. In mere moments, she'll emerge before an astonished crowd to sing and to arouse, to entertain and to excite. Cassidy's voice will be utterly intoxicating.

A large cake sits inches above her head. A luxurious vanilla with buttercream frosting, sumptuously dotted with maraschino cherries. It rests atop the special wooden cart in which she waits. Cassidy's less experienced assistant, Daphne, stands by the cart looking for a cue from the master of ceremonies.

It's a black-tie event, they were told, at a ritzy hotel. The hall is impressive, but intimate, and twinkling chandeliers hang above clusters of well-dressed guests. The party's theme is the Jazz Age.

Cassidy and Daphne were also briefed about the guest of honour. The man of the evening will be a wealthy banker type. Both women were thrilled when they learned that he had an impressive retinue of bachelor sons. On the drive to the event, they shared fantasies about who they might meet.

Cassidy hears a tap behind her head. "I think there's a little delay. Standby," Daphne says, crouched momentarily behind the cart.

Hurried heels click their way over. "Just two more minutes." a flustered lady says to Daphne. "We're almost ready."

Cassidy calmly takes a breath and brushes it off. Her confidence is high tonight.

The heels click away.

A moment passes, and more footsteps approach, but they're calm and deliberate.

"I saw you enter from across the room--I just had to introduce myself. I'm John, John Riedel. It's my father's party." His voice is warm and inviting.

"Oh, hello," says Daphne.

"And you are...?"

"Daphne. I'm the entertainment. I mean I'm with the entertainment. My name is Daphne. I'm with Martinez Entertainment and--"

"Come to the bar with me and I'll get you a drink."

"Oh, well that's very nice but I'm waiting for the cue to--"

"That'll take a few minutes, trust me. Come along."

"No, really, I should stay here and--"

With a playfully authoritative tone: "It's my job to make sure each guest is satisfied, and you don't have a drink yet."

"I mean--I'm not actually a..." Cassidy can hear Daphne's voice getting further as she's ushered away.

"Nonsense, nonsense. Come."

"I-I'll be right back," Daphne announces over her shoulder, to the cart.

Alone in the dark, Cassidy can only imagine how John looks. He's likely handsome, or at least looks good in a suit. After all, it doesn't take much to impress Daphne, she thinks. In the car, her fantasy was juvenile and lacked detail. But Cassidy had it all planned out.

"I'll find him within seconds," she said. "When I come out and sing those first notes, I'll scan the room and lock eyes with him. I'll know him from the moment I see him. I'll be performing to the room, but he'll know every move, every wink, every round, lustrous tone, and sweet sultry word is for him. He'll be ready to pop by the end of the first number. After the show, he'll find me at the bar. He'll order me a drink and flatter me; I'll touch his arm and stroke his ego. Before the night is even halfway through, he'll abandon his Old Fashioned to take me upstairs to his suite. There we'll spend the rest of the night in bliss, as the party rolls on beneath us."

"Heh, wow..." said Daphne, still lost in the tale.

Cassidy waits in silence.

***

"There's a problem with the guest of honour," says Daphne in a hushed tone, relaying new information from behind the cart. "But they said it'll just be another minute and to please be ready."

Cassidy let's out a sigh. "Daphne, it's cramped in here."

"I know, I'm sorry. I'll try to--"

"There you are," says John. "I want you to meet some of my friends. Come."

"Well, I--"

"Oh, you'll love them! Anthony is the head of advertisement over at..." Their voices drift away.

Cassidy rolls her eyes.

***

Cassidy can hear the louder half of a distant conversation.

"Oh, I just can't believe he's doing this to me. I planned this whole party; everyone is here for him. The invitations took me hours to put together, the decorators needed more supervision than infants, and the boys even made me hire a hooker to perform for him!"

"..."

"No! He's upstairs, pouting!"

"..."

"If I knew that, I wouldn't be down here!"

"..."

"He always does this! It's like he wants to spite me even though I went through all this trouble to--"

The voice is overtaken by the nasal wailing of a trumpet solo.

***

Muscles stiffening, Cassidy tries to stay focused.

"They'll sort it out," she reassures herself. "I'll still get to enjoy this party." She feels her hair gently, making sure everything remains in place. "And I'll be absolutely stunning."

She visualizes the scene. Captivated and increasingly aroused by her performance, her target will shift in his seat, then adjust his tie. He'll lick his lips, then run his fingers through his rich blond hair. By the second chorus...he'll be stroking himself over his pants!

Cassidy drifts into thoughts about the size of his hands. And shape of his penis.

The air in her cart is increasingly warm.

***

"His friends are kinda boring but they're trying to get me to go golfing, I think." Daphne giggles at the back of the cart.

"No, I mean what the hell is going on out there?" spits Cassidy, her patience cracking.

"Oh, yeah, John told me his dad's throwing a tantrum or something. He left the party but they're trying to get him to come back." The cart jiggles slightly as Daphne holds onto it, trying to maintain her balance.

"Well then get me the hell out of here!" Cassidy can feel the beads of sweat on her forehead sabotaging her foundation.

"No, no, I can't. The wife won't let anybody move! She's kinda crazy. I'm sorry."

"Oh! Let me see if I can get John to talk to her."

"Daphne, wait," Cassidy pleads.

"I'll be right back." She toddles off.

"No, forget John! Daphne, Come back!"

***

"Bryston, I told you we can't have any cake until Papa cuts the first piece." A voice is dragged into earshot.

"But I want it now!" Cassidy senses a small hand grip the cart with a smack.

"Brycie, this is Papa's big birthday party, so you have to be patient."

"Where is Papa? I don't see him!"

"He'll be here any minute. Now behave."

"Argh!" A small shoe bounces off the bottom edge of the cart. Cassidy flinches.

"Come, let's get you some more juice." The little shoes stomp away, carrying a long, drawn-out whine.

***

"This idiotic family," Cassidy grumbles to herself in the dark. "Whiney rich-ass patriarch... And I'm not a fucking hooker, you stupid crone! Where the fuck is Daphne?"

For the smallest relief, she slips her feet out of her shoes. She wore her own heels to the gig. They matched perfectly with the tight red dress that the company provided.

"I wonder if anyone else got fucked in this dress," she thinks, with legs bent, knees up by her chest. "This isn't how I pictured it for me. I should be face up in a luxury suite, dress hiked up and tight around my hip bones. This ass should be red from repeated impacts, not numb from...extended sitting!"

After so long in the dark, Cassidy's imagination starts to feel much more real than anything outside her tiny cart. She can feel her nipples pushing into her bra as she wonders whether he'd spank her.

"Hmph!" Contorting to reach behind her back, she unlinks the clasp and pulls off her bra in protest.

"My tits are divine, and they can deal with it. I'm sure the old bastard won't mind--if he ever shows up!"

***

"Oh, forget it, babe. He's not coming back. Let's just enjoy the rest of the party." With a sly tone: "And then, you know, enjoy the after-party."

"After party? Babe, I don't have the energy to endure two parties with your family tonight."

"No, no, I mean...upstairs," the man says suggestively.

"Oh, babe!" There's a giggle, and a light smack against, presumably, a chest.

"Oh, babe!" repeats the man in a playful, mocking tone. There's another smack, this one matching Cassidy's altitude.

The woman gasps. "Your nephews are here!"

"Well then, I guess we better Take. This. Up. Stairs...!"

***

"That's it!" Cassidy thinks to herself, hiking up her dress. "If I can't do my show. If I can't seduce some rich asshole. If I can't get properly fucked tonight... Why should anyone be allowed to stand between me and my pleasure?"

She shifts onto a new inch of her ass to get slightly more comfortable and slides her hand over her freshly shaven pussy.

"Those morons don't know what they're missing."

His hair would have been thick and lustrous. Simultaneously sophisticated and altogether sexy. Locks of Cassidy's hair have escaped their bun, and several strands cling to her dampened face.

She glides her middle finger between her labia, connecting with a modest wetness that she then spreads around hastily.

His suit would have been sharp and well tailored, accentuating his shoulders and the gentle curve of his lower back. Cassidy's red dress, wrinkled and sagging, has started to separate at the seams.

She shrugs off one of her dress straps, then the other. Her breasts peer carelessly from the top of her dress as she breathes deeply, brow still furrowed with resentment.

Cassidy squeezes her breasts together with her free left hand, imagining the confidence of his hands and the impatience in his grip. With the fingers of her right, she rubs circles over her clit. She shuts her eyes and digs into her fantasy.

They burst through the door to his dimly lit suite, already entangled and kissing hard, and stumble toward the foot of the large bed. Cassidy separates from him and falls back on the cool, crisp bedding. He flashes an erotically sinister smile before diving his face into her cleavage. The man kisses hungrily over her chest, at moments baring his teeth and nipping teasingly. Cassidy knows how much he wants her, and revels in it.

Inside the cart, she exhales deeply through her mouth, massaging her clit with a circular motion.

"You see, it's all about form and follow-through. Power comes from the hips."

"All I know is that having the least points means your winning. How silly is that?"

Cassidy is encouraged by the satisfaction she feels. Strangers come and go around her, with their inane conversations, oblivious to the fact that she's masturbating right there among them.

"Well, they're not points, they're strokes! No--why are you laughing?"

She drinks it all in. It tastes like retribution.

Back in her fantasy, she's squeezing her prize's head between her shapely thighs as he sucks on her clitoris. Here and there, he even manages to flick his tongue over it simultaneously. Cassidy grips the lavish bedding and arches her back.

In reality, she's practically foetal. She teases her nipples and starts to finger herself. One finger at first, but a second soon follows. Her makeup is running in the steamy, cramped space. She's breathing heavy but tries to keep it quiet. Thankfully, the jazz music still playing in the hall provides good cover.

"Fine! Who cares! We don't need him!"

Cassidy recognizes the old matriarch's voice. The one who called her a hooker. She presses on indignantly, uncaring about the wet sounds her fingers make in her pussy.

"Hmph! I hope she does hear it," Cassidy thinks. Her shoulders tense with spite as she hooks her wrist to reach deeper inside herself.

In her mind, she's on her knees, with hands up on the headboard. The blond man is fucking her from behind, and her tits are flung out the top of her dress. He spanks her firmly. She gasps, and then moans loudly to encourage him.

"...did you hear that?"

Lost in the act, Cassidy rocks herself back onto his cock, increasing the intensity of his thrusts. She's getting close. Throwing back her hair with a sultry look over her shoulder, she can see he's barely holding on.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I think we've waited long enough."

His pelvis claps repeatedly against Cassidy's reddening ass. He scooches his knees forward and digs his fingers into her hips. A bead of sweat rolls across his temple. He's going to come.

"It's finally time to kick this party into high gear."

Her man groans deeply, and his abdomen tightens. She pushes against the headboard to take him as deep as she can. His legs shake with pleasure as he fills her with cum.

"Don't stop, baby, I'm right behind you," Cassidy says in her sexiest voice.

He tries to keep going, but all his muscles have turned against him, and he falls to the bed. She gets it. She's incredible. Without missing a beat, she turns over and straddles him while he's still hard and wet with his own cum. All he can do is grab her ass and hold on tight while she rides him hard.

The music in the hall fades and a drum roll is initiated.

Cassidy grinds herself against him rapidly. He stiffens his whole body to steel himself against the mixture of pleasure and pain in his cock, and to keep Cassidy from tearing his dick clean off. She slaps his chest. Then again.

"Yes, yes, yes!"

"Please welcome the dazzling, the daring, the delectable Cassidy Owens!"

The drum roll reaches its climax. The room falls silent.

Having completely forgotten herself, Cassidy releases a long, intense squeal of pleasure as she comes forcefully on her fingers, her knees rattling against the walls of her cart. Cassidy's sloshing fingers then slow to a gentle pace, and she caresses and squeezes her chest with her other arm. She drops her head, and her shoulders slump forward as all the tension, frustration, and resentment of the evening drift away.

"Psst! Cassidy--um. Do the thing," Daphne says.